“Mzungu, mzungu!”

I remember the first time I walked through the streets on my way to town with Mama Chiri. The children playing in the road outside our compound’s gate grew silent, their jaws dropped, and then came the shouts: “Mzungu, mzungu!” It’s the Swahili word for “white person”. When their friends heard the word, they came running, too. I am quite the spectacle. I figure this is the closest I’ll ever come to achieving celebrity status. The only way someone in America would attract these many eyeballs and this much attention is if they had three eyes or lime green skin. I honestly feel like a Martian sometimes.

Almost every day of the week I travel to ocha (that’s Sheng for “rural”) primary schools for de-worming programs with Mary Ben and Victor Rotich. Most of these kids have never seen a white person in real life before, and it shows. As soon as I appear on campus, every lesson is ignored as kids from each classroom start whispering and crowding the windows and even beckoning me to come and greet them.

One time, Denno (it’s a common nickname for anyone named Dennis) took me to town for a soda. The restaurant we went to is called New Salama Hotel. (Here, a hotel does not provide lodging. Just food. At first I didn’t understand why such a small town needed so many places for visitors to stay until I learned that hotels are restaurants. That makes much more sense.) We were sitting by the window on the third floor, looking out over the busy main road. We finished our bottled sodas and started to walk past other tables on our way out. One customer who hadn’t seen me earlier was so startled to see a mzungu that he gawked at me the whole way out, turning in his seat to watch me leave. He completely forgot about the glass he was holding and it slipped out of his loosened hand after he rotated past the table. The glass shattered when it hit the floor and the whole place, including me and Denno, died laughing.

Mum tells me that I’ve scored us several free rides and all of Dennis’ friends are extra generous towards me. I’ve never been so well-liked before. The children at the schools declare their love for me (in mother tongue) before I leave and a day doesn’t go by that someone (or two or three) doesn’t invite me to eat at his/her home. I’ve even had several marriage proposals. I’m flattered every time, even though I know it has nothing to do with who I am and everything to do with the color of my skin. Am I pro-racism if I like being treated differently for my skin-color?