My biggest emotional challenge here is getting used to being so conspicuous. There is simply no “blending in” in a public setting. Conversely, my happiest moments are here are when I really do feel a part of things, when I am with Congolese who know me well enough to be completely unimpressed by my presence, who treat me as a friend. Those warm, wonderful moments of feeling part of the group, connected, at home. Like I belong here.
I have an ongoing internal debate over the word “muzungu” (the Swahili term for a foreigner, specially a white foreigner). Like many epithets, I don’t mind using it about myself in a self-deprecating joke, i.e. “Ah, we wazungu are so feeble, we have to drink filtered water or we get sick! And our skin is so weak that we have to cover it from the sun or we’ll turn into nyama choma (roasted meat).” But I bristle when someone yells it at me. Which happens all the time. Children in particular, if they see us walking down a road, come running, pointing and yelling “Muzungu! Muzungu!” Vendors in the market yell it at us, as do motorcycle taxi drivers.
One strategy is to smile and wave, like a celebrity being yelled at by fans. (Though usually I feel more like a clown with a huge red nose and floppy shoes that everyone has come to point and laugh at. I obligingly wave and smile, aware that, indeed, I am quite the spectacle.) Another strategy is to ignore it, as if the kids are being impolite and should not be encouraged. Or to try and encourage them to be more polite by setting a good example, responding with “Jambo!” or “Bonjour!”… you know, the way you greet an actual *human being*, not some kind of walking freak show. (Ahem... pardon the strong feeling there.)
As with most things, getting angry is never the solution. Humor is always, always better. A few nights ago, I was walking home alone after dark - NOT a good idea! - and had the following exchange (translated from French). Two guys passed me from behind and one said (without really looking at me) "Muzungu, muzungu, good evening!" I immediately prickled and said nothing. But, aware of my vulnerability, I also didn't want to offend and make them mad. Causing someone to lose face in public (such as by ignoring them) is not especially wise. So I tried joking to veil my anger: "That's not a name! Shouldn't you say 'Good evening, madame'?" They answered, "But you're a muzungu, right? You're a muzungu!" "Okay, yes. But would you like it if I said, 'Good evening, Congolese'?" "Yes, that's good, we would like that!" Then the conversation took a new direction: "So, where you going? Do you live around here?" I started thinking how I could end it and not have them follow me down the darkening street. Thankfully, a Congolese friend and his daughter appeared just then, and escorted me home, and the two guys faded into the night. I had fun telling our friend's 7-year-old son how his Daddy and sister had saved me from the bad guys (using great exaggeration, which is completely fine with kids).
I am trying now to be more positive about being yelled at and being called "muzungu". I'm trying to interpret it as a sign that they are glad I’m there and want to connect with me in some way. And I think this is very often the case. So I try not to take offense. If someone greets me with “Jambo, muzungu!” that is at least more polite than just pointing and staring or yelling. “Bonjour, madame” is even better, and I'll always answer... it would be very rude to ignore a greeting like that.
And “Jambo, mama!”… that is probably my favorite. It has an affectionate feeling, almost like they see me as someone who belongs here. :)
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