A Black Expat in Benin

Being an expat in a country of all black people is a very interesting experience. On the one hand I love that I can move about undetected without having people run up to me or harass me in the market for money. Sometimes people do double takes, realizing that there is something off about me but not being able to put their finger on it. I have had Zim (moto taxis) drivers speak to me in Fon, the local language, and one seemingly got pissed when I just stared at him, blinking. The Italian kindly informed him, “Elle n’est pas beninoise”.

Now for a white expat in a black country, they are seen as walking dollar signs. It is difficult to move around undetected, people often scream “Yavou, Yavou”, the word for white people in this country, and people always have their hand out for money, but most importantly people show you the utmost level of respect. They show white people more respect than their own people and certainly more respect than me.

I have been in situations here where I have been completely ignored while the white people around me are greeted with slight curtsies and handshakes. One Italian priest tapped the Italian on the shoulder and said, “Oh you already found a girlfriend” then he informed him that I am American.

Just the other day we were at the beach and I needed change to pay for the Zim and I walked up to a group of white people and before I barely got the words out, I was told they didn’t have any money. REALLY!!!???? Firstly, in a country like this everyone has cash, secondly she barely even looked at me and surely didn’t listen to me, but because some local children were standing their asking for money I guess she assumed I was one of them even though I had a 1000 CFA note in my hand.

The point is the being a black expat is a bit complicated. I enjoy that I can walk around by myself and be left alone, but I am annoyed by the lack of respect that is given to me, but I also have a distaste for the way that the local people elevate white people to a higher level. I have never been very attached to my American identity. Everyone knows that I celebrate my Ugandan heritage and consider myself Ugandan, as both of my parents immigrated to the US from there, but while I am here sometimes I feel like yelling, “I am AMERICAN!” Ugh.