white people and trap doors.

'back' when i was in college (about four months ago), i would pass my time (and/or just procrastinate) reading all sorts of blogs. nothing like this one, more like these:
failblog.org
mylifeisaverage.com
peopleofwalmart.com (this is a new personal favorite)
and one of the best...
stuffwhitepeoplelike.com

my 6th street family in philly just recently reminded me of the latter and i spent an hour catching up on all the entries i missed. after a while, i wanted desperately to add my own entry to the list of things that white people like: africa. white people LOVE africa. we love to talk about it, we love to give money to it, and we love love LOVE to visit. if i could lose a pound for every time i've heard the phrase, 'africa has stolen my heart' come out of a white girl's mouth - i could fit into my jeans from middle school. seriously.

and it's not that i don't like africa or being here - i would say that i am enjoying myself a solid 75% of the time. but i would so be lying if i said i didn't think about home all the time or that the majority of my 'heart' was here. this place is special - obviously. it offers PLENTY of things that the western world doesn't (100% hospitality, people who are genuinely content, bodas, and the best fruit in the world). but home is home. my african friends that have been to the west say that they wouldn't give up their home in africa for one we where are. why do white people so often act like this is better than home? different, yes. have i learned more lessons here? well sure. but everyone should love their home - i don't trust people that don't.

meeting white people here has begun to exhaust me. it starts with the casual once over. if my clothes are too clean or i'm not wearing my ugandan paper beads, i already have a couple strikes against me. i obviously haven't lived here long enough to have ruined all my clothes and invested in the local merchandise. and opening questions which seem harmless are actually just a quest for superiority. 'how long have you been here' is not a simple inquiry, but a challenge. whoever has been here the longest obviously wins. once you beat around the bush long enough, eventually the question, 'what are you doing here?' comes right out in the open. if we're being honest, this can be directly translated as 'are you helping africans more or less than i am?' if you work for an n.g.o. - two points. if you work with kids - at least three points...disabled kids - 10. if you are STARTING an n.g.o. - you win, hands down. i am exaggerating, but still - it can get a little intense.

sometimes, when meeting a white person here, i feel so scrutinized/judged that i'm tempted to say, 'hi - my name is rachel. i've been here four months, i work for a great organization, but i will never come to africa alone again. if i'm honest i would give my right to have children to fly home for the weekend and eat one of my mother's cookies.' it would just take a lot of the mystery away. it's like it's an eternal competition - who is doing more for africa? who knows more about africa? who is better at living in africa? and more importantly...who LOVES africa the most? i just want to let all the other people here know, you win. you love africa the most and you win the best white person in africa award.

again, i am exaggerating. i have a lot of white friends here that i love - most of the white people i meet here are great people that are dedicated to their mission and are passionate about helping people. but the intensity of the type of white people i described above can be so daunting that it overwhelms the goodness that has happened here.

on a similar, yet different, note - i read a book recently that really just made sense. the shackled continent by robert guest. he takes a fairly conservative viewpoint and walks through the history of some of the worst corruption in different african governments and his opinion on why things are the way they are and how they can get better. his overall view is that africa won't change and it can't develop until africans decide it needs to. other nations have been giving foreign aid (billions of dollars of foreign aid) for decades. and there are small victories here and there - but facts remain. civil wars are still happening, governmental corruption is still more commonplace than not, and AIDS and malaria still take lives every single day.

this brings me to another point - i may have written about it here before, but it's worth mentioning again. who am i to tell africans that their lives are difficult? one time, i was in zambia. we traveled for hours out to this remote part of the bush (see the posts from about a month ago for photos). we pulled up to this hut - literally, a hut. there was a skinny cow and some chickens. and harold, my translator and spiritual director from the CURE hospital said, 'now rachel...these people are very poor. but they don't know that. so let's not tell them.' we both giggled, but i instantly became very self conscious about the thousands of dollars worth of camera equipment i was toting around for the day. then i realized the magnitude of what harold said and it changed my entire view of africa. it is NOT my responsibility to 'fix' the lives of these people. they do not need my pity. they do not need my money. they don't need anything from me. but they deserve it.

