As a five-year-old, every night I would pray to God to make me white. I grew up in an orphanage filled with largely white children, where I was often ridiculed for my skin colour.
And even at that age, I realised that some opportunities in this world were not for the taking if you were black.
'Please God, lighten my skin and make me like everyone else,' I would whisper before I went to sleep. It sounds like an impossible dream, but, for me, it came true.
Today, at the age of 44, as a result of the skin condition vitiligo, I am white. Were you to see me in the street, it wouldn't cross your mind that I'm anything other than a typical middle-aged Caucasian man.
The only reminder of the colour I once was is a circular patch of dark skin just 1cm wide at the top of my back.
In many ways, despite society's insistence that racism is a thing of the past, my life is better as a white man.
Much as this country proclaims that it is tolerant of every creed and colour, my experience shows this is not the case.
While this might sound shocking, I believe I'm only stating what every black man living in this country knows.
For instance, I was recently offered a job as a butcher, which I know I wouldn't have got were I black. How can I be so sure? After offering me the job, the owner of the business discreetly reassured me that it was not an establishment where black people were allowed to work.
Bookmarks