Once a mzungu, always a mzungu

Until yesterday, it had been a week of contentment, comfort, ease. It had been a week where I felt I’ve been here for a long time, where I felt I almost belonged, where at the very least, I knew how things worked, it was okay, I knew how to deal with it all, in a positive way even. Contentment until yesterday evening, where all my worst impressions of Zambians and Africa just got reinforced ten fold, and left me feeling shaky and shitty, even now, hours later.

Went out to dinner with a friend at this Ethiopian restaurant that we really enjoyed the last time we went. Here’s how the conversation with our waiter goes.

US: We’d like the combination platter. Do we get to choose which dishes we get in the combination?
HIM: Yes
US: Okay, we’d like a, b and c.
HIM: Okay, you want a, b and c.
US: Yes
HIM: Coming right up

….Dinner, conversation, yummyness. Then the bill. It’s way more than we expected it to be. What’s going on?

They charged us for three individual entrees, as opposed to the combination platter which comes with three varieties. The ensuing argument goes on for about 20 minutes, getting involved two night managers, the cook and our waiter. Nobody seems to be hearing us, what we’re saying, and the waiter doesn’t own up to exactly what was said. Nobody seems to acknowledge the misunderstanding. They keep telling us, but you chose three dishes, and you ate three dishes, we can show you the order than went into the cook. And we say, but he told us we could choose which ones we wanted in the combination, and they say, but you chose this one this one and this one.

And then, in the way I hate so much, they play the guilt card.

LADY IN CHARGE: Well who’s going to pay for this? I’m tired of paying for customers, I won’t do it anymore. And your waiter, are you going to take the money from him? He has worked all day. Just pay the bill. Who else is going to pay it? The money has to be there in the morning. Just pay the bill!

Yup Sarah, there she goes again, the rich selfish mzungu, trying to take advantage, doesn’t want to pay her bill, making a big deal, trying to make them pay, isn’t that typical of those whites. She’s white, she has plenty of money, why is she making a big deal out of this. Stupid mzungu, didn’t she realize what she was eating?

Nobody will let us call the real manager. It’s late. My friend is frustrated, she’s raising her voice, cursing. The lady in charge gets insulted and really stops listening. My friend is living on a very tight budget this year, essentially making a Zambian salary, and wasn’t expecting to pay this much for dinner. And the more they refuse to listen, the angrier she gets. I’m trying to remain calm, speak nicely to the lady, see if we can clarify what the other is saying, she won’t even let me talk. I want to scream, but I don’t. Finally, I just want to leave all the money and get out of there. My friend keeps saying we’re not paying. I don’t want this argument to continue. I never make a big deal out of these things. But the principle of it infuriates me.

At home, it would have been a conversation with a manager, a restaurant error, and correction. It’s the cost of doing business. But because it’s Zambia, and it’s late, and the manager isn’t there, nobody present is allowed to make the call, “yup, that was an error, let them pay what they thought they were paying for, we write it off as the cost of doing business.” Nobody was there to say that. So any money we didn’t pay would have come off somebody else’s paycheck. And thus they were (almost) legitimately mad at us, and yelling at us to “just pay!”

Of course I don’t want someone else to have to pay for the error. As always, they guilted me into paying. But the fact that there was no mechanism to account for that kind of error is ludicrous.

The worst part for me though, the image I cannot get out of my head, is an older Zambian gentleman who was sitting at a table near the register, listening to this whole argument, starting at us, with this subtle smirk on his face that kept getting bigger and bigger. My phone rings, it’s the taxi driver telling me he’s waiting for us outside. I hang up. The man looks at me, large smirk on his face now, and he says,
“Look at you, spending all that money on your phone!”
I want to punch him, scream at him, cry all at the same time. I’m shocked, I’m outraged. I’m speechless. Forget about the fact that when somebody calls you, it doesn’t cost you anything. In his mind, I am the selfish mzungu, taking advantage, always taking advantage, thinking I can get away with it. Why won’t I just pay, I have the money.
All I can manage to say, all I can think to say is,
“Where do you get off judging me?” I probably look like I’m about to cry because that’s how I feel. And he just keep smiling, in fact, I think his smile got bigger.

All of this happened after a dinner conversation we had had about the lack of regard for others and lack of personal responsibility that’s so pervasive here. In manifests itself in all aspects of life.

-Walking down the street and people not letting you by, especially on our morning runs when clearly we’re running and want to keep running. Just because, why should they move to let you by?
-The garbage strewn all over every free patch of space on the street, tossed carelessly from cars, from hands, as if it magically disappears after.
-Cars and buses driving by where pedestrians are non-entities, they would rather run you over than slow down and in fact will give you dirty looks if you try to cross. You know how usually, you cross the street and wave at the person in the car waiting for you, as a courtesy, as a thanks? Here, the driver will wave at you, as you’re standing there in the middle of the crosswalk. Thanks for waiting!
-In line anywhere, waiting for anything, or should I say, lack of lines.
-At work, where leisure time, leave time, tea break and knocking off early rule over all, and actually working is just an after thought.
-In almost anybody starting up a conversation with you, because they always want something else. The ultimate goal-A marriage proposal and ticket to America.
-By the constant blame game. Our day and night guards stabbing each other in the back in who’s fault it is that some thing happened. Never ever admitting fault, or saying I’m sorry, especially to a woman.
-In the perception that they will be handed everything they need, largely by all the aid money pouring in. What have you brought us this morning Sarah?

Those are feelings I try not to dwell on. When I do my work here each day, I try to focus on all the things I like about Zambians, and all the promise this country holds.

But I have to admit that I’m having a hard time feeling positive about any of it right now. When Zambians ask me if I like it here, what I like best about it, it’s getting harder and harder for me to list the positives. The sense of entitlement infuriates me. Payback for centuries of mistreatment at the hand of the white man. That’s why I’m here apparently, to give them what they deserve after all this time. Why else would I be here? I will never be seen as someone trying to defy the stereotype, to put history in the past, to start anew, as here because I want to help, even in my own small way. It’s too late for that. The stereotype will never be broken.

I hate when Zambians make me hate them. But as far as I’m concerned, Zambia, and Africa, is going to shit.