obscure origins

As a teenager, I was on a youth expedition to Jamaica, studying plants and was bemused to find many locals asking whether I was Cuban. More recently, in France, some have thought I was German, in Egypt, Lebanese and, just recently someone thought I might be Moroccan, like himself.

Sure, in bygone times, when I had hair, it was long and very curly. I also tan extremely though abhor sunbathing and tend to keep to the shadows if the sun is hot. However, being white, British, I am a little baffled by this though also a little pleased as I delight in our diverse origins and am very attracted to the idea that random genes showing through might be indicative of exotic ancestry. Perhaps that might also arise from a lifelong feeling of being on the fringes of society or any groups I might nominally belong to.

My father and late uncle spent some time tracing our family history to various corners of the British Isles and the unusual family name to Pembrokeshire – nothing especially exotic except for a maternal great-grandfather called Wallace Omar, so last year we took the plunge with DNA ancestry. Although not quite as expensive as it once was, it’s still not cheap so the most finely detailed options not really affordable. I waited with baited breath for the results only to be faced with the anti-climax of discovering my origins were pretty bog standard Northern European. Yawn.

I suppose I had succumbed to our modern desire to be different, special, individual.