why a muzungu is like an umusazi

or...why white people are like crazy people, and other thoughts

10/8
I'm really only updating because I'm avoiding doing all the laundry and dishes that are piling up in my room...but it doesn't really matter why as long as I'm doing it, right?
Today I was at the pre-school again and I think maybe some of the novelty of having a 'muzungu' teacher is starting to wear off. Although, obviously not yet all of it, as they were distracted in circle-time by touching my painted toes and rubbing my arm. I'm gonna take this as the positive sign that they're getting more comfortable with me.
There are all sorts of amusing myths about what 'muzungu' skin is like. They have one circulating that if you touch our skin we start to bleed. (I guess because it must be so thin...?) I can't remember any of the others right now so I'll post them as I hear them or remember them. In general, I think it's more the novelty than anything else. Our hair is another source of interest. They always want to touch it and they ask if we put grease in it, if we have to wash it every week (they can hardly contain their shock that's it almost every day), etc. All the explanations are just another part of the cultural understanding (on both parts).
In addition, I'm always having to explain why I don't know the other white people they see around. When we had the French people here that taught karate, all the kids expected me to continue the karate lessons because I, of course, had to know it also. It's also bizarre that I'm an American that speaks French...very confusing, even though they are constantly exposed to a minimum of 3 and often 4 languages.
The nuns appreciate that I'm a white person that doesn't snub my nose at the local food. I find this amusing because I never really saw that as an option. They like to call that and my languages part of the "esprit missionaire" which they identify with because they're all from other countries albeit all from Central Africa.
I also bought my first Rwandan outfit last night. I had bought the igitenge or fabric at the market on Friday and I went to pick it up from the umudozi (seamstress) last night. I had to walk home in it once I had it on and they were so excited that I was now, 'dressing well.' They're not entirely comfortable, in the countryside, with women wearing pants all the time (especially if not part of a suit).
All of this is mostly amusing, though I never thought I'd miss wearing shorts or showing off my knees and shoulders so much...I often catch myself in the paradoxical thought that this would all be easier if I'd grown up in a society like this. By "this" I mean one in which women hold a different position and in which some resources and capital are relatively scarce. But then, I would not (in all likelihood) be where I am today and doing what I'm doing. I'm obviously thankful for all that I've had and have but I envy their comfort with this way of life, even if it's because it's all they've ever known.
I wonder about 'development' in these situations because it always seems to happen so unevenly and right now, they know their lives, and how to live them. There are some obvious improvements (safe drinking water, access to education, training and jobs) that can improve anyone's life but I'm just trying to see how it can all play out successfully. I guess I'm just having trouble seeing past the 'growing pains' associated with these changes. I wonder if, in 'development,' we'll ever be able to work ourselves out of a job