The Gaze

I have been fortunate enough to live my life as a physically normal female. I was a cute child, an appropriately awkward pre-teen, and have now grown into what I like to think of as a neither dauntingly pretty nor unfortunately unattractive woman. This is pretty much the perfect recipe to avoid unwanted attention. I am the kind of person who looks friendly enough for anyone to sit down next to me on public transportation, and for the vast majority of the time these casual seat-companions are well-intentioned. They also are grateful for my normalcy, as they know their choosing me as a transportation buddy will not be viewed as anything other than, well, normal. And, I am often filled with a feeling of unnamable pride at being able to provide this service of comfortable familiarity. There is a certain pleasure that can be derived from the wholesomeness of fulfilling expectations. I have never gone to a job interview or event worried others will be unable to hide their surprise upon actually seeing me for the first time, unable to mute their internal dialogue of assumptions.

I now have the unique opportunity to experience life as someone who stands out. Yes, there are other white people in Dakar but they are far from ubiquitous and whenever I meet another tuobab on the sidewalk we often share a smile and look of solidarity. Our eyes meet and silently communicate our support for each other in a country where our looks are not the standard.

When I first arrived and walked anywhere alone I felt slightly uncomfortable in my own skin. Every pair of eyes seemed to be sizing me up, the gaze filled with interest and questioning. After being here for a little longer I realize I was thinking like a middle school girl. Living in a little bubble of self-infatuation I believed that every look my way meant the person was thinking a myriad of things about me, while I now realize that approximately 1% of the people I thought were curious about me really were giving me much thought at all. But this feeling of underlying self-consciousness is what it means to have a significantly different outward appearance. No matter whether other people are actually giving thought to your uniqueness, you yourself are aware of the differences between you and those around you. And that dull, nagging feeling of difference is enough to alter your self-perception and your relationships with others.

In Dakar, whenever someone I do not know tries to talk to me, I immediately become guarded. The first thought that comes to mind is what their (unwholesome) motivation might be for talking to me, someone who is so clearly different. Of course many of my interactions are drama-free, but as any white American studying abroad in Dakar can attest there are also many conversations that quickly climax to repeated demands for your name, your cell phone number, even your hand in marriage.

What is even more eye-opening for me is the fact that my short-lived experience in Senegal is only the tip of the iceberg. Due to my looks I do not face discrimination. People with my looks are not assumed to carry heavy negative stereotypes. If anything, my whiteness is equated with wealth and worldliness. But despite this I am still learning how to overcome the discomfort of my physical difference. The unexpected difficulty of this task has encouraged me to pause and reflect on my own fortune in the world’s birth lottery and my own luck when it comes to the easiness of my life so far.