What is it Like to be Black and Travel to 43 Countries across 5 Continents?
By: Bayo Awesu
Tags: Black Travel, Race, Travel, Diversity, Culture

What is it Like to be Black and Travel to 43 Countries across 5 Continents?

I’ve ridden in the back of cabs through Boko Haram territory, yet still felt more afraid of getting shot while driving in the United States of America

Croatia, 2018

I didn’t travel much as a kid. My family vacations were great, but typically consisted of a week in South West England - no more than two hundred miles from our home. My adopted parents both had a healthy fear of flying and to each of their dying days, never set foot on a plane. I left the UK for the first time at age 11, as part of what became an annual school day trip to France. The routine for my classmates and I was straightforward enough: wake up at 6am, take a ferry to Dieppe, then spend two hours walking the streets practicing the eight words we knew in French. During that time we’d let off firecrackers on the promenade, get shooed out of private gardens, and give it our best shot at getting served beer in the local café. All of which would get us scolded by teachers on the return ferry. I did the trip three years in a row and it was the furthest I got from home during my adolescence. When I started university at age 19 I still had never once boarded a plane.

I’m now 30 something, something…something years old. Also known as 39. In the last 12 years I’ve visited the following countries: Nigeria, Kenya, Ghana, South Africa, Swaziland, Zimbabwe, Tanzania, Morocco, Egypt, Lebanon and Mauritius in Africa. Ukraine, Armenia, Holland, France, Italy, Portugal, Spain, Germany, Croatia, Bulgaria, Serbia, Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, Greece, Cyprus, Switzerland and Turkey in Europe. Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan in Central Asia. Sri Lanka, Singapore, Indonesia, Vietnam and Thailand in Asia/Oceania. U.A.E, Iran and Kuwait in the Middle East. Cuba, Brazil and Mexico in the Americas. Also a bunch of trips to the United States: New York and Miami twice and a road trip across the West Coast starting in Vegas and ending in LA.

It sounds impressive, but honestly those are padded stats. The majority of the trips have been work, and in some of those cases I couldn’t tell you much more about the country, outside of what can be observed from a hotel room or the back seat of a cab. Padded stats or not though; I have visited all of these countries and feel blessed to have done so. Some of these places are more conventional travel destinations, others not so much. Especially for Black people. So what was it actually like as a Black man travelling around the world, typically solo? Here goes.

So let’s start with the most obvious topic: racism. In fact no, come to think about it let’s back up a bit, we’ll get to that later. The first thing I wanted to talk about is the price of travel. I’ve read countless blogs, and articles from people claiming to have found a way to travel the world on a shoe string budget. That they covered the cost of their six month odyssey by selling coconuts on a beach in Grenada, belly dancing in Morocco and staying in $1 a night hostels all over Europe. They often claim that any of us can do this if properly motivated and well informed. I respectfully disagree. Travel is expensive. Prohibitively so in a lot of cases. Not just in terms of the cost of going somewhere, but the subsequent loss of earnings from taking the time off, which a lot of people are simply not able to sustain due to life responsibilities; financial or otherwise.

I got lucky. The various companies I worked for were paying for my trips. About 1 in every 10 of the countries I just listed were holidays, and even some of those were only possible because I was allowed to tack on some extra days free time. The reason I’m mentioning this is not to discourage anyone from travel, but simply that nobody is made to feel like it’s their fault for not having travelled enough. There are a host of social and economic reasons that exclude consistent travel for many. Especially Black people. If you’ve got a plan to travel on your own dime, but are not exactly sure how to make it happen; don’t worry, you’re already doing better than I did. I had no idea how to make it happen. Or have a plan. Just do what you can at the pace that feels right. Even if you don’t start until you’ve retired. There’s no right way to do it.

