There are a lot of white people in Solwezi because of the mines (mostly Canadian, Australian and South African expats) so the locals here have slowly become used to their presence. However, sometimes I feel I’m a special case because of the attention I get. Maybe it’s because of what I wear as I’m certainly not dressed like a miner…
The (white) miners all look very generic: late 30s, baseball cap on, tasteless sunglasses, stale stubble, and that salmon-pink glow on the face and shoulders from being blasted by the sun. Whereas, I’m the opposite: cheap Debanhams shirts, sensible black trousers and square shoes. I think I’m the only white man dressed like it in Solwezi. Perhaps this is why I get the attention. But it’s not like I’m wearing clothing of the highest quality. The guys in the office say, ‘Ah Robert, you dress so smart!’ Well, yeah, but it’s not like I’m wearing a suit.
So when I am walking around or in the car, the standard play is that my observer looks at me, and when I look back they look away almost instantly. It was tiresome to begin with but now I like to play games to make it interesting. My favourite is to look straight back and hold my observer’s eyes and give the same look of bewilderment that he/she is giving me. I also like to look, look away and then check to see if I’m still being watched hoping to catch the person in the act.
I was walking into town on a Saturday some weeks back – it is a rare sight to see a white man doing this (I even get looks from the white miners in their 4x4s, and yes, they stare at me like I’m crazy). This one man was particularly fond of me. I caught him once and he looked away instantly. I walked on another hundred metres and had a peek at him again and caught him out. So I walked on another hundred metres and caught him in the act again! He obviously wasn’t reading my body language. This man was my toughest opponent yet and he didn’t budge. I eventually lost him as he took a turning. I really wanted to know why he kept looking. I think that’s the thing I want to know the most – what goes through these people’s minds when they stare at me?
I sometimes think about making some t-shirts with smart-arse sentences on so I can walk around hoping that the ones staring at me will read and take note. Some ideas that have come to mind:
- Jesus was white*. I’m white. You like Jesus. You’ll like me
- I have an Indian, an Aborigine and a Mongolian at home if you’re interested?
- Yes, I also came out of a women’s vagina
I’ll stop there.
Perhaps the more interesting experiences are with the roadside sellers. There are three women who sell talktime (mobile phone credit), the papers and other stuff near my office. They sit on breezeblocks under the shade of the tree for roughly the working day. In the beginning they liked to say hello and ask me how I was as I walked past. I thought that these locals are pleasant people. Anyhow, I was walking back from town with Vincent, my colleague, after we had paid a trip to the tailor. One of them uttered to Vincent in Bemba, ‘Vincent, your friend is getting fat.’ The cheek of the woman! I now steer clear of them, but I can still feel their eyes watching me, weighing me. And I refuse to buy talktime from them unless I’m desperate.
Muzungu
The term 'muzungu' is not derogatory and is widely accepted in Zambia, but I find it mildly offensive. Although there are certain occasions when I don’t mind it. This one time I was in a car on the way to Lusaka, and we came across a serious crash where a lorry had jack-knifed and blocked the road. There was a crowd of school kids hanging out watching the mayhem unfold. As we drove past one the kids caught my eye and saw that I was a white man in a car full of black people. I could see his lips open and his eyes dilate at the sight of me, and I could make out his mouth forming m-u-z-u-n-g-u. I think I made his day.
However, there are times when I’m walking down the street and some guy just starts shouting muzungu as if I’m some novelty. (Yes, oh look, it’s a white person. I simply must pass comment on this irregular situation and bark at him. Then I can sleep tonight because I’ve done my duty. Just wait till I tell my mates.) Just hearing the word now makes me cringe.
Another time it irritated me was when I was on my way to lunch once. On the side of the street a woman was selling groundnuts. She babbled something at me in Kikaonde and I could decipher you-know-what. I put two and two together and figured she was asking me to buy her groundnuts. A man who was walking by asked me if I knew what she was saying to me and I replied that I did, sort of. He confirmed for me that she said, ‘Hey, muzungu, buy my groundnuts.’ Top-notch customer service.
This story is trumped by one I heard through a friend. A middle-aged white expat woman who works for UN was shopping in Shoprite (more on this half-arsed excuse for a supermarket later). She was minding her own business and doing her shopping. With her senses alert a strong smell of sweat and body odour seeped into her nose. She felt a presence close by. She turned to see who it was. A man was pointing to a product in his hands. Before she could register the situation and ask the man what his business was, the man said, ‘Muzungu, buy me these sausages.’
No need for pleasantries in Zambia.
*Or was he?
