Muzungu, how are you?

"Muzungu, how are you?" How many times have I heard that question. Every day as I ride my bike to school my presence creates huge excitement among the kids enroute. This is lots of fun, both for me and for them. I almost always respond - sometimes in Nyanja, the local language, which causes extra delight - and it feels nice that my existence is recognized, even if it as a generic white guy. Indeed, on the odd day when there are very few "muzungu, muzungu" calls I feel a little lonely - how come no one saw me today?

There are certain parts of Lusaka where being a white man is not a big deal - for example, Manda Hill or Arcades, the two major "western" shopping centres have the same racial mix as in many urban North American cities. When one ventures off the traditional expat path, however, and enters the compound, the excitement begins.

I am not sure what this excitement can be attributed to. I hardly saw any black people growing up, but did not run out the street yelling and waving when I did. I am told that part of it is competition - if one kid gets a response than the other kids all have to get one as well and, usually, I am more than happy to oblige.

Some areas have a greater muzungu fetish than others. There is one road I call "Muzungu Alley." I often feel like the Pied Piper on that road because I usually end up with several kids following me as I walk or ride along. Some trails that I take everyday are still full of "muzungu, muzungu" calls.

So this "muzungu" phenomenon is something that I have enjoyed so far. Maybe it will become tiring some day, but it hasn't reached that point yet. Since this semi-celebrity status will continue throughout the year, I'm sure, it is probably a good thing that I enjoy it!