"Madame, please don’t take my picture! I don’t like my face."

These were the words of a fifteen year old Tanzanian student of mine.  I rarely take pictures of my school or village but recently decided to create a slide show for the school to view at my going away party.  While most students were enthusiastic and loved being photographed, there was one boy who refused.  This was the conversation that ensued:

Student: Madame, please don't take a picture of me. I don't like my face.

Me: What do you mean? You are a handsome boy.

Student: I know how American people are.  You will show these pictures to your friends and tell them I look like a monkey.

Me: That's not true.  I think Black people are beautiful.  I want to show my family pictures of my students and my village.

Student:  American people are liars.

Me: I am American.  Do you think I am a liar?

Student: Of course.

I found this conversation unsettling for a number of reasons.  I immediately thought about the racism that this child has been exposed to and the prejudice of those who relegate Black people to the status of animals.  I thought about how he has internalized Westernized conceptions of beauty to the point where he actually thinks his face is ugly.  I also thought about the absolute distrust and disdain he feels towards American people.  What had happened to this boy to make him hate the country I call home?

Then I got angry.  I realized that because of my nationality, he felt that I couldn’t be trusted.  I had never lied to him or hurt him in any way.  In fact, this boy is extremely intelligent and I had spent my afternoons tutoring him in English, letting him borrow my books to read, playing English games, etc.  I had gone out of my way to help him and he had the nerve to call me a liar? I was mad and my immediate reaction was to stop tutoring him.  If he couldn’t trust me, why should I trust him?

I quickly moved from feelings of anger to frustration.  My own Black identity was being questioned yet again.  I have always felt a strong sense of African-American pride and two years of being called “White” by Tanzanians had taken its toll.  The insanity of race and racism frustrated me.  I wondered how I could possibly think he looked like a monkey when my closest friends and family members shared the same pigment.  It seemed irrational.  I wanted so badly to make him see that I was like him.  I was Black too.  The racist white Americans who told him that he looked like a monkey have spent generations degrading and dehumanizing my ancestors and continue to oppress Black people in America.  Why couldn’t he see that?  How dare he put me in a group with racist white people?  How dare he call me white? 

It was at this moment that I had to do a quick self-assessment. Why did I consider being called white an insult?  Do I also associate whiteness with racism and prejudice in spite of the wonderful intimate relationships I have with Caucasian people?  I imagine that if I were a white volunteer, the conversation with this student would upset me.  I would want him to know that not all Americans, not all white people are racist.  Not all white people think he looks like a monkey; in fact, many think Black people are beautiful.  I realized that I needed to have a more intimate discussion with this student. I wanted him to see that Black people come in all shades and that all shades are beautiful.  More importantly, I wanted to teach him about the dangers of over-generalizing and stereotyping American people.

The conversation that resulted was one of the best cross-cultural discussions I have had in Tanzania.  I showed him pictures of my friends and family in an effort to teach him two important lessons.  First, Black people come in all different shades, shapes, and sizes.  All are beautiful.  Second, there are many white people that love, respect, and value those with darker skin.  Not all Americans and not all white people are racist.  He then told me about his negative experience at a primary school run by white American missionaries and how they told him he looked like a monkey.  He told me they made him feel ugly and stupid so he hated them as a result.  He said that he thought all American people were the same but after our discussion he realized his mistake.  Then he turned to me with a big smile on his face and said: “Madame, I know you don’t think I look like a monkey.  I look like your brother.  Will you take my picture?” I happily reached for my camera.