How are my experiences legitimate if I'm making a conscious choice to live this life? I'm not a victim of structural injustice. I'm not living with the burden and history of cultural and racial discrimination heavy on my back. My experiences here are a mixture of severe privilege as well as being singled or exploited because of my skin. So I know this is loaded, its complicated, its almost taboo--but my disclaimer is that I'm trying to be thoughtful about this experience in terms of my own life while understanding that I'm not speaking on behalf of any other person or group of people who experiences any type of discrimination. I'm just trying to feel it out, figure it out.
So, here I am. I'm finally going to bite the bullet and write a little about what its meant for me to be white in Malawi.
Walking around my village, and areas where I live and hearing the word, "azungu" immediately hardens my heart and toughens my hide. Depending on the circumstance, the anger causes my hair to prickle. I have, it seems, developed a literal physical reaction to that term. Azungu.
White person.
Stranger.
Outsider.
One with money.
One who has come to give me things.
One who will take me to America.
Okay, so only the first three are legitimate translations, but the others are held beliefs
I don't always despise this term but there comes times when it breaks you down. It breaks your heart a little that the people who know you deny you a name and an identity.
Being called azungu is the obvious, in your face admission of, "you are different and I'm acknowledging it." Its taken eight months for the term to get under my skin, and while I'm happy that I've been such a cool cucumber up until now-- it's also embarrassing. Man, there's no way I could make it as a black woman in the states, huh? I'd have it much worse, on a consistent basis, with no escape, with no choice in the matter, trapped in a characterization of an identity very visible to all and completely inescapable. This experience, however will fade back into a minor annoyance when I'm back in the states and part of "the majority"--and eventually in the future might even be something that I'd laugh at myself for, "Wow, how frustrated I used to get. I used to lose my shit over that."
-Men admitting to wanting to have sex with a white girl "just once"
-Marriage proposals and admissions of love constantly
-Everything is exorbitantly priced. "Azungu Mtengo"
-"Madam, what the difference is between me and you?"
Walking around my village, and areas where I live and hearing the word, "azungu" immediately hardens my heart and toughens my hide. Depending on the circumstance, the anger causes my hair to prickle. I have, it seems, developed a literal physical reaction to that term. Azungu.
White person.
Stranger.
Outsider.
One with money.
One who has come to give me things.
One who will take me to America.
Okay, so only the first three are legitimate translations, but the others are held beliefs
I don't always despise this term but there comes times when it breaks you down. It breaks your heart a little that the people who know you deny you a name and an identity.
My skin is my permanent, irreversible stranger status.
There's the correcting the same iwes over and over, "Don't call me azungu, I have a name, its Amy;" but, when an adult refers to me as azungu, that's when the boiling-blood-achy-breaky-heart-action kicks in. Lady, I don't know your name but I'm certainly not calling you, "black person."
While I say all this, azungu is not an inherently insulting term. In many contexts, its perfectly fine, even the correct term, and thus not anger inducing. Therefore correcting someone can be an art, and their reactions unexpectedly fall on either side of the spectrum. They either tend to laugh, heartedly, and in my face--or be embarrassed. Referring to me in passing to someone else as an azungu is fine (if I'm out of earshot) but to address me as such is plainly rude. The distinction though flimsy, is tolerable.
While I say all this, azungu is not an inherently insulting term. In many contexts, its perfectly fine, even the correct term, and thus not anger inducing. Therefore correcting someone can be an art, and their reactions unexpectedly fall on either side of the spectrum. They either tend to laugh, heartedly, and in my face--or be embarrassed. Referring to me in passing to someone else as an azungu is fine (if I'm out of earshot) but to address me as such is plainly rude. The distinction though flimsy, is tolerable.
Honestly though, it all seems problematic to me. When you're constantly reduced to your skin, your perceived wealth, and status-- it beats you down. It is to have your identity wiped and instead a superimposed Malawian stereotype of a rich American here to give hand outs and live the bwana lifestyle.
