Ndi Umuzungu

I was sitting on the bus today and I happened to sit next to a very nice man who asked if he could practice speaking English with me. As we talked I found out he used to train peace corps volunteers and actually works with a response volunteer at a university near by. Our conversation continued and he mentioned my skin color. Now it is not news to me that I am a white women who sticks out like a sore thumb in a nation of black individuals, but he started to point out that the lighter skinned women next to him has skin more like mine than like his. At first I was taken back by these remarks and didn’t know how to respond but I started thinking. He never said any of our skin types were bad or that one was better than the other he simply stated the fact that they were different. I began to think about how this remark would have been different if I was on a bus in Colorado. I assume there would have been strong reactions from everyone. People would have felt uncomfortable and even gotten angry at the thought of a man pointing out this difference because many in America believe we should not see the color of our skin and that it is racist to discuss this difference because someone would obviously mean one of us is inferior. And many of you reading this may also believe that but to this man it was simply a fact that made us different. living in a country where the roles are reversed and I am the ministry has allowed me to reflect on this aspect of my life.

As a white American women in the United States I never identified myself as white. It was not a thing that I needed to think about on a daily basis or that defined different aspects of my life but here in Rwanda sometimes it feels that it’s my only identity. As I walk down the street everyday I am called umuzungu (foreigner)

telling me my skin is like a giant sign pointing out how I am different from those around me. While umuzungu is not a derogatory term in Kinyarwanda, sometimes it feels like it but not in a way that people are trying to put me down or make me feel inferior. When people call me umuzungu what many are saying is you are a traveler who can afford to come here therefore you have a lot of money and can afford to give some away. My skin, even in this black nation, gives me more privilege, people do things for me without asking, they make an extra seat on the bus for me, they bring me eggs to my door so I don’t have to go to the market. But with this extra privilege also comes with more harassment. Due to the color of my skin people assume I have money, so I get asked for money wherever I go, my village assumes I will be able to fund any project they desire, and people believe I can pay twice the price for the same services, men also believe they are allowed to say anything to us since American women are portrayed as easy and sexual. I believe it is also important to point out that different experiences a black volunteer has compared to a white one. While I can never speak on behalf of my fellow volunteers who are black, I have had the opportunity to discuss the differences in their experiences and it is important to know that there is a large difference purely based on our races. One of my fellow volunteers told me she rarely gets called umuzungu in the street and has never experienced having a parent tell their child to hug the umuzungu walking by (something I experience daily). She also said she gets very upset when people ask where she is from because the majority of the time the reaction is her being called a liar because one does not believe she could be American since Americans are white. While every volunteer has their own challenges in daily living here in Rwanda I believe it’s important to discuss how my race changes how I live on a daily basis. Since I am white, I do not go to a village close to mine because the children get aggressive and rude when encountering a white person, I check the price of everything with a Rwandan before I go to the market, I bring Rwandans with me when I need to negotiate for large things (a mattress or furniture) and almost everyday I am telling a man that I am not his wife, or a prostitute or that I will not visit his home. One phrase that is in my daily vocabulary is “ufite muco mubi” which means “you have bad culture.” This is actually a severe insult in Rwandan culture since Rwandans strive for kindness and manners, but I use it whenever someone asks me for money or food or a man says something inappropriate. In my community I also spend as little money as possible and never show my neighbors the extra luxuries I own (such as my gas stove or my computer). I am constantly trying to negate the assumption that I am a wealthy American which means I question everything I wear, show or buy because in the United States I was a Woman, but here in Rwanda I am a White Woman. While I do not like spending my time telling people they have bad culture or explaining that they should call me by my name instead of just umuzungu I can only hope that the volunteer that comes after me has to deal with this a little less that I have taught my village enough about my culture and that I have taught them an appropriate way to act around a person who is different and maybe the next volunteer could have it a little bit easier.