On Being "The Other"

It seems like an appropriate time to talk about xenophobia and exclusion, having just witnessed the United States elect a man who has said he would build a wall between America and Mexico and try to ban Muslims. This year we also witnessed the British vote to leave the EU, with strong undertones of racism and keeping refugees and immigrants out of the country.

I wanted to talk about the racism, classism and xenophobia I've been seeing and experiencing here in Tanzania. I have been hesitant to talk about these subjects for a variety of reasons; perhaps I have misunderstood what has been going on around me; it's somewhat taboo to talk about racism as a relatively well-off white person; and how dare I judge the behaviour of a culture I barely know anything about. I recognize all the limitations I have in speaking about these things, but this blog was meant to express my experiences in Tanzania so I am going to tentatively explore the subject.

I should also state upfront that most of my experiences with Tanzanians are friendly! Most are incredibly polite, warm and open people. I'm always out walking alone and 99% of the time I feel safe during daylight hours. That said, let's get into topic. 

If you've been reading my blog for a while you will recall my experience getting the runaround with the Mwanza City Council (BureauCRAZY). In brief, I was trying to work with some environmental officers from the Mwanza City Council. I was asked to get the OK from their boss before proceeding, but when I met with her she was pretty rude to me and was requesting a number of official documents from me before I could proceed. She was not being forthcoming with information and was rejecting my documents for ridiculous reasons. Well, I now have the final piece to the story in that particular blog post. 

I told my manager, who happens to be a Tanzanian man, about the situation with the woman from the Mwanza City Council. He asked for her phone number and called her up right then and there. He spoke to her for a few minutes on the phone, and by the end of the phone call he had all the information I had been asking for and he had her consent to proceed with the Environmental Officers. The lesson learned from that situation is that I need to have a Tanzanian with me each time I meet with a new government official. 

Now, that situation could be interpreted in a number of ways. The kind interpretation is that the Councillor did not take me very seriously because she did not know who I was or the organization I am working for. However, if that is the case, what difference did it make when my manager explained to her all the things I had already explained? I had provided her with the brochures, my business card, our project's mission. What more could my manager have said? The only difference I see is that he is a Tanzanian man while I am a foreign female who does not speak enough Swahili. Would she have treated me better if I spoke fluent Swahili? I have my doubts. She did not want to work with me because I am a foreigner, even though I am in the country legitimately and legally allowed to work here. 

Environmental Officers from Mwanza City Council interviewing the manager of a greenhouse.

I have a friend in Mwanza whose family has lived in Tanzania for a few generations. They lived in Tanzania and got to witness their neighbour, Uganda, creating refugees out of the Indian population there.

In case you are not familiar with the situation, in early August 1972, the President of Uganda, Idi Amin, ordered the expulsion of his country's Asian minority, giving them 90 days to leave the country. Before the expulsion, Asians owned many large businesses in Uganda but the purge of Asians from Uganda's economy was virtually total. In total, some 5,655 firms, ranches, farms, and agricultural estates were reallocated, along with cars, homes and other household goods. Amin defended the expulsion by arguing that he was giving Uganda back to the ethnic Ugandans:

“We are determined to make the ordinary Ugandan master of his own destiny, and above all to see that he enjoys the wealth of his country. Our deliberate policy is to transfer the economic control of Uganda into the hands of Ugandans, for the first time in our country's history.”

— Idi Amin, quoted in Uganda: a modern history.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Expulsion_of_Asians_from_Uganda

Does that rhetoric sound hauntingly familiar? Those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it. Have you seen the episode of the Daily Show where the host warns America that they are following the path of South Africa? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5tKOV0KqPlg

Anyway, my friend and her family have lived in Tanzania for multiple generations. They witnessed xenophobia and racism directed at people of Indian descent in Uganda. While people of Indian genetic heritage have not been expelled from Tanzania, I can imagine that there is an underlying current of fear that it could happen. My friend regularly gets told that she is not Tanzanian. One day she was wearing kitenge fashion and her neighbour asked her if she was trying to be African.

Kitenge is brightly coloured cloth made into dresses, skirts, bags, scarves, etc.

This idea that you are not a member of a country unless you look like the majority of people that inhabit that country is not unique to Tanzania. However, it’s quite different from Canada! I feel like majority of Canadians accept people of all sorts of different genetic backgrounds as Canadians; whether they be first generation or perhaps even an immigrant. I’m probably biased because I come from a pretty diverse city, but I’m trying to think back to growing up in a town of 1,000 people and I’m still pretty sure everyone got to be Canadian so long as they had a Canadian passport.

