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When You Hear, ‘Sorry, But I Don’t Date Across Racial Lines’
In Cape Town, gay men gave me a crash course in racism
As I sat across from my new American acquaintance in a Cape Town bar, I felt uneasy. I had nothing significant to contribute to our conversation about sex and the city.
Like me, Elliot was a Black expat living in South Africa. He had asked about my impression of dating in the country’s number-one party town — and for the first time in our conversation, I was silent.
I’d lived in Cape Town for several weeks at the time, and I still hadn’t ventured out much on the social scene. I’d gone on exactly one Grindr date, with a guy named Jacques, who invited a friend to join us. The friend turned out to be Elliot.
When Jacques sprang the news on me after I arrived at our table in a beachside restaurant, I was a little disappointed. I thought we were on a date date. As it turned out, though, the interloper ended up being the best part of our Grindr liaison. I only saw Jacques one more time, but Elliot and I became good friends and regularly hung out during the year I lived in Cape Town.
Through Elliot, I vicariously had my most egregious encounters with racism in South Africa. The stories may have been secondhand, but that didn’t make them any less…
