“I tried to escape my origins before seeing a gift in it”

I was born into a black family, from Congolese migration and with modest income. My parents were very loving; an incredibly generous, open-minded, courageous mother; an ambitious, curious, daring father.

At home we laughed a lot, we danced at every opportunity, we watched TV, curled up against each other on the sofa. We went to Congolese festivals and had picnics by the lake. My parents dreamed of better days and made plans to make them happen.

These two loved ones died around thirty years ago, four years apart, my mother in 1995 and my father in 1999. Today, I realized that my parents left me the most beautiful heritage: a rich family history; an aptitude for joy and laughter; courage; dignity. Faith. Love and respect as an act of resistance.

However, for a long time I was unable to appreciate this treasure. I was ashamed of my parents, of their condition which completely clashed with Swiss society. I was angry with them for putting me in an uncomfortable position. To look forward to going to daycare or APEMS so that I can have breakfast, my snack and eat a variety of meals. Having to refuse invitations to go to the cinema because we didn’t have enough money to pay for entry. To say that I hated spending hours on the phone all because our phone line was cut because we hadn’t paid the bills. Of no longer knowing what to say about the absence of my father who was going to Kinshasa to try to launch a transport business and who remained stuck there for an entire year because he could not afford to buy a return ticket.

In short, a childhood as happy as it was precarious, an extremely fragile balance. I was convinced that we were poor because we were black and immigrants. I grew up in a predominantly white environment. From Cinderella to Anne Saint-Claire through my educators and teachers.

The majority of positive figures around me were white. Black people lived in poverty, were corrupt, danced or played sports. I came to the conclusion that to find a place in society, I absolutely had to free myself from my social and ethnic origins.

After reading “Return to Reims” by Didier Eribon, I realize that unconsciously, I worked to extract myself from my social class in the hope of getting closer to a bourgeois class. I used school to move towards a liberal profession. Unconsciously, I cultivated a network of future intellectuals, doctors, lawyers. I observed and pumped their codes. I complied, even to the point of trying to erase the physical traces of my origins.

Today, I live under the train station in Lausanne, I have two children who study and play sports. My cupboards are full of food. We go to the cinema, to the theater, on vacation every year. With a degree in political science and several years of experience in international companies, I became an entrepreneur.

As the head of a growing company that employs 15 people, I sometimes cannot pay myself a salary. It scares me and makes me fear the prospect of returning to my social origins.