Musungu!

I have not seen another white person in Kamina since I arrived five days ago. As I move through town, people seem to have one of three reactions when they see me.

Some simply look at me and then return to their business. They go back to their conversation or keep on walking, and I usually do the same. Those who pay me no heed are a distinct minority, though.

A second reaction, The Shout, is probably more common than the first. As I walk along, children holler “Musungu!” (Swahili for “white man”) or, less often, “Blanc!” Sometimes they shout it over and over. Often, as they yell, they run toward me, waving furiously -- or scamper to higher ground for a better view as I pass by.

Children aren’t the only shouters. Grown women and teenagers often turn in the street and exclaim as well, though usually with less volume.

I detect no malice in the voices of those who shout. Lots of times, I don’t think they are shouting at me at all. They’re announcing a fact, often with great enthusiasm -- perhaps to me, perhaps to others around them, but probably to no one at all.

Other times, The Shout is clearly meant to attract my attention, so I can see the big smile and vigorous wave directed my way. I always smile and wave back, usually with a smidge less vigor. Responding to the smile-and-wave, I feel a little bit like a celebrity, and a little bit like someone in a circus asked to perform his one trick over and over, to the audience’s delight.

The third reaction is by far the most common: The Stare. Children stop playing, swivel, and stare -- hands at their sides, eyes wide open. Adults stop talking to one another and gaze at me over their shoulders. Bike-riders sometimes seem so transfixed I worry they might crash.

I don‘t think those who stare are shocked or horrified by me, nor do I think they are filled with admiration or disgust. Staring at the white person, it seems, is simply what is done.

There’s a double irony here: I am visiting the Congo is to observe, to see what life is like here. Yet to those I encounter, I am the one on display. Moreover, what I see is not life in Africa, but rather Africans watching a white man walk around… in Africa. (Cf., e.g., Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle.)

When I experience the stare -- which is to say, most of the time I am outside the walls of my guest house -- I feel like a bit of a freak. Accustomed to living in cities and naturally averse to conflict, my first instinct is to look down, to avert my gaze and just let people stare. But I find that option unbearable: It seems to encourage more staring, and I didn’t cross the Atlantic to look at dirt.

Instead, I meet the gaze of those who stare at me and I say hello in French or Swahili. Ninety-nine percent of the time, people say hello right back and replace the stare with a smile -- and everything feels human again.