Just Half
by Kenya Sider
Photo by Bruno Pires
“You’re just half of a black person, so you can only say half of that word,” Ebony sneered. The colour drained from Kenya’s face and for a second, the world went quiet. For her whole life, she had always considered herself to be black. To suddenly learn that that wasn’t the case was a shock.
“I can say the full word, but you can only say the first or second half. So pick one,” the girl continued, her face contorting into a smug grin. Kenya’s mouth wouldn’t move. It couldn’t. She couldn’t just pick one half of the word—it made no sense. She felt stuck. It felt like a part of her had been rejected—like she was a newspaper with no ink.
She was no longer black, yet her caramel coloured skin and dark curly hair displayed that she was very clearly not white…So what was she? The rest of that day was spent sitting on the dewy grass, watching people go by as she wracked her brain for the answer to that question. As the sun set and she returned to her cabin, Kenya still didn’t have the answer. “Who am I?” she thought aloud, splayed on her bunk in the empty room.
As the other girls wandered in, laughing together, she curled into a ball alone and wondered what a microscope zoomed in on her would see: just half.
Kenya Sider’s “Just Half” received second place in the BCPW’s 2025 Flash Fiction Contest. Kenya attends Bishop Allen Academy.