There is a growing movement of black girl luxury travel. And I am here for it. Real ones know that to be black comes with its plethora of struggles and daily battles. It is only right that we – as black and brown folk – get the opportunity to explore the world and do so beautifully.

What is always puzzling to me when I travel, is the element of shock or disbelief on the faces of flight attendants or other fairer skinned travellers. A legitimate sense of “how is she here”?

Often-times, people assume I am American or British when travelling to holiday destinations because, of course, they have the “dolla dolla bill, ya’ll”, so that would be the only reason a black woman travels.

The worldly narrative – thanks mainstream media – positions black people as struggling and fighting for our lives. This is true in many regards. But it is not the only narrative that exists. There are black people who travel. I have been travelling with my family since I was a kid.

Black people know what it means to be looked down upon – especially when you hold the wrong passport. The ‘green bhombha’ – as our Zimbabwean passport is not-so-fondly called – will get you treatment that leaves you questioning your desire to travel. I have legitimately been sidelined as the only person of colour travelling with a flight attendant calling me aside – very loudly – to question the validity of a visa I had. “Ma’am, I need you to step aside please!” was shouted across the waiting area for all to hear. I was made to sit in shame while they ‘verified my visa’ and when – lo and behold it was valid – a whispered apology was given to me with nearly all other passengers who had borne witness to my humiliation having boarded the plane. I felt like saying “Nah, man! Keep the same energy and loudness you had when humiliating me for the apology during the people.” But I let it go. I had to keep it pushing and make my flight.

Passport privilege is no small secret. Applying for visas as a green bhombha holder is an extreme sport of patience, will, understanding and high-level perfectionism. It will drag you through the mud and leave you out to dry.

Even with all those obstacles and hurdles I have faced, my desire to travel has not diminished. I hunger and thirst to see the world – maybe even moreso – than I did before. I seek to explore what the world has to offer and do so with joy.

I distinctly remember being in Venice for a birthday trip and saddened at how few – if any – people looked like me. And I mean the African me. I asked myself “when will it be normalised for us to see the world and not be discriminated against in doing so?”

We too have dreams of seeing places and exploring new things. We too ought to see a world that has shaped mainstream media and our societies. We, too, deserve it all. Don’t we? After all, we too are wanderers.