Don’t Steal Me!
Off the coast of Dar es Salaam we visited my friend’s sister neighborhood; Msasani. The area was nowhere as flashy as the perfect child in Zanzibar. But they had a beach. Where there is a beach, there’s a Min.
Hussein (My friend), his nephews, his mum and myself took a stroll on the beach. Hussein, like myself is a third culture kid - born in a world where others see us, raised in a society where we see us. He too was not too familiar with the area as the sister only moved recently. His Mum, was a different breed. She walked the sands of Msasani as they were planted there for her feet. People gazed at her as if she could take away your beach privileges from you. This woman commanded respect wherever she went — is this an African mum thing? Or just a Mum thing in general?
I brought with me my FakePro(Knockoff GoPro) everywhere. As we passed through the trees guarding the shore I noticed leers watching over me from a group of boys loitering. Around 5 of them. Jumping from the frying pan into the fire, they were holding spears made from sticks and stones that were reflecting as if they were ready to protect a rhino. They wore bright colorful clothes, light fabric and covered sandals on their feet. This group were just in the shades of red and blue. Their faces, as grim as death itself.
Hussein’s Mum noticed my uneasiness, clenching my FakePro.
“You see those boys? They are the Maasai people. They are the original locals here”.
Were they pissed at me because I was obviously not from around here and I was treading their territory? Is this what a gang turf feels like? Could I outrun a throwing spear. Nevermind that, could I outrun them?!
I clenched my FakePro even tighter. I had too many memories to lose if they were to rob me. I was never going to let that happen.
We were able to pass through that border patrol and were given a green light to explore the beach. After a few snaps and dives in the water, Hussein’s approached me.
“Do you want to take a picture with them?”
Surely with this woman, these boys don’t stand a chance.
“Yeah sure!”
She walked over to them and greeted. They had a quick chat and a joke that sent Hussein’s Mum to Mars. She giggled all the way back to me and said “Go ahead, they’re happy to take a picture with you”.
I handed my FakePro to Hussein, approached them with a purposeful smile that said please don’t hurt me, I actually don’t know Kung Fu that’s all just a stereotype and went over to the boy that wanted to take a picture with me. I put my arms around his and his around mine. Say cheese!
Snap.
We went our separate ways after, us back to the sister place and the boys back to hanging out with each other. That did not seem too bad. I still have my camera with me. Curious about why Hussein’s mum was laughing where both ends of the beaches could hear her chuckle, I asked.
“Why were you laughing just now?”
She looked at me with intent.
“Do you know why those boys kept staring at you?”
“Because I’m a foreigner?”
“Yes and foreigners do not usually come to this area. They were scared of you. very scared of you.”
“Why would they be scared of me? I have never been to the gym my entire life.”
She took a breathe and smirked.
“They thought you were a white man. A white man who would kidnap them and send them overseas.”
“…”
Astounded by the notion. I was left speechless.
Here’s me, an Asian kid, visiting Tanzania to explore and learn about the beauty this world brings fruit to. Where the worries in my life was about ensuring tomorrow I would have another exciting day. A day full of adventure and hope. The realization of how big this world really is slammed on me then.
Our problems around the world differ not only through the social structure society puts us in but also with race. I had never felt any emotions relating to animosity towards any race. Growing up in a melting pot there were never really any strong fractions. Sure if you were Pakistani you would bond closer with another countrymen as your mother tongue makes you feel at home, comfort, secure. But at lunch we would all chat non sense and talk about the same stupid things. “Why’s my belly button so weird” “What’s wrong with Mr.Crawford?” “Do you think he’s pissed because his belly button is weird too?”. It did not matter what you looked like, where you came from, how you talked. We all had to hear the same belly button story.
This resentment for another race, I never understood it till I saw and heard the story of a boy who did not have the privilege as I had of being surrounded in a diversified social environment.
How did this Maasai boy grow up? Was he raised to fear the white man? Did a white man try to kidnap him before? What did you go through to have this fear of Malaysian boy who looked like he bathed in Colgate triple action before going to bed every night instilled?
Here is a gentle reminder that those around you see the world in a different set of eye balls connected to a mind that was molded with a different pulp of trees fed with nutrients unique to their environment. Don’t be so quick to form an opinion, listen first.