Mzungu (pronounced mizz ZUNG goo) is the term for white person in Rwanda. If the internet is to be believed, it has a literal meaning along the lines of “man wandering around” and dates back to the days of colonization when the Europeans came in and didn’t settle in a single spot but rather moved from place to place. I assume it is a forerunner of Mizzou Guy, which is an idiot wandering around the SEC (sorry, Mizzou fans, but it was right there).
In an earlier post I mentioned that we Mzungus get a lot of attention. When I walk toward the Shrine I pass plenty of people who just cannot help but stare at me, especially the younger kids. I just smile and call out “Mwaramutse” (good morning) or “Muraho” (hello) and they generally smile and greet me back. Sometimes, especially the more daring children, they will respond in English with “good morning” or “hello.” The kids who are probably 7 or 8 and younger might reach out their hands for either a handshake or to pet my hairy arm.
Sometimes being a Mzungu is like being a rock star. But, it isn’t without its pitfalls. Some Rwandans think Mzungu is Kinyarwandan for “money.” They assume that because I am white, I therefore have a lot of money. To be fair, the average American has a ton more money than they do.
It is tough for me to know a reliable source about the average wage in Rwanda, but in a rural village like Kibeho I think the most aggressive estimates would put an average wage at $250/month. It is important to remember that this is an average wage. It is different from average income. One source claims the average Rwandan lives on less than $1.90/day. There are many in Kibeho who do not have jobs. In my interviews with students, I have been surprised by how many say both parents work in their own field. If they are fortunate to have a harvest that exceeds their daily needs, they can sell their produce in the market or, more likely, to a “jobber” who comes around and purchases produce to be sold in the market. I promise you these parents are not earning $250/month!
Today I was reminded of the dark side of being a mzungu. I went for a run on a trail that took me to some breathtaking views. Along the way I ran past two kids who took up running with me. We chatted as best we could (the older one knew a little English and I know a few words in Kinyarwandan and we both know a little French). When I returned to the Cana Center, she first asked me for a tshirt. I said I didn’t have one to give, that I only brought enough for myself for the trip. So then she wanted me to give her food. I explained that I am a visitor at the Cana Center and that the food isn’t mine to give (when I say “I explained…” or “I told…” please understand I am saying things like “I no have” and “I visitor”). The older one got a little angry with me, like I wasn’t being honest.
I was saved, I thought, by a 20-year-old named Claude who happened along at about that time. Claude is a runner (we are going to run together tomorrow morning…until he sees how slow I am!) who is a Level Four student in a vocational secondary school. He knows decent English. As we were talking, he started to mention how he hopes to go to school this year but is not sure he can afford it. My spidey sense started to tingle, and I suddenly got the impression he might be angling toward the big ask. He didn’t make it, but as we run tomorrow I wonder if it will come up that he needs financial help.
It is tempting to run back to my room, grab $100, hand it to Claude and say “I know things are tough. Go get ’em, kid.” I have come to believe in supporting organizations that give rather than me giving directly, as there are hundreds of Claudes in Kibeho alone and I simply cannot help them all. Also, it is tough to know when giving directly to a person sets up an expectation for an endless stream of support and/or when it enables someone.
Even when I tell myself that I am “giving by going,” I will only encounter so many students here and have such a small impact in just six weeks. Jesus says something along the lines of there will always be poor. While that is true, it doesn’t make it easier for me to walk away from a couple of kids that likely ARE very hungry right now, and sitting in my room is enough money to feed them for an entire month.
It’s not always a picnic being a mzungu. God bless us all, and God bless these little ones of rural Rwanda!