The crashed dream

Wazungus or Muzungus. As you know now, white people from America, Australia, and Europe are called this way. But behind the term is much more than just a word, which can sometimes be really annoying. All Asians are automatically Chinese here. The locals call themselves "black" and Afro-Americans:in, they are called "Black Americans". Thus, each ethnic group gets a name, but with the word Muzungu comes much more.

As Muzungu, you're a wandering pile of money. Africans immediately associate wealth with a Muzungu. The picture of a man from Western countries sitting under a tree and the money just falling on him is actually in the minds of many Africans. But we created it ourselves. There's a white sponsor behind every organization, 98%. Here in Kenya, mostly Americans. That's good and right, but it can be hard for people like me who just want to have a good time and don't have a big bundle of money. As already mentioned, felt every fifth man would like to be your husband, because then he managed. Please don't get me wrong, I think it's very good that there are organisations here that do all sorts of things and that they are sponsored. This is not the point, the tourists also contribute their share to the “clischee Muzungu” by often voluntarily simply paying more, because they have the money, instead of trading and paying the same prices as the locals. Because life here also costs something and is not free, as many Muzungus see it.

I recently met two women aged 25. One of the two was sponsored by our American friend, and they're always in contact. That's why I wrote to Veronica, the Kenyan, because she's also in Kisumu. She met me at her college campus and then we went to her home. There were two other classmates there:in her. Niver and Veronica live in a very simple house of four walls and a sheet roof. The room is separated by a cloth. Behind the cloth the mattress of the two, which lies on the floor, before everything else. A table, two hooks, water cans, dishes and all possible work materials. Meanwhile, they're like two friends to me. We chatted for four hours and really about everything and that very openly. The conversation was mega interesting and we dissolved many prejudices from both cultures.

I probably destroyed the image of the Muzungus and the American Dreams of both. It started when I took off my shoes when I entered the house, even though they thought I could turn them on. Then it went on that I entered the house at all was a new experience for Niver. When we wrote, Niver joked to Veronica that she could write me that I could come to them. Veronica did this and they both didn't expect me to swear or even enter the house. Then there was the story with the Ugahli corn grain. You heard from friends that in Europe, only cows eat this, not people. I, a dreamer, said no and showed them a picture of Polenta.

We came to talk about poverty. For both of them, the issue of poverty has so far only existed in Africa. They looked at me with a deep eye when I explained to them that there are poor people and people who live on the streets, people who are not as privileged as I am. They asked me with amazement what they look like, if they look the same as me.

The next topic was marriage and divorce. Here, too, I surprised them once again when I said that this is just as much a subject for us as it is for them here in Kenya. We talked about getting out and why a marriage can't work. Niver had a very strong opinion about the whole thing and said that she would understand the men already if they go strange. Here it is actually more the men, at the same time not only. She also said that in a marriage, women should try to please their husband and not just let him fall. Then we all three realized that the topic of communication is the A and O of a marriage or relationship, and that the mobile phone can already do a lot of harm.

Furthermore, they were very surprised when I said that I would go home now. They looked at me wondering, and they thought, but you're already driving the Boda Boda, aren't you? I answered "no" and told them that, firstly, it is only 20 minutes and, secondly, I want to get to know the city and I do it best on foot. We then went back to the campus at three, as the two were studying for the upcoming exams. Before we said goodbye, there was a photo shoot. This is happening here and would be very challenging for the young women and for me, as I do not like to take pictures of myself. Before we all went our way, they thought to me once again: “Alina you are very humble! And not at all the kind of Muzungu we expected.”

Whatever happens here, as far as the differences are concerned or not, the topic of death and suicide is unfortunately quite topical, especially in the environment of my friend. What's extremely annoying is that since I'm here, we've been talking and exchanging about, for example, what a funeral looks like in Austria and what it looks like here in Kenya. The topic of depression is seen here as a “luxury disease”.

In the end, there's only one thing that makes us different, and that's our skin color. We're all just people with feelings, bones, skin, hair and blood. All over the world, there are evil and good, poor and rich, small and large, fat and thin. I can see that more and more and the people around me too. I stand out from the crowd because of my skin color, but I'm just like anybody else. Even only a person who is allowed to experience the miracle of “life”.