Black perspectives on studying abroad in Argentina

It took less than 12 hours for an Argentine to touch my hair when I arrived in the Latin American country. 

My body was hunched over a warm cup of café con leche in an Italian-style cafe the moment I felt my aquamarine-dyed braids lift from my back. I shivered. There was a small group of us — all Black with little to no Spanish-speaking skills — and we’d been aware that two women sitting at a table near the window had their eyes fixed on us. I was not surprised when I felt the fingers of a woman caressing my trenzas. As soon as her hands touched me, she’d catapulted me into what would come to characterize my time in Buenos Aires as a Black woman. 

Having my personal space invaded is something I’m familiar with. In the United States, whiteness as a mode of intrusion is paradigmatic. I’ve learned this not only through isolated experiences, but through a realization throughout life that anti-Blackness is a phenomenon that pervasively flows through every sea in the world. 

Argentina is not removed from this. The 1778 census revealed that 37 percent of Argentina’s population was African. From influencing the contemporary cultivation of tango to the Madre de la Patria — an enslaved Black woman turned military captain in the Argentine War of Independence — the Black presence has always been here. But there is a narrative that persists now that “no hay negros en Argentina.” 

“I’m seeing it, I’m experiencing it, I see it with my friends, I read it in history, and yet, people say, ‘no, Black people don’t exist,’” said Alex Chapman, a CAS senior and the Global Equity Fellow at the NYU Buenos Aires site. “How can you say that, when there is both circumstantial and physical evidence of that presence and erasure at the same time?” 

There was, somewhere in Argentina’s history, a distinct physical erasure of the Black population that people now refer to as a “disappearance.” The disappearance of Black people demonstrates Argentina’s dedication to turning Argentina into a white country. 

Instead of engaging in a conversation about the race problem, I’m often told that racism is not tangible in Argentina. The words “negro” and “negra” hold negative connotations in Argentina, so there is no way to to say what I mean when I try to reference my identity. On a date with an Argentine man in a dim lit and cheap bar, I attempted to explain my experience as a Black woman with my limited Spanish vocabulary. He told me to not call myself “negra.” Argentines and white expats have tried to convince me that racism is not a problem in the country, but have done this by using the language of erasure that diminishes the Black population and history in Argentina. 

Beyond being repeatedly touched and asked variations of “Where are you from?” and “What part of Brazil are you from?” on a daily basis, there have been more severe incidents that show how penetrative these moments of erasure are. In a cold but bustling McDonald’s a few blocks away from the university, a younger Argentine man relaxed his shoulders after I confirmed, several times, that I was not Brazilian. He went on to drunkenly mimic Portuguese with incomprehensible speech and said that my friends and I “sounded like that,” so therefore he thought I was “one of them.” He continued to corner me and told me that Argentina is a “pure” country, unlike New York City, for example, which has “Asians and all.” 

As someone who deals with long term mental health complications outside of NYU Buenos Aires, coming into the city and being forced into such an intense but ignored racial context further amplified my depression. There were days where I laid sticky in my twin bed at the homestay, nauseous from anxiety. I began missing classes and crying every night, even in front of my host mom, who learned to comfort me time and time again. It felt as though the experiences wouldn’t end. The more they stacked like Jenga blocks, it felt as though each one pushed me closer to my breaking point. 

Around the middle of the semester, most of the Black students at NYU Buenos Aires felt a collective sense of depression in response to these experiences. Not knowing where else to turn, we went to the university pleading to be seen. 

During a meeting with Anna Kazumi Stahl, NYU Buenos Aires site director, and Paula Di Marzo, assistant director of student life, we received an overwhelming amount of support and recognition from both of them. They moved swiftly to reach out to community leaders, faculty and staff to let them know that the Black students were experiencing something unseen at the NYU Buenos Aires site before. This concentrated racism was new to them, but they knew exactly what to do. 

While our experiences have taken an individual and collective toll, NYU Buenos Aires made an effort to expose us to Afro-Argentine activists and activities throughout the semester. 

As part of a day trip, we went to Chascomús, a cloudy city further south in the Buenos Aires province, where we met an Afro-Argentine who showed us around Capilla de los Negros which translates to Chapel of the Black People. There was also Afrohunting, a creative and entertainment hub celebrating Afro cultures through interdisciplinary mediums. It was invigorating to be in such a place of joy, where pain was recognized but meditated upon — something that we could take the reigns of and honor as a source of connection. 

A few students and I also created a club called Black in Buenos Aires at the NYU Buenos Aires site, which seeks to provide students of the diaspora with the space to explore resources and share their experiences in community with one another. For a recent meeting, we visited the Diáspora Africana de la Argentina, a diasporic space holding regular programming for learning opportunities and activism. An extension of DIAFAR is also a barbershop specializing in Black hair. 

“I’m grateful that we were able to create Black in BA from what we had all gone through collectively,” said Andraya Yearwood, a junior at the University of North Carolina who is studying abroad with NYU. 

When Yearwood arrived in Buenos Aires, her host father asked if she was Brazilian. When she said no, he was shocked and pointed to her necklace, referencing it as the country of Brazil. Yearwood is West African, and her necklace is carved into the shape of the African continent. 

Through these experiences, we’re constantly reminded that Argentines believe that Black people have been erased from the nation’s identity and that we will never be considered normal during our time here. For some time, we believed that we only had each other. 

“As much as I’ve experienced racism like never before, I’ve also experienced such kindness, especially from the immigrant community,” Chapman said. 

During our interview, Chapman and I were sitting in our favorite homestyle restaurant where we order arepas that coat our breath for hours after and sandwiches that you need to properly hold with both hands. The Venezuelan couple behind the counter, who were in close proximity to our skin tones, knew us by name and handed us the remote to choose the music for the shop. We selected Lauryn Hill and sat like that for some time, taking bites between moments of silence and joy. 

“Even though the bad was bad, there is another side through that bad that people found a resilience in community through,” Chapman said.

I’m leaving Buenos Aires with an entirely new perspective on race and how my visibility as a Black woman is present in the world. I know that my experiences do not define a country, nor a community, but they do mean something. I felt everything viscerally and sat wondering how I can transcribe that pain into something meaningful, something insightful to leave with the next person. It can be a lonely life being Black in the Americas, but I want to keep beckoning toward community and joy. 

“You’re going to experience racism if you come here,” Chapman said. “But if it’s not a deal breaker for you, be present. Racists hate nothing more than Black people being present in a space. And be happy while you do it.” 

Contact Sade Collier at [email protected]