Growing up in Peru, I rarely saw people with dark skin on TV.
This is an odd phenomenon when you consider that the majority of the population is mixed-race and tends to have darker skin.
Latin American television was filled with people who have blue eyes, blonde hair and white skin. On the rare occasion there was a person of colour, they were thrown to the margins of the story.
Peru’s Indigenous people, like myself, were relegated to roles that depicted them as inferior, ugly, poor or criminal. Their only purpose was to serve or be comedic relief for the white and affluent family the story was centred on.
Perhaps this is why, at the age of seven, I told my mum I wanted to dye my hair blonde. She did not comply with my wishes, which frustrated me to no end.
Writer Camila Egusquiza. Source: Supplied
It was not a surprise that all my favourite characters were always blonde, white and blue-eyed. My favourite Disney princess was Aurora, and playing with Barbies was my favourite pastime. They both represented what I wanted to be: “beautiful”, like the girls I saw on TV.
I remembered thinking how much easier life would have been if I had looked more like my father – if I had his blue eyes and light hair
As I got older, the feeling that my copper skin, dark hair and brown eyes were not pretty enough continued. Relatives and family friends would casually mention how sad it was that I didn’t get my dad’s beautiful blue eyes, and I, too, internalised this racism. I remembered thinking how much easier life would have been if I had looked more like my father. If I had his blue eyes and light hair rather than my mother’s darker features, then maybe more boys would like me. Maybe then I would finally consider myself beautiful.
When I was 13, I went on a trip with my dad to Peru’s Andes region. It was my first time visiting the area, despite my mother’s grandparents hailing from there. In retrospect, it makes sense that I had never been there before. The bonds our ancestors had were broken a long time ago in an attempt to assimilate into the urban and westernised life of Peru’s capital, Lima, where we lived.
Camila in Peru. Source: Supplied
Our first stop was Cuzco (Qusqu), a city that once flourished in riches and resources before the Spanish came. Now, it’s a city that’s filled with international tourists eager to take the best pictures of the famous Inca citadel Machu Picchu.
I had seen Machu Picchu many times before in pictures. It was in all my history books, in every travelling pamphlet and even had its own spotlight on the History channel. People would always talk about its architectural ingenuity and be amazed at how such an ancient society managed to build one of the seven wonders of the world.
Camila at Machu Picchu. Source: Supplied
We started walking the trails of the old citadel. When we reached the top of one trail, I turned towards the view. I was speechless. The green grass and moss complemented the grey and rustic colour of the ancient rocks, and the sun shone beautifully, illuminating the mountains, bringing them to life.
It's hard to put into words what I felt at that moment, but I finally understood. Pride warmed my heart. I felt proud of my lineage. Here I was, in the wonder my ancestors had built with blood and sweat, in the place they might have called home a long time ago.
After that, I wanted to learn everything I could about ancient Peruvian culture. I learned about other Incan constructions that, unlike Machu Picchu, had been looted and destroyed by the Spanish. I learned about all the suffering my people had gone through at the hands of colonialism and I also learned about bravery.
Camila, aged 4, wearing traditional Peruvian clothing at a school recital. Source: Supplied
They exist in each one of us, in the pigmentation of our skin and on our faces, as a symbol that we are still here
Hundreds of men and women resisted, rebelled and fought for their culture and land. And the fruits of that resistance are present today. They exist in each one of us, in the pigmentation of our skin and on our faces, as a symbol that we are still here. They exist every time one of us wants to reconnect with the culture that was almost taken from us. They exist every time one of us feels proud of who we are.
I now wear my dark features and copper skin with pride. They are a part of who I am and show how far we have come. As I see more representation on screen and Peru’s Indigenous writers fighting for a spot in the industry, I have hope that one day no more little girls will ever feel ashamed of who they are.
Camila Egusquiza Santa Cruz (she/her) is a Peruvian writer and aspiring journalist. Her work dives deep into post-colonialism, the migration experience and reconnecting to culture. Her work has appeared in The Collective Magazine, Pelican Magazine, and Amnesty International UWA’s periodical. Camila previously interned for PEN Perth, housed at Centre for Stories, and worked for Pelican Magazine as a co-editor. Follow her on Instagram .
