My father told my sister and I that we had two strikes against us: we’re not white, and we’re women. I’ve heard my father’s stories of the racism he endured when he first came to America, but I still thought to myself “He has no idea what he’s talking about.” I thought racism and discrimination were ideas we left in the past, ideas that we would read in history books and learn for the sake of standardized testing. Growing up in the suburbs in a community that was slowly integrating, I was somewhat removed and ignorant of any racism and discrimination going on around me.

Despite tragedies such as 9/11 and the portrayal of Muslims and people of color in the media, I never felt the sting of segregation or the feeling of being unrepresented or left out. But I guess ignorance is bliss and my mother made sure that we assimilated into the society we grew up in. I am a Catholic from the suburbs, and lived in a nice neighborhood in a big house. I was blessed with privileges such as clean water, food, access to education and healthcare. I was fortunate and ignorant enough to view these as common necessities, not privileges. It wasn’t until I volunteered in Sudan that I truly understood what the word privilege meant.

After I received the email saying that I would be teaching English at a University in Sudan, I was ecstatic. I had never traveled out of the country on my own before, and I would be living in a foreign country for six months! I was so excited to learn more about the country beyond Darfur, which I researched, read and wrote a research paper.

When I got off the plane, I was greeted by my manager and two other volunteers, in other words, three white men. The only three white men in the waiting area of the airport. After reaching the office of the organization,I was met with a volunteer, who I will call J, and another volunteer who came that same day, my roommate, E.

Based on my experience, I find that there are two types of people who travel abroad: the colonizer vs. the global citizen. Global citizenship encourages self awareness and cultural empathy. A colonial mindset encourages a feeling of superiority and distancing from a particular group. At first I will admit, I was not aware of these perspectives coming into Sudan, for everything was new and confusing to me. However, after I allowed myself to meet people outside of the organization, I found that I had more in common with my Sudanese friends and didn’t otherize my them as much as my colleagues.

Prior to my arrival in Sudan I was actually quite interested in meeting E, she apparently lived in Lebanon for a few years of her life, attended school there and became fluent in Arabic. She now attends college in the states. She’s extremely well traveled and in fact visited so many places that she ran out of room for stamps in her passport. I expected to meet a woman who was open minded, intellectual, cultured, confident and compassionate. I mean what human being travels to so many countries and works for an NGO where you deliver babies for a month and lacks compassion?

At first glance, she fit into the global citizen box that I made for her, but after seeing the way she interacted with the Sudanese vs. the way she interacted with the white volunteers, something seemed off. First, being best friends with the volunteers, especially J, seemed to be a priority for her. In the first two weeks of living in Sudan, our accommodation was not ready so first we stayed with one of the professors who worked at the university we would be teaching, and she gave off this entitled attitude expecting to be treated like a queen when we are actually a huge inconvenience.

When the opportunity to share our experiences and stories with each other came, then came the disappointment and irritation. I told her that my father is Muslim and that my mother is Catholic, which is often a surprise for anyone. However, her reaction when I told that I was raised as a Catholic, in the suburbs and that I do not speak a second language at home she was shocked. I guess I didn’t fit into her box of expectations for women of color in America. She was even more shocked when she realized that my parents had American names.

During a conversation between my roommate, myself and a Sudanese volunteer, E acknowledged that she was a white woman with privilege and money to travel. A few months later my friend who is American, told me that she said that she was having identity issues because she was called “khawaja” which means foreigner in Arabic. I was perplexed, didn’t she acknowledge her identity as a privileged white woman? Or does she only acknowledge this around Sudanese people? Secondly, she has traveled to numerous countries, am I to believe that this is the very first time that she has been acknowledged or called out as a foreigner?

However, my identity would be questioned, not only by the Sudanese people but myself as well. I could barely relate to J who at the time was the only American at the organization even though we had similar backgrounds, E even said that I am more American than she is yet I felt more connected culturally and personally to my Sudanese friends. I was also told by a student that I apparently don’t look like an American. But of course white fragility takes precedence over POC issues.

I started to notice a trend with E. She came off as strong and independent but often victimized herself. I must say she played the victim role well. In the first instance, we were both looking for the bus to souq al-Arabi. I should explain how buses work in Sudan. The buses are old vans with bullet holes on the sides. One man drives around charging each passenger 1-3 Sudanese pounds depending on the bus. Each bus almost always has a guy hanging out of the bus yelling out the destination. Why they don’t write the destination on the bus I will never understand. She asked each man hanging out of the bus if they were going to Souq Al-Arabi an old man and a woman who I assume was his wife overheard. In order to get E’s attention he threw a pebble at her back, when she turned around and he told her where to get the bus. I was not acknowledged during this encounter, had I been by myself who knows if I would’ve received the same attention. However, even though I witnessed the entire interaction, E turned to me and said “Did you see what that guy did? He threw a rock at me how rude!”. I honestly had no idea how to respond to this.

