Black and White

For the first time in my life I am in the minority and honestly it is not nearly as much as I thought it would be. There’s being different and then there is really sticking out. And even with my lovely tan, I am white.

Very early on you get used to being called Mzungu, an affectionate term meaning white person. It is sort of the Ugandan version of the Thai’s Farang.

You also learn who to talk to, and what prices you should be charged. Find out the price from someone you trust before you leave on the transport, go to buy the pineapple, or barter for a shirt, or else you will find yourself paying two and three times more. It also helps to learn a little of the local language, so when the sales person calls out bitano to the local and 1000 to you, you can point out that you would be paying twice the price. Even if you don’t want the item, the look of shock when the vendors realize that you understand is completely worthwhile.

Interestingly enough it is assumed all white people have money and are in positions of power. It is never questioned when you make an appointment with someone, you will have it. Doors are never closed to Mzungus, people are always made available and no one second guesses a decision. It is very strange to be treated as a first class citizen 24/7. No matter who you visit, the good china comes out and the best foods prepared. You are required to sit in the best chair, or at the head of the table. You will take your food first. And if you try to clear the table, the world would come to an end I’m sure.

The part that makes this difficult though is that I feel totally undeserving of such treatment. I don’t feel like my colour is what should be honoured. I want to be liked because I am me and not because I am white.

And that is what is most difficult about being white – never knowing why someone has introduced themselves to you, or why they want to know you. I want to believe that people find me interesting and fun, but everyone here has at least one story otherwise. Someone wants a visa, or money, or sometimes it’s the chance to be seen with a white partner. White is a status symbol.

As a tall, white woman, who travels like locals across the city by herself (during the day), I stand out. Men regularly stare, catcall, and ask me if I will marry them. When I pass to close in the market both men and women grab my wrist to pull me towards their stalls to look at goods. The word mzungu is uttered in conversations happening around me, as if I don’t realize they are talking about me. When I walk with any of my male friends some men will make crude comments or ask where they can find a mzungu woman to take care of them.

But deeper meanings aside, the colour of the people here is beautiful. They are so dark. And despite Persis’ promise that she also was white and turned dark after spending time in the sun, her colour is something I could only dream of. The worst part, both of us would switch in a heartbeat. Just to give the other a break from our colour. But together they are a beautiful combination.