My Story

First of all, I’m updating job requirements/qualifications for assignments in developing countries:

• Must love squatty potties – if female, must increase bladder capacity
• Must be willing to feel stupid for 6-12 months or entire assignment period if unwilling or mentally unfit to learn new language
• May require re-learning of basic skills – e.g. How to boil rice enough to be edible-but-not-white-cake (even if you’re Asian)
• Must have experience developing/refining verbal filter for unfamiliar context – i.e. “But that’s so stupid/unfair/wrong/weird!”  à  “That’s life [insert chuckle here].”
• Must be willing to adjust concept of ‘clean’ – organization will take no responsibility for obsessive compulsions resulting from silt in bathwater (organization may provide stipend for house helper – note: he is untrained to clean applicant’s hair/nostrils/brain/soul/etc.)
• Total immersion and forgetfulness that life goes on in other countries may be helpful – e.g. Brexit should sound more like a delicious cookie than a historic change
• Goats are food, not friends
• Negotiable:  20/20 night vision and the ability to transport large bodies of potable water using telekinesis (non-mutants may be considered) 

I’ve also been thinking about other necessary adjustments in gestures and cultural differences in greetings, groups, and gaffes.

Glossary

Canadian – adj; My concept of life as the eldest daughter of a conservative immigrant family in the West (see Indian)

Here/Local – adj; My concept of local culture as a single foreign woman working in an NGO

Indian – adj; My parents’ experiences and concept of child-rearing as formed in India in the 60s (see Canadian)

Malian – adj; My initial impression of the continent as formed within a close-knit missionary community in West Africa

South Korean – adj; My concept of East Asian culture as an English teacher to adults

Third Culture Kid (TCK) – noun; Child raised outside of country of origin.  Adaptable, somewhat eccentric, likely polyglot, individual qualities may vary, keep some out of reach of children, flammable

I`m going to come right out and say it – South Korea was the best.  In terms of airlines, ice cream, cleanliness, freedom, ice cream, accessible public transport, affordable fun (in the form of bouncing couches, shopping, scenery, ice cream, and microphones), and the means to enjoy regular tubs of ice cream.

I won`t rate the rest because it hurts too much. 

But one gesture I picked up from Korea that will likely stay with me for the rest of my life is the `no.`  Here, I find myself repeatedly crossing my forearms over my midsection and saying Anniyo! with the full expectation that everyone will understand (no).   

Another expectation from South Korea is that supermarkets will contain everything I need without having to work a vendor down from $20 to $5.  Though it took me a while to initially find Home Plus, I somehow latched on to this silly fantasy of a one-stop shop. 

(No.)

I also like the generally hands-off treatment of foreigners – Korean men prefer their women tiny, slim, porting stilettos, made up to the hilt, fair, and with a taste for the expensive.  As I fulfill none of those requirements, I was mostly left alone.  There were stares aplenty, as well as worries of deathly illness when I had zits or didn`t wear lipstick, but we got by.  In addition, restaurants have discovered that, contrary to Western belief, patrons probably do not want a cute waiter dropping by at inopportune times and asking how the food is when they have a mouthful of noodles, extreme shyness, and a quick gag reflex – they use the button method, so that I`m able to choose when he comes by (i.e. when my chin is clean). 

Canadians, as well, are mostly live-and-let-live, to the extent that I saw an older Asian woman peeing in the grass at a park one day and politely pretended this was Acceptable Behaviour. 

Here, I face at least one nosy admirer a day, whether it`s for my long hair, my jewellery, being `Pakistani,` whether I`m Christian, how many babies I want, whether I would marry a Congolese man, the absolute confidence that I would or wouldn`t...  Malians were possibly worse as the population is mainly Muslim and adding me on as another wife would not be problem for any taxi driver. 

As Indian culture is highly class-based and I’d never talk to guys on the street anyway, I struggle to walk the no-man`s land between friendliness and snobbery; sometimes that means not engaging in conversation with a truckfull of Central African garbagemen. 

