Thoughts On Fitting In and Standing Out

Elisabeth Michel
University of Michigan School of Public Health
(This is my second post from May - scroll down for the first!).

I feel like an invisible outsider.

All the villagers can clearly distinguish the muzungu (originally meaning “ghost”), the term used to refer to foreigners. Correction – the term used to refer to non-Black foreigners. I, on the other hand, an umunyamahanga (foreigner).  Kids run up to the muzungu for a handshake, or yell to them from yards away. Adults stare at them, and then spread their faces into a toothy grin and joyfully respond when the muzungu greets them in Kinyarwanda.

But it’s different for me. People often don’t take notice of me – until I start talking.

I’m pretty sure there is an elderly woman around here somewhere who thinks I am the rudest person under the sun. One day as I briskly walked to work, I saw her slowly approaching from the opposite direction. While we were still some ways from each other, she looked me in the eye and released a slew of words in Kinyarwanda. I maintained my walking pace, smiled and responded, “Mwirwe!” (Good afternoon!).

I don’t completely blend in, because my clothes are different and folks can tell them I’m not from Ruli. But it’s not immediately apparent that I’m not Rwandan. So I don’t get many stares, and people often don’t respond as enthusiastically to my greetings as they would to that of a muzungu.

My older brother is 6’5” and has always been taller than his peers mostly everyone around. My mother used to tell him when he was younger that he had to be aware of his surroundings and couldn’t always act as immature as his peers, since he looked older than his age. (Imagine someone you think is 15 acting like a 10-year-old…).

I feel like that sometimes when I walk around Ruli. As though I need to hold myself to a higher standard. Obviously, I cannot force myself to be someone I’m not – nor do I have any desire to do so. But I feel I have to go the extra mile to be respectful, work extra hard to learn as much of the language as is possible in 3 months, and learn the customs as best as possible…so I don’t accidentally offend people. And I can at least tell someone I don’t speak Kinyarwanda, instead of letting them guess for themselves as I breeze past them.

(Blending in can work to my benefit though – once I learn numbers and how to ask, “How much is this?,” I may get better deals on goods and services than a muzungu might...)

I may sometimes feel invisible, but in reality, I'm not. Whenever I engage in conversation with someone in Ruli, I receive bright smiles, a warm welcome, and Kinyarwanda lessons. And I've been forging new friendships that I'm already beginning to treasure. So, maybe by the time I leave in August, I won’t feel like too much of an outsider.

These children were headed to an outdoor lesson on the basketball court. Most precious sight to see: kids clamoring around someone for a hug or yelling, "Good afternoon!" from across the way.