(A White Girl) Trekking in the Usambara Mountains
“Muzungu!”
“Muzungu!”
“Muzungu!”
“Muzungu!”
It was as if the walls and trees surrounding me were talking. Little children sitting in fields, little children playing in backyards, little children popping out of windows and doors shouted this as I passed. Muzungu means “white person” in Swahili, and for the last four days, I have been relentlessly bombarded by this word.
For the last four days, I have been trekking in the Usambara mountains in Tanzania through little villages in the countryside.
We started in Lushoto, then headed to Emao, Mambo, Mtae, and finally Mlalo. We walked on dirt foot paths that wend their way through cornfields, front yards, and forests.
These are the little shortcuts that connect each house with neighboring villages. We passed men returning home from their farm plots, children singing on their way to school, and women balancing bushels of produce on their heads to sell at the market, topped by a long umbrella in case of rain.
Through it all, I felt like some kind of mobile flourescent billboard. I have never thought of myself as white and have never felt so glaringly white...
I heard faint cries from clear acoss the valley, “Muzungu!” and marveled to my guide, Jackson at how they could spot me from so far away. “Well, it’s easy to see you because of your skin,” he said.
Jackson was surprised to hear that in the U.S. I am not considered white and actually am considered a person of color. “Well, they say that Chinese people have yellow skin,” I said. He looked at me strangely, “That’s not a good description.”
He was also surprised to find out that in China, Chinese people point out white people the same way that they do in Africa and say “lao wai.” “But there isn’t much difference,” Jackson looked at me, perplexed. And I guess to him, relatively speaking, Asians look pretty white.
Every day Jackson and I covered between 15 to 24 kilometers, so there was plenty of time for talk about topics as serious as race to the more mundane. We chatted about L’il Wayne (his favorite singer), Tanzanian politics, farming life in Tanzania, his background, the Chinese language, Chinese culture, and current events in the U.S. By the last day, I had introduced him to Oscar Grant, Trayvon Martin, the growing income disparity in the U.S., homelessness, and the fact that there are more Black men incarcerated in the U.S., than in institutions of higher learning. These were not things he had heard about. Poor guy. I hate to burst anyone’s bubble, but the U.S. is a real country with real problems. By the end of the trek, he said, “We don’t have those problems here. Maybe Tanzania isn’t so bad.”
I am so happy to have spent those four days wandering the countryside instead of climbing Kilimanjaro. Between chatting with Jackson and slipping through people’s backyards, I feel like I got a brief glimpse into what everyday life is like in Tanzania.
What seems real here is getting to here from there the slow way, whether the bus will make it through the mud, waves of white butterflies in the pine forest, a night hike illuminated by fireflies, the motorcycle-like roar of a lightening storm blowing in, naturally sweet tomatoes, cabbages straight from the farm to the table, riots of colorful dresses filling the market days, and the cries of “Muzungu!” that follow me even as I sit on the bus ride back to Lushoto.
“Muzungu!”
“Muzungu!”
“Muzungu!”
It was as if the walls and trees surrounding me were talking. Little children sitting in fields, little children playing in backyards, little children popping out of windows and doors shouted this as I passed. Muzungu means “white person” in Swahili, and for the last four days, I have been relentlessly bombarded by this word.
For the last four days, I have been trekking in the Usambara mountains in Tanzania through little villages in the countryside.
These are the little shortcuts that connect each house with neighboring villages. We passed men returning home from their farm plots, children singing on their way to school, and women balancing bushels of produce on their heads to sell at the market, topped by a long umbrella in case of rain.  |
| Women heading to the market |
I heard faint cries from clear acoss the valley, “Muzungu!” and marveled to my guide, Jackson at how they could spot me from so far away. “Well, it’s easy to see you because of your skin,” he said.
Jackson was surprised to hear that in the U.S. I am not considered white and actually am considered a person of color. “Well, they say that Chinese people have yellow skin,” I said. He looked at me strangely, “That’s not a good description.”
He was also surprised to find out that in China, Chinese people point out white people the same way that they do in Africa and say “lao wai.” “But there isn’t much difference,” Jackson looked at me, perplexed. And I guess to him, relatively speaking, Asians look pretty white.
Every day Jackson and I covered between 15 to 24 kilometers, so there was plenty of time for talk about topics as serious as race to the more mundane. We chatted about L’il Wayne (his favorite singer), Tanzanian politics, farming life in Tanzania, his background, the Chinese language, Chinese culture, and current events in the U.S. By the last day, I had introduced him to Oscar Grant, Trayvon Martin, the growing income disparity in the U.S., homelessness, and the fact that there are more Black men incarcerated in the U.S., than in institutions of higher learning. These were not things he had heard about. Poor guy. I hate to burst anyone’s bubble, but the U.S. is a real country with real problems. By the end of the trek, he said, “We don’t have those problems here. Maybe Tanzania isn’t so bad.”
I am so happy to have spent those four days wandering the countryside instead of climbing Kilimanjaro. Between chatting with Jackson and slipping through people’s backyards, I feel like I got a brief glimpse into what everyday life is like in Tanzania.
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| We were heading the same way and walked together for a couple of miles before she shyly asked for me to take her photo |
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| Every village has a market day twice a week. Market day in Emao. |
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| The view from Mtae towards the Pare Mountains |
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