Wait, what did you just say?

I'm used to Ugandans using a variety of words or phrases to catch my attention on the street, particularly if they're selling something or trying to convince me to ride their boda/taxi/bus. Some of these, roughly arranged by frequency, include:

Muzungu! (White person!)

Madame...

My friend...

My sister...

America!

Obama!

Mama...

My wife...

Germany! [I apparently look German?]

Oh, lady...

Today, I took a short walk from our MCC office to a supermarket a couple blocks or so away in order to buy a few necessities: shampoo, conditioner, soap, insect repellant. I spent most of my walk trying to avoid the puddles and mud which are so common during this rainy season, as well as trying to decide if Bukoto Street has more potholes than before (yes!), and there aren't many vendors on this street, so no one called out any of the above to me.

Once I reached the corner where the supermarket is located, a few vendors who were hanging out in the parking lot tried to sell me their wares: fresh peas, sweet bananas, blankets, pineapples. I bought airtime from a booth in the corner of the lot, shocking the woman and the nearby onlookers when I conducted the transaction in Luganda. Then, I walked across the large-ish lot to the supermarket.

As I reached the end of the lot where the supermarket is located, I noticed a white man walking away from that side. He looked to be about my age, wore a white shirt and khaki shorts (side note: the only men I know who wear shorts in Uganda are school boys, prisoners, and white tourists), and carried a backpack.

Now, normal protocol when I meet a white person out on the streets of Kampala is something like this: if we're going to pass anyway, we make eye contact, perhaps smile a bit to acknowledge the fact that we're both white and everyone is noticing us and assuming that we are well acquainted (I love the occasional encounter when Ugandans notice two white people walking somewhere in town and call out to make sure that these two bazungu notice each other!). We don't speak, just as I don't speak with random Ugandans I meet walking down the street in town. We go our separate ways, life continues, no big deal.

Today was different. This young man not only made eye contact with me from a few metres away, he also greeted me, "Hello sister!" It was a hearty greeting, the kind I normally expect from a man who is about to either try to sell me something expensive or ask me for my contact information. But no, this was a young, white, probably American, man, greeting me as if his skin pigmentation was many shades darker than my own. It was bizarre, awkward, out of place.

I think I nodded slightly in acknowledgement of his greeting, then looked away and continued on my way. Perhaps he thinks I'm rude, perhaps he was making a joke about the way Ugandan men often call out to white women, perhaps he is just overly exuberant, or perhaps he really does think I'm his long-lost sibling. I don't know. But it was a strange encounter.

And anyway, I'm back in Kampala now. For a couple days at least.