‘Why are you all so obsessed with race?’

A (black) Kenyan friend asked me this question on Friday evening as we were having another conversation about being treated differently in Kenya due to the colour of our skin. It was perplexing that he should ask this question at this time, given what had just transpired. We were a mixed group in a not at all mixed bar in the centre of Nairobi. Just like the people who can’t contain themselves and have to shout ‘mzungu/whiteman/taxi’ as they pass you on the street, so the compere of the evening could not ignore our presence, promptly taking to his microphone to trot out the same tired theme which rears its head seemingly every time a white woman is in a room with Kenyan men. ‘If you are dancing next to a white girl, make sure you get their number because then you can f**K them and produce little Obamas’. He then proceeded to lead many men in a rehearsal of the line ‘can I have your number?’, before telling what I assume was a joke: ‘In Holland, men let their dogs lie in their bed while they f**k their wives’.

So I responded honestly to my friend: who exactly does he think is obsessed with race? Is it  us who, having consumed more Tusker (and eaten less) than we probably should have, responded by booing, hissing and heckling with the odd ‘booooooooooorrrring!’ Or is it the society that won’t ever let us forget that we’re white? In this instance, even if they thought we should be happy not to be able to sit in a bar without someone making an issue of our skin colour, surely they didn’t think it was acceptable that we should sit there while a group of men were encouraged to try and f**k our wives and girlfriends?

But its probably an idea not to try and take on gender issues at the same time as race.

We knew coming here that being in a minority – however privileged – would potentially be a major culture shock and challenge. And however distasteful and strange I find it, I understand why it is deemed acceptable to behave here in a way that is unimaginable back home. This is a country where tribal affiliation still play a huge role, with stereotypes applied to all members. Often, one is considered  Meru, Akamba, Digo, or (definitely) Mzungu before being Kenyan. It’s not a surprise that the tribal differences which the colonial powers chose to utilize are still so evident nearly half a century after independence.  It’s no wonder that many volunteers find that colleagues, neighbours and local shopkeepers look at us and see the wealth and success of the ex-pats, settlers and honeymooners (not to mention the scantily clad, easy women of the popular soft porn station, MTV). Our neighbours often stare into the flat, and kids will wander in if the door is open, presumably expecting to see evidence of a decadent lifestyle which will blow their minds. They must be very upset to see little more than a fifteenth-hand, falling apart sofa, a water-filter and a coffee table complete with a sticker explaining its heritage: ‘A gift from the American people’.  Don’t worry, Barrack, we’re only borrowing it.

Attitudes in Britain only changed with exposure. But here in Kenya there is incredibly little meaningful mass exposure. White settlers and many of the European ex-pats may as well be living in a totally different country to the majority of black Kenyans. Black and Asian Africans have hardly had the rosiest of relationships across east Africa, but I do not know enough about the current situation to conclude whether things are improving.  Many volunteers report that as our placements come to an end, colleagues are asking for us to leave our possessions; laptops, spectacles, clothes. These aren’t Kenya’s poor; these are middle class people who pay school fees and probably own cars. They just think we have the money to replace them. If just one person believes us as we inform them that these are not items we can afford to replace, then that’s a net improvement in cultural understanding. The perceptions of us and our motherlands are quite incredible. One of my colleagues thought I was lying to him when I told him that there are homeless people in Britain. He was amazed, given that he understands we are ‘paid by the government not to go to work’. Interactions with volunteers and other more representative Europeans must be helping people understand that while we’re all white, there is as much in common between me and most of the white people in Kenya - historically, culturally and certainly financially - as there is between my colleagues and Colonel Gadhaffi. We’re a very diverse bunch, and often come from cultures that respect and appreciate that diversity.

I know that Britain is far from perfect, and how long our culture of (predominantly) racial understanding took to establish. I know that our experiences in Kenya in no way compare to the decades-long struggles of Jewish, Caribbean and Asian communities arriving in an initially hostile, suspicious and outright prejudice country. But I also know that I have come here with an open mind and to try to understand and engage with the culture I am living in. And this cultural exchange is a dialogue, so I have a responsibility to explain to someone why I don’t think its right not to treat me as an individual, to make assumptions about your life because of the colour of your skin, or encourage a room full of drunk men to try and f**k your wife.