And while I don`t mind greeting a busfull of people and maybe learning some Swahili, my instinctive reaction is to get on and disappear – probably more so because I feel like I already get more attention than I deserve.  I`m a naturally shy person, and while I love to get to know people, small talk is a meaningless waste of time to me, and small talk with a cute guy is next to impossible.  Add that to the class-based prejudice mentioned above, and my bus rides every day are a study in existential angst. 

Let`s go one step further.  I should be friendly to everyone because we`re all the same – everyone knows that There but for the grace of God go I.  Importance is given to the rich, but age seems to be a major indicator of dignity and wisdom.  Contrast that with the expectation that to call a server over, to invite someone into a bus, basically to get anyone`s attention anywhere – one should hiss.  Or crook a finger. 

Je ne peut pas.

Not least because I once answered to a hiss like that in India and saw far, far too much of a man in the bushes, everything in me rebels at the idea of being so perfunctory towards another person.  I even have a hard time telling the bus to stop for me and try to get off with someone else - even if it means a slightly longer walk.  Or I spit apologies and thanks with every breath when I`m stuck in the back and people have to get out for me, or when they refuse to move and I have to clamber over them like a 5-foot-6-inch heavyweight champion/drunk spider (even though a part of me is growling menacingly at this inconsideration).   Thankfully, when my tiny, quavering voice gets lost on the way to the driver, my fellow passengers are more than willing to bang on walls and holler that the muzungu wants off. 

Another reason I have a hard time answering hisses and hoots is because sometimes they result in conversational requests for food, money, a job, or a top-up on their phone credit.  Begging (and I use this term loosely) is worlds away from what it is in India – there, poor people walk around looking dirty and scraggly, holding crying babies and muttering things.  I understand it’s also a business, but at least they seem to get into the spirit of things

Here, they’re mostly adequately dressed/groomed, selling something on the side of the road or guarding (i.e. sitting outside) my apartment building, and basically asking for $10, which seems rather extravagant to me.  If I were begging for a living, I’d need to train and work hard to elevate myself to level where I could just walk up to a foreigner, both of us dressed in regular clothes, and just say, “Hey, so I’m really hungry and I have no food.” or maybe, “Can I have money to catch a moto?” 

This last one’s dicey because if the foreigner is walking and you’re asking for money for a moto...  Well, it’s worth a try anyway. 

And as for money so you can talk or text... 

I understand that there’s a problem.  But it won’t be solved by me handing over two-weeks’ worth of grocery money.  As a TCK who’s looked in on five cultures, I’m coming to realise that we’re all deeply, deeply flawed.  Culture and values are very personal, and expecting that any one country has all the right answers is ridiculous.  Money management is personal and expecting minimalism or a right to luxury is unrealistic.  Life stories are incredibly personal and the idea that ‘Africa’ can be condensed to ‘poor people who need money’ is laughable, even if some Africans and foreigners tend to believe it. 

There's an old joke about two blondes working hard - one digging a hole, and the other filling it up again.  When asked, they say they're missing a third blonde who called in sick - the one who plants the trees.  That's what life would feel like without partnerships for development.  You can hand over some money, someone can use it to buy food, and then it's gone - like it never was.  And yet people are still working - still digging holes, still filling up those same holes.  

The dangers of hearing and living this ‘single story’ are very real.  This was a major theme for my church’s young adult group, and Carrottop posted a TED Talk on the same subject just before we came here.

If you’ve ever felt sorry for the unfortunate souls living in South Korea, you should also know about their unbelievable nightlife, scenery, transportation system, and customer service. 

If you’ve talked disparagingly of the caste system in India, you should also know about many, many middle class Christian couples with at least Masters-level educations. 

If you hear of poor street children in African countries, you should also know that there are doctors, pastors, students, and families who are striving to live and teach differently.  Their success stories take longer and don’t pay off right away; tears and flies make more money.  If you’re part of the ‘money’ cycle, I hope you will think about how to build into the ‘empowerment’ cycle of education, training, investments, and jobs. 

What stories do you listen to?

What story are you living?