Attack of the White People

Sunshine

Last year, first interactions with the volunteers in-country one year longer than me left one lasting impression: social dysfunction. Many friends agreed and we promised not to suffer the same fate. Somehow, we did not keep the agreement. The realization came a few weeks ago at the All Volunteer Conference…

Rhi, not excited for AVC. Hiding myself in Gossip Girl. K’la day & going to hotel late. Gouge my eye w/ spoon.

I typed a text message on the bus ride into the city. The thought of walking into a hotel of 130 white people was overwhelming, a forced interaction reminiscent of Welcome Week at university. “What’s your major?” “Where are you from?” “How many white people do you have in your village?” “Do you have work?” The same conversation on repeat until an appropriate hour for alcohol consumption and the opportunity for “deep conversation.”

In the village, I forget about my melanin level. There are few mirrors in my home and without other imusugun, my whiteness isn’t reflected back onto me. Conversations do not center on my experience as an outsider but address topics of economic independence in Africa, neocolonialism, current events and life struggles. The people I share time with welcome me into their lives completely. I am an honorary Itesot. To say I ignore race would be a lie because valuing the culture of my community is tantamount to the appreciation of their uniquely black African culture.

Throughout AVC, I spent most of my time with already-established friends; leaving an impression of indifference with volunteers not known beforehand. I endured the week, questioning whether my anxiety was reasonable. In America, I do not walk down the street and feel the need to converse with every person who shares my skin color; however, in Uganda, other white people flock towards one another and Ugandans believe we share lineage. Did the influx of white people cause my awkwardness or the uncomfortably forced situation at-hand?

Ejaasi ipejok ocaalo. Ocoiete ibongu ijo. There are visitors in the village. Be aware when you return.

(Note: ipejok synonymous with white people)

I received Nathan’s message on the return journey from Kampala, thankful to be through with the conference. I arrived back in the village to find a group of 20 Scottish scouts “on expedition,” building a playground and structures for a local orphan organization. Immediately, people in the trading center asked if I met with my “brothers” and offered to walk me to their camp for a proper reunion. I laughed it off and started walking towards Nathan’s house for a language lesson when the gaggle of Scotsmen emerged from the road with their gerrycans, clearly on their way to the borehole.

The sound of children screaming increased and my heart sank. “Emusugut. Emusugut! White people. White people,” the toddlers screamed as they ran towards the borehole to watch the foreigners pump their water. I held my breath as they crossed my path, waiting to be lumped into the crowd. However, the children stopped and turned towards me, “Omoding. Yoga noi! Eyalama abongun. Hello! Welcome back.” I smiled, savoring the small victory as an honorary Itesot.

The Competition