you can't have your cake and eat it too

yesterday zoe and i went to the large nakawa market in attempt to buy some basic items for child we are sponsoring in the village. this market is one of the big outdoor markets that sells everything from vegetables to underwear.  there is no order, no ailes, it's just stands filled with stuff- most of which looks like the leftovers from Goodwill- the remains after being picked through in other richer countries. 

we walked, very inconspicuously (haha) through rows of women sitting on mats peeling peanut shells, through tarps lined with colorful plastic items and old dusty shoes, over the road of dirt and corn husks, dodging boda's and an18 wheelers (trying to turn around) and bicycles, trying to find sheets and a mattress and trunk. 

we came to a woman unloading a bag of linens so i asked her how much for the sheets-
"30,000 shillings" (this is about 13$ per sheet) and they were used.  so i told her truthfully that i knew i could buy them here new for 11,000 each.  she looked at me,  "30,000." it was her final offer.  i was annoyed.  i felt taken.  i knew that if i were ugandan, a ugandan who regularly comes to the nakawa market- they'd be 10,000 at the most.  so i walked away muttering something about things being unfair because i'm a muzunu and that i'm sick of it.

then i had an epiffany.  really?  you are surprised? you think it should be different?  you think you should drive in here in your "fancy" "new" 1996 car, with your leather purse and be treated the same as the people who live here, walk barefoot here, buy their airtime in 50 cent portions because they can't afford more? you think you should be asked to pay the same even though proportionally you have so much more than 3x their funds?

doh.  i had turned it into a 'white thing'  i had turned it into predjudice. i'm a muzungu, i'm getting taken advantage of.  but the truth is i am a wealthy foreigner, comparatively.  the truth is, i'm not ugandan, even if i live her for 20 years, and speak perfect lugandan, i will still be a muzungu, so will my kids.  i will still have more than the people selling tomatos and sheets at nakawa market.  i still am a US citizen with all the priveledge and rights and status that comes with that.  i am educated, i grew up in an evironment that taught critical thinking, i believe we have influence in what happens in our lives, that we can change circumstances, that we have power.  i believe these things because no one has shown me otherwise.  because i wasn't orphanged by another tribe slaughering my village.  because i know that if i get sick- i can and will receive treatment.  that if disaster were to strike- there are places i can go, people who would help. because i can move, because i can use a credit card, because i have choice. 

the bottom line is my muzungu-ness does mean something- like it or not.  so i really can't have my cake and eat it too.  i can't have all the priviledge that comes with being an american, and all the 'benefit' of buying  market products as cheap as the locals.  and i'm okay with this.

i'll keep my cake, and instead of eating it, i'll share it.  or maybe i'll open a bakery :). 

minority report

sometimes i forget the color of my skin.  i forget that i stand out, that i look very different. but then i'll look down and see how pale my arm is compared with everyone else's arms, because in uganda, pretty much everyone is black- everyone.  somehow i don't feel uncomfortable even though people stare at me, and shout 'muzungu'.  somehow i feel like i'm one of them.

except when driving.  there is definitely a difference in who gets pulled over. muzungu's.  i think especially muzungu women.  it's now been 4 times.  the legitimate time i was overtaking on a solid line, the crazy time for a "u-turn", once for 'i just wanted to check your car'  what?? and once with mike for having the wrong type of insurance sticker (still not sure that is legit- since he couldn't have seen that from far off).  so now i am extra careful on the road-which is good- but i'm also really nervous whenever i see a policeman- i almost feel inappropriately guilty-just because and i get shifty eyed- do i smile at them? do i make eye contact? do i absolutely look the other way?  which seems more innocent?  i imagine this must similar to how an african american man feels in my country if he's in a nice neighborhood wearing a hoodie.  that he might get pulled over for anything- or worse for nothing.

i'm going to share a story that usually resides somewhere in the 'hidden' section of my brain- the 'blocked' area- the 'no-need-to-go-back-there' section.  one cold wet slippery fall night in boston, when driving back from my chemistry class, i hit a pedestrian.  well he may have hit me- i'm not sure- but he was the one who got hurt.  he was an older irish drunk guy who stumbled out of a bar and  right into the street where i was driving.  i slammed on my breaks but it was too late.  i'll never forget that "thump" and then him rolling over my car and landing on the road.  i was 23 and was pretty sure my life was over.  for a second i thought i'd killed him.  the guy behind me pulled over and called 911- maybe several people did- it was a blur.  there was an ambulance there in a second (i think it had happened right next to the fire station).  i was in shock.  this nice guy who pulled over was doing his best to comfort me and reassure me that the pedestrian was conscious and talking and not at all dead.  i was still sure that i was going to jail.  no- he said- i saw the whole thing- there was nothing you could have done.  this kind man happened to be african american. 

