When I was a child in the Netherlands, the festival of Sinterklaas was magic. Through the month of November, leading up to Dec. 5, I would slip out of bed at night, my sister asleep in our top bunk, and tiptoe to the living room. Sinterklaas, our version of Saint Nicholas, had arrived via steamboat from Spain, but I was really looking for Zwarte Piet, or Black Pete, his comical blackface assistant. Maybe Black Pete would tumble through the chimney, as we were told he did every year, and leave us presents.
As a brown girl of Surinamese descent, I was fascinated by Zwarte Piet.… Seguir leyendo »