Obligatory race-themed blog entry
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Of all the things I imagined myself having a tough time adjusting to - cold showers, the threat of theft, learning a new language, witnessing the squalor of rural Tanzanian life - the difference of my race ranked close to the bottom of my pile of anxieties before embarking on this experience.
Now, just over a week into my trip - with around seven weeks to go - I feel like my skin colour and cultural origin are having the biggest overall impact on my experience day-to-day.
Whereas language and comparable discomfort can be gotten used to after a brief period of time - by me - the noticeable difference of my appearance to my rural neighbours is something that they may never get used to during my time here.
At first, being expected to say hello - hujambo, mambo, shikamoo, etc - to virtually everyone I pass on the street was a mildly amusing act. I strongly expect that that amusement will turn to annoyance - I’m seriously hoping that I don’t have to continue to be so jolly spirited for my entire public life here, but it‘s certainly looking that way. Of course, trips to nearby Arusha reduce such expectations - where white-skinned safari-goers and volunteers are extremely common, though treated by many opportunistic locals as naive bait for quick cash.
For the locals I have volunteered to help, the symbolism of my skin runs deeper than abject amusement or a source of exploitation. As mentioned in my last post, there’s an almost messianic expectation that the arrival of Robin and I (my volunteer partner) will herald a golden age of prosperity for all that become involved with us - as if by proximity, our boundless wealth (and the professional source of it) will rub off onto them.
Our business venture - which I’ll call a venture until we actually “arrive” somewhere - has been building steam, as we plan to propose trial trade agreements to a few safari companies in the area. To reiterate on the last post, our idea is to sell bracelets and coasters to a local safari company, to give as parting gifts to their tourist clients. It’s pretty much the only idea we’ve got right now, but it seems like a safe one to pour our efforts into for the time being. We’ve asked the women to make us two trial packages - of 15 like-sized bracelets and 15 coasters each - for us to trade with different safari companies. Men will get coasters, women will get bracelets. At the very least, if we sell both trials, we’ll make a small profit that the women’s group will appreciate. In the best situation, one safari company will agree to take our products on permanently, ensuring constant trade for the Mama Machumba group.
Yesterday (Friday), I worked on putting together an attractive A4-sized leaflet whilst Robin wrote up a more formal business plan. As a pair of former student journalists (Robin is from The Gateway at the University of Alberta), we were definitely in our element there. Finally, I felt like I was doing something that I genuinely am an expert at (if over four years of journalism and layout experience qualifies me as such). Still, our writing and layout only took us a few hours, which is a tiny drop in the pond compared to the total amount of time to be spent on this project.
While this brief episode of creative self-indulgence was a nice break from anxiously lofty planning, there’s still so much more practical work to be done. And there’s a nagging feeling that everything we could possibly achieve wouldn’t actually be too difficult for the group to do on their own.
Of course, this is a little unfair. What’s really key here is a matter of confidence, more so than business-savvy or passionate drive. Unfortunately, I fear that the women’s’ inferiority complex, in the face of whites like myself, makes them feel like they’re unable to set up even the most basic of businesses. Apart from the obvious difficulties of the tourist market - which requires a decent grasp of English to attract and persuade buyers - trying to set up some kind of a business deal with local safari companies seems beyond their self-perceived “status” as just poor black village women.
The general sense of their perceived inferiority to us white volunteers - who, though well educated, have no real business experience - is what truly makes me anxious, and somewhat frustrated. I worry that business victory for the Mama Machumba group is the only outcome they perceive as possible - after all, we made ourselves rich (actually, no we didn’t), so surely they can achieve the same goal with our guidance.
It’s this false equation that has me dreading the possibility of failing to help them at all.
Posted byplayerHAYTER at 5:22 AM