Life in a Fishbowl

During spring break of my sophomore year of college, I joined 45 other students from my school on a mission trip to Mexico. We drove to Tijuana and built three stucco houses. Our team shirts had the theme: life in a fishbowl. The idea was that we wanted to be sold out to Christ so that every bit of our lives would reflect Him. Since we were going to a country where we didn’t speak much of the language, our actions would be speaking for us.

I didn’t fully realize what living life in a fishbowl meant or what it would be like…until I moved to Uganda. Ironically, feeling like every aspect of my life is open for all to see and under scrutiny has nothing to do with my being a follower of Christ. It all boils down to one thing – the color of my skin.

The fact that I have white skin makes me an instant celebrity. I have the ability to draw a crowd just by walking down the street. Often, I will hear kids cheering and calling out to others as they run to the roadside to greet me. It’s an interesting sensation to feel famous and know that you just made someone’s day by your very presence.

My white skin also makes me an oddity. I bring joy to people; I also bring tears. Children who aren’t accustomed to seeing white people are terrified of me. Just yesterday, I was visiting a friend at her home, and the neighbor’s daughter toddled into the doorway. As soon as she caught sight of me, she stopped dead in her tracks. She stared for a few seconds and then her lip began to tremble, and she burst into tears. A little while later, I went to greet her mother and got too close. The tears flowed once more.

Growing up in a culture that is racially diverse, politically correct, and polite, it was never okay to stare at someone who was different. We might covertly sneak a quick peak, but we’d never comment on or openly bring attention to somebody’s differences. This is not the case in Uganda. They stare. They comment. They point. In Kampala, it’s not so bad, but in Gulu and other places, it can be.

Everywhere I go, I get stared at. All. The. Time. Blatantly, openly, without apology.

The other day, as I was walking down the road, I came upon a group of children who were just ahead. As soon as they caught sight of me, they all stopped and waited, just staring. They didn’t move again until I had caught up with them, greeted them all, and continued on my way. Adults will do this too, to a certain extent. I often catch people watching me – a bicyclist who passes me, but continues looking at me until I think he’s going to crash into something, women walking along the road, people in shops along the way. Most often they don’t mean anything by the looks. They are just curious about me. They think it’s strange that I’m walking, not driving. They want a chance to greet the ‘mzungu’ or white person. I’m sure I provide plenty of material for evening conversation at home.

This attention, however, can become a bit unbearable at times. I feel as though I’m part of a circus act or an animal in the zoo, a piece of entertainment. Some people (from children up to adults) adopt an unnaturally high (and silly) tone of voice when speaking to me or trying to get my attention. Others whistle or click their tongues like I am an animal they are calling. These ones I do my best to ignore, though I often think in my head (or mutter to myself), I am a person just like you! Speak to me in a normal voice. Treat me with respect, as a real human being.

Sometimes, a good thing happens, making this life in a fishbowl not all that bad. On my way home from church today, I suddenly found myself walking with two little girls. They were giggling and smiling and determined to keep up with my long stride. I had the longest conversation I could with them, pulling out all the bits of Acholi I could remember: “How are you? What is your name? My name is Kate. Where are you going? How old are you?” Pretty pathetic, I know, but I was grateful they at least understood me and responded. (It is so much easier to practice with kids than with adults!) I enjoyed our walk together, waving goodbye when they turned down another path.

So, I guess I take the good along with the bad. I continue on day by day to live and work and minister in this beautiful country. And, hopefully, along the way, those that stare will see something worth seeing: Christ’s light and love shining in and through me.

My two friends...they immediately struck this pose when I asked if I could take their photo :).