in the middle of all this- people began pouring out of the irish pub to see what was happening.  half of them were this pedestrians irish brothers.  they took a look at their brother being loaded into an ambulance, then at me and this black dude and they put it together just as they wanted to.  they blamed it on him.  the cop who came to the scene was also irish, (nothing against the irish- i promise), and he began to question this guy who was helping me.  i jumped up and explained that i was the driver of the car that hit the man.  i explained that this guy had stopped to help.  they wouldn't listen.  then, even the cop,  told me i shouldn't cover for this guy- who was clearly driving my car when it happened.

i couldn't believe it. right before my eyes- i was about to be exonerated for something i had done, and it was about to be blamed on this innocent man because he was a black man and i was white woman. i was furious and rapidly came out of my state of shock, grabbed the insurance papers from my car- and my liscence to make the case- re-explained that i'd never met this man before in my life so why would he be driving my car (i'm actually surprised they didn't turn it into a car-jack story too).  after it was clear that i did infact own the guilty car and was the driver- i thanked the gentleman accused for stopping to help and apologized-- for my race, for the strife between the irish and the african americans in boston, for the absolute injustice in life- well- i wanted to anyway.

it was eye opening.  it was deeply disappointing. prejudice is real.  real and scary.

now i'm the minority.  i can't blend in.  and as much as i hate getting pulled over so often- i am thankful for the experience of knowing a little of what it feels like to be on the other side. because it messes with your head. in my car, when i see a policeman i feel nervous and insecure but also angry.  i feel both 'less-than' and a righteous indignation that leaves me feeling 'more than'.  i feel a victim of authority and a lack of respect for the one in authority. it's complicated.

so i'm a muzungu in a land of beautiful darker skin.  a land filled with beautiful people inside and out.  people who 99.9% of whom have made me feel so welcome.  people who have helped me feel so comfortable- even in my own pale skin. 

"Let us all hope that the dark clouds of racial prejudice will soon pass away and the deep fog of misunderstanding will be lifted from our fear-drenched communities, and in some not too distant tomorrow the radiant stars of love and brotherhood will shine over our great nation with all their scintillating beauty."

MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR., Letter from a Birmingham Jail, 1963

"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere."  MLK jr.

muzungu

when we first went to uganda zoe was 4.  she was a tiny little girl with a mop of blonde hair.
everywhere she went ugandan kids would point and laugh and shout "muzungu- zungu!!"

muzungu means "foreigner" in most bantu languages.  zoe with her extra pale skin and white hair received the name "muzungu-zungu"  - 'extra white'.  she of course hated this and once she found out what it meant she would shout back, "i'm not a muzungu!  i'm an african girl!"  which just made the kids laugh harder.  7 years ago most of the kids didn't speak english- and she didn't understand that they were laughing because they were excited to see her- some one who looked so different- someone so foreign.

but i think zoe was on to something.  i think zoe kind of is an african girl.

this week mike and i are at a conference/ workshop on agriculture and health and culture and communication.  and as we've listened about the similarities and differences between our western american culture and east african culture - i'm thinking zoe might actually feel more at home in uganda.

our teacher shared a story about when he was teaching in congo.  he asked a student what was more: a half or a third.  their answer was "it depends".  this confused him, "it depends on what?"  the congolese student answered, "it depends on what you're comparing- a third of a banana is much bigger than half a coffee bean."  that is true, and brilliant.  it is more literal, more concrete- and that is how zoe thinks- outside of our western box.

her concept of time is more african, she doesn't process time linearly,  and she prioritizes people and relationships over 'getting things done'.

routine and dependability are important in africa and change can be threatening- zoe gets that.

westerners tend to compartmentalize things- to separate and divide life into parts- to order everything- while africans are better at holding onto the wholeness of life.  zoe shares this.

westerners tend to have a diminished perception of feelings and relationships compared to africans- zoe can quickly clue into people in a very perceptive way.

and east africans are way better with retaining the spoken message, with story telling, with not depending on the written word- that too, is zoe.

so i'm thinking that maybe she's right- she's not the muzungu she appears to be.  and perhaps while i'm struggling with framing my new cultural context, while i'm wading deep in the shock of adaptation, she'll be relaxing in a hammock, or chatting with a neighbor or eating a mango or petting a goat and breathing in the warmth of her new african home.  maybe she'll be feeling that she's found a place that 'gets' her.  and that makes me smile.