muzungu!

Every day after work this week, Jessica and I have been taking walks. The office in Ssembabule is located at the top of a rolling hill, surrounded by other rolling hills, and from the top there are four roads leading in different directions… so we decided to try out each road and then decide which way we like the best. We both already agree on our front-runner, which is the quietest road with the least amount of traffic. However, although there is less traffic, the two of us create quite the spectacle and entertainment for everybody else that we encounter. Oftentimes as we walk, a crowd of people gradually accumulates behind us. Kids who are walking home from school walk slowly in order to stay in step with us and stare at us strange, strange muzungus. Sometimes they say “Hello, how are you?” or “Good evening, madam,” which I’m guessing , may be the extent of their English. I often wave at kids who are staring at me like I’m a creature from the deep, and they usually wave back, and then often run back to their families, most likely to report that there is a weird colorless person wandering around their neighborhood.

I had heard that this happens in East Africa, as well as in other countries of the world, so I expected it, but I had never personally experienced it until this trip. I also can’t tell if people are interested in me or terrified of me… I think sometimes both. It doesn’t really bother me, particularly when the gawkers are children. When they’re adults, it’s a little more uncomfortable, but I usually just say hello and keep walking. I think that after a while, it will either wear on me a lot more, or I’ll become immune to it… but I’m not sure which.

When I was in Kampala for orientation, walking around a market with Azida (a WellShare staff member), vendors shouted “muzungu” (translation: “white person”) at me and tried to sell me things. Azida explained to me that I shouldn’t be offended, and that it’s just the same as if she were in the US and somebody said, “Hey, black person!” The thing is, though, that wouldn’t fly in the US… so it’s not really the same thing. But I didn’t want to get into a debate about it, so I didn’t say anything. I really do understand that they don’t mean harm by saying it, and it’s really just a cultural difference. It’s definitely an interesting experience… humbling, almost, because I, like many Americans, am so used to blending in with the crowd wherever I go, and I take that anonymity for granted. To be so visibly and obviously out of place somewhere has never happened to me before.