Life as a porcelain vase

I have been spending time in different villages these last weeks and am leaving today for another small village. When I leave the city I am often moving from a minority of many to become a minority of one, visible in such a way that the entire village knows my comings and goings. This was best symbolized last week by a small child who lived nearby the home where I was staying. Every morning and afternoon when I was approaching he would yell to his friends, “The white man is coming!” Then he and his entourage would stop their play to watch me, responding to my greetings only with smiles and some giggles.

Don’t misunderstand- the people in Cameroon have welcomed me very warmly. In fact, I would liken their welcome to that of a porcelain vase sitting on the shelf among plastic cups. I have been served first at meals; people give up their beds so I will not have to sleep on the ground. People insist that I take their chairs so I will not sit on the floor. When I offer to help with dishes, the response is, “Your hands are too soft. Let us do them.” It is assumed that I cannot walk far without tiring; warm water awaits me in the bathroom so I can bathe every morning. I am given special greetings, special invitations and special introductions. I am fragile, delicate, handled with care, easily-breakable, something to be admired rather than actually used in everyday work.

I sometimes resent the treatment. I want to tell stories about hiking Pike’s Peak or running a marathon. I purposely walk places, look for opportunities to serve others and wash my own clothes. Yet at my best moments, I see their actions as simply a way to acknowledge the elephant in the middle of the room, a non-verbal affirmation of reality. When I “escape” on Sundays to eat chicken curry served on china at the International Hotel, I know that it is true- I am wealthy. When my whole body aches after bending over a basin to do my laundry, I am ready to acknowledge- I am not used to manual labor. When I am slipping around on muddy paths, I remember- I am privileged. So for better or for worse, I suspect I will continue to encounter the porcelain vase treatment, a fact I cannot change any more than the color of my skin.