The Great Race

So I've been of a minority race for two and a half years now. It's an annoying but enlightening experience. Within this time, I must say, I've noticed a few differences between white and black people. I know I'm supposed to say we're all the same, and of course fundamentally or spiritually or whatever, that's true. But still-- we're not. We're all different and it's ok. We don't need to be "color blind" because it's good and necessary to all be different from each other. And there's one difference in particular which maybe I shouldn't say as it might get me in trouble... But I would like to get it off my chest. So here goes, the racist conclusion I've come to: black people.... are better.
I'm sorry! I'm sorry, the majority of my family and friends; I'm sorry world leaders; I'm sorry fellow prep-school kids. It's true and it's time to accept our defeat as gracefully as we can. Which really isn't that graceful, and I think this proves my point.
You know when you are faced with that inconveniently-located caution tape once you've already set out on the straightest path to your parking spot and you really don't want to re-set your course? Or, for the more rurally inclined, when you want to somehow get on the other side of a fence? Hands on your hips, you pause breifly to consider this nuissance of a barrier. Of course you can do it, you just need a minute to figure out the best way... Can you stretch your leg over it? Are your pants too tight for that sort of thing? Maybe under? Can you still bend that way? Could your body scrunch small enough to go through?
Meanwhile, Mariama Diallo (the Sarah Smith of Senegal) has stepped over as daintily as a tight-rope walker-- with 8 gallons of water balanced on her head, a baby on her back, malaria coursing through her veins, a cup of corn in her tiny stomach, and she's probably clapping and singing while she's at it.
In her wake, you suddenly see the possibility in her steps. And there you go!-- with just the smallest grunt and stumble on the other side. Maybe we weren't always like this, but somewhere along the way, the majority of white people seem to have lost their natural grace, the autonomy of their body parts in sync getting somewhere. Maybe we're just out of practice. Not so, here.
Still not convinced with my revelation? So you go to the gym and haven't lost the natural ease of your legs? Fair enough. In that case, let me take you on an imaginary journey to My Life. Please get on the imaginary carpet. A little quicker... Watch how Mariama does it... There we go!
*****(imaginary journey music)*****
Here we are, in a beautiful but HOT land. The local people welcome you kindly and press roasted cobs of corn in your hand. How sweet! And delicious! But focus, now.
What do you notice about everyone around you? #1. They're beautiful. Like models. Chisled, sculpted, smooth, hairless, glowing... Now I personally have gone through, in my lifetime: several years of braces and teeth cleanings, pimples, tubes put in my ears, my tonsils taken out, high-power contacts, and countless medicines, vitamins, and gym classes just to stand here next to them, quite literally pale in comparison. And you? Well you're sweating even from your eyelids, you feel a heat rash spreading, and your skin is already burning from the sun. In short, you're in my boat, buddy.
But let's not get down on ourselves-- at least our hair is easier to deal with, for the most part. So that's... something...
Anyway, let's just lather on some sunblock and appreciate #2: mad skillz, yo. Everyday life here is filled with amazing cirque du soleil-type acts. I don't just mean the clown cars in Guinea, although they are impressive..
First and foremost, the balancing thing is just ridiculous. We literally cannot even carry our own bodies down this street without stumbling over the rocks, trash, and potholes. And you, I might add, are nearly bent over, staring at the rocky ground just missing Sherlock Holmes' magnifying glass. You look ridiculous. Stand up and get yourself together! OK, now look at all the women walking by us. They glide like phantoms or music box ice-skaters, never looking down or tripping, with any number of strange cargo balancing improbably on their heads.
At the summer youth camp Peace Corps Kédougou puts on (started by Willie Adams and Dan Egan), we had a games day. We planned to do that race in which you balance an egg on a spoon and run as quickly as you can without dropping it. Once we had the contenders all lined up with their eggs, we realized we were missing the spoons and the kitchen hut was locked. Uhhh... carry them on your heads! -one of us joked. But suddenly, they were. Every participant was successfully balancing an egg on his or her head (except the PCV rep...) and the joke was on us. The winner of the race was a bald guy.
Back to our street scene, you are now gaping at a girl biking on this bumpy not-quite-road with a large bucket of bread balancing on her head. Yeah. Hawking women walk by with three foot tall stacks of biscuits on their heads. Since we are greedy Americans, we stop them. With a gleam in you nefarious little eye, you spot the brown ones at the very bottom of the stack. "Les chocolats?" we ask, half apologetically, half challengingly. And her friend helps her extract them like a jenga piece, all while leaving both loads perched perfectly on each of their heads, as if they're glued on. Even little girls around us are performing these impressive feats. "Jeez!" you say, while stuffing biscuits above your double chins (sorry for pointing them out). I myself have started clapping for the women like a slow-moving seal.
I'm not even going to get into dancing as I think it's rather evident. Face it, dude. The Africans win. But it's ok. It's cooler in the shade of their shadows. Let's follow Mariama.