Kenya Dig It? ~ My Name Is Mzungu
Nov. 21st, 2007 01:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
If you read guidebooks or language books or something about Kenya, you will doubtless be aware of the open-air markets. These are not simply where you can get oranges or coconuts or something. You can get anything you want on Market Street from, underpants to stereos. Here in Mombasa, Macy's has no walls.
What they don't mention is how shopping is not a happy language-tape discussion.* Walk down this street and pretty quickly you'll begin to feel like you're the belabored tall guy in Dr. Seuss' Green Eggs and Ham, with hundreds of merchandise-wielding Sam-I-Ams descending upon you in a bid for your money:
Would you, could you buy this soap?
You'll buy the perfume too, I hope!
Would you, could you buy a ring?
Or any other sparkly thing?
Would you, could you buy some pants?
A shirt? Some socks? Just take a chance!
Buy this suitcase! Buy this shawl!
Buy this khanga! Buy them all!**
The really unfortunate thing about it is that this does not happen to everyone who goes to shop there. It happens to me and my fellow students because we are obvious foreigners, or, not to put too fine a point on it, white.
It's been a bit of an interesting discovery for me--finding out I'm white. Salt Lake City is the sort of place where the phrase "race relations" has about as much bearing on everyday life as the prhase "freak tsunami" does. So while I was vaguely aware I was white, and tried to educate myself as well as I could about being white, there is only so much one can do without practical experience. And here, I'm getting it--I am learning that I am white, and that it means that I get a different sort of attention than I would if I were not white.
I get more attention. Attention that usually centers around one thing: the indisputable fact, held to be self-evident here, that white people have money. And the power that comes with money. I cannot say that I now know what it's like to be in a minority culture, because it doesn't work like a photonegative. Here I get a lot of people coming up to sell me things, charging me absurdly marked up prices because hey, I can afford it, or just trying to wheedle some money out of me for pretend services like "showing" me how to get from one end of the street to the other. Children who speak no other English know enough to hold out their hands and say, "Give me ten shillings!"--not just beggar children, but schoolchildren. Some people just hover around in the hope that my money is contagious, chatting me up in a way that is reserved for foreigners. I've begun answering to "Hey, mzungu!" A mzungu is a white foreigner, most properly a European, but casually anyone. People shout it all the time.
It's somewhat disheartening, because I'm seeing the effect of some deplorable history on my own relations with people. And I know that I'm missing some golden opportunities for actual friendship, because not everyone thinks like this--not by a long shot--but enough do that friendly advances are suspect. And that's annoying.
I don't know what to do about this, but it's a good thing for me to see that it exists. I'm trying to get past it with people I want to be friends with. But till then, when kids shout "Hey, mzungu," I'll answer, because that's my name now.
*Anyone who expects the world to go like a language tape is in for a rude surprise no matter WHERE they are.
**Answer: I will not buy your god damn stuff!
And I've had just about enough!
What they don't mention is how shopping is not a happy language-tape discussion.* Walk down this street and pretty quickly you'll begin to feel like you're the belabored tall guy in Dr. Seuss' Green Eggs and Ham, with hundreds of merchandise-wielding Sam-I-Ams descending upon you in a bid for your money:
Would you, could you buy this soap?
You'll buy the perfume too, I hope!
Would you, could you buy a ring?
Or any other sparkly thing?
Would you, could you buy some pants?
A shirt? Some socks? Just take a chance!
Buy this suitcase! Buy this shawl!
Buy this khanga! Buy them all!**
The really unfortunate thing about it is that this does not happen to everyone who goes to shop there. It happens to me and my fellow students because we are obvious foreigners, or, not to put too fine a point on it, white.
It's been a bit of an interesting discovery for me--finding out I'm white. Salt Lake City is the sort of place where the phrase "race relations" has about as much bearing on everyday life as the prhase "freak tsunami" does. So while I was vaguely aware I was white, and tried to educate myself as well as I could about being white, there is only so much one can do without practical experience. And here, I'm getting it--I am learning that I am white, and that it means that I get a different sort of attention than I would if I were not white.
I get more attention. Attention that usually centers around one thing: the indisputable fact, held to be self-evident here, that white people have money. And the power that comes with money. I cannot say that I now know what it's like to be in a minority culture, because it doesn't work like a photonegative. Here I get a lot of people coming up to sell me things, charging me absurdly marked up prices because hey, I can afford it, or just trying to wheedle some money out of me for pretend services like "showing" me how to get from one end of the street to the other. Children who speak no other English know enough to hold out their hands and say, "Give me ten shillings!"--not just beggar children, but schoolchildren. Some people just hover around in the hope that my money is contagious, chatting me up in a way that is reserved for foreigners. I've begun answering to "Hey, mzungu!" A mzungu is a white foreigner, most properly a European, but casually anyone. People shout it all the time.
It's somewhat disheartening, because I'm seeing the effect of some deplorable history on my own relations with people. And I know that I'm missing some golden opportunities for actual friendship, because not everyone thinks like this--not by a long shot--but enough do that friendly advances are suspect. And that's annoying.
I don't know what to do about this, but it's a good thing for me to see that it exists. I'm trying to get past it with people I want to be friends with. But till then, when kids shout "Hey, mzungu," I'll answer, because that's my name now.
*Anyone who expects the world to go like a language tape is in for a rude surprise no matter WHERE they are.
**Answer: I will not buy your god damn stuff!
And I've had just about enough!
no subject
Date: 2007-11-21 05:20 pm (UTC)B) Seussian mannerism wins.
C) I've never been anywhere where I had the experience of being other in such a way; it sounds fascinating, thought-provoking, and rather unsettling.