A Walking, White, Dollar Sign

          “Are you single or married?” asks the tall, slender nursing student with a thin mustache. We are standing beside sandy path in front of male nurse’s dorm. We had, just a moment ago, been talking quite normally. I hesitate not sure if I should tell the truth, very Christian-like…..

“Uh, single; but I am too young to get married. I am not getting married for a long time, several years from now. I am too young, now.” I explain, waving my arms, avoiding eye contact.

              
          Pause. Let me stop here and explain a little about Congolese culture. As far as I understand it, the age that a girl is ripest for marriage is 18. 18! At that point, if you are interested in a girl, you voice your interest. If the girl accepts, you must go to her parents and talk about the bride price. You save up and once you pay the price, you can continue with the proper procedures to get married. There's no real official dating period, you're friends, maybe, and then you get married. Okay, play.

               
          He scratches his head, “Oh hmm, that’s interesting. So, I am looking for a wife.” At this point, I kind of have an idea where this might be heading and start shifting from one foot to another. I hear a goat’s death-like baaa in the distance.

 I smile as I slowly back away, “Oh really, how nice!!!”

 He interrupts, trying to get to the point before I disappeared “And I was thinking…”

“Oh, No, no, no!! There is so many girls here!!!” I say, gesturing around to the village. Now, I turn and start walking. “But!” I swat the air, “Nah, nah, nah!”

               
          That was the first of many similar “proposals.” Men of different ages, from different parts of the village, and different life situations tell me they're looking for a wife. They never come straight out and ask me the actual question, they just kind of lead up to it and by that time I’m gone.

          “Mbote.” (hello) An older man says to Sydney as we’re walking on a sandy path next to a football (aka soccer) field.

          I look at Syndey, “Pesa Papa mbote, Sydney!” (Say hello to papa)

 She puts out her hand, “Bote!” He turns to me, I notice that he’s probably in his 30s,

          “What’s her name?”

I looking down at Sydney whose on my hip, “Sydney. Her name is Sydney.”

          He looks at her and smiles with a bit toothless grin, “Ahhh, Yney. And you?”

I look at him, “Me, my name is Nancy.” We shake hands.

          “Are you her mother?”

I laugh, “No, I watch her while her parents are working. She’s like my niece.”

          “Ah, I see, I see and are you married?”

I pause, not again…”Yes, I am.” (I promise you, my parents didn't teach me to lie.)

          “Ah, okay, how many kids do you have?”

“None yet, but I have Sydney, she’s like my niece.”

          “Yes, yes, well, I am looking for a wife.”

 I sigh, seriously. “That’s great, but I am already married.”

          “Yes, but I am looking for a wife.”

I start turning away wanting to get away from him, “Well, Sydney’s very tired, we have to go.”                      “But…”
“Nah, nah, nah, we must go, I’m sorry.” I say as I swat the humid air.

          This didn’t make much sense to me while I walked home, but then later, Ryan explained it to me. Polygamy is a thing here. That may have been it, or it may have been he didn't understand why I would be married and not have any kids... Every time, I’ve seen him since then, he’s been very demanding and scowls at me.

               
          Why aren’t you flattered Nancy? Why are so frustrated and annoyed at these men? Because these men don’t know anything about me. Because some of them only know my name because a kid just told him.  Because they know nothing about my personality; they don’t know how I love to laugh uncontrollably, but I don’t often. Because they don’t how I love to eat good food with good friends and share stories. They don’t know how I long to heal the pain of the world and that I feel it pressing on my heart everyday. They don’t how many sisters I have or that I have “adopted” siblings. They don’t know me. They only know that my skin is white; which is thought of as beautiful and associated with intelligence. They only know that my skin is white; which means I have money. They only know that my skin is white; which means I have opportunities. My skin is white. That’s all.

               
          It’s about my skin. It’s literally skin-deep. It’s actually feels more like an insult than anything else. It’s just frustrating, I would have liked to get to know these guys, to be friends or at least acquaintances; but I’m just a resource to them, not much more. I am a walking, white dollar sign.

               
          Now, whenever I walk past “hot spots” places where I know they are a lot of men who have or are likely to propose, I walk fast. I don’t want to dawdle and take my time because no matter how nicely it starts, it always ends up with the same, “I am looking for a wife.” thing.

               
          Last night, I was walking with Shannon and Sydney back to their house. We were walking past the white dorm buildings again. The same young nursing student called out to me from his seat on a bench next to the path. “Why do you always walk past here so fast?”

          “Because I am always late.”(Very white-rabbit-from-Alice-in-Wonderland-y) I reply slowing down a bit. (This time I'm not lying, I promise)

          “Late for what!? This is not friendly, it’s not nice!!” (Now, it’s important to remember here, that I am in Africa and being late and time have little importance here. Relationships are key. At the time, I kind of forgot about culture differences…)

          I spin around, heat springing to my face, he’s calling me a liar, “I am late because I have to watch Sydney while her parents are working!”

          “Ah, no!!!! This is not nice!!” I spin back around, I couldn’t say another word. I continued on to the Potter's with tears in my eyes.

           Cultural differences are hard, ya’ll. They are very hard. It’s a learning experience. With God’s help, I hope to learn slowly. Sometimes I can laugh about it, but sometimes I have to cry about it. Please keep me in your prayers as today, I must go talk to the nursing student and explain why acted as I did and apologize. It won’t be easy, but then again sometimes things aren't…

P.S. I don’t know of these guy’s names.

I think this photo pretty accurately explains how I feel right.