I've gotten pretty used to being the only caucasian in the room.
Okay, I've even gotten pretty used to being the only caucasian in the building.
And at first, I didn't even really notice. Obviously, I can tell when little kids are staring at me and pointing me out to their parents, and I know when I hear the words mzungu, malami or Obama in a nearbay conversation, someone's talking about me. My roommate overhears people discussing me in Swahili, and she says for the most part, if it seems like people are being weird, it's because they just don't know how to act around me. In some cases, she says, they're afraid of me. That's kind of hard to hear, but I think given a little more time they'll see I'm a just a normal human being and a reporter like them.
But yesterday, well, yesterday I was frustrated. It was one of those Kenya days where you do nothing but wait. Wait for a ride, wait for the press conference, wait for your interview, etc. I wasn't even bothered by it, which made me feel like I was finally starting to fit in here. Then we entered the chambers of the Minister for Sport, and got ready to report on her meeting with the Chinese ambassador. As I stood to the side with a slew of reporters, taking notes and balancing the extra mic cords on my shoulder, a print reporter made his way through the crowd to ask me, "Are you with them?"
"Excuse me?" I asked, and he replied, "Chinese? You're one of them?"
A sea of reporters surrounded me. A SEA. I had a K24 mic banner IN MY HAND.
I asked Tony afterwards, "Do I look Chinese to you?" He said, "Well...you look white, so..."
It's hard to imagine that happening in the States. Not the whole someone thinking I'm Chinese thing (although, yeah that'd be a bit a stretch), but the blatant assumption on the basis of race. Can you fathom the response if you were at a press conference with the ambassador from Venezuela and you assumed a Hispanic reporter you'd never seen before must work for them?
That alone was a minor incident, and not one that really affected me, but it brought to mind an issue I've been meaning to discuss. I knew I would look different than everyone else, but I was ill-prepared for how differently I would be treated. Kenya's colonial and tribal histories are clearly complex, and there is no way I could fathom the complicated emotions that are now tied to race in some people's minds. I'm not saying everyone should treat me like I'm local, because, obviously, I'm not. But while not everyone acts oddly around me, the ones who do say such peculiar things.
The other day in the morning news meeting, one reporter started describing his story idea in Swahili. Quickly, another journalist tried to help by saying, "Excuse me, we have a white person in the room, you need to speak English." I think, in her mind, I really don't speak Swahili because my skin is white, and not because, you know, I didn't grow up in East Africa.
This trip has often reminded me how lucky I am to live the life I do. But when I see the way people look at me, or realize how they're treating me differently, it makes me so thankful for my upbringing. I'm thankful my parents taught me the importance of understanding and appreciating other cultures. I'm thankful I went to a diverse high school and went on to study at a highly international college. Understanding different perspectives and knowing how to treat everyone like an equal human being regardless of their race, gender or socioeconomic background is a great strength for a reporter (and for that matter, a human being).
I know that's a quality I was afforded because I have access to so many cultures, and not everyone in Nairobi has the same exposure. But I guess now, I just hope that through my work at K24 I can bring a little more acceptance to one Kenyan newsroom and a few Kenyan living rooms.
