incognito

Even in the best of times I am not a very subtle person. Among friends and family I am known to be opinionated, loud at times, laugh loudly when it is quiet, and people generally know when I am around. I made a “disturbing” speech about HIV & AIDS from the pulpit of my childhood church shortly before I left for Kenya. I said the word sex several times and if people didn’t know who I was before, they certainly are not likely to forget now. I am not very incognito.

Now, imagine this loud, outspoken girl in Kenya where her skin colour speaks volumes before she even opens her mouth. Incognito, I think not. In addition to my light skin colour, I arrived with a broken hand which was bandaged and drew many stares by itself. When I didn’t want to explain extreme mountain biking to people, I joked that I had punched someone and broke my hand (I usually told this to tall men with guns, not grandmas or children). I again realized I was not incognito when after my cast was removed, I walked through a government building area in Nairobi and a guard that I didn’t recognize, but had apparently conversed with, yelled jokingly after me, “Don’t hit any more people!” I garnered a few stares from passerby’s and smiled very gently at them.

Now, I am living in the Kenyan countryside in an area that few white people frequent. As I make my six kilometer trek from the main road to the farm, children and adults alike run from their homes, abandon their cows, and stop their work to stare as I pass by. I greet each and every one with a “habari yako” or “what’s the news” to which they give the standard reply of “nzuri” or “fine” but stand with a look of astonishment. School children run after me in groups, and when I greet them they literally somersault on the ground in peels of laughter. I have barely opened my mouth in public in a week, but my physical presence is speaking volumes. Incognito, I think not.