Female wazungu in flock

Occasionally I have to go to the international clinic in Masaki on the peninsula in Dar es Salaam. Some weeks ago, after having returned from a 10 hours' drive, I urgently needed a cure, which would make an infernal mix of stomach cramps, exhaustion and back pain go away.

 

Two women of my tribe enter the waiting room, accompanied by their children, who also make up the reason for their visit. They occupy a line of chairs, and start talking while they make bland gestures, and communicate at the top of their voices in their native tongue.

 

Exchange greetings, and exchange information as was it habitual commodities. As if they are the only ones in the room. They use irony, and joke with the facts that their children are not dying this time, that it is not that serious.

 

The talk goes on.

 

Aimlessly to the indifferent.

 

Woman A: How are you spending the coming holidays?

Woman B: Oh, I tried calling the X, but everything is booked. One really needs to get away sometimes.

Woman A (nods convincingly, expressing her sincere agreement): We really should get together one of these days. Go somewhere. Bring the children.

 

I start shrinking.

 

Not only by the thought of bringing a lot of children to one place, but about the whole idea of being caught in the midst of a flock of female wazungu slowly running out of commodities to exchange. Females, whose men's choice of careers have turned their families into modern versions of hunters and gatherers.

 

Not that I wouldn't envy - on occasion - the benefits of a man providing, but when I do, I do so for a wide range of obscure reasons. Not that I put all the female wazungu spouses in one box - far from - but when I meet them in flock in Masaki, I imagine the diluted conversations pending.

 

All in spite, I admit, I am a female mzungu myself - one who does know the directions to the Yacht Club; the best kanga designer/tailor in town; where to buy the best German homebaked bread; where to go for sushi; and a lot of other supposedly valuable commodities for a classic Dar es Salaam female, wazungu exchange of information.

 

Here a female mzungu can not only afford the international clinic, lakini, also the irony and the jokes which distances us to the majority of the people. When I lived in northern Uganda it was not unusual that I had to give someone a lift to a clinic, and that morning in the Dar es Salaam clinic it struck me that in Uganda I lived and worked closer to the Ugandans to ever joke about the fact that a child wouldn’t be dying today. 

 

The female wazungu operating in flock make me feel like I'm 16 years old again and back in high school spending too much time figuring out why I am not part of what appears to be the group of girls the boys are interested in. 22 years later, I know that that was a waste of time, and that I definitely don't belong among the wazungu females who isolate themselves in a bourgois life style far off the kelele.