So, those of you who read my memoir, Kinky Gazpacho, know I have a deep fascination with all things Black and Spanish. It’s kind of been my way to make my relationship with el esposo into some sort of cosmic destiny thing. I like finding historical precedents in all things, including my own personal love life. So, when I fell in love with Spain and then with el esposo, I felt compelled to find some shard of Black culture in my adopted homeland. And I did. A lot actually. I discovered that the Iberian peninsula had been home to thousands of Black Africans for hundreds of years and as such there is quite a bit of African culture in Spain. Which has always made me think there must also be quite a bit of African blood running through the veins of the average Spaniard, including el esposo.
Which is just my way of saying that we finally did it. Last week el esposo and I spit into a plastic vial and sent our DNA off to a laboratory in California to be analyzed. I’m not really interested in tracking down my long lost cousins, I really just want to know if in fact el esposo actually has African blood in his Spanish veins and I also want to know just how much European blood I carry. I’m really interested because I want some kind of scientific explanation for why my three children are three different colors. I get how DNA works, I just want to see the percentages for myself so I can do the math. I predict that el esposo must have some real Black in him and that clearly I must have a substantial wad of Whiteness. More than the average Black American — which is approximately 20 percent I believe — I don’t know, but two of my kids are quite pale. Until the results come back, all I can do is speculate, but when I do know for sure, I’ll be sure to let you all know. Stay tuned.
Peace!
