I could start off this blog series discussing how beautiful Nairobi is. I could tell you about the amazing food, comfortably warm weather, hospitable people, and the massive development the country is undertaking. I will talk about those things because they are significant and should be highlighted.

The sociologist, over analyzer in me, however, would rather talk about identities and privilege. Despite only being here one week, I’ve had conversations with peers about how certain identities are navigated in Kenya. Or at least, what I have observed so far.

I landed in Nairobi on the 7th of January. The next three or so days consisted of orientation. My peers and I were educated on how to navigate cross cultural differences, transportation, and simply being vigilant during our time here. Conversations of identity also arose, as we would have to grapple with being mzungus, otherwise known as foreigners in Swahili.

The origins of mzungu are quite interesting, as it translates to “someone who walks without purpose.” It was used specifically to identify early foreign explorers (Europeans particularly) in East Africa. Today, the term is often used with white foreigners, non-natives, and English speakers.

So by definition, I am a mzungu. I have been engaging in a lot of walking, although with purpose (I am here for school haha), but nevertheless an outsider. With this title comes the assumption of an immense amount of privilege. And this makes me uneasy. It makes me uneasy because for me to even have this opportunity to come to Kenya required a lot of financial sacrifice and assistance. It involved me working more than usual, saving more than 50% of my paychecks from my work-study and RA jobs, and having to supplement the remaining costs with a scholarship (thank you so much Fund for Education Abroad).

It makes me uneasy because back home I am not given this title. As the child of immigrants and a black woman, I am not necessarily the poster child of privilege. Although I could have it a lot worse, I could have also had it a lot easier. I worked and continue to work hard for everything that I do and have, not having the opportunity to benefit from my narrowly defined perspective of privilege.

And this is what has made my time in Nairobi already so formative. As much as it might pain me to accept, in this country I am privileged. My American accent reveals an identity of “Westernness,” and thus, a background of opportunity. My blue passport affords me facile entrance into many parts of the world. I can spend my US dollars liberally, as the currency I carry benefits from immense strength in the foreign exchange. Even the little things, such as my outward appearance suggest privilege. The Blundtstones I wear around Nairobi signify my ability to afford shoes upwards $200. And of course, I wave my iPhone around what I’ve so far seen to be a land of Android phones.

So yes, no matter how hard I want for this trip to feel like a homecoming, a repatriation with the motherland and instant acceptance by the Kenyan people due to our common “Africanness,” I will still be different. Privilege is so many things. It’s beneficial, painful, but most of all, relative. On the streets of Nairobi, I am privileged. That is okay. The pill becomes a lot easier to swallow when you accept the relativities of the term.

It makes you grateful for the privileges you do have, and hopefully empathetic towards those who cannot say the same.