You know, one of the things we think we know enough about? Racism. We know far too little. At least I didn’t.

I’m now regrettably familiar with racism. I’ve stared it in the face, daring it to try my African-bred resilience. Turns out racism loves a good challenge.

I’ve had a room not cleaned in a reputable hotel in the Hague. The Hague! The International City of Justice.

They cleaned everybody else’s room except the black lady’s. Perhaps that’s racism. Or perhaps the cleaner is superstitious about repdigits; my room number was 11.

I stood in front of an immigration agent in Barcelona who refused to clear me even though I had shared the documentation he needed.

He didn’t do that with all the Caucasian and Latino folk before me. Eventually, he noticed the stares from his fellow agents and said, “Ma’am, this is standard procedure.”

I believe that statement was more for him than me. Having travelled overnight from Nairobi through Doha, I was depleted of strength, patience, and even the holy spirit. Perhaps that’s why I responded calmly, “Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night, Sir.”

Then there’s the time an Arab man yelled at me on a plane because I mistakenly sat where one of his wives was meant to sit. He called me a “Stupid African….”

As I was still on call with my friend Diana, I excused myself to ensure he heard me correctly.

“Because somebody released you into the world half-raised, I’ll not be switching seats. Where I come from, we don’t take kindly to men who yell slurs. So, take your seat, Sir, before I wear you thin in front of your wives,” I said. I meant it.

He took his seat, startled, at my guts. I must have seemed like some kind of genetically engineered woman who doesn’t know her place.

Seated in a popular restaurant in Nairobi, I’d raise my hand repeatedly and watch as waiters ignored me, beelining instead for the Caucasian client who just walked in.

Is it racist when black people opt to pander to whiteness at the expense of their fellow black people? Or maybe it’s self-hate. Or resignation to the world order?

I still don’t have the answer.

I won’t engage you in a lengthy debate on what is or isn’t racism. Instead, I’ll talk to you about its aftermath.

Standing in front of a racist, for a good moment, you think, “Is it possible that I’m less than?” Racism doesn’t care about your accomplishments, the strength of your personality, or the conviction of your principles.

Racists count on that. They get a thrill from knowing you feel less than.

I’m speaking to those decent people who haven’t had to face this challenge. I want to give you the heads-up I wish someone had extended to me.

This article is not prescriptive. I’m radical, and that would be irresponsible of me. If you can’t tell by now, I’m type A and on the fiery side.

You are enough – just as you are. The person treating you this way has a malady.

Something in them needs to feel big by watching you feel small. If you can, deprive them of that feeling in your own way.

That way, we begin to hammer the message their corrupted brain desperately needs: This world belongs to us all – treat your fellow humans with the inherent dignity they come with.

It’s deeply saddening that this directive must come to some of humankind in the form of an article. Yet we argue that we are the more advanced species in human evolution.

How the mighty have fallen.

The writer is a pan-Africanist, a proponent for gender equality and an enthusiast for logic