By Liz Belilovskaya

Black Russia – Circa 1990

When I was a five-year-old kid living in Kazakhstan, I saw a black person for the first time. My grandmother and I were taking the bus to my dance class when it stopped and a black man in his early twenties got on. I was curious as to why he looked different from me and inquired further, “Is he sunburned?” I asked. “No, his skin is naturally like that,” said my grandmother, “he is immune to the burning sun.” she added smiling.

I took that to mean he was magical. How else does one become naturally dark to avoid the sun’s rays? To me, magic was the only answer. I stared at him for a while; he looked back kindly and laughed. I did not associate that moment with history, rap, Morgan Freeman, or any category what so ever. I was just five. To me it was simply an interesting encounter with someone who might be magical.

Back then Kazakhstan was part of the Soviet Union. Not that many black people lived there.  Most of the black community resided in Moscow since they were predominantly college students attending the Moscow University. They came from Africa, Cuba and Haiti. Others were born in Russia.

Later that day, I asked my dad if he had ever met dark-skinned magical people.  He laughed and revealed that he had back in college and that he was still in touch with several friends in Moscow. I was very impressed and wanted to know more, proceeding to inquire if they had any other powers aside from sun immunity.

Dad explained to me that although it is true that black people have an easier time in the sun, they were not necessarily magical.  They were the same as us in ever regard except skin color. However, there was one particular black man he thought might be magical; but not because he was black, it was because he could do something most men couldn’t. He told me about Jimi Hendrix.

Dad grew up listening to Jimmy Hendrix and Donna Summer.  He was a little disco and a little rock-and-roll; the 70’s did that to people. Jimi was his preferred artist although he still parties to Donna. While I did not get to hear Hendrix that day, I did get to eventually and just like that, I fell in love.

Circa 2012

I can say this: In my mind, black and white is balanced, neither is better, both are equal, each is necessary. I was not born here and therefore when I first met black people I never associated them with rap, equal rights or history. I thought being black was magical.