How many of you, mzungus, have ever listed “beautiful skin” among your top three things you are attracted to in a person of the opposite sex? I mean, think about it: we may go for beautiful hair, eyes, hands, big breasts, toned abs, long legs, etc, but not so much for beautiful skin, right?!
Well, not the same in the black world. I had, of course, noticed beautiful, shiny, flawless skin in black people before, but it was never a focus of my observation. Until, a couple of weeks ago, I started this seemingly never-ending conversation with Joseph, a colleague from work. I was trying to say to him that I have found many beautiful people in Rwanda, and he was asking me to point to some of them, but then he would just dismiss all my choices. One of his arguments was that their skin was not perfect.
OK, so I started focusing on the skin. And OH MY GOD!!! I can only dream of shiny skin ever since (forget it, mzungus, we’ll never be there, despite all the sun tanning and all the oils we may apply). And in so focusing my attention, it also dawned on me that this people have absolutely no hair on their bodies (I mean none even on the face or on the arms). OK, so I went back to Bernadette, a female colleague, and asked her where I can wax in Rwanda. She went “what is waxing?” I tried explaining, and she was completely stunned. There she was, this 25-year-old-beauty, who never had to remove one hair from her body. EVER.
OK, I still didn’t quite want to accept my predicament, so I kept searching. In a very strange twist of events, Joseph was the one to enlighten me, again. On Friday night, we went to this massive beach party at Lake Kivu (on a different note, HOW SURREAL it is for me to dance until dawn to Ugandan beats on the border between Rwanda and the DRC!!!!) It was something like the biggest, poshest event of the year, so all the cool people in Central Africa were there. Among them – yes, those beauties, in sparkling clothes, and with that perfect skin (and I, in jeans and fleece…) For those of you who know my obsession with beautiful Beyonce – well, there were several dozens around, and then some. Of course, those African curves are not really my thing, but who cares, I was all into skin by then.
Before hitting the dance floor (i.e. the sand), Joseph started telling me that on his recent trip to the US (the first he ever took outside Africa) he had heard two women talk about shaving their legs. “So?,” I said? “So all white women shave their legs?” “Well, most of us would either shave or wax, yes.” He was shocked. “What is waxing?”
Thank God for the whisky I was having, because this was turning a bit beyond belief. I gave as accurate explanations as possible, but he absolutely needed to touch and closely examine the skin on my legs in order to really quite get it (and NO, it was not an excuse to touch my legs!!!). He confessed he had never touched a white person before (!), so he was endearingly curious (while I was feeling as some sort of a derailed museum-material)… He then felt like he had to ask me if I had done a “boob job” as well, because he saw in the movies that white women also do THAT. (All I can think of in this context is the utter expression of despair which I recently learned from a hilarious British series: “CHRIST ON A BIKE!!!”)
The whole thing continued the day after, when I went for a swim in one of the hotels in Musanze. The hotel personnel, men and women alike, had all lined up and started staring. I have a hunch they also called their relatives and friends, because soon the property was filling up with veeery curious-looking people. At least, they were sort of enjoying it (I know, gross). But I am saying that in light of what happened to me on Monday morning, when I started hiking to the forest. I was wearing sun-glasses and my hoodie, which obviously scared the hell out of a local kid. He was in the potato fields, bare-footed, carrying a shovel twice as big as him. When he saw me, still quite far away, flanked by soldiers and black colleagues, he totally started screaming and running away, looking back in complete fright. I still want to believe I am not THAT ugly as to scare African kids like that. But, well, some evidence seems to point to the contrary… (The rest of them usually just wave at me and say the only thing they know in English: “good morning, teacher!”, regardless of the time of the day and place where we meet.)
But yes, I felt like I needed some help in my quest for beauty here, so I brought this all up with a new Italian friend of mine, Alberto, over a meticulously crafted cappuccino this Sunday. Alberto, who has been here almost three years, obviously has a much better understanding of this phenomenon, so his expertise was overwhelming: “Questi rwandesi, quando sono belli, sono belli” (I TOTALLY agree), “e quando sono brutti, sono brutti” (I EVEN MORE TOTALLY agree). Basically, he could have just as well said “quando sono tutsi, sono belli, quando sono hutu, sono brutti”. I AM SORRY, but this is pretty much how it is, even if we are not supposed to voice any sort of comments on race and ethnicity!!! But yes, I can completely understand those Belgian colonialists some hundred years ago, totally baffled at how RADICALLY different these two kinds of Rwandans actually were. They did go a bit too far, yes, when they started measuring them and categorizing them, and giving them separate identity cards and different status in the society (which, eventually led to the horrific things we all know about). But I totally get their curiosity about these HUGE differences in looks. (Joseph’s explanation about the tutsi look goes back to the same thing, again: that they been privileged enough to have access to milk, therefore they have this beautiful skin. And yes, he did ask me if I used to drink milk in Europe, and I said yes, and I actually realized that I am missing it here – it IS a luxury…)
So yes, if you ever hear that Rwandan girls are the most beautiful in Africa, DO BELIEVE THAT!!! I have no holistic expertise, but men of every African nation I have met so far say that, and I guess for a very good reason. Men are not too bad either – yes, those very tall, slim, powerful guys are the ones I notice. I am sorry if pretty much all of them turn out to be Tutsis…
As for myself, I am now closely analyzing my size, my weight, my skin, my everything. It is really quite a remarkable self-rediscovery process. Go figure, turning into an unwilling narcissist in Rwanda!!!
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