Racial Observations and the Real Meaning Behind The White Nile

One of the reasons I am writing this entry is to explain the name of my blog, The White Nile. The title, I must admit, was borrowed from book of the same name written by English historian Alan Moorehead, a fascinating read if you should ever get the chance. Divided into three sections, the book traces the history of the West in East Africa, from exploration and the efforts if the Royal Geographical Society to locate the headwaters of the Nile, to the militarization and governance at the hands of the British , and finally to the Evangelization of its inhabitants by adventurous missionaries. Thus, the headwaters of the Nile beginning at Lake Victoria began, with each additional white footstep into East Africa, to interestingly (and sadly) take on a new meaning to the name that was given them, the White Nile. The White Nile was in fact becoming whiter, so to speak. I chose to call my blog this not only because within the region I am living springs the White Nile, but, whether I like it or not, I am continuing a trend that began with Richard Speke and John Burton and the first exploration into East Africa in the mid-nineteenth century.

Paul Theroux, probably the greatest travel writer since Mark Twain, is an outspoken critic of the West’s involvement in Africa. Not unfounded (Theroux spent a number of years teaching at Makarere University in Kampala during the 1960s while it was still the “Oxford of the East“), his argument is shared with a number of people, including many Africans, that Africa should be left to the Africans. Western involvement, in the form of NGOs and non-profits, is doing more harm than good, and essentially constitutes what might have been Moorehead’s fourth wave of white intervention in East Africa had he not finished his work in the 1960s. Nevertheless, here I am, teaching Ugandans basic business skills as a member of the MAPLE Microdevelopment organization. Based on my own experience so far and the warm welcome our teaching efforts have received, I am inclined to disagree with Mr. Theroux. In the end, however, I do acknowledge that a fair amount of the aid work designed to lift Africa out of “darkness” falls short of its goal, more specifically creating a dependence rather than personal foundation. This is understandably a sensitive subject among NGO and non-profit circles, and it will be interesting to find out what I think after my tenure here in Africa has ended. I will keep you posted.

The lighter side

Brad, our Ugandan friend Eddie, and I were watching a Premier League game the other day at a neighborhood establishment, the Loving Tone Hotel, when it suddenly struck me: Here we are, two white men, sitting amid a sea of black football fans watching white guys play a sport on TV, the exact reverse of what goes on back in the United States. I can picture two Ugandans coming to the United States and going to a Boston Celtics game and sitting among an arena of white people all the while cheering on a quintet of all black men. Very interesting indeed.

While patronizing one of our favorite Sino-Indian-Ugandan restaurants, Ribat, last week our group had an interesting experience. Service was slow, and we were well into our second hour of waiting for our food when conversation slowed and minds began to wander. Luckily for us, a football match was playing on the TV and would provide an excellent distraction. The game, tied 2-2 heading into the last ten minutes, was becoming increasingly intense, and Jordan was about to fall off of his seat and into his cocktail when in strolled a group of Indians, a large minority group here in Uganda. Luke, our resident pro having spent the greater part of a year here in Uganda already, groaned “Watch this, they will probably go turn on cricket.” Sure enough, one man went immediately over to the TV, scanned a few channels, and eventually found a replay of the Most-Boring-Sport-On-Earth. We were too shocked and amused with Luke’s prescience to get angry. It may have turned out for the better anyway. The cooks in the kitchen, having their football game turned off, could now focus on preparing our food, which came out shortly after the cricket game came on.

Despite a long and usurious legacy of colonialism, I don’t think today’s Ugandans harbor any animosity towards white people. On the contrary, I think good will towards Westerners is very common and is especially evident when you look at the best way of gauging public opinion, the children. Children everywhere are often vocal and blatant projections of their more reserved parents and their opinions; in order to get an idea of what someone thinks about a particularly sensitive subject, just ask his or her child. The muzungu (“white man“ in Swahili) may get a fair amount of stares on the street, just in case they decide to do something goofy or culturally abnormal, but he gets nothing but cheers and greetings from the youngest children. Sometimes kids will see you wave back at them and run up and hold your hand, perhaps even walk with you all the way to your destination.