The second incident was after my phone was stolen out of my hands, which turned out to be a bigger burden on her life than mine. After that she insisted that we go to the organization meetings and events separately and went out of her way to avoid me at home. Initially, I thought I did something wrong, maybe I was too loud or around too much. But then one morning, I simply said good morning to her before going to teach my class, and she literally looked me in the eye and ignored me. I went back to my room and realized that I was tip toeing around my own apartment for this girl, this girl who used all of my toiletries and didn’t think to pay me back, the girl who is stingy about sharing groceries or spending any money on fixing anything in the apartment but found money to buy food for my manager and his fiancee and for the other white volunteers. So I walked back to the kitchen and I said, “Is there a problem?” E was shocked, her white privilege threatened, “I just need two minutes of silence”. To which I replied, “That’s all you needed to say,” and so I left. Since then I felt incredibly uncomfortable around my peers at the organization except for two volunteers, one who was a person of color. Even my manager would no longer say hello to me, and the vibe from my peers made me feel isolated. I don’t know what this girl said or how she said it, but as I said before: this girl plays the victim role, and she plays that role all too well.

She held the gold ticket in her hand – the white privilege ticket. She used it a lot and she used it well. My privilege ticket, I would soon learn, didn’t have value in this country, Although I was paid to teach English at the university, I soon found that I did not make enough money to support myself (I should also point out that the university paid for our accommodation – privilege). I applied for a teaching position at a primary school, and found that the principal was less than thrilled to meet with me. She was worried about my experience particularly with children, yet continued to ask for my roommate who had no experience teaching children. I tried to rationalize the situation and told myself that maybe she wanted my roommate (who to my knowledge didn’t apply for the position), because she spoke Arabic. However, this didn’t come up during the interview.

Later J told me that schools in Sudan often hire white teachers for marketing purposes. She told me that one of the volunteers at the time, an English Teacher from Zimbabwae, wasn’t offered extra hours at the institute she worked at, and that those hours were offered to a white male volunteer who was fresh out of college. In addition, my roommate apparently obtained a second job working with this same volunteer at another institute and made more money because she is white.

Initially, I thought J, a white girl from New York was a global citizen. She also traveled extensively and even has an adopted sister from Korea and has even made friends in Sudan. However, similar to E, J just didn’t seem to fit into my global citizen box. She would constantly complain about the extra attention she received for being a white woman in Sudan, the pictures with Sudanese people and being called “Khawaja”. However, to my knowledge the attention that this minority of white people received was mostly positive. Unless, “Khawaja” was followed by “get out of my country” or “terrorists” these group of people should be grateful. There are people who come to America and other countries fleeing persecution, war and genocide only to be turned away and considered a threat or inconvenience. These group of people who flee their personal issues are mostly welcomed with open arms and treated like Gods. However, J didn’t see it that way and even said “Sudanese are the worst”.

I also found s the role of interracial relationships played in unconscious bias particularly interesting. They old saying used to be, “Well I can’t be racist because I live near ____” or “my best friend is ____”. Today it’s, “I can’t be racist because I am married/dating someone who is ____”. One day I sat and listened to an interesting conversation between E and J in which they discussed their ex-boyfriends and listed off the types of men they dated from different backgrounds. Is this a practice all white women partake in? Why should it even matter? Is this there way of professing that they have no unconscious bias? It was a confusing and uncomfortable conversation.

A few months later I learned that we would have another volunteer with the organization. A white male who is engaged to a Sudanese woman. I thought to myself, “finally a white person who didn’t feel above the Sudanese people, who didn’t act as if he was a God among mortals”. Wrong. My friend K, who is Jamaican American told me of his encounter with this man. Apparently this man who is engaged to a Sudanese woman, did not find Sudanese men to be of any importance and often ignored him. Thinking K was just another Sudanese man, he ignored him to speak to another volunteer who is white. After learning that K was also American, he then decided to acknowledge him. At first I didn’t believe this but then after meeting him at a party, his behavior was confirmed. I was speaking to my friend who is Sudanese, and this man spoke to me and completely ignored my friend. It wasn’t until I introduced my friend and let him know that they both share an interest in technology that he finally acknowledged him.

After my six months of weddings, traveling, teaching, eating and watching my fellow colleagues cope with their implicit bias, it was time to go home. I felt as if I had left home not knowing when I would see the people who had basically become my second family.