Peel me like a potato

Hello THere
This morning I was able to share a new experience with my host family. A few days ago, I ended up biking home in the mid afternoon for lunch break. Other than the fact that this bike ride is 5km uphill, midday in Malawi is very hot and the sun is powerful. Being the good JF that I am, I had taken my malaria pill, had 1L of water in my packback, and my phone was charged with units for emergency. Goodness, I even had an emergency first aid kit in my backpack because of my nursing habits. Being the fair sensitive-skinned person that I am, I am very prone to burning. This particular day, despite my exhausting health efforts, I forgot to put sunscreen on, and ended up earning myself some burns on my arms and face. I find the more time I spend speaking the language, eating, cooking, and cleaning in the village, I forget that I am not African.
This morning after taking a bath, my skin started peeling like it normally does after burning. This does not seem like a novelty to you or me because fair skinned people always feel the consequences of burnt skin, and peeling is not that unusual. However, for my host mother who has never seen this consequence before, the sight of me was extremely appalling. She looked at me as a mother would if their child came running into the house with a massive black eye. I felt really bad for freaking her out so much. We happened to be eating sweet potatoes and tea for breakfast. She told me I was a sweet potato, because we always peel the skin off of it. My host Aunt also piped in that I was like a baby, with super sensitive skin.
Despite learning the language, harvesting sweet potatoes, washing, cleaning, drawing water, and cooking like an African, I will always be reminded that I am an alien here. (FYI, you can’t buy sunscreen in Africa anywhere, because they don’t use it. I packed 50spf thanks to my Mom). Whether it’s the sun beating down and burning my skin, or the constant shouts from little kids waving and running to see me yelling “Muzungu! Muzungu!” (white man), I am reminded that I am different.
What one does with this unfamiliarity is up to them. Some people use this ‘white power’ to exploit others. Some use it as self gratification to stand out as the white hand coming to pull Africa from its state of poverty. Personally, I have chosen to try and bridge that gap, to prove that there is no difference between white and black. I have tried to immerse myself into the culture so deep that people will see more than the colour of my skin. They will see someone trying their hardest to love them. If that means I forget to put on sunscreen, then I can handle the burns along the way. Physically and emotionally.
Much love,

Karina