I worked on an artist residence in ward 7 of Washington D.C. right before I left the country. I still remember, with every inflection in her voice, a woman—who worked in the city at the time—said that for children in the district, “Southeast gives space to dream;” that’s what this most recent stint in Cape Town did for me: It gave me space my current condition couldn’t give.

Now, I’m not new to solo-travel—this last one being my fourth trip—so I know the freedom it gives, but this time, it was uncanny. I remember every moment. Every friend I manage to hold onto within the “click-ish” Capetonian air; the mountains seated in the background of the townscape like a surrealist watercolor painting; the smell of the Oranjezicht farmer’s market and its “hip” patrons and the ridiculously low priced organic food; I remember it all.

A few of my friends from New York came to visit and said the same thing: it was a culture shock. Not as if they didn’t travel, but the quality of life for the price didn’t seem believable. Hikes in the Newland Forest seemed much too beautiful to be for free, yet it was. The access to the waterfront on a regular day to hear the sounds of cultural melodies and harmonies felt like a fantasy. Quad biking in the Atlantis Desert allowed adventure to be at the end of short, scenic Uber ride. All of it, every moment, gave me space to dream. And, quite literally.

I’m currently on the final edit—fingers crossed—on a new WIP, a novel written in the vein on Toni Morrison’s Song of Solomon, within the allegorical world similar to the most recent Women’s Prize for Fiction winner, “Piranesi,” and the forever-favorite, “The Alchemist.” I managed to give the work a breath of life it couldn’t receive within the capitalistic framework of America.

Stephen King says, “To write with the door closed, and edit with the windows open,” and that succinctly frames what Cape Town did for my writing: it freed it. 

Now, while this all seems good, the Capetonian air is all but friendly. There is inherent, open racial bias towards people of dark skin color that makes it difficult to “be” in Cape Town if you fit this description. Notice I didn’t say black. You’ll know the difference once you walk into a restaurant and the hosts hears your American accent. Watch how the aura shifts.

But, if you are dark, have perceivably any African-esque features—the one’s not celebrated in the mainstream, i.e. broad noses with no bridge, etc.—you’ll see exactly what Cape Town has for you. It’s a land where the racial relations set itself deep within its foundation. And that is something that will not change overnight. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to deal with entitled white South Africans until they’ve heard my accent. And, sometimes, due to the inherent influence of the white gaze, the “coloreds” (the mix of nationalities resulting in a lighter-skinned group and culture of people) aren’t much better with treatment towards us.

Cape Town is a reminder within a microcosm of how the world views darker skin folks. How American runs the world, owns the world.  It’s like Baldwin has said in his comments about leaving to Paris, “Where would a fleeing black man go if he wanted to escape.” And I ask, where can a black man go to see himself, to see himself outside of what the world knows him to be?”

But, it’s also a beautiful reminder that there is a world uncharted. An air waiting for us to inhale it, to “be” in it, to dream in it.  A world unaware that we are coming to change how it views us, not by a need to be accepted, but by a truth that needs to be told. That will be fuel to keep us going.