Being called azungu is the obvious, in your face admission of, "you are different and I'm acknowledging it." Its taken eight months for the term to get under my skin, and while I'm happy that I've been such a cool cucumber up until now-- it's also embarrassing. Man, there's no way I could make it as a black woman in the states, huh? I'd have it much worse, on a consistent basis, with no escape, with no choice in the matter, trapped in a characterization of an identity very visible to all and completely inescapable. This experience, however will fade back into a minor annoyance when I'm back in the states and part of "the majority"--and eventually in the future might even be something that I'd laugh at myself for, "Wow, how frustrated I used to get. I used to lose my shit over that."
But hell, I can't deny that I've got an escape route that many people would kill for.
Lets talk about entitlement. You know, that golden reason children and parents resent each other until the offspring reach their years of independence. That rhetoric-ridden battle cry of white male US senators everywhere. Or, more simply put, the American way. If there was one thing I was not expecting when I came to Malawi, one of the least developed countries in Africa, and the world, it was a strong sense of entitlement.
Lets talk about entitlement. You know, that golden reason children and parents resent each other until the offspring reach their years of independence. That rhetoric-ridden battle cry of white male US senators everywhere. Or, more simply put, the American way. If there was one thing I was not expecting when I came to Malawi, one of the least developed countries in Africa, and the world, it was a strong sense of entitlement.
Holy hell, was I wrong.
Malawi has an unreal sense of entitlement. How is this possible, you ask, in a nation of unprivileged people, with no money, with no industry, no big plans of improvement or future momentum?
Malawi's entitlement comes from yours truly. The USA and other western influence from years and years and years of charity, missions work--no sustainable development--but a metric shit ton of handouts. Malawi is the poster child for, "development done wrong."
It has created the understanding that white people are rich. Especially Americans, super rich and that outside influences are the only real way to get lotsa money. Outside influences make the decisions, thus taking away the autonomy of Malawians to make critical decisions for their own futures. The complicated histories of colonialism in Africa and especially of the missions work has led to Malawians looking at white people as a business transaction. "This person has money, resources, the citizenship I want, and the leverage I need." Therefore it's not at all surprising that I get asked for things constantly. (And usually within the first few minutes of chatting.) and sometimes it's less sinister and more along the lines of, "I want you or someone like you to come work in my school." Or, "I've always wanted to marry a white person." And the classic, "We know you people have..."
Lately, I've gone through a period where I've felt constantly on guard, hardened, even more distrusting, and just plain exhausted in my interactions with Malawians. You name it, they want it. And for the record, it's honest to goodness out of need, and because of our shared shitty developmental history. So, there is literally no shame, nor is it seen as inappropriate to ask me for anything.. All the things. It's also a cultural practice to share basically everything, almost without question. (And so without shared resources, it looks like PCVs and other expats are hoarding treasure troves from their communities.) Can't even tell you how many iwes I've run into who don't know a lick of English except for what their parents have taught them, "Azungu, give me money." The joke is, that we had a large hand in creating this mess and further exesperate it..
Lately, I've gone through a period where I've felt constantly on guard, hardened, even more distrusting, and just plain exhausted in my interactions with Malawians. You name it, they want it. And for the record, it's honest to goodness out of need, and because of our shared shitty developmental history. So, there is literally no shame, nor is it seen as inappropriate to ask me for anything.. All the things. It's also a cultural practice to share basically everything, almost without question. (And so without shared resources, it looks like PCVs and other expats are hoarding treasure troves from their communities.) Can't even tell you how many iwes I've run into who don't know a lick of English except for what their parents have taught them, "Azungu, give me money." The joke is, that we had a large hand in creating this mess and further exesperate it..
This has resulted in things being stolen from in or around my house multiple times. It's the reason I'm overcharged for everything, and it's why people want to chat with me, be friends with me, or be around me at all. It creates really complicated feelings within me because I understand where it stems from, I get the sense of need and urgency and how my existence looks like a band aid or cure all. I know that I am very well off comparatively and that this is ultimately teaching me generosity, patience, and empathy in ways I'd never anticipated. But I get angry, I feel shitty, I become rude, or short, or aggressive in every day interactions with Malawians. Just because I understand it, doesn't make it tolerable--doesn't make it okay.
