One of the gripes that has been gradually knowing away at me time travelling has been the response I get when I tell people that I’m British, or I see the different reactions I get to other travellers.

It’s certainly not any form of serious discrimination and I wouldn’t ever seek to belittle the suffering that genuine sufferers of racism have to deal with by equivocating my experience to theirs. But I do think it is worth reflecting on the difference in reaction to my identity than I get in the UK.

There is a joke that I always say that whenever people ask ‘where are you originally from’ I say ‘my mother’s womb’ as I’m not originally from any country other than the UK, but the more I experience it here, the more the joke wears thin.

Ordinarily, the conversation starts when I am asked where I am from or people go for a guess and shout ‘Indian’ at me! I always respond with ‘British’ – the Scottish patriot inside me longs for me to say Scottish but convincing people I am British is challenging enough rather than getting into intra-British identity politics!

Sometimes my response is accepted. More often than not there is a perplexed look or sometimes outright laughter. I used to always explain then that my family came from Pakistan but the longer I am here the less willing I am to do that: I don’t have to justify why I’m not white and am really starting to begrudge having to do so.

Recently when I was on a train in Egypt and I told someone in British, the chap I was talking to do and said something in Arabic to another passenger then left. I later asked what he had said and it turned out he was saying that obviously I wasn’t and why wouldn’t he tell him where I was really from!

Sometimes I end up getting into an argument as people repeatedly ask where I’m from and refuse to accept I’m British. Often they think I’m making fun of them and demand to know the truth!

Probably the most common response is ‘where are you really from?’ It’s a phrase that used to mildly irritate me but now really bothers me. Part of it is a communication barrier with people for whom English is a second language so I wouldn’t wish to be overly critical, but the premise of the question is that I can’t really be British and of course I am.

Fundamentally, it is just a reminder that no matter how much I am influenced by Pete Doherty rather than a Bollywood actor or how thick my Scottish accent is, to some people I will never fully belong.

I’m struck by the differing reactions when I am with white travellers compared to being alone. I remember going on a bike ride with my friend Antoine around rural villages in Zambia and being struck by the reaction from children to him compared to me.

I was generally left to my own devices but with Antoine, they stared and came over with a wide-eyed wonder and were desperate to touch him and talk to him. There was no prejudice in these innocent young children’s but it is just a reminder of the difference in perception when you aren’t white.

Also I noticed that when I was bartering for goods I would always get a better price when traveling alone. There is an ingrained view of white people = money and power which may or not be a hangover from colonialism.

There is a difference depending on what country you go to. In South Africa I didn’t encounter anything like this at all but perhaps that is natural in places like Cape Town where they are so used to tourists and having a diverse ethnic mix themselves.  The further north I travelled the more prevalent these types of questions come up however.

It was particularly the case in areas with less tourists and I suspect they come from ignorance rather than any true form of discrimination.

My overwhelming emotion is not one of anger to those Africans who make these throwaway remarks and it doesn’t alter my genuine affection for the many incredible people I have met on my travels. The reason it bothers me is that it is a reminder that my skin colour is still a differentiator for some people and affects the interactions I have.

Part of me thinks I am being hyper-sensitive over what I’m sure are innocent questions but it  is exhausting having to constantly justify your nationality and it’s an unpleasant feeling to being judged on your ethnicity.

My overriding emotion is actually relief that I live in a country that is so colour-blind. There’s plenty wrong with post-Brexit Britain but I genuinely forget that I am an ethnic minority as it is never an issue and never real that I am treated in any way differently because of it and that is something I will forever be thankful for.