An American by birth, I live in East Africa. Here my neighbors assume because of my skin I am rich, beautiful, or have extra love to share. I offend neighbors when I refuse to have a househelper or a driver or even, really, detest having a security guard or the other ‘helpers’ white people are supposed to have. They say, after living here for a long time, that I am white on the outside and black on the inside, because, well, I don’t know. People in America act surprised when I call this place home, and ask me if I’m afraid here. I think instead, we are all people inside, each looking for our own way on this earth.