Breakfast TV in Armenia 2018

So the first big international trip I did for work was Nigeria in the summer of 2009. I’m Nigerian, but I’m Nigerian in the way Chiwetel Efjifor or Anthony Joshua are Nigerian: born and raised in the UK, but of Nigerian ancestry. I’d never been to Nigeria before, plus as I mentioned I was adopted by a non Nigerian family. So for me this was sort of a big deal…but it didn’t get off to a good start. “Where is your Nigerian passport?” asked the visa immigration officer as I stumbled into the arrivals line, my customs form still only half complete and riddled with typos. I explained that I didn’t have one. He asked me why and then started talking in Yoruba; the tribe he could tell based on my name that my family came from and the language he assumed I understood. It was a reasonable assumption, one that probably ninety-nine times out of a hundred would have been correct. But in my case was not. I politely asked him to repeat what he’d said in English so I could understand. Then he got mad. As far as he was concerned, I thought I was too good to speak Yoruba, too good to think I needed a Nigerian passport.

He stamped my “British” passport with a contemptuous flick of the wrist and tossed it back to me. I was already being ushered to the baggage hall, a little confused, not sure what I’d done wrong to the guy at immigration. I grabbed my suitcase and was stopped again, this time by somebody wanting to see my ticket stub to verify that I was taking the right bag. A process that unbeknown to me at the time is common in Nigeria. I didn’t have my ticket stub, or at least wasn’t sure where it was; I figured I wouldn’t need it since I’d cleared immigration. This guy also got mad. Eventually after I spent two minutes frantically searching, he just let me through as the line was backed up. I got out of the airport and tried to call the driver that had been arranged to pick me up. I’d been told his name was Kunle. There were 50 guys all standing around me, asking if I needed a cab. “You’re Kunle right? Can you take me to this hotel?” I asked the first guy that pushed through the crowd and seemed to be expecting me. He had a huge smile on his face. “Yes,” I think he mumbled. I was still holding my phone trying to call. I handed “Kunle” my bag; a cheap suitcase that my girlfriend of the time had advised me not to buy. The handle broke. “Oh sorry, sir” he said in response. I told him it was fine. I was still holding my phone and then it rang. “Hi Mr Bayo, it’s Kunle, over here!”

I turned to see the real Kunle running behind me trying to catch up. I looked at the other cab driver standing next to me holding my broken suitcase as Kunle caught up and explained to him that it was a misunderstanding. I apologised, knowing I’d wasted his time, as he genuinely thought he was helping me. I then battled my way with the real Kunle through the arrivals, car park and evening Lagos traffic to my hotel. By the time I got to my room my heart rate was off the charts and I remember saying the words out loud “I can’t do this.” I felt so out of my depth, so confused. I was terrified of the mistakes I was going to make on a 10 day trip if after two hours in the country I’d managed to mess up so much. I wanted to go home.

Africa

I got better at it — travel that is. I’ve been to Nigeria probably 20 times since then and glide through those types of situations without a moment’s thought. Kunle and I are now good friends. But one of the key things I want to stress is that travel can feel very intimidating before you’ve gotten into your groove. It won’t always feel like fun in the moments you feel vulnerable. Especially if you’re travelling alone. It’s a funny story later, but at the time can feel really real. If you’re Black and part of the diaspora then it will also feel a little different when you’re in Africa - even if you’re not a descendant of that country.

White privilege is supercharged in a lot of the tourist spots in Africa to the extent where even the scruffiest looking, flip flop wearing, wrinkled shirt having, White dude will get the movie star treatment on sight. We will not. Don’t take it personal, and don’t blame the Africans you encounter for acting this way. You have to look at it from their perspective; they’re trying to get by and they may not immediately identify you as a tourist that they can earn a living from. They may automatically assume that you’re part of the same struggle. When you engage with them you’ll get nothing but warmth and love. There’s a shared humility. They’re humbled that you’ve come, you’re humbled that you’re here. Even if you can’t trace your lineage back to any specific part of the continent, it won’t matter. You’ll feel that ancestral tug. You’ll think about race in an entirely different context to the accustomed feeling of being a minority. Dare I say it but for the briefest of moments, you may not even see colour, and you’ll realise what life feels like for someone that believes they have that privilege.

