“Mzungu! Mzungu!”

The call rings out as the sun dips behind the hills of Kapseret, Kenya. A group of men are stacked precariously onto a boda boda, zipping past while waving their arms like they’d just passed a celebrity. I wave back. It’s become reflexive. “Habari yako?” a chorus of schoolchildren calls from behind a chain-link fence, their faces pressed between the bars. I respond, “Poa,” and we continue walking. They clutch at the fence, not ready to lose sight of me.