Abazungu (adj., noun.) Foreigner, non-black skinned people, one with money, the favored name for all Peace Corps Trainees.

It's impossible to walk down the streets of Nyanza (well actually any road in Rwanda) without hearing this word. Whether it is yelled by local schoolchildren who mysteriously don't ever have school, or whispered under the breath of older folk who want to appear non-chalant while informing everyone around them that indeed, there is a foreigner in their midst. It's not like we blend in either, especially in Nyanza where there is one main road leading through town. It is difficult to understand the necessity to draw further attention to the fact that we are blindingly white. Amazingly, it isn't limited to the children who decide we need extra notice. Men, women, young and old are all astounded that we are different, despite the fact that we have now been here two weeks and trips into town are a daily occurrence. It truly is amazing how entertaining a person can be just by being themselves. This becomes even more obvious when you are the spectacle to your host family. Mine has been fantastic thus far however I still considered the novelty. The children love the idea that they might know more than the mazungu, especially in Kinyarwanda. Today was a lesson on body parts, including eye (amaso), teeth (amenyo), nose (izuru), and fingers (itoki). The one day I get to free my brain from the cramming and stress of learning this new language, I end up sitting with my resource mom repeating my numbers 1-20 again and again, with a little help from the kids, Kariza and Loick. (They were also an invaluable resource when Agathe decided to quiz me on the body parts I had just learned, frantically pointing to their arm, hair, or whatnot to help me out). I wonder when this amazement will wear out, if ever. It probably doesn't help that we are perpetually enforce the stereotype of "American." Butare yesterday was a highly anticipated event as it meant we could go to the "mazungu" store which held such treasures as Pringles, one jar of peanut butter, a wide selection of second-hand candy and chocolate, and even a cheeseburger at the cafe. I'm pretty sure we basically cleaned them out of every "western" treat. While we are still considered outsiders, we are readily accepted and welcomed in most every situation. This past Monday was International Women's Day. To celebrate we went over to the stadium to observe the festivities. Being good Americans, we were there right on time. Being good Africans, participants didn't show up for another hour. Not to fear however, as we were graciously invited to join the secondary school students in an impromptu dance party in the middle of the field, an invitation which we gladly accepted. Later in the week, we joined Valens and Zilpah (two of our amazing language teachers) who had decided to go play some volleyball at the courts at the school. Again, being good Africans, all the students were still there after school, playing and generally just hanging out. We were able to create quite a stir among the students, including the volleyball team that happened to be practicing then. Not to ruin their practice, we sat dutifully by the side but were quickly pulled into a "wazungu" against the students volleyball game.

While some days being a mazungu grates on one's nerves, it is typically worth it to see the joy on the faces of the smaller children as they clamor to touch and hold your hand. I have definitely walked around the market with two or three little ones on each hand. I feel somewhat like a Mama duck, with my little following, or a Mama inkoko (chicken). Now I just need to work on saying, "my name is not mazungu, it's Kerry! That might not catch on for a while yet. Until then, I will be one of the 36 abazungus wandering the streets of our new home, Nyanza.