I'd like to introduce you to...

...a feisty little gal I've started to call 'The Angry American.'

Never in my wildest dreams would I think I'd play this role in a foreign setting. I much prefer to don the slightly elitist, exceptionally culturally aware 'Sympathetic World Traveler' identity while abroad. The trouble is, when you move somewhere it's much harder to play any role at all. For me, it's against my nature, and even if I was a better actor than I am, there's just too much sensory overload to be anything but my most human and base self in my new home. Unfortunately, this can every once in awhile lead to the emergence of the aforementioned character with whom I'm trying to make peace. And, as with most things (dreams, fears, faults etc.), I think public admittance is half the battle.

The Angry American tends to emerge most often in food or beverage establishments. I might order a small beverage, and a large is delivered and added to my bill instead. Or, I mistakenly ask for a lime instead of a lemon (as lemons here are bright green) with my vodka tonic, and receive Rose's Lime Cordial instead (also added to my bill). Upon attempting to correct such errors I am often advised that once something is on the bill, it can't be remedied, and I just need to deal. The anger and frustration is not always valid - sometimes basic mistakes are made, and sometimes it's my fault. But such things don't happen in a vacuum, they happen in the context of a country where the color of your skin still says more about you to most people upon first meeting than anything else. As a mzungu you are expected to be wealthy, indulgent and unlikely to count pennies. I suppose this is the case for many white people and foreigners in Kenya. But it's not for me, and I have a hard time dealing with those who assume it is. Thus, even when such mistakes or a refusal to correct them are made with absolutely no relation to me as a mzungu, the collateral effects of daily life in this skin leave me brittle and overly sensitive.

I also struggle with my identity as someone entering the Development field under the pretext of "I'm here to help" (cue the Elle Woods accent my friend Adrienne donned in jest when I was preparing to leave last summer). After all, what right do I have to be here or to assume that in doing so I am, in fact, helping anyone at all? And, how do I know how to best maximize what resources I do have given the constant need and opportunities around me? If I did have all the money in the world, I'd be confident in knowing how to invest and offer it where I know it would be used wisely and to great benefit. As I don't, I am constantly wondering where what I do have can be best directed, and feeling guilty when it is sometimes spent on little indulgences or myself.

I think it's because of the thoughts above that when people attempt to play the "rich mzungu" card with me (or downright steal from me as happened on Friday night), The Angry American is ready and willing to respond. On a matatu coming home from one of Nairobi's priciest malls this past Sunday (I was there for a craft show), the tout refused to give me my change, though he had the correct coins in his hand. He was half flirting, but clearly hoped I'd brush the change off and leave it with him. After what happened Friday I was in no mood to indulge the assumption that I have cash to burn and don't think extremely carefully about each and every bit of money I have or spend here. The frustration of getting my purse snatched on Friday and the constant reminder that I just don't know how to balance spending with the need around me boiled up and I took the guy on. My anger appeared to entertain him and the rest of the passengers, who maybe had never seen a mzungu on public transport quite so upset (it's fairly rare to see a mzungu on matatus at all, to be honest). His persistence in withholding my change and taunting (at one point he outstretched his hand and then snapped it back when I went to take the coin) made my blood boil, and I felt completely helpless to do anything about it. Though I can now laugh (and cringe) at my threat to, "climb over the seat and clobber you if you don't give me my change!" the whole scene was wildly uncharacteristic for me. As a friend on facebook said, "Wow, Megan being mad??? You are like the nicest person in the world!!!" Let's just say this matatu full of people does not share that impression! Now a few days later, it's hard for me to imagine how such a small thing could so upset me, and I'd be horribly ashamed to witness the outburst - but at the time it was simply the final straw in a string of bad behavior and assumptions based solely on how I look (I asked the tout if he'd have pulled the same crap with any of the other, clearly Kenyan passengers - there's no way he would have).

I see unfairness and lack of recourse all the time here. People are mugged, houses are robbed, consumers are screwed and the apathy and corruption on the part of law makers leaves little option but to suck it up and count your losses. Couple this with the basic human need found in urban and rural settings right alongside the average person's preference to look out for their own interests (myself included) and I start to understand why The Angry American is so readily available. That said, I don't like her at all, and while for the most part I feel my indignation is justified, I'd like to overcome the anger that presents me as someone other than a foreigner who is desperate to have her presence here be a good one.

As I process my own personal journey I always try and look at things in the broader context. Realities and perceptions don't exist in a vacuum, and as I try to deal with those projected on me and how I react, I'm realizing that in order to deal with the problems facing humanity you have to be willing to admit your own identity therein. Though I don't like to, I must admit this often includes the good, the bad and yes, even the utterly irrational and just plain angry.