I can safely say it was Rwanda where, for the first time, I was swarmed by dozens of children.
It was in the southern province, in a rural area. My group had just finished a meeting with a local women’s cooperative, which was conveniently located next to a primary school. We exited the building. Chaos ensued.
Here, I am known as “muzungu” — white person. It has no negative connotation. It’s simply a fact, often murmured under the breath as I pass someone on the street or how a shopkeeper refers to me.
It’s unusual to see someone like me walking around, which makes many adults’ heads turn. For young kids, the reaction tends to be a bit more dramatic.
Hence, the swarming.
This is how the scene went: We exit the building. Children have started to form in clumps. They say “Good morning! Good morning!” even though it’s late in the afternoon, but it’s a commonly known English phrase.
I go to the bathroom. I come back and our bus is swarmed. The amount of children, staring, grinning and chatting excitedly, seems to have doubled.
My friend and I stomp through the small crowd, pretending to be monsters. They scream and laugh. We wait on the bus for a while, and the kids try to stick their hands through the bus ?window.
As we finally shake some off to drive away, they start jogging close behind or beside the bus. We almost run over their toes.
About a mile down the road, we’ve still got a runner. He’s chasing us as fast as he can and doesn’t lose us for a while, showing real conviction, not to mention athletic ability.
I’m not exaggerating when I say it was like being a Beatle.
This is not by any means what happens every day. I was in a small, rural area, less prone to wandering ?muzungus.
In Kigali, I often get many open-mouthed stares and ill-timed “Good morning!”s, but nothing to this level.
After the adrenaline and laughter started to die away, I felt very strange. I admit, as much as I get a boost when children are that happy to see me, I’m still very aware of the reason — my skin.
I am inclined to think the biggest reason kids react to us in that way is because we’re just so exotic and different to them.
They might never have seen a white person, with different skin and hair than them, so naturally, childlike curiosity kicks in.
It has to do with this sheer curiosity, and maybe a bit of the idea that white people are Americans, and American people have limitless money. I haven’t completely figured out which one it is yet.
For now, I can just laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation and be grateful that I’m well-received.
