Muzungu African Queen in China

I am a muzungu. A white chic. No doubt about it. But with five hours and fifty bucks, even a muzungu can become an African Queen.

I took the plunge in Mombasa, on the Kenyan coast, just a day before leaving the continent. It took me until the 11th hour in Africa to get up the guts, so now I’m a Muzungu African Queen in China. Not a regular scene on the streets of Beijing, that’s for sure. But man, does it make you famous. I make just a moment’s stop to consult the map, buy a drink, or take in a sight, and in no time I feel the telling gentle tug. It is usually the women who actually touch them and call over their friends to have a tug. But even the guys give me a big approving smile. My favorite was from the old man in full Mao suit and cap tending sheep by the Great Wall. He gave me a lovely toothless grin, pointed at his hair, and gave me a big thumbs up. Too bad my days as the Muzungu African Queen in China are numbered. Pretty soon I’ll be back to the average Muzungu Mousy Blond in America, but I’ll never forget these glory days.

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