By James Fitzgerald I have to admit that my skin color has been a problem for me throughout my life: it’s pale, prone to blushing and gets incinerated by the sun in the blink of an eye. I envy anyone who has a complexion that isn’t reactive and can handle sunlight. All other things being equal, my friends of Kenyan and Caribbean origin really have it easy. Some of the most wholesome and selfless women I have met have had Caribbean, Indian and South American roots: generous, warm and caring to such an extent that you enter a private reality in their presence — of safety and nurture and self-worth. That’s not to say that I haven’t had negative experiences with people of other ethnicities: I had a Nigerian flatmate once who hated me on sight, because no doubt he took me for a middle class white boy who was…