There are so many of these kids, all over the place, hoping that we'll acknowledge them - it's the weirdest feeling. "Mzungu!" they'll cry, and if you even make eye contact with them it's usually enough to incite a huge grin and an instant gigglefest.
"Mzungus" make merchants and service providers happy too - because they can charge us more than they charge their fellow Ugandans for pretty much everything. When getting taxis, our guides Anthony, Cosmas, Lillian and Christine will wander a couple of blocks away from our group, hire a car at a negotiated rate, then bring it back to pick us up. This usually causes some big time animosity - the drivers didn't know they'd be transporting a van full of mzungus, and they're angry that our guides aren't allowing them to make the money off us that they could.
Walking through markets in Kampala, sellers call us over - "Mzungu! Mzungu!" - hoping that we'll buy some of whatever they are selling at the "whitey" rate. We are big money in Uganda.
It is probably a slightly insulting term to use - mzungu - but if it makes the kids so happy, if we make the kids so happy, we aren't offended. And we've got so much more than these people, struggling to make a living, that we are usually okay with paying the mzungu uplifts. Strange that when we hear it, our ears perk up, and our heads turn. We answer to it. We are mzungus.
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