The first is the enterprising Ugandan. This person sees all white people as possible “friends in high places”. Their neighbor’s nephew has a wealthy white benefactor who sends him money for school and the family is not doing so badly anymore. They have kids too and would love to have you over for dinner so you can eat their “local” food and maybe think about helping out their family. Or they would love to go out to eat with you, preferably somewhere nice, because they are sure that you’ll pick up the bill. When the money runs out so does the friendliness. Once its clear that you can’t speed the process for their Visa to the US and you don’t have any connections to people in the music industry to hear their music then its just as well a wave goodbye. These I like the least. They are sometimes easiest to see, but the ones that make me the saddest. Not only for the ignorance of their own minds, that they have been trapped in by this idea that foreigners are here to help them and give them free things and that they don’t have to work for it themselves, but also for the part of me that dies with every time I am judged as merely an ATM or a free ticket to the US.
The second group is the friendly Ugandan. They don’t actually want your money, but they would like the prestige of having a “white” friend. The amount of undue exaltation that they do of “mzungus” is really taxing to the spirit after a while. Or they see “mzungus” as good connections for networking and getting things done. This is not necessarily bad, but may seem a bit trying to someone who doesn’t actually have that many connections.
The third group is the hostile Ugandan. Unlike the first group, they don’t want the help of foreigners. They are fiercely independent, possess a strong love for Mother Africa, and would like nothing better than to kick out all the foreign NGOs and go back to an African community model. I would almost be tempted to love this group if it were not for the reasons that they have. See there is the deep seeded bitterness for everything that the “white man” has subjected them to in the past. Slavery may be “dead” but the hate remains in some people’s hearts as bitterness seeps from generation to generation. And not just the slavery of the slave trade either, but the slavery of colonization, of exalting one tribe over another, of feeling forced into systems of education, language, even dress. I understand the angst, believe me, and yet it was not me who did it to you. My country was also colonized by the British and we also were subjected until we fought them off. Yes, I may look physically like your age old oppressors, but look into my soul and you’ll find that I am a completely different person. This group can, given the proper amount of time and depth of conversation, come to see the good will in a “mzungu” but their bitter words will often drive me away before I get the chance to come to that point.
The fourth group is the Ugandan lover. This group is just people who are physically attracted to “mzungus”. This group is extremely hard to handle, though you may see them coming from a mile away you may still get sneak attacked by their blunt statements and forward manner. At the end of the day, they don’t expect you to stay around or be a long term commitment. Most are simply looking for a fling or a trip to another country on someone’s arm which may incorporate some elements of the above groups.
The fifth group is the colorblind Ugandan. These are few and far between. Many of the other groups may present themselves as such upon first interaction, but it takes a while to get to know the true depth of their attachment. I have been blessed with a group of these friends though and I get to know just how blessed a little more each day. They have consistently been there for me through all of my struggles and vice versa. Strangely, many of them first belonged to the “hostile” group, but after really coming to know one another realized we are not so different. When I look at them I don’t see a melanin color and I think the same is true for them to me.
I have found the strange phenomenon that the longer I know someone the less I can describe their outward appearance. After some time I can’t tell you what their hair looks like or if they put on specs or not. When I see them, I see into their hearts. I see the emotion written on their faces and not the wrinkle lines. I see the beauty of the character in their eyes, not the color of their iris. This is the way that I see all of my dear friends, but I think I get slapped in the face with it sometimes when I am here. See when I walk on the street or go the market or get food from a local vendor I sometimes forget that I look (from outward appearances) like a foreigner. Nevermind that my heart is firmly planted here, I don’t look native and that alone can get me into trouble.
This is why it saddens me so much when people call me “mzungu”. Not because it’s a demeaning term like a racial slur, but because it means they haven’t seen the real me, they’ve only seen a thin outward appearance.
