Kawaja

“Kawaja” literally “white one” in Juba Arabic seems to be of equal use in identifying me in Yambio as my name.
Last night, I went for a walk with some friends from the office. Within 10 minutes we had a pack of small children following us yelling, “Kawaja! Kawaja! How are you?!?” This may be the only phrase they know in English so far.* “How are you, Kawanja?” echoed off the grass huts and dusty red road the whole evening. Every so often, I would turn around and wave, asking, “How are you?” This was inevitably met with frantic waving and giggles. Never could I have imagined that my very presence could make so many children so delighted. I felt like the Pied Piper of Yambio. Sometimes when I go out and my colleagues are speaking in Zande or Arabic, the word Kawaja slips in—as in, “Sure, I’ll take the Kawaja to the bank.”
The Kawaja.
What a strange feeling to be identified by my race, skin color, and origin. In this instance, when children are having fun with my novelty, I don’t mind, it’s charming actually.
But, all over the world, there are so many instances when differences are not celebrated or laughed over. We use them as reasons to be afraid and to close our eyes and hearts to others. I’m going to try to learn a lesson from my walk in Yambio, and confront difference with delight, not suspicion.



*Most Sudanese speak at least 3 languages: Juba Arabic, English and their tribal language. In Western Equatoria, that is Zande. I’m supposed to start Zande lessons in January.