Dépigmentation de la peau-Le paradoxe lumineux : gagner en perdant
In Senegal, we speak of yokkou teint, which literally means "increasing one's complexion," as if the skin were an unfinished painting and that each cream, each potion could add an extra glow to an already complete work. We say we increase one's complexion, and in the smile of the one who pronounces these words, there is this silent promise that by erasing one's melanin, one gains something. But melanin, faithful companion of sunny days and mild nights, is not a flaw to be corrected. Yet it is sold as an obstacle, a small speck too many on the page that one dreams of as immaculate. And we run after this artificial clarity that costs, that burns, that carries away with health and money, as if beauty were measured in chemicals and not in true reflections of life on the skin.
The paradox is both delicious and cruel. We applaud a gain that is first and foremost a loss, we smile at a conquest that erodes identity. And yet, it's not about making a case for dark skin against all others, as if lighter shades were the enemy. It's about celebrating the natural palette, from deep browns to subtle golds, from soft coppers to steaming coffees, each shade a story, each reflection a solar legacy. Beauty is not measured by the number of faded tones but by the richness of those we wear with pride and without shame.
And there comes the humor, or rather that ironic smile we put on the drama. Yokkou complexion. Increase your complexion. As if nature had made a mistake and a few tubes were enough to correct fate. We imagine we'll become more radiant by becoming less ourselves, and everyone applauds, convinced that social success comes through chemistry and not confidence. We sell dreams at a high price, we chase the illusion that light is necessarily superior to dark. And we forget that each shade of skin has its own radiance, its own warmth, sometimes more daring and poetic than that promised by the cream.
The ultimate irony is that we celebrate gain while losing what matters most: health, money, and sometimes a little bit of ourselves. But if we laugh for a moment at these contradictions, it's not to mock individual choices, but to remind us that the perception of beauty is not uniform and that true luxury is knowing how to admire the natural tones that inhabit each skin, with all their depth, light, and infinite nuances.
Commentaires (6)
Khess mo rafet.
Kholalma ces paroles de mouton ! De compléxés ! Des gens comme toi doivent etre pendu par les c... et vous etes les causes des problèmes dans nos sociétés ! Tete vide et très con!
Merci Aicha pour le theme choisi
La femme africaine, plus le tein est foncé, plus le regard et le sourire sont sublimes. Plus le ton est foncé, plus longtemps elle reste jeune, la peau reste ferme, les seins et le pare-choc arrière restent toujours bien accrochés. Rien ne dégouline. C'est un régal tout au long de la vie. A la mosquée, à la prière du Guéw, dès le ASSALAMOU ALEIKOUM, les vieux aux femmes noires plient bagages.
Merci mon Dieu de m'avoir fait noir, d'avoir créé la femme noire pour mon bonheur.
Aucune analyse pertinente.Auteur trop pédant qui a étouffé l' humour dans le texte....
Les plus belles sénégalaises que j'ai vu sont d'un noir d'ébène. Elles ont quelque chose de spécial. Je n'ai jamais compris pourquoi on assimile la beauté à la clarté. En Afrique tu peux être moche, si tu es claire on te dit belle, même si tu as la peau délavée à cause du xessal.
Je ne comprends pas....
Beaucoup de sénégalais et sénégalaise sont psychologiquement instables. Ils ne vivent que dans le regard des autres, et dans le m'as-tu-vu. C'est cela qui justifie les vols, escroqueries (pour vivre au dessus de ses moyens), tout comme le xessal, et le jeu favori de la séduction pour trouver "un bon mari".
Ils et elles sont incapables d'exister par leur travail, leurs idées ou leurs accomplissements. Non, ils sont et restent dans des apparences.
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