When you lose your tourist status and become an expat doing her damnedest to integrate, you tend to have intensely troubled feelings towards white people who are just passing through. I generally avoid or have to mentally prep when going to places that white people (who arent PCVs or other expats) frequent. The challenges arise when they perpetuate stereotypes of ignorance, wealth, inability to care about language, culture, customs--it's the short shorts, it's the safaris and the tourist mindframe--those willing to pay $20 for a "village walk" or someone who openly and loudly scoffs at the notion of eating village food. Its the use of phrases like, "those indeginious people," it's the unknowingly paying 3x the actual cost thus jacking the price for all other white people, and it's the waving around of expensive purchases and electronics as if trying to flag down a rescue flight. It's being embarrassed, feeling as though these faces are a mirror held up to my own and knowing that a few short years ago this would have been me. It's telling and painful and it makes me wish I could shed my skin and start anew with no stereotype to fight and or live up to.
I'm not saying that anyone should move to a new country and give up their sense of identity or culture to integrate; instead, I am saying that cultural exchange can be done well, respectfully and in ways that will be better received.
Being white, especially here, means a lot of things. One of the most undeniable is privilege. Privilege for days. Seriously, anyone who doesn't understand or believe in white privilege should come and live in Malawi for 2 months. Afterward, even the most conservative disbeliever would become a well-versed expert.
It's just one of those disgusting concepts that rears it's head as an imbalance of power, whether realized or not. It's a hard truth to admit to yourself, especially when you realize that you've just participated in an act that was privileged. But it's a part of life here and something very few, if any people push back against. It's the reason people will give me their best product and maprizeys when selling me something, I get the best seat in the minibus, people will pick me up when I'm hitching but leave Malawians along the side of the road, I get the best portion or piece of food when eating with Malawian families, or people want to hear me speak at events, be their friend, give me gifts...etc. Sometimes, when it's someone you're friends with, you can confuse privilege with appreciation and it become dangerous ground. In admist all the shit we go through regularly, it's can be hella hard to push back against things that are nice and feel like little luxuries. But god, having that discussion with Malawians? Its so necessary.
My life as a PCV in Malawi is a weird combination of being privileged and taken advantage of. The goal is the grey area.. The land of integration where your neighbors and friends understand you. Who you are, why you're here, what you're doing--and real relationships develop without a sense of wanting a thing from each other other than honest to goodness human connection.
If this doesn't happen, you're destined to live in a world of extremes. Here are some of mine that I've encountered a time or two (times a thousand) more than I'd like to admit:
-Men admitting to wanting to have sex with a white girl "just once"
-Marriage proposals and admissions of love constantly
-Everything is exorbitantly priced. "Azungu Mtengo"
-"Madam, what the difference is between me and you?"
-"I will come over tomorrow and you will teach me English"
-Malawian friends wanting to leave their wives for me
-"You will marry me then carry me to America."
-Countless blanket statements about the whites, Americans, and Malawians--and those ever confusing, elusive, sometimes fake "Black Americans"
-"I want you to be my friend."
-"I want you to be my friend."
-"Give me: money, books, pens, toys, candy, clothes, peanut butter.. (You name it...)
And many, many more experiences.
It's hard because good, solid, real relationships are what make me whole. They're everything to me. Sometimes its really challenging feeling like I can't make authentic relationships with Malawians because I'm being sought out for mobility or utility and not as one human being to another. More than anything in my life here, this is my struggle.. But
It's hard because good, solid, real relationships are what make me whole. They're everything to me. Sometimes its really challenging feeling like I can't make authentic relationships with Malawians because I'm being sought out for mobility or utility and not as one human being to another. More than anything in my life here, this is my struggle.. But
All of this comes down to one thing,
Choice.
Choice.
I have a choice, to be here, to spend my time and live my life as I will. I have a choice in my future, who to marry, when to marry, to have children or not, to pursue further education or not. I choose how to live, where to live, how to spend my money.
I get choose my future because I have the resources and opportunity to do so. All I see looking around Malawi is the inability to choose. Circumstance, poverty, and hardship are kings here. And so people are resigned to their fates.
All of this is undeniably linked with privilege.. But I can't help but be thankful for being able to be here. To better see inequity and better understand the roots of poverty and really see and understand what privilege means. I've always been sort of lucky, and now I understand what that means on a global scale. I'd like to spend my life working in a way that lessens that injustice, if only a little.
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