unwanted (and detested) attention

My friend Neda is a magnetically beautiful person. Something about her face arrests the eyes. Maybe one looks for a flaw in the symmetry- eyes roam her face in search of a flaw to grab on. To no avail. Neda is accustomed to being stared at, admired, observed. The disarming amount of attention a white person draws in West Africa slides right off Neda’s consciousness. She expresses no rage over incessant greeting, no frustration at wide silent eyes intently observing the foreigner’s every move.

I, on the other hand, am average in just about every way. My height (a minor physical attribute) is the only way in which I exceed the norm. My history, family and self is average enough to never have commanded or received exceptional attention.

Until I brought my white skin to Africa. Simply being white here implies many wonderful, exciting, sparkly things. I am a manifestation of the West; liberal behavior, wealth, health. My otherness, my tantalizing foreignness is palpable in my every action. My mobility and money glaringly bright. No wonder everyone stares. I don’t blame them for their fascination- I do not detest the people for their interest.

But I really hate the staring. I feel a deep rage being the object of such wide eyes, such ceaseless awareness. I hate being observed, analyzed. Every action is taken in, every purchase memorized and reported. I am constantly monitoring myself, keeping control over the frustration that boils beneath my surface.

We say it is like we are clowns. Imagine if a clown were to move next door to you. Even if they wore normal clothes, the painted white face (big nose, funny shoes, the list goes on) would be unmistakable. Who could blame a clown’s neighbor for peeking over the fence to report that the clown is watering his flowers? Or, wouldn’t it be interesting to know what a clown cooked for dinner, how they sat in a chair, brushed their hair? Considering myself to be a clown is sometimes the only way to avoid exploding with annoyance on my unwanted audience. If you don’t like being watched, I remind myself, remember you placed yourself in the ring.

Enough of the internal Don’t Hate Them battle. I can’t wait to return to a place where it is the gorgeous Nedas who occupy people’s eyes.

The Nedas who carry the burden of being fascinating.