Of all the things that have ever been shouted to me on the street, I mind “Mzungu” (and its other Bantu equivalents) least. In America, we would think this rude beyond imagining, a barefaced contradiction of the noble lie of a colorblind society. Here, for me, it’s a reminder that our foreigness in Nkokonjeru is privileged, that no matter how good our intentions or hard our labors there is always a degree of voyeurism in short-term work, and that there is a reason (historical and exploitative) why visitors are viewed as oddities, wealthy, or targets.
Nkokonjeru has a platoon of aid workers here at any given time, staying for anywhere between 2 weeks to 3 years. The longer you stay, the more the community should know you: at a certain point, you’d like the children in your neighborhood to yell (if they must yell) your name rather than your foreigness. If your stay lasts months upon months, you can learn the language, build real relationships, and attempt as much you can to be a member of a community. Still, though, you are privileged: you chose to come here and you will leave when your contract is up.
For shorter stays, it is arrogant to believe that you can be accepted as a member of the community rather than as a transitory oddity. Why learn to recognize the Westerners (they all look the same anyway) you’ll never speak to when they’ll just leave after 2 months or 3, only to be replaced by another few? Better to refer to “Mzungu” or “Abazungu” than to try and keep them straight. People here know what we sometimes forget: our time here is short and we are both stranger and less unique than we would like to think.
Of course, as soon as it's not a small child doing the yelling, things change. It's still pretty rude for one adult to randomly yell at another on the street.
Interesting
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