"Superiority"

18 September 2010

        At this precise moment the ambiguity of my specific, pragmatic role in the Comboni Samaritans Center (internship) and on this continent feels threatened. If I were to hypothetically distance my inner soul from this strikingly riveting corner of the globe, intrinsic questions could fly. “What am I doing here?” “Does anybody on this side of the Atlantic value, relish or desire my knowledge, soul and spirit?” “And why or why not?” Suppose I abandoned Comboni Samaritans this afternoon, strapped my red duct taped pack securely across my back and wandered without a clear distinct destination in mind? Would the universe notice? Although I have no definite or genuine yearning to ditch this objective journey that’s precisely mapped out for me here in Gulu, posing abstract questions constantly raises my own eyebrows.
         Strolling through the densely populated overgrown muddy village roads, a grand majority of locals explosively halt in their tracks, literally drop what they’re doing and remain wide-eyed. Other folks adopt massive smiles and enthusiastically wave. At times children hug one another and burst out in hysteria. All attention is generated because of my MUNU status; a white man in a black African land. The ridiculously warm greetings have thus far generated a myriad of personal interpretations. I’ve internally pondered, “Don’t these people know that I’m simply not that awesome?” Up until now, I’ve consistently smiled, waved and offered a fairly pathetic attempt at the local language; albeit my responses clearly don’t consistently parallel my inner core. At times it’s reasonably overwhelming and I’ve intermittently been challenged with the desire to feel invisible. Irony at its finest, I must admit. A white man wishing to feel invisible; welcome to the world of the black individual and collectivity in the “land of the free,” the good ol’ “democratic” United States. A person of color jollying through a white privileged society may in fact generate similar explosive disbelief from the locals. However, the smiles, joys, and welcomings would inevitably remain absent. Instead racial epithets, phone calls to the cops and perhaps physical violence would ensue. Thus, when I feel bogged down by consecutively remaining the center of attention, should I graciously stay present and mindful that I’m cruising down the white privileged avenue of this racially lopsided world?
         Last evening I was fortunate enough to engage in imperative dialogue with a couple black Ugandans from Gulu, regarding this very topic. Sitting on the uncomfortable plastic chairs on the half finished roof of a local pub, where pollution from diesel engines and dust from the cracked dirt roads created a sort of unsightly yet uniquely beautiful haze, the topic of “foreign aid” surfaced. Eventually, I went for it. “So why is it that every single time a local sees me he or she responds as if I’m some sort of savior or magical person,” I daringly asked. A dark, man in his mid twenties sporting a finely shaped goatee responded full of sincerity. “You see, us people here we look at the white man as superior to us.” With his words, I physically felt the indents of my crow’s feet wrinkles deepen. Did this fella just say what I’ve feared from the onset of my initial interest in this work? While pondering whether the generation of a personal response was necessary, I noticed myself talking. “What about all of the damage whiteness has done not only to this continent, but more specifically this exact country?” During the 47 minute long conversation, the general consensus from these men was that they feel blessed and grateful that many whites come to “help build schools, help our children” and “care about us.” The underpinning backbone of these Christian men’s reasons was geared towards missionary work and how the missionaries have aided the “development” of Uganda.
        Superiority…huh. Does this “superiority” elucidate my initial experience of riding in the SUV “ambulance” of Comboni Samaritans through the dense Ugandan bush to escort the middle-aged, quite frail and decaying women to Lacor Hospital? As the dirt roads leading up to her array of thatched roof huts began to diminish, the driver sped down footpaths and took out scores of cassava plants. As we arrived, the community volunteer quickly entered the woman’s hut and a confused emptiness infiltrated my cognition. Simultaneous to the half bent over, noticeably ailing HIV positive women’s escorted discharge from her hut, a majority of her family members shifted their attention to my presence. One frantically rushed a wooden chair my way and placed it in the shade. As she graciously smiled and motioned for me to have a seat, I experienced irritation. In this situation, my presence had no fastidious significance. From my initial observations it appeared that I was only more in the way. Again the stares, smiles, and waves were directed towards the munu as their desperate, fraught and dilapidated HIV positive family member winced as her husband led her into the backseat of the vehicle.
        Does this superiority phenomenon constitute the new teenage mother who blissfully held her one day old baby on the way back to her village from Lacor Hospital? I observed the beauty and commented, “How beautiful! What is her name?” The sleepy teen responded, “There is no name yet. Can you name it for me?” I smiled and remained silent. Only a short bit later the driver peered his head to the back seat and commented. “She wants you to give a name for the baby.” Again, I smiled and dubiously replied, “Hmm…I can’t think of anything.”
        Amidst the surrounding bewildering feelings and questions, I’m engrossed by beauty. The luscious, dazzling thick green vegetation dotted with magical yellow flowers, roasted corn on the cob, the smell of posho cooking, east African music, dusty roads, the blazing sun, lightening storms, extraordinarily peaceful village nights, and the Acholi people compose the inherent magic embedded in this area.

 Wanted to post up two images I snapped in Kampala. What about the black Ugandans who want their teeth cleaned? Additionally, I've only noticed white mannequins throughout this country...interesting.