Every month, PCVs like to meet up in our banking town and
eat food that is not the typical Tanzanian cuisine we find in the village. In my case, this means no ugali and
beans. One of our favorite places is a really nice hotel
that we are too poor to stay at. They
have a lounge/bar with wireless internet, a television, outlets to charge all
of our electronic devices, and good food. The staff is nice to us. They know that we are poor volunteers and don’t
mind us sitting for hours on the computer while ordering the cheapest items on
the menu.
On Saturday, I was sitting with a group of other PCVs in
this hotel lounge when another “mzungu” walked in. “Mzungu” usually refers to a white foreigner
(or in my case a pigmentally challenged foreigner) and the man who walked in
upheld every negative stereotype one might have a white foreigner. He made his entrance known by yelling at all
the waiters and staff for a menu. Although
the staff speaks pretty good English, I think it took them a second to
comprehend why they were being yelled at. So of course this made the man yell
louder. I have never quite understood
why people think that yelling in English will make someone understand them
better, especially if their native language is different. I know that Tanzanians yelling at me in
Kiswahili makes no difference. Whether
they are whispering, speaking normally, or screaming, I still have no idea what
they are saying. I imagine it is the
same with English. I am not sure which
country this man was from, but he was an ASSHOLE! He kept yelling at the waiters for no reason
and was extremely disrespectful. He
asked for salt and then when they brought the salt, he yelled at them for not
bringing pepper. When he was finished he
yelled for the bill. I don’t understand
why he couldn’t ask for things politely and felt the need to treat the staff
like worthless animals. I imagined I was
in South Africa watching an Afrikaner disrespect the black servants during apartheid. This man was clearly racist and I watched the
pained faces of once happy staff members.
They looked almost afraid of this man and I was horrified, disgusted and
embarrassed by his behavior.
I soon realized that Tanzania was becoming that older
brother who you don’t always like but secretly love. I found myself becoming
protective and defensive. It’s okay if I
spend my days frustrated and criticizing Tanzanians because I live here, but
how dare you come into this country and act as if all Tanzanian people are
inferior to you. It made me sick to
watch. I can understand why the staff
and waiters don’t mind us sitting in the lounge for hours. We treat them with
respect and even try to communicate with them in Kiswahili. I found this man’s behaviour extremely embarrassing
because he made all foreigners look bad, but I wasn’t as embarrassed as the
white PCVs I was with. This was one of
those moments where I was extra proud to be an African American. This wasn’t a cultural difference, the man
was a racist asshole and I was not about to claim any similarity to him. Besides, if I was his waitress I’m sure I
would have received the same disrespect. Our eyes met as he stood up to leave and
I saw a look of disgust as if he was asking himself, “Why is this colored girl
surrounded by white people?” I laughed at myself as he walked out of the hotel.
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