So, a few weeks ago I spent a weekend away with someone who told a really interesting – but not that surprising – story. For a reason I can’t remember she was curious to find out more about her genetic heritage, so off she went to Home Affairs (who knew they did this?) and for a nominal fee they took a swab of the inside of her mouth and fed her DNA to a computer. And when the test results came back they confirmed that this pale woman with a slight Afrikaans accent is a relatively direct descendant of the Khoi San.
Now, while biologists proved a long time ago that in South Africa, particularly amongst Afrikaners, there is no such thing as a pure white race (oh, the irony), this finding nonetheless filled me with a quiet joy. If she, in all her natural blondeness, is actually black, there can be no doubt that I’m black too. I’m half Afrikaans, I have little tufts of hair in front of my ears that in certain weather go kroes, and if you look at a picture of my maternal grandfather (and a male cousin) the resemblance to one of the Ndebele chiefs is nothing short of startling.
The reason why this finding made me so terribly happy is because I am desperately tired of having to justify living in Africa and claiming South Africa as my own. Yes, there was breeding with white people along the way and we don’t look dark anymore, but my roots are as African as anybody else’s. My people have been living here for hundreds of years, and a few members of my extended family have never even been overseas. We don’t have another home to flit to if things get rough. This is it, and will remain it, no matter what happens politically.
Of course the paleness of my kind afforded us privileges, and it’s our lot to live with the shame of apartheid and having always to be apologists and carry that guilt. And I wish that stuff had never happened because it really messed a lot of things up, but I won’t apologise for living here or calling myself an African. I have never felt so lost and bereft as when I lived away from this country, and the blue of its sky belongs as much to me as it does to anybody else, whatever their hue happens to be.
Anyway, being a South African is not about the colour of your skin, it’s about roots and belonging and commitment and pride. My blood is in this soil, and my heart beats in its sunsets and rejoices in the empty, open plains of its bushveld. Maybe one day I’ll go and get that genetic test done, just so I can show people like Oprah who claim to be more African than I am. But I don’t need it to prove to myself who I am or where I belong.
The Disco Pants Blog 
Home affairs does a test? that’s amazing news. I want one too.
But… if it turns out I am not black, evern though my family has been here for hundreds of years, can I still stay no matter what?
Ha ha! I believe you can, Lynne. I can put you in touch with the girl who had the test if you like :-) Thanks for the comment!
Beautifully put. I’m stamping my foot and claiming my space alongside you.
Thanks, my Heather Parker. I’ll always remember you telling me it’s the sound of Xhosa men singing that does it for you – those baritones which seem to come straight out of the earth itself. We is Africans, we are.
I love your blog… Started at your most recent post and have read my way back to this post…. Have to go to work now, so time to stop. BUT I agree with you.
Africa embraces her Children, she calls out to us from her sandy soils and raging rivers, under the heat of the noon day sun and tightly grips our hearts. We may fight amongst ourselves (conflict is a prominent visitor here on the African continent), but love our land , we all do! Whether it is those traversing through her hot, sandy deserts up near the horn of Africa, or those in the lush, green humid jungles in the middle, those in the animal rich Savannah plains or us South Africans in our beautiful, varied, marvel of nature, here on the tip of Africa. Africa is beautiful and calls all her children to her…. those here now and those that have left over oceans and seas to other countries far away. GOD bless AFRICA and all her leaders and all her children!
I’ve always wished I could say that I am African, but feel I need the permission of black Africans before I could pronounce myself so. My heart skipped a beat when I read of the DNA test, perhaps I can boldly say ‘I am African’!
Coincidently, I am visiting the Dept. of Home Affairs in two weeks, I am going to see if I can get a DNA test!
Reading this post has left me feeling a little bit lost and sad for myself. I’m from the UK, born and bred in the South in a small town about an hour and a half from London. It seems like everyone else feels true to who they are- like you do, and that is so beautiful. I hate saying where I’m from- in fact typing that sentence up there was incredibly difficult! I don’t want to be British- with everything that being British entails. Maybe I’ll write a post about it so I can vent. :) Or maybe I need to go back to that little island and find something to like about it…