“Tell me about yourself” is a question most of us dread to hear on a first date or job interview. However, I’ve been avoiding that question my entire life. My identity has, until recently, been a confusing topic of conversation. Growing up with a Puerto Rican mother and Dominican father with Haitian roots— identity was a debate. To my mother, I was Puerto Rican and Dominican. To my father, I was Black—simple. Choosing how to identify felt like I was choosing between my parents. A choice no child should have to make.
There was constantly a war in my head about who I was, and leaning into the Latino community didn’t make things easier. According to cultural standards at the time, I wasn’t “Latina enough.” My hair was deemed “pelo malo,” my body is not curvy, and I didn’t speak Spanish until my twenties.
As a young girl growing up in the 90s, there wasn’t representation for women who shared my features within my community. I discovered this while watching telenovelas with my mother. Those women shared attributes I so desperately wanted at the time. Curvy bodies, long straight or wavy hair, and Spanish rolling off the tongue. Not only did I not feel “Latina enough,” I also didn’t feel pretty.
Despite my developing insecurities, I found comfort in other women outside my community. Hilary Banks, a character played on The Fresh Prince Of Bel Air, became my saving grace. She was the first and only woman I knew who embraced her natural hair. Her coil texture was similar to mine. Her confidence was alluring. I watched her endlessly as she showed up as herself in the best outfits. There was a part of me that hoped one day I could wear my hair out in its natural state and be as confident as her— even if it was all an act.
My Dominican-Haitian grandmother didn’t feel as inspired by Hilary’s hair choice. “Pero, mira eso pelo! Ella es bonita, pero tiene pelo malo,” she would say. This translates to, “look at her hair! She’s pretty, but she has bad hair.” Her comments only reassured my identity crisis: ‘Hilary and I have similar traits; she has bad hair, so I must have bad hair,’ I thought. In other words, ‘I shouldn’t wear my natural hair because who I am is not accepted, so I must not be enough.’
This recurring narrative began to manifest physically. I relaxed my hair to hide my roots, wore push-up bras to feel more “curvy,” and decoded my mother’s Spanish. On the outside, it was considered a “glow-up.” Internally? It was a cry for help.
The term Afro-Latino was created by political scientists Anani Dzidzienyo and Pierre Michel Fontaine in 1970. It was a term developed to identify slaves from West Africa that were brought to Brazil. After continuous research, it was discovered there had been an African descent throughout the Caribbean.
By the 1800s the colonial census solidified that Brazil, the Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico, Panama, Venezuela, and Nicaragua were majority Afro-descendants. However, I wasn’t aware of this term until my late twenties. 2020, to be exact, at the height of the Black Lives Matter Movement.
In the chaos of fighting against racism, I was also rediscovering who I was. Afro-Latino became a term that set me free in more ways than one. There was finally a space within my community where my roots were accepted. This revelation made me feel safe to claim my Hispanic and Haitian roots. I no longer had to choose. It was an internal and physical release that naturally blossomed in radical acceptance. In addition to this, seeing other celebrities— such as Zoe Saldana, Tatyana Ali, La La Anthony, and Sarunas Jackson— claim their Afro-Latino identities helped me find the beauty in who I am.
Being Afro-Latino is a beautiful experience. We come in all different shapes, sizes, and colors. Our food and spirits are vibrant, along with our textured coils, infectious energy, and addiction to celebrating life in all ways, always. There’s no mistaking when we’re in the room as we continue to shine a light on those around us— proudly shouting, “Wepa!” along the way. And even when we’re quiet, one thing will always remain true—We are Black, Latinx, beautiful, and proud. I know I am. Siempre hacia adelante, nunca hacia atrás.
