I recently visited a hospital over a minor discomfort I had ignored for some time. After completing his examination, the doctor calmly explained that I was suffering from an ailment common among “old people.” Instinctively, I looked around the room searching for the elderly person he was referring to, only to realise moments later that I was the oldest person there.
At 65, I have apparently crossed into the dangerous territory of “the elderly” – at least by Tanzanian standards. In fact, one Swahili dictionary reportedly defines a 50-year-old as mzee. Fifty! In many parts of the world, a 50-year-old is buying a sports bicycle, joining a gym, or trying to learn salsa dancing. In Tanzania, he is already being advised to sit under a tree and offer wisdom to younger generations who did not ask for it.
Of course, in our culture, being called mzee is not always an insult. It can be a sign of respect, experience, and authority – or a preamble to someone asking for cash. Society quietly assumes that respect must also come with retirement from active life. The moment your hair turns grey, people start speaking to you slowly, offering you seats you did not request, and discussing your future as though you are a vintage vehicle approaching the end of its warranty.
Yet age is remarkably relative depending on where one lives. In Europe and North America, people in their sixties routinely begin second careers, travel the world, and take up hobbies that require stronger knees than mine currently permit. Political leaders in their seventies and eighties still run countries. In Japan, where longevity is common, many elderly people remain economically and socially active well into advanced age.
Meanwhile, here at home, a man of 60 who buys new sneakers risks being accused of refusing to “accept his age.” You will be told you are ageing inappropriately.
Perhaps this difference is shaped by economics and history. In societies where life has traditionally been physically demanding, old age arrives earlier in both body and public perception. Years of hard work in farms, offices, factories, and on dusty roads can make 50 feel like 80. But modern medicine and changing lifestyles are quietly challenging these assumptions.
After all, age is not merely biological; it is also psychological and cultural. A birth certificate counts years, but society decides what those years are supposed to mean. Sometimes we become old not because our bodies fail us, but because people repeatedly inform us that we should now behave “like elders.”
As for me, I have decided to resist old age for a little longer. At the very least, I intend to continue confusing doctors who insist on discussing “old people” while looking directly at me.