Europe

I grew up in Europe, but really I didn’t; I grew up in the UK. It’s a little different, and that’s regardless of if you’re Black or not. The UK having a very complicated relationship with the rest of Europe isn’t as new a thing as it may seem to outsiders. There is an island nation mindset that sets in pretty early. So travelling around Europe never felt like I was travelling around a culture I necessarily understood better than anywhere else in the world. Plus I was Black. Again, it’s a little different. Colonialism means that there are places in Europe where Black people have been part of the local community for a long time. If you’re Black and visiting parts of Western Europe then there’s every chance that nobody is going to be that surprised to see you. It’s not a big deal for a Black tourist to walk through the door. Middle class African American college kids stay for gap years, wealthy Africans visit their children while they study. But what you will notice is a sharp contrast in this and the perception of more recent African immigrants.

There are parts of Spain, Greece and Italy in particular where 1st generation immigrants live as very much separate communities from the population. They’re stereotyped as street venders and performers who are placed outside the social dynamic of the rest of the country. They are treated differently. Two time NBA MVP Giannis Antetokounmpo was born and raised in Athens to 1st generation Nigerian immigrants. Giannis is nicknamed the “Greek Freak” in part due to his nationality and in part due to his style of play. It’s a nickname he has always embraced. But the “Greek Freak” wasn’t even made a citizen of Greece until after he turned 18 and became an NBA superstar. The whole qualifying criteria of acceptance is a real thing when you’re Black and in Europe and it can be quite enraging to see if you’re coming from a country where, despite experiencing racism, your nationality has never been brought into question. As a Black tourist, particularly coming from the West, you’ll qualify for a level of acceptance, as hey you’ve got the money to spend so that’s all good. But you need to be prepared for how Europe’s attitude to Black immigration will make you feel.

Almaty, Kazakhstan 2016

It’s also important to talk about the parts of Europe that are less familiar with Black faces; Eastern Europe, the Baltics, places like that. And yes we are now about to talk about racism a little bit more directly. Before I went on my first professional trip to Eastern Europe and Central Asia, I got advised by several well meaning British White people to watch out for racism, that I should be careful. This to be honest has pretty much been a national message from the UK for a long time; that the rest of Europe has a problem with racism. So here’s the thing that I would say to anyone Black thinking about visiting parts of Europe where the general population possibly have never seen a Black person before up close. It’s something that goes without saying for us, but it’s important to say it again as part of this discussion: Racism is always going to be a thing - everywhere.

What a lot of those well meaning White people that tell us not to travel somewhere for our own good fail to understand, is that we can experience racism in any moment of our lives: walking out of the front door, in the local supermarket, on the ride to work. If you’re Black, the country you’re living in already has the capacity to be racist as hell. For me personally, and this is just me speaking for myself, I do not want to let the prospect of racism to restrict me from life’s experiences. Because if I did that, I’m narrowing my window for Black joy out of a fear of Black trauma. I do not accept that, I just don’t. But to talk specifically about my experiences in these regions, honestly it was mostly positive. You have to train your brain to accept that people will stare in ways that at home would be rude, they may ask questions that at home may not be appropriate. I’m 6’4, even if I’m wearing a suit and tie I get asked all the time in these regions if I’m a Basketball player. If somebody said this to me in the UK I’d read it as an attempt to simplify the Black existence to one of athleticism, entertainment or criminality. Here I’d probably give it a pass. They really haven’t seen Black people before a lot of the time, except the ones on TV who actually are….basketball players.

There may also be misunderstandings. On one work trip I was giving a lecture at a school and as part of my presentation I was talking about global diversity. One of the slides included a picture of a group of students from all over the world; holding up flags from where they were from. I asked the students in the class to name the countries. The students were very new to English but also very excited that a native English speaker was here to help them. “China!” one of them said politely, as I pointed to the Chinese student holding up the Chinese flag. “Australia!” another of them replied just as respectfully, as I did the same with the Australian in the picture. I then hovered over a Nigerian student holding up a flag of Nigeria…I think you may know where I’m going with this. A student in the class just threw out an N-bomb; thinking that was the name of the country. I froze and looked up.

