My mother is white British. My father is Black and from Dominica. There are things I know about where I come from because I grew up with them. There are things I’m still finding out. And there are things I’ve come to know about myself in the living of my own life.
I know what it is to walk into a room and work out quite quickly which parts of me people will understand. Sometimes it happens before I’ve even spoken. I know the pleasure, too, of telling a story to another mixed woman and getting to the funny bit without having to give her the whole backstory. And I love it when she tells me hers and it goes somewhere I could never have guessed.
I want to know what might happen if we had ten weeks together. Time to tell the stories we usually shorten. To hear ourselves think. To be surprised by what another woman has made of something she’s lived through. To follow a question about our people, or to make something we’ve wanted to make for years.
There is no one way to be here. Speak in the voice that comes. You can reach for a word from home, change your mind halfway through a sentence, or sit quietly until you know what you want to say. You can tell us as much of the backstory as you want to.