My Life as Spiderman

October 5, 2012

One thing that quickly becomes very apparent to anyone living in a developing country, in particular in a rural area, is that you have something of a celebrity status. By virtue of being such a novelty, one has to become accustomed to near constant attention, often disturbance, caused by your presence, which is firmly that of some being of another world, one that is perfectly ok to stare at, announce the presence of loudly to any and all who are within earshot, or engage in any number of behaviors which might be sociably questionable with a member of one’s own race.

Here in Kenya, this relationship has taken on a new significance, as the life of a “mzungu”, as the locals refer to a foreigner as, has quite a strange dynamic. In the city it’s little beyond the occasional stare, or in the case of areas more frequented by tourists, the call to the touts to come and offer some sort of service, good, or just “friendship” with an eventual price. In the rural farms where One Acre Fund works, there is quite a different story however, as these areas have scarcely if ever had a mzungu happen by and many of the people living there have never been to a city where they might have a chance to spy one if they’re timing is right. The reaction to seeing this mzungu then can be quite extreme, with loud exclamations, followed by immediately turning to the person next to you to make sure they have seen as well, almost as if to confirm that yes, this is really happening, there is truly a mzungu RIGHT THERE, and we are looking at him!

Whenever I stop in one place, before long a crowd of children appears, and rather than attempting to talk with me, or even making any noise at all, they generally are fairly dumbstruck, staring silently as they ranks fill up behind them, a quiet throng of onlookers who are content merely to observe this mzungu, preferably from a safe distance of several feet. To ameliorate the oddness of this situation, I will choose a point at which I acknowledge them and then attempt to engage them in conversation. This inevitable fails, often quite dramatically, as the children are simply too petrified to respond. Upon addressing a large group, even in words they surely understand, silence is the only answer, many inquiring eyes only widening slightly at the unexpected turn of events (it speaks!). At this point, if a conversation (if it can be called that) is really desired, one must resort to cold calling, picking one to address directly, perhaps the tallest, in the hopes that he or she will have become worldly enough in their extra years of schooling, or at the very least studied a bit more English than the others. The reaction to this is generally swift and involves the selected child backing away, and likely hiding behind their nearest friend, if not dashing swiftly away to the safety of their home.

Unsettling as this reaction may be, I’ve decided on an analogy which I find fairly appropriate, and which at least gives my presence and the strange attention is generates some sense of the absurd, which alleviates my own anxiety and surely is close to how those on the observing end view it as well. I’ve decided that the best way to represent this situation is to imagine that I am Spiderman. This is not to say that I personally feel like a superhero. Far from shooting web and climbing tall buildings, I am actually significantly less advanced than the local population, at least when it comes to physical survival. After greater than 30 minutes in the strong sun that they work under all day, my skin will begin to blister and peel, painfully and harmfully. If I stare too long without sunglasses in this same sun, my light colored eyes will ache and the quality of my vision will deteriorate over time. The water, the grass, and the air itself is full of such insects and organisms that may easily harm me and cause me to fall sick for weeks, should I fail to ingest several drugs that boost my system and make up for my own lack of defense. So from this and more it is clear I consider myself not to be some superhuman, but rather a human who is fairly lacking in comparison to the average fellow of these parts. My status as Spiderman is more a function of how strange Spiderman must seem, how unusual it would be to see him in the street, and what mixture of fear and awe one might feel were one to encounter him in person, after thinking so many years of him as more legend than actual man. Even this seems to attribute a bit too much undeserved mystique, so I’ll recalibrate the analogy ever so slightly: My status in Kenya is fairly analogous to the status of a man, dressed in a large Spiderman outfit, were he to travel around the rural United States.

The success of this analogy is its differentiation of the reaction of children and of adults, for we all know the special place with children hold superheroes like Spiderman, and the mild interest bordering on indifference which is the attitude of most adults. Even an adult however, seeing a man dressed in a large Spiderman costume, say in the parking lot of Wal-Mart, or at the post office, will take notice. He may stare at this silly outfit, turn to his neighbor and make some sort of joke at the costumed character’s expense, or even call out “hey Spidey! How’s it hangin’?”, before bursting into laughter. The occasional grown man, having been a profuse fan of Spiderman in his youth, and still retaining something of that appreciation, may greet the costumed man warmly, express his appreciation at the outfit, or, if he’s still more of a fan than he’ll likely admit, jokingly thank the man for “protecting the good citizens of this county”, ask after Mary Jane, or express his anger at the Green Goblin’s latest maneuver.

It is in a similar way that adults react to the presence of a mzungu in their neighborhood. All will take notice, many will do a double-take, or stare a bit, while others will make sure to offer a greeting or call out some amusing comment, most likely meant to mimic the way that mzungus supposedly address one another. The elderly, even those who have not left their village or encountered a mzungu for some time, if ever, will chuckle wryly to themselves, no doubt reminding them of the time when they were young and used to believe in such things, before of course, they realized that Spiderman was just a funny man in Spandex, and Santa Claus was a something their parents did for them.

Children, as you might imagine, have a different take on the situation all together. A child in the US, upon seeing Spiderman, will likely scream, become agitated and torn between running toward this admirable man of fantastic powers, and running away from a human-spider who no doubt has the ability to suck their blood and tie them up to hang from a tree or lamppost. The somewhat older child, firmly immersed in the lore of Spiderman, will regard this personage with more awe than fear, soaking in his presence and getting as close as they dare so that they might see what the legendary Spiderman might be up to in their community. Towards the older end of the spectrum, we have children who are entering a period of maturity, who are rebelling against their childhood obsessions, and are awakening to many of the harsh realities of the world (i.e. Santa Clause doesn’t exist). These teenage boys and girls will want to challenge the man in the Spidey costume, test him to see if he is real or simply another one of these lies that adults enjoy constructing to fool the naïve younger kids. This child will even speak to Spiderman, trying to prove something perhaps to the other young ones gathered, show that he or she is not in thrall to this false idol any longer. But still, because of the power of Spiderman’s legend, because of all he represents, this child will likely remain respectful, even shy, in a way he might not with a person dressed, say, in a Barney or Elmo costume. Though he must prove his maturity by talking to him, deep in his heart he still hopes that Spiderman is real, or that there’s still the possibility for him to become something special, something out of the norm for the ordinary world that he is fast becoming a part of.

So it is with the mzungu on the farm. The youngest children are both fascinated and afraid, not knowing whether this strange creature is for good or evil. The average child is mainly in awe content to stare and ponder the improbability that such a figure, from their parent’s stories and perhaps the few TV shows or movies they’ve seen, has come to their village, is walking among them. The older child is also fascinated, but he or she will be careful to show it less, to care less and treat this thing as less unusual, though still he wonders, is curious, and will alternate between engaging in conversation, or at least allowing himself to be engaged, and walking away, in an attempt to show some indifference, to distinguish himself from the crowd of fans gathered there.

So this is my lot. To sit in the passenger seat and drive along the dirt paths and watch the disruption in my wake: A child in awe, a group of school girls shouting, a man on a bicycle with a double take, a pair of young men calling out in English, A pair of young boys surprised and then whispering to each other. They are simply reacting as anyone would upon seeing a man in a large Spiderman costume.