The student is sat there just as respectfully as before not sure why I’m staring at him. He genuinely believes he’s given the correct answer rather than a racial slur. I turned to his teacher who is bright red and utterly humiliated. The kid carries on sitting there, not sure why his teacher looks so stone faced, or why some of his classmates whose English is a little better are staring at him this way. I just carried on. I honestly didn’t know what to say, the trauma of hearing a word from somebody who genuinely, genuinely didn’t have the language skills to understand felt like something I wanted to sidestep in that moment. I don’t know if that was the right call, but it was the call I made. After the class his teacher apologised to me for what felt like the rest of the day.

Asia

I love Asia. The climate, the aesthetics, the culture, and if there is one part of the world where you maybe, just maybe can get by on a shoe string budget, it’s there. You’ll probably never feel more conscious that you’re Black as when you’re in Asia though. It won’t be by way of direct comments — you’ll just feel it. I found it impossible to buy clothes a lot of the time, excluding maybe Thailand, and people will frequently stop to take photos of you in parts of Central Asia. Hospitality is a really big deal and every single one of the best hotel rooms you will ever stay in will be somewhere in Asia.

I got treated like a king in Sri Lanka on a pretty regular basis. There was one point where after staying in the same hotel maybe half a dozen times in a three month period, the hotel manager came out and gave me his business card. He told me he personally wanted to ensure the experience met my expectations. Um, ok. Cool. I took his card thinking it was a grand gesture and no more. Then one night when my shower stopped working and I couldn’t get through to anyone at reception, I called the number on the card. I assumed it was nothing more than a priority line. Nope, it was a direct line to his home. I could hear his kids crying in the background. It took me five minutes to talk him out of coming to fix the shower himself.

Bali vacation with my wife, 2018

There’s also the other side to travelling to Asia that being Black you can’t gloss over. The reports of African students being kicked out of their homes in China at the start of the coronavirus pandemic are well documented, and like with Europe or Africa if you’re living there, it will be different than if you’re White. The golden rule with Asia and anywhere else for that matter is that being an ex pat is purely a White privilege. If you’re Black you’re an immigrant. And being an immigrant comes with very different connotations. But it also has to be said there is a form of western privilege that you can gain even if you’re Black. More than anything it’s an assumed financial status that your accent lends to. My wife and I are both Black, she grew up in Africa, I grew up in Europe. We have different accents, and are treated differently.

The Middle East

I feel less aware of my race in the Middle East than I do anywhere else in the world. Everyone is your brother and everyone will treat you as such. Inshallah. Dubai is not an experience for everyone though, especially if you’re on a budget. It’s expensive, but it’s not just that. In the summer you simply cannot go outside due to the searing temperatures. Meanwhile, everywhere inside will have the air con cranked to the coldest setting. So you may well find yourself in a position where you’re either uncomfortably hot or uncomfortably cold. There are a lot of African ex pats. (I’m just going to start saying it that way now and see if it’s sticks), and I’ve always enjoyed the melting pot of different African cultures that exist there. There are a lot Kenyan, Nigerian and Sudanese communities who sometimes work for airlines, or in other fields. Africa is such a vast continent that it’s tough to get into a discussion with multiple different nationalities but Dubai is definitely your place to do that. I’ve sat at bars where my company for the evening were from a dozen different nationalities. It’s a great way to feel that there’s a cultural level playing field as everyone’s an ex pat in Dubai.

