My American dad--as opposed to my Kenyan one--works part-time as a host in an Albuquerque hotel. Dad is an excellent cook, just as good at presentation and, best of all, a people person.
One day, a few years ago, he hosted a lunch for a group of Kenyans. After they finished their meal, he came over to their table to do his host thing. They were pleased and he had a fun conversation with them.
“You all are Kenyan, correct?”
“From the Luo tribe, right?” They looked at him quizzically.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Because my daughter is Luo.”
Dad says that they all looked at him like, “Ni**a, you ain’t no Luo.”
When he laughed and explained the situation to them, they said he was pretty much a member of the tribe and invited him to sit down and have a drink with them, but, of course, he couldn’t.
When Dad told me this story, I asked him how he knew they were Luo. He said that they all looked just like me.
I just shook my head and, at first, Dad thought I was offended.
“No Dad, it’s not that. Sometimes, when a person asks me about the origin of my name, they’ll also ask if I’ve ever been to Kenya. When I tell them that I haven’t and they ask why not, sometimes I’ll tell them that every Kenyan I’ve ever met looked just like me and I’m afraid that if I go there, they might not let my black ass come back home!”
I guess we’ll find out if this is the case or not soon enough.
Related: My trip makes the Kenya news.
Don't forget: every Tuesday and Saturday, I blog at the award-winning DaTechGuyBlog--including during the Kenya Trip. Tuesday's post: Battle Account in the PC Wars.
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