We head out of guesthouse and into the courtyard to begin Insanity (a cardio workout)… and people come to sit and watch us… I have no idea what they are thinking as they watch “the white people” jump around. It doesn’t seem fun to me… sitting and watching a group of people exercise. But, this is normal. Just like the fact that our door is made of clear plastic, and we often have people, particularly a young boy, stop and stare at us as we sit in our dining area.
Being white in Africa…
I can probably best compare it to being a celebrity in the U.S.
You are noticed…
Followed…
Shouted at…
Watched…
Some of the attention isn’t so bad.
Like the children… They shout “mzungu” as they wave, chase after our van, run to hold our hand as we walk down the road…
I love kids, so I love the attention.
Here in Africa, I can walk up to any child and play with them. Kids from the neighborhood will come hold our hands as we walk down the road.
The way we approach children here would probably get the police called on us in the States. Parents back home do not really enjoy strangers coming up and playing with their kids.
I once had a mom walk up to me and ask me to shake her daughter’s hand… “She has always wanted to touch a mzungu…”
It makes you step back and think when things like this happen. I love the freedom of playing with the kids, but parents wanting me to touch their child’s hand because I am white…
Who do they think I am?
Honestly, the attention gets to me…
Sometimes it’s the fact that we are seen as money.
I want people to genuinely want to be my friend… not just choosing to be because of what they want from me.
But, when you can’t change something, you just see the positive side of it. People will listen to me… So, I see that as an open door to be able to share my faith and speak into their lives.
Ryan, Thomas, and I have been visiting a team in Kampala, Uganda. The ministry this week was teaching classes at the church each afternoon. We teach “basic life subjects” like budgeting and healthy family topics.
By the time our class finishes, school is out and there are kids everywhere. Most of them are carrying water jugs from the well at the bottom of the hill, up to their houses.
Ryan and I grabbed the jugs from the kids one day and had the kids lead us to their house… which took us to a small compound of houses.
That is where I met Haniifah and her son, Darwin.
Every day after class, I head over and sit with Haniifah. She has been teaching me different things about Ugandan culture.
Today was my last visit with her. The guys and I head to another team this weekend.
As I sat with her for the last time, her friend, Josephina, came and sat with us as well. Josephina started asking me about having a husband… “No, why don’t you have a husband? So, you have a boyfriend? No… Why no boyfriend? Do you want an African boyfriend? I have a friend… He is close by…”
(This is a typical conversation everywhere we have been.)
And then out of nowhere, she changed the topic and said something about plastic surgery.
I was super confused about what she was talking about. When I asked her to clarify, she said,
“I want to have plastic surgery so I can look like you.”
When I tell Haniifah and Josephina that they are beautiful, they don’t believe me. They think they have to look like me to be beautiful.
It sounds ridiculous; but, when I really think about it, it sounds so familiar…
It’s just like how every young girl grows up wanting to look like their favorite celebrity. And even as we grow up, we are always trying to look more and more like the way our “culture” says is beautiful. It is the same for the women here in Africa.
The major difference being… I am not a celebrity.
But sometimes I feel like one here, except that it is because of my skin color, not anything I did to become famous… It is an odd feeling. Definitely uncomfortable at times.
But, then again, if I was completely honest, people probably wouldn’t take the time of day to talk to me if my white skin didn’t make me stand out here. Just like everywhere else in the world…
people busy, doing their thing.
So, I guess that’s it…
My white skin is bitter sweet.
