I am a muzungu here. I am not of worth or value aside from my whiteness. If there is any value in me, that’s the only reason…because I am white. That’s how I feel sometimes, or at least how I felt this weekend with my family. I had a dream on Saturday night that one of my African friends was asking me to play my guitar for him. I was so thrilled that someone wanted to hear my talent. As I was wondering why I reacted that way in my dream, everything became much clearer to me. I crave and long for my African family to recognize ME, my passions, my talents, who I am. One friend in my village blatantly told me that he wants to be my friend so that he can get rich in America. The children run to me and hug me, but not because they love me for who I am, but because I am white. My sister, liz, plays with my hair and I desperately pretend that it’s because she is just showing affection, but I know it’s not. She says she is so jealous of my muzungu hair. My other sister, tina, said that if she was white, she might become proud since everyone is yelling for me, “muzungu!, muzungu!” I thought that might be a possibility but there is not way. It’s just too frustrating that I will never be a person to them, just a color. As a muzungu, apparently I am able to build computers and tv’s for them, in America I get water and electricity for free, and employers practically beg me to work for them. On the other hand, as a muzungu, I am just a baby in this culture, practically useless for work. When it comes to working, cleaning, knowing, talking, bowing, you name it, whatever, I don’t know a thing. Now, don’t get me wrong, I know I am here to learn their culture, but I wish they could also see my worth apart from their culture, for who I am, not that I am white, and not what whiteness indicates to them, but who I am. Okay, so I am here to understand them, not to be understood. I am here to learn their ways, not for them to learn mine. I must die to self, death not just of things I am willing to give up, but death of everything, death of the difficult things….my worth, my value, my whole self.It is very painful to be nothing….everything in me fights to be known, understood, but I guess I’ve never really known what death in another culture looks like. God grant me patience to endure, so that after a while, I may see Him work through this to refine and change me for His glory. Amen.