there are the obvious things like clean water and food and shelter that i think that we should go out of our way to provide if at all possible. duh. but i'm just speaking about quality of life. it is not my job to judge someone's quality of life - ever. i don't say this to remove responsibility from myself. but - it is what it is. i hate that phrase. i used to think that people used it as a cop out. or just because they were really inarticulate. but sometimes i don't have anything else to say. there are still kids begging on the street. there are still riots and deaths because of disagreements between tribes. people are still living on pennies a day. and my running shoes still get stolen when i leave them outside. from the big stuff to the little stuff - it is what it is.

what was i talking about? oh yeah - white people. we.so.crazy.

story-time...this one as usual, is more fun for you guys than it was for me.

i live in what is called a 'compound.' there are four houses including mine and we live inside a fenced area and there is a gated entrance. we have a guard that 'stands duty' (or at least is supposed to) 24/7. i have gotten a little comfortable and a little too trusting lately. it's pretty muddy around where i live and my running shoes are often caked with dirt when i get back from a run. i got into the habit of leaving them outside and letting them dry out for a couple hours. some nights i would leave them out overnight, but it shouldn't be a problem. i assumed that the families i live next to wouldn't dare take my shoes, and there shouldn't be anyone else on the compound besides those of us who live there. wrong-zo. i left them out a couple weeks ago and in the morning, i had my ipod in, running clothes on, and keys in my hand, ready to lace up. i opened the door, and the shoes were just...gone. not there, not even a little. not even one. i brought my guard over and realized for the first time just how little english he speaks. i put my sambas on the porch and demonstrated someone sneaking up and taking them. miming thievery was a lot harder than i thought it would be. he didn't get it and i just looked like an idiot. it was 6:30 in the morning, both of us were tired, it was still a little dark out...bad combo. so - i stole my roomie's shoes and went on the run.

we're not even halfway done with this story yet...stick with me peeps.

a couple days later, i came to the realization that i was never going to see my shoes again and my roomie graciously gave me an extra pair that had been left behind by a former volunteer. they fit really well actually and i was super grateful that the replacement was that easy. but you know when you get a new pair of shoes and it takes a little to get the feel for them? you may do that almost trip move a couple times while you figure out the exact size of the shoe. i had a couple of those experiences the first two weeks, but me and the shoes are pretty well acquainted by now. i had a confident run yesterday - one of those where every song on the ipod is just right and you really find the groove.

i'm a firm believer in ending runs strongly. no matter how much donkey-trotting i do during the actual run - no matter how slow i take it up the hills, i always try to end with a bang. it's easy here cuz i run DOWN a massive hill to get to my house. it's nice to always feel like a champion at the end, and trust me - i take advantage of that hill to give me an ego boost, :). anyway...

so i always run fast down the hill and take a left into our little driveway. our gate to enter the compound is fairly large and a pain to open. they have conveniently designed it with a little trap door for people who just wanna walk through instead of drive. this trap door is what i use as my finish line for my runs and it's about 4 feet tall. i crouch down and run right through it (the guard kindly always leaves it open) and then i get to stop and huff and puff for about 10 minutes.

again, yesterday was a good run. it was one where you feel like you are the main character in a movie and the songs playing in your ears are the soundtrack to your life. john legend was blasting as i confidently turned into our lane and about 5 yards from the aforementioned trap door, crouched down to my entry stance. the crouch + the speed at which i was attempting + the new shoes i thought i knew = disaster. there is a small, miniscule even, mound of dirt outside the gate that proved itself worthy of recognition from now on. my shoe caught the top of this mound sending me straight into the ground hands first. i was surprised and hit the ground at a horribly awkward angle, resulting in a front somersault. i would have kept rolling had the aluminum gate not been there to stop be. i hit the gate head first, body to follow making a noise that sounded like really loud thunder...to round out the fall, an obscenely long string of snot shot out my nose and onto the ground (i'm still recovering from the flu). this all transpired in less than five seconds. as soon as i was in a sitting position and realized i wasn't actually hurt, i said out loud, 'did anyone see that?!' i looked around, there was no one. it was one of those times when i really wished someone could just laugh with me...there wasn't anyone so i just laughed by myself.

as i type this i have both my hands doused in neosporin and bandaged on the open gashes. tomorrow i plan to take on the mound of dirt for round two. i'll let ya know how it turns out...