Kish Island, Iran 2016

In 2016 I went to Iran. Well technically it’s not Iran, but Kish island just off the coast. British passport holders are for all intents and purposes banned from Iran (yeah that Nigerian immigration officer got the last laugh), but are allowed into the free state of Kish. I was probably as nervous about this trip as I was about any work trip ever. I was only there for three days to give a talk about British education, but I just figured given the complicated relationship my country had with Iran; the potential for things to go wrong was higher than I’d like. However, it ended up being one of the most enjoyable trips. For pretty much all of my life I felt like being Black disqualified me from a certain international perception of Britishness, but here I honestly think it worked in my favour. Seeming less British on sight was a good thing. “Are you Muslim?” asked the immigration officer when I arrived. He’d singled me and a fellow British colleague out for extra questions. I hesitated. I’m not a Muslim. Well, in fact it’s complicated. My biological parents are Muslim, my adopted parents were not. I went to a Christian primary school. My first love and long term relationship was with a Muslim girl from Sudan. I used to read the bible in high school. I now generally identify as agnostic. My wife goes to Church every Sunday. Like I say: it’s complicated. And I was worried that this might be a problem. But I didn’t want to lie or I didn’t think he’d have much interest in the full details of my story. “No,” I eventually said to his question as respectfully as possible. He looked through my passport and smiled seeing my name. “Ok brother. Welcome to Kish.”

The Americas

There’s a lot I still don’t know about Nigeria, and there’s a lot I still don’t know about the Yoruba tribe I descend from. This was even more the case when I travelled to Cuba in 2014 with my wife. She wasn’t my wife then. In fact she wasn’t even my fiancée. We got engaged on day three of that trip. On day two we took a walk around old Havana and stopped at an Afro-Cuban street party. “Where shall we eat?” I asked, my accent immediately attracting the attention of two local participants. “Hey where are you guys from, bro?” one asked. My wife answered first, telling him she was from Swaziland a small country just outside of South Africa. They looked at me. I didn’t want to say I was British, as I figured they were talking about ethnicity. And I don’t always feel British anyway. I told them I was Nigerian. “What tribe?” he asked. Yoruba. He looked happy, almost emotional. He then explained to me about the Yoruba religion that he practiced: Santería. He could tell by my expression I knew nothing about this, so we took a seat away from drums and cheers from street party that was going on next to us and he explained: During the Atlantic slave trade many West Africans slaves, mostly Yoruba, were brought to Cuba. Their religion lived on and via way of syncretism had combined with Roman Catholic beliefs to form a prominent religion in the Afro- Cuban community: Santería. I was stunned. I’d never learnt about this in school or even in the times that I’d visited Nigeria. But then I started to notice it everywhere; on murals, at dinner. I still didn’t speak the language, but I was at least starting to learn more about the history.

The Kingdom of Eswatini (Formally Swaziland), 2015

2020 is the least I’ve travelled in over a decade for obvious reasons. I don’t know how often I’ll be having international travel experiences in the future. I guess none of us do. Regardless of that, I still get a degree of anxiety about travelling as a Black man. I probably always will. I’ve ridden in the back of cabs through Boko Haram territory in Northern Nigeria, yet still felt more afraid of potentially get pulled over and shot to death while driving in the United States of America.

For all of my largely positive words of what it’s like to be Black and travel the world, they still do come with a degree of caution. Words of caution for myself as much as anyone else. The truth is: I never know if being Black will catch-up with me somewhere at some point when I’m thousands of miles away from home. But then again, it could catch up with me when I’m right outside my door. Being Black is to exist in a constant state of vigilance: a healthy scepticism about the impartiality of the world around us. So when we do reach the end of this pandemic, and those of us that are Black with a wanderlust (and a budget), look to travel again; we should still remember what 2020 taught us beyond face masks and hand sanitiser. We should remember that we demanded a new normal that worked better for us — and all over the world people claimed to understand this. None of us can control the fear of how we will be treated, or the anger we may feel when others refuse to acknowledge this. But what we can do is take action ourselves. I can’t promise you that when you reach foreign shores you won’t be made to feel Black in all of those ways you fear. But enough is enough. If travel is your dream: Nobody gets to take that away from you. And the world will just have to get used to that.