Did your mother never tell you not to stare?

Have little children ever stared at you while you walk down the street? Since arriving in Cameron, it's an experience we have come to treat as normal. By their very nature, children are inquisitive and open to new experiences and they are good at spotting anything that does not fit what they know. Our white faces fit into the 'strange, different' category very well.

So, we could be walking down the street past some playing children and we hear a faint call of “Les Blancs”. For a minute or two I can feel like the Pied Piper, until the novelty wears off for them and they return to their games. If we walk past children who are coming home from school we will often get a “Good morning” out of them (regardless of the time of day – hey, I say “Bonjour to taxi drivers in the afternoon, so why not?!). Of course, it's only polite to return their greeting – which is met with beaming smiles. We imagine the scene in school. On Day 1 it's “Now class, remember if you meet any English-speakers, you practice with them!” On Day 2 it's “Miss, Miss, please, Miss!! We were speaking to some British people on the way to work...”

To them, it's an entirely innocent learning experience and we are happy to play along. We can play along when a curious little girl on her mother's lap, sharing a taxi with us, wants to touch Alison's straight, fair, hair!

Adults are different. They have learnt not to stare with wide-eyed astonishment and they are not thinking “Woohoo! A chance to practice my English and impress the teacher!” As we walk past though, a lot look at us from the corner of their eyes. It's not sinister. The only thing we've encountered that even approaches sinister is a crazy drunk man one night who wanted to share his conspiracy theories about Libya with anyone who would listen! That and a single taxi driver who tried to pull a fast one when we were paying. How many scary people or dodgy taxi drivers would we meet in any UK city?

Like I said, it's not sinister. With some it appears to be bemusement: why is this white couple who can obviously afford a taxi walking two miles to buy groceries? (Because they like to walk). Why are these people not wearing appropriate clothes for the President to drive past? (Because they didn't realise he was coming, but thanks for letting us know anyway!)

With others it's money-oriented, in a non-threatening way. Outside Casino, the French-owned supermarket, there are any number of money-changers who are all too willing to change Euro or Swiss Francs. Indeed, the standard greeting (in French) is something like: “Are you Swiss or French, do you need money changed?” In fairness to them, they do point out the things we silly foreigners might not realise – keep your hands in your pockets and keep your rucksacks in front – the people round the corner are untrustworthy, they say!

Street vendors also notice our appearance. The logic seems to be: it costs a lot to get here; incoming white people don't do the ditch-digging jobs; white people are usually connected with foreign governments or businesses; these guys can therefore afford to pay a little higher than the locals. It's logical enough. (How many American tourists have visited Northern Ireland and been steered towards the expensive options?)

Whether it is bemusement, a thought of a chance to do business or a simple blank stare, it's still a stare. We sometimes wonder if we have a neon sign above our heads! However, they are simply human beings doing what human beings do.

At home, how often do we stare/glance/whatever? Do we think the foreigners might be dangerous? I'm one of the foreigners now – and I'm perfectly safe! Suddenly I've realised why some of the people who come to Northern Ireland leave because they are fed up with not fitting in.

With all their bemusement comes ours. There's a guy up the road from us who sells apples from a cart outside a petrol station. The script is always the same – he tries to charge us 1000 CFA for 4 apples, we end up paying 1000 CFA for 5. Same complaints each visit, same smiles when he complains he's been robbed. It's all part of the social event. He still smiles at us when we go past the next day. However my French is rubbish. I have aspirations that one day my French might manage to be mediocre but for now, there's no way I can get past the same basic conversation. I can't even manage “I'll be back this way just after nightfall, will you still be here?” I could try it, but he might baffle me with his reply. The day he wasn't there, the lady at the next stall (selling mobile phone top-up cards) told us where he was. He could have gone to the Moon for all I understood. She took the money anyway, gave us the apples and promised to pay him. I've no doubt she did.

Likewise in a taxi, I feel like an outsider. Something inside me wants to join in the banter about the football but I can't (how do you say “Of course yer man handled the ball, the referee needs glasses”?). When the other passengers joke about the crazy driver in the other lane who nearly got us all killed, or about the guy blocking the road because the policeman stopped him and he's just taking a huff and not pulling over, or the billboard that a lorry flattened.... I have to listen and guess what is being said. Indeed, I'm guessing the stories are about the football,, crazy driver, the huffing taxi-driver with a bad tyre and the lorry. They could just as well be discussing the price of eggs.

The question is, will I remember this when I return to Coleraine? Will I remember that the random Polish guy asking for directions would probably be delighted if someone actually took him to the Post Office that is only two minutes' walk away? Or will I walk off, knowing he probably didn't understand “Over the bridge, past Heatons, and Bishop's, past the town hall, keep right, turn at Moores' and it's beside the Presbyterian Church.” Would he be more delighted still if I took him there past the Polish-owned delicatessen?

What about you? You might sit beside someone in college who would love it if you simply made sure they were on the right page. There might be a person beside you in church who would be glad for you to produce a bilingual Bible. There might be someone walking down the street who doesn't want to be stared at or have his cultural naivety taken advantage of.

There might simply be someone who, for the sake of two minutes of your time, would be delighted for you to treat them like a fellow human being and not a curiosity.