Samosas, or “Samboosas” as my mother lovingly calls them, were my go-to comfort food growing up as a first-generation, Ugandan American in central Illinois. I never questioned their place in Ugandan cuisine, nor did my stomach! It wasn’t until decades later that I learned British colonization brought Indian indentured laborers to build Uganda’s railway, along with their culture and food creating a new cuisine.
My parents fled Uganda in 1975 to escape Idi Amin’s brutal regime—not under the 90-day expulsion faced by South Asians three years earlier, but when my father was recruited by Northwestern University after attending a medical conference in Budapest, Hungary.
I was raised in Bloomington-Normal, IL, a conservative, middle-class town with a population of 170,000. The town is home to universities and most recognizable as State Farm Insurance’s national headquarters. It was an isolated bubble where many believed that “racism doesn’t exist in our town.” Growing up in the ’80s in an environment where diversity was not a priority, most people’s perceptions of Africa were shaped by the movie “Coming to America” or Feed The Children infomercials. There was no Instagram, no Burna Boy, and the world felt much larger.
My father, a cardiologist with a thriving private practice, often spoke highly of colleagues with the last names Patel and Srivastava. Despite being fellow immigrants in a predominantly white environment, our families never shared meals or visited each other’s homes. Even though we had similar stories, family sizes, and children of the same age, it felt like an invisible wall existed between us.
In junior high and high school, my South Asian classmates and I often found ourselves as the only melanated students. However, this didn’t bring us closer together. During history classes, our ancestors’ achievements weren’t part of the curriculum, so we were never taught about important events such as the Asian Exclusion Act of 1924 or how the Civil Rights Movement contributed to the passing of the 1965 Immigration Act.
I excelled in basketball through hard work and determination, which led to me earning a full-ride collegiate scholarship. It’s interesting how a jump shot and state championships can bring someone from the shadows into the spotlight. Before graduating, I sought adventure by studying abroad in Dublin, Ireland. Although I had traveled to Uganda during the summer holidays as a kid, this was my first extended time abroad without my parents.
At the end of my first month, I met Swetha, a South Indian princess visiting a childhood friend in my dorm. As we talked, she casually mentioned, “I’m Telugu.” Confused but curious, I replied, “Tele-who?” That small exchange sparked a connection, leading to deeper conversations. Although I thought I was well-cultured at 21, I had essentially lived within a Black and white, monotheistic binary. Meeting Swetha shifted my perspective immensely. I instantly went from never having deep conversations with someone of South Asian origin to hanging out with a Glaswegian Sikh named Jasmeet Singh, watching Bollywood films like “Aaja Nachle” and “Lagaan,” and experiencing new cultural festivals and luscious foods.
Six years later, Swetha and I got married surrounded by friends and family. I often ask myself, would I have pursued a relationship with Swetha had I watched Mira Nair’s 1992 film “Mississippi Masala” beforehand? Despite facing societal and familial challenges along the way, we were fortunate to have avoided extreme issues like disownment, which still occurs in 2024. Compared to many, our journey was relatively smooth.
After 16 years with Swetha, we’d never encountered another couple like us. During a trip to India with our two children, I came across an Al Jazeera article about African students being attacked in Noida, New Delhi. This incident motivated me to delve into our communities’ cultural complexities and intimate connections. Upon our return, I contacted 10 Black and Brown couples I had been following on social media, asking them to share their stories. After publishing these stories for the world to see, I started educating myself on caste, anti-Blackness, and our intertwined histories. This was the first step in what would become the BlindianProject.
In 2020, our platform experienced rapid growth due to increased interest in anti-racism and Black and Brown solidarity during the Black Lives Matter movement. This growth continued with Kamala Harris’ ascent to Vice President in 2021, attracting attention from prominent global outlets such as The Times of India, The Washington Post, and BBC World News.
During the lockdown, Black and Brown communities felt a renewed urgency to embrace their identities more fully, recognizing life’s brevity. As we traced our cultural connections from Hyderabad to Kampala and Cape Town to Kingston, it became clear why our communities had been divided. We responded by offering workshops to student associations at universities like UCLA, Stanford, and SOAS (School of African and Oriental Studies), and to employee resource groups in corporate settings at Sony Music, Bettercloud, and the London Stock Exchange with intersectionality becoming a central focus of our work. At home, we taught our two mixed-race children to embrace their heritage, preparing them to thrive in a diverse world.
As the world’s largest economy, the U.S. now stands on the cusp of potentially electing its first Black and Indian female president, we’re reminded of our interconnectedness. While much attention has been given to 2045—the projected year when the U.S. becomes “minority white”—this shift is already happening, proving that the future is now.
As we work toward achieving 501(c)(3) nonprofit certification, we invite you to Join the Movement: Support The BlindianProject’s Mission.
Comments