It’s even in the language here. Whenever I go out in the market or walk on the streets I hear people call after me “Mzungu! Mzungu!” which means white person, European, or perhaps even just foreigner. I can’t confirm that last one because my Asian-looking friends get called “Cheena! Cheena!” on the streets. My co-worker is Pilipino and she would get so irritated by being called Chinese all the time. She now has a fabulous response to these people; “Mimi si mchina! Acha ujinga!” Which translates to saying “I am not Chinese, cut your bullshit.”

No bullshit allowed.

To me it feels like they are pointing out that you are not Tanzanian when they call out to you by saying “Mzungu” or “Cheena” instead of “Dada” (which means sister and is how they greet black women). It’s disconcerting to have random people tell you that you are not one of them all day long, everywhere you go. Mzungu! You are different from us. Mzungu! You are not from here. Mzungu! You are not one of us.

This feels to me a lot like exclusion. For example, I was working out of the VSO main office in Dar es Salaam after my vacation. I’m proud of VSO for having most of its permanent in-country staff be Tanzanians. However, while working at the main office, I discovered just how exclusive it is to be Tanzanian. I walked past almost the entire office having lunch together at a nearby restaurant every day. Probably 16 black staff members eating together, and I was never asked to join them the entire time I was there.

Because I look physically different from most of the people on the street, I am a target for crime, for begging, for selling, for heckling and in general get way too much attention. Vendors are quite aggressive in trying to sell to me. Men will grab me in the market. Everyone asks me for money or a job. 

The crowd gathering to stare at us and ask us for money and food as we stop for a break during our bike ride.

Children in Canada are scolded for pointing out physical differences in people. It’s considered incredibly rude to stare at people, especially if they look physically different than most people on the street. Here in Tanzania staring is perfectly acceptable at any age (I found that in Vietnam as well, so I’m sure it’s not unique to this country). And shouting at people who look different is also perfectly acceptable at any age.

When I went bike riding through some smaller villages the children ran after the bikes HOWLING “WAZUNGU!!!! WAZUNGU!!!” Did they actually want anything from us, or is it just a custom to shout at visible minorities? I can guess that they would have asked me for money if I had stopped to talk to them.

We had to stop  during our bike ride when our leader got a flat tire. These kids came to investigate. Cute right? They also asked us for money.

Most often being singled out is harmless. However, my tall white co-worker was facilitating some health and safety training sessions in a small town outside of Mwanza last month and had a different experience entirely.

She said that a man started following her around town whenever she left the hotel. She had to ask the guards at the hotel to chase him away because he would wait outside for her. He never did anything to her, but it’s creepy. She was also doing a full day training inside one of the businesses in our program. The door was open to the street so people could see inside, presumably left open because it’s around 32°C during the day. However, a man came into the training off the street carrying a brick, walked up to my co-worker in front of the entire group and threatened her with the brick, asking for her backpack. Threatened with a brick from two feet away. No one in the group came to her defense or helped her. She eventually got him to leave without giving him any of her belongings, but she was quite shaken. Later that same day her stalker saw her from the street and came in and started harassing her, and she yelled at the group to fucking help her this time. Which they finally did. She left the town shortly after that incident.

So I’ve really been intrigued by experiencing racism for the first time. I’ve led a pretty privileged life because I’ve never felt marginalized, ostracized, or excluded based on my skin colour before.  But, I’m very glad to finally have experienced it to a small degree here. I’m lucky because Tanzania seems to be a very polite society. I can only imagine how awful it is as a visible minority when the majority actually hate you, and are aggressive and hateful to your face.

My greatest frustration has honestly been that to everyone on the street I am a white person, rather than a person who has characteristics and personality unique to me. As a white person I represent wealth, privilege, and perhaps the days of colonialism. Clearly because I am white I have money and jobs, so everyone asks me for money or for a job. A guy and his sister were talking to me at the foot of the stairs that led up to my apartment in Mwanza. I saw his sister there almost every day. They asked for my phone number, and to avoid the awkwardness of saying no to people I would be seeing every day I gave them my number. The brother starting texting me relentlessly.

I eventually asked around and found some people who were looking for IT volunteers. I passed along the contact information of these people to the brother and I never heard from the brother again. Guess he didn't want to be friends after all. I was just a provider of work experience. I even had a guard at a bank, a man wearing a uniform and carrying a machine gun who was currently working, call me over and asked me to give him money.

People see me for what I represent rather than wanting to get to know me for who I am. To me, this has been an important glimpse into what it’s like to be a visible minority. It has helped me gain empathy for what minorities must endure.