Tuesday, January 30

Every American living abroad wrestles with some aspect of overseas life, regardless of the number of years on foreign soil. For one of my friends it’s the lack of privacy; for another, not having someone that can relate to her personal issues. Mine is the attention I attract as a foreigner and a white person.

I have never enjoyed being stared at. I can’t imagine many people do, but some are not as bothered by it. In Kazakhstan, depending on how I dressed, I could pass for a Russian – that is until I began to speak and people recognized my clumsy elementary language skills and bad accent. People stared, but not as much as the people do here. In South Sudan, I have no chance of assimilating or blending into the community. At every instance in which I leave the confines of our compound where we work or the UNICEF compound at which we live, heads start turning and people begin unapologetically and unabashedly staring, their gaze as intense as the noonday summer sun. It always surprises me -- it’s not as if this town is virgin territory for foreigners. The various United Nations agencies and the non-governmental organizations working here are many. And while most of these organizations’ employees are African, Yambio is the working home to a few white folks from Canada, Australia, Germany, England, as well as the United States.

So, every day when we take our pre-dinner stroll, I mentally prepare to become the evening spectacle. The reactions vary. The men stare; the women and elderly (few and far between in this country) offer polite, dignified greetings -- if I initiate the exchange; and the boys who are beyond the age of 8 simply give me a look that seems to say “Who you talking to?” They are too cool to bother.

It’s the response from the children that I enjoy. Before I even see the kids that are tucked behind tukuls and trees, I hear the cry of “Kajawa!” (white person) as it’s repeated down the line in Paul Revere style. When I’m feeling sassy, I reply “Sudanese!” knowing they won’t understand my language or my supposed humor. They giggle with delight and gather for a look. Some come forward to offer shy grins and tentative handshakes, their bellies bulging beneath their shirts and dirt staining their beautiful faces. Those who know a few words of English ask “How are you?” “Fine. How are you?” I answer. “How are you,” comes the circular reply. All are surprised when I say the one word I know in Zande – “Guinea Pie (hello),” to which they are to reply “Pie-tay (fine).” But what they really want to hear me say is “bye, bye.” Somewhere along the line the kids began to believe this is how we say hello in English. In another comedy of translation and identity, the “foreigner is coming” call is sometimes issued as “Bangaladee!” The United Nations Mission in Sudan – the police charged with monitoring the Comprehensive Peace Agreement – is largely comprised of soldiers from Bangladesh. Somehow their presence has the kids believing that either “Bangaladee” is another word for foreigner, or that all foreigners are from Bangladesh. Every time I hear it, I can’t help but laugh, never before having been mistaken as an Asian.

By any name, I will happily continue receiving the greetings from these little ambassadors of New Sudan.

p.s. Those of you wondering about the condition of my colleague Val: she was diagnosed with pneumonia and environmentally induced asthma, the former brought on by the amount of dust hanging in the air during the dry season. She has recovered and is happily working again in Tambura to defeat gender based violence.