I'm an African?

Someone told me I should keep writing. The experiences I had in Tanzania are still forming in me. There is still more that perhaps needs to be expressed. She was right.

First off, two weeks ago I was reading an article in Newsweek about the current conflict in Kenya. The article mentioned how "all were surprised" at the fighting in Kenya because it is the only peaceful country in East Africa.

Wait, what? Tanzania not only has a great history absent of any major conflict, but also is a place where everyone gets along. People rarely distinguish themselves as one tribe or another unless they are just speaking of their traditions, region or native tongue. I feel personally offended somehow when people don't recognize Tanzania's accomplishments--or when they write an article on East Africa and barely mention it as Kenya's neighbor to the south.

Today at work I mentioned the amount of pasta waste---how Huge the servings are! Two starving Tanzanian children could have enough food for a day with one person's leftover pasta at our restaurant. Perhaps an over exaggeration. But nearly true I imagine.

Then later I was going through the salad bin and tossing out all the slightly brown lettuce. A male co-worker who heard my earlier comment joked saying, "look at all that lettuce, it could feed a starving African child for a day!"
I laughed, adding that they don't eat lettuce in Tanzania, they want things with more nutrients, like spinach, beans or, you know, donkey poop. (My awkward attempt at a joke).

Another co-worker overheard me and said, "really? They eat that?"

And it's times like that when I wonder whether being American includes me in the same category. an average American, often so ignorant to the world outside our bubble.

But wait, wasn't I that ignorant? hmmm, no. But I Could have been! There are many things, many places, many cultures...that I know close to nothing about.
And so instead of thinking of others as dumb for being uninformed, I just find myself lucky. Damn lucky...for having such a rich experience.

The Moroccan guy at work calls me the other African at the restaurant.
me, African?
perhaps not.
But perhaps I am. Perhaps there is a part of me that is just a tad less American and a bean or spinach leaf or two more African.