Getting Old

When reading the title of this blog entry, you might have though it would be about getting old in Africa; after all, Robyn did just turn 30! Well, as much as I would like to talk about how many more wrinkles or gray hairs I have since moving to Africa, this blog is about something else. This "something else" is the word Muzungu, or more accurately, the use of Muzungu directed towards me. It is getting really, REALLY old.

The word means something like "white person" and is usually not outwardly hostile or derogatory, which is the only good thing about this word. When almost every individual under 16 years old calls out, “Muzungu! Muzungu!” when you walk by, the novelty wears off—fast. They say it with a smile on their faces, they shout it out from 100 yards away, and they say it behind my back. I think it is one of the first words they learn (I am not kidding). It would be understandable if the Tanzanians in Bagamoyo or Dar rarely saw white people, but this is simply not the case. I didn’t realize that we (white people) were that interesting as to warrant the announcing of our presence so that everyone in the nearby vicinity knows that a white person is walking through the town.

I have been trying to think of a way to describe this experience to you all. It is not like getting called “nerd” or “jock” or “cracker”—those are too negative. It is more like every young person (and a few adults) you walk by at the mall, super market, or restaurant calls out your home state, “Michigan” or “California”. It is not offensive, you don’t feel threatened, and when little kids say it, it is even kind of cute. But imagine that being your identifier to everybody in town for the rest of life. And this nickname is not your own; everybody shouts it out towards all your friends and family. Over time, it moves from being funny to being really annoying.

I recently read a blog entry from my cousin Jon who is a Peace Corp worker in Mali, where he writes that he gets called “taubab” frequently, so it appears that this phenomenon is not unique to Tanzania. That’s nice. Oh well, I am not going to change the culture, so guess I just have to grin and bear it for now. However, I am beginning to learn new ways to respond, as ignoring it just makes them shout it louder. Nothing mean or derogatory, but I say it with enough fake enthusiasm and sarcasm that that the older ones get the message that I don’t appreciate the word. Regardless, life continues to be good here in Bagamoyo, though it is about time for another adventure.