Living in Black and White Where Color is Everything

Waking up this morning I faced the usual dilemma of what to wear for the day. Eyeing my bag strategically packed to maximize space but not accessibility I wondered how I was going to dig out the necessary components for a new outfit. Conquering my backpack and walking out to face a brand new day I was instantly humbled when I realized nearly everyone was still wearing their same clothes from yesterday. I was worried about what others would think if I wore the same outfit two days in a row when the reality is that there are so many greater situations to be concerned with. Aside from the fact that everyone is so focused on my whiteness that I doubt they would even notice if I wore the same clothes for a week. :o)

On the subject of color, a seemingly politically incorrect topic to discuss in the States but an inescapable part of my life here as everyone sees fit to remind me that I am white, foreign and therefore rich. (Clearly they have not seen my bank account!) The realization of racism in this region was unavoidable today as I accompanied my friend on an errand where the store owner quoted her a price 30% higher than normal purely because I was there. On later discussion, as the story was repeated about a hundred times over, it was astutely put that “even you, you pay for your color.” Yes, I certainly pay for my color in a land where I can be spotted from a mile away. However, at the same time, I am often given preferential treatment over others because I am white and thus somehow better? I take issue with both situations and wish that we could all simply treat one another with equality regardless of ethnicity, gender and socio-economic status. Only in a truly perfect world though, right.

Being away from my friendly American bubble down here in southern Uganda the discrepancy in my color seems to have multiplied ten fold. Everywhere I go I draw attention, crowds and stares. I don’t mind so much when the children yell out mzungu (white person) but when it comes from an adult, I guess I feel they should know better. Attending a funeral this afternoon, I couldn’t help but question if my presence there was more of a distraction than a blessing. With nearly half the audience keeping a curious eye on me I felt the focus shift from the tragedy at hand to speculation of the new person. The young lady who died was only 19 years old and was also 7 months pregnant. She leaves behind two young children and the uncertainty of who will care for them now.