“You see now?” The Headmistress towers over me, all six feet of her glowing with triumph as though her long-argued point is finally indisputable. “You wazungu keep your promises and show up on time. That is why you are rich. We Africans are lazy and stupid. We descend from the bad son, the dark son, the slow son. That is why we are poor. That’s why the community hasn’t brought stones and sand for the project. If the project fails, it is a punishment from God for the Africans’ lazy ways."
The giant woman pauses, catching her breath. I narrow my eyes and prepare my response. How do you say institutionalized racism in Kiswahili?
Before I can respond, she dismisses me with a wave of her hand and the most frustrating argument ever: “It’s in the Bible.”
“Madam, we agreed the other day that white men probably had some hand in translating what is considered the word of God. Don’t you think they might have had a reason to convince black people that they aren’t as good? And after all of the colonialism and oppression and slavery, of course it’s hard to feel confident, and if you don’t feel confident, you lose hope, you don’t bother working hard because you don’t believe it will be worth it, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do great things if you believe in yourself and…” She’s just looking amused. I pull out my last card. A desperate attempt. “What about Obama? You think he’s lazy and stupid?”
“Oh, daughter, your president is only half African. You are so kind to try to defend us, though. Thank you."
She sighs. I sigh. We’ve been having this debate for two weeks. I’m sick of it. As a last-ditch effort, I try pulling out whatever I can remember from the liberation theology course I took senior year of college. I can’t figure out how to say “God is on the side of the oppressed” in Swahili. And even if I could translate it, and convince her that people in this village count as oppressed people, I doubt she’d agree with the belief that today’s oppressed are analogous to the Bible’s Israelites. She is constantly reminding me of my superiority above other white people on account of my being a member of the chosen people.
Let’s back up a bit. Here’s how the argument began.
Last week, funding for my “Appropriate Technology Training Program” came through. The plan is to train students how to build three kinds of fuel-efficient stove and a 40,000 liter rainwater harvesting tank. As soon as the funding arrived, two counterparts and I traveled to Arusha to buy materials. The trip went amazingly well—we not only found all the materials in one day, we also got great prices. My counterparts were dedicated and honest, carefully accounting for every single shilling. We’re all set to start…except. The community contribution.
In accordance with Peace Corps policy and general good sense, the community is required to donate in services or materials at least 25% of the total cost of the project. The theory is that they’ll feel more ownership over the project this way, be more involved and dedicated to its success, and more likely to do something about it if there are problems in the future. For this project, the community agreed to donate a few trailers of stones, concrete, and sand in addition to manual labor.
Every morning for the past week, the village chairman has said that he will be holding a meeting with all the sub-village chairpeople to delegate responsibilities. Every evening he says that the meeting will be tomorrow. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow… We’re supposed to start building on Monday. Still no meeting. Still no stones.
Yes, I’m frustrated. No, I don’t believe this has anything to do with some kind of biblically mandated racial inferiority. Duh.
Madam tells me that I’m very good for taking two years of my life to try to help her village, but I shouldn’t be upset if I don’t see any results. Her people are just doomed to a life of wretchedness and poverty. It’s been that way since time immemorial. They are a less blessed people. God makes no mistakes, she says, so there is a reason for their misfortune. They’ve clearly done something wrong.
I can’t decide whether to scream or cry. This nonsense is coming from a brilliant, dedicated educator who has worked so hard to improve her own life—becoming headmistress of the secondary school and one of the wealthiest people, certainly the wealthiest woman, in the village.
The colonialists might be gone, but their presence isn’t necessary anymore anyway. Their legacy lives on in Madam’s fervent belief in her own inferiority. Their legacy lives on in Madam’s constant deferral to my nonexistent authority. I’m a 22 year old kid with no practical training in anything remotely relevant to the work I’m doing here. All I have is a liberal arts degree, idealism, and two years to spare. But she sees my skin and immediately decides that I’m better than she is.
This argument is making me question things I don’t want to question.
What am I really doing here? Every time I teach a lesson or plan a project, am I just reinforcing the idea that I’m somehow superior because I have education and resources?
By an accident of fate, I was born to a very comfortable family in a very wealthy nation. By an accident of fate, Madam was born into a poor family in one of the poorest countries on this planet. Perhaps in order to avoid accepting that the world is a cruel and random place, or else because of a legacy of instruction and intervention from people in whose interest it was to convince Africans that they are inferior, Madam doesn't see any accidents at all.
How do you convince someone of their value when they comfortably believe that God has cursed them, their ancestors, and their descendants for all eternity?
