Open Sesame

When you drive up to the gate of an exclusive residence with a posted guard in Lusaka, the whiteness of your skin alone is enough to get you in. I have not been here long, of course, but this has held true both times I’ve approached the gate of a compound where I was neither known to the guards nor specifically expected by the residents. It has also been confirmed as a general rule by my hostess here. When you pull up and honk, the black gatekeeper peeps out, and your relative lack of pigmentation is all the assurance he needs to throw open the gate and usher you in amid a fanfare of enthusiastic waves. “Hello baas!” I would not be surprised if this circumstance were someday exploited with great success by criminal white travelers with a Land Rover and the gall to pull it off.