A friend asked me to write about what its like being a black male peace corps volunteer. She is a current volunteer in morocco and is interested in what it is like for other volunteers of color. As she plans on sharing the responses with high school students at home, figured i'd try to make it interesting and then post it on here because its about time for an update. Below is my response...
"After literally inhaling two plates of Riz Sauce Arachide, rice with peanut sauce, I felt pretty content with myself and was ready to move on to the meat. Although we eat rice with some kind of sauce just about every day here in Burkina Faso (try to find that on a map), it never gets old. From salty peanut sauces, watery tomato sauces, tangy mustard sauces, and even bitter vegetable sauces; I can’t get enough of it. Most volunteers complain about the redundancy of the palate here but I for one enjoy the consistency and supplement the rice with delicious meats. Buying meat here is nothing like it is in the states. There’s literally a man with a machete, chopping away at a recently killed animal, and then placing the chunks of meat on the grill to cook. Muscle, innards, organs; it’s all the same. He then pours ridiculous amounts of spicy pepper and other seasonings on the meat as it cooks. End product: AMAZING (although I for one still prefer Popeye’s spicy batter).
A lot of volunteers give me hell for eating the meat here, but after trying chitterlings and pig feet in the states, this is easy. Although they usually choose not to get meat, this particular night out on town I was able to convince them to order with me (Chevre/Goat). As a result of circumstance, we all ordered separately and got three separate plates of 500 CFA worth of meat (550CFA = $1). Although I was the last to get my plate, I was definitely the first to start eating and the last person to notice that everyone was staring at my plate. Although I had not originally noticed, my friends were quick to point out how pathetic my plate of meat looked in comparison to theirs. Upon closer inspection, I realized that my plate consisted mainly of fat and bone while their plates were overflowing with prime cuts. Although this did not particularly bother me, the other volunteers were bewildered as to why my plate was so pathetic in comparison to theirs. As they stared incredulously at my plate, I stared incredulously at them. “Had they really never noticed that they always get preferential treatment over me? Prime cuts of meat, preferential seating, served first; life in Burkina Faso revolves around making foreigners feel special."
Realizing that I needed to explain the situation to them, I began to talk to them about the “black” experience in Africa. Long story short, the phenomenon of “white privilege” is not isolated to America but has also found its way to Western Africa. Although I am a Black American male, the locals here still see me as African (despite my drastically lighter complexion). After explaining this to the other volunteers for what feels like the 100th time in country, they instantly became enraged and made comments on the injustice of my situation. Becoming slightly accustomed to being treated worse than my fellow American volunteers, I was taken aback by their surprise and was even turned-off by their naivety. So I did what I think anyone else would do in my situation, I shared my story.
Growing up just outside our National Capitol’s city limits, I am no stranger to poverty or difficult living situations in the States. A first generation college student, my family had big plans and hopes for me; that is until I decided to join the Peace Corps over going to law school. Although my parents and family were not initially supportive they soon grew to accept my decision. Deferring my loans, giving away my XBOX 360, and saying goodbye to the love of my life (at the time); I joined the U.S Peace Corps and moved to the 7th poorest country in the world in order to try to make a difference. Expecting to be met with gratitude or thankfulness, I’ve often been met with cold indifference because the locals usually think that I am one of them. Although this helps with integration into my community, I would also like to be recognized by my proper identity/nationality. Peace Corps volunteers in Burkina are overwhelmingly white females and are usually treated like royalty(with noticeable exceptions), whereas the 6 other Black Americans and I (out of 166 volunteers) are treated like second class citizens from Niger, or better yet Ghana. Although this initially bothers me, I enjoy educating locals on the diversity of Americans. Race, ethnicity, sexual Orientation, and socio-economic standing (No, not all Americans are rich like Rihanna or George Bush) are a few of the topics that I love discussing with Burkinabe. I enjoy working and sharing my culture to the locals here and definitely feel fulfilled by my work here (I am a community health volunteer working at a medical center). Although I look forward to one day serving in the Foreign Service, I definitely would like to get out of Africa.
Sharing my “story” with my fellow volunteers really made me feel better about my situation and even made me realize how genuinely good a lot of the volunteers are. They were able to sympathize and have even begun to take up the cause and educate the locals on American diversity. I walked away from dinner that night knowing that I had opened the eyes of several American volunteers. I felt good; until the next time we hung out at our volunteer hostel. They mistakenly greeted me in French because they thought I was a Burkinabe…. FML"
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