a lot to learn...*

Between Maggie's response to my "mzungus..." post and now, I've been doing quite a bit of (reluctant) thinking...

The change in voice between "google meru..." and "mzungus..." disturbs me. "Google Meru..." is open, introspective. "Mzungus..." is pretentiously sarcastic and the posterchild of intellectual elitism. "Mzungus..." makes me a lie: In that post, I don't let Kenya write its narrative through me. Instead, I analyze and critique a culture I've only been in four weeks. Of course, analysis and critique are not wholly inappropriate here; they're key parts of being engaged in an experience. The problem, though, is that there was no humility in my assessment, no hint that maybe I could be wrong. It was just good old-fashioned "objective" academic diarrhea of the word processor. (smh @ myself)

Having been in the formal education system for 15 years, I've had my fair share of the academic runs. While it's healthy to shit, it shouldn't go on for a long time. If it does, or you suspect something's up, you should probably check your system. So, without further ado, I'm checking my system.

So. What, exactly, is wrong with me? What's enabling me to (poorly) forge Kenya's hand? For one, I think thought my Blackness transferable. I can't tell you the number of times I've gone to a shop or street market with other kids on the program, started haggling (unsuccessfully) with the vendor, and thought, "Man, I probably be savin HELLAS if I wasn't with these White ppl..." The truth of the matter is that my broken Swahili, Texas accent, and myriad other dead giveaways that I'm probably not aware of let's Kenyans know with a quickness that I'm American.

Now, don't get me wrong, having dark skin does grant me some privileges: I can walk down the street by myself and no one stares at me. I can... uh... I can... ummmm... damn. hm. I guess that's about it.

Clearly, my Black card has (extremely) limited currency here. Yes, when I talk to Kenyans, they're happy that I'm Black and I'm here. They immediately call me sister, whereas White students have to wait a while to hear that or never hear it. But I'm familiar enough with the culture to know sister is not an instant conferral of the privileges and burdens of being Kenyan.

All of the above should be self-evident, and it is (and was). But here's the thing: I bought into the transferability of my Blackness because I just straight up did not (and do not) enjoy being made synonymous with my White friends. While I realize that American/class identity trumps racial identity here, it's disconcerting that I'm seen as basically the same as students who hold (and accidentally express) tacitly racist views: i.e., A guy asked me if we were good enough friends for him to crack Black jokes. Quite a few of the students (sometimes) switch to "hip hop slang" (whatever that means, but I know you know what I'm talking about) when they talk to me. etc., etc.

Disconcerting as it may be, the Kenyans who call me mzungu - and, in doing so, lump me together with my tacitly racist White friends - may be on to something: I mean, did I not expect discounts at the street market? Did I not (wrongly) feel like an insider and smugly smh when I instantly understood fostering (unofficially adopting children in the family) when my White friends didn't? Have I not hoped for Black privilege?


...shit...

*maggie, if you're reading, don't think of this as biting. the perspective you've shared in your response and on your blog inspires me.