Cultural (un)immersion

Perhaps a certain tone has pervaded the entries surrounding the Senegal trip- I have developed a low tolerance for the culture shock experiences of others. I won’t hide it any longer. This entry is my confession. In my defense, I took the trip of a lifetime when I was 25 to India and Nepal. It was an important moment in my life for several reasons. First, it was the biggest international trip that I’d taken without my beloved travel companion, Sonya. Second, it was my first real immersion into poverty. All I’d seen in Thailand, China– even a little in Okinawa, was washed away by the mobs of homeless children and mountains of garbage in India. I know I often over-exaggerate in conversation, but India was a different world. I think because of that experience, I am often less struck by poverty in other places which results in my judgement of others as they grasp the magnitude of global suffering. Unfair of me, I’m certain- but I’m coming clean with the truth about my inner travel monologue here so it’s bound to be a little unfair.

When it comes to short-term travel (vs. living abroad), I often find there are two types of mindsets. 1. Everything is wonderful and so much better than home; 2. What’s wrong with these people? The way we do it is so much better. My personal experience living abroad and the analytical part of my brain tell me that this is just a person’s entry point into culture shock. Also, I know that these are two extreme ends of the cultural immersion experience. From what I’ve come to understand (mostly by watching others experience culture shock), one will generally enter at one of the extremes listed above. Then, as time passes (and this passing of time is different for everyone), one will begin to vacillate- day to day or even month to month- between the love/hate ends of the spectrum. At first, this vacillation is steep (I wish I could draw a picture here), but over time, the height of the experience wave begins to lessen and eventually, given enough time, one will settle around a feeling on the love/hate spectrum that best represents their true feelings toward the people/place/culture. For example, when I moved to Japan I thought everything was rainbows and sunshine. Over the course of three or 4 months, I came to violently hate that country and all its backwardness– which moved 3 months later into loving it (literally) to tears. Back and forth, back and forth- a little less extreme each time. Until finally, two years later, I came to accept the good with the bad and understand better my true love for the country. The problem is, in a trip that lasts 3 weeks, this necessary exploratory feeling time cannot be fully experienced, thus leaving you at whatever point of the extreme vacillation process you were at when you left the country.

My intolerance point, you ask? Yes, I’m getting there. So- cut now to 20 women of varying ages undergoing the culture shock process all at once. Chaos? Yes, definitely. Controlled chaos through the wisdom of our academic leaders- thank goodness. What you end up with in conversation, however, is comments like: “Oh, families in Senegal are so much closer than in America. They like to hang out together and eat and sing and dance. Americans never do that.” Enter inner monologue: Ummm…Which Americans? Who exactly are you talking about? What does “all” Americans even mean? My family eats together all the time. In fact, my mom and I enjoy hanging out so much that she came with me to Africa this time. Are you sure that this singing and dancing isn’t going on because a group of 20 Americans is here and they’re looking to break the ice and have a good time? You’re telling me they sing and dance before dinner every night? Come on. Do you honestly believe all Senegalese families get along perfectly and Americans never like spending time together? I’m sorry for you that your life was devoid of 4th of July cookouts and tailgate parties, but please stop speaking for our entire country and painting us all as coldly independent.

This is just one example. I won’t bore you with 3 weeks of inner monologues like this. The moral of the story is this: humanity is widespread and unites us all. While it’s important to embrace the differences, it’s equally important to acknowledge the commonality in order to avoid the Us vs. Them dichotomy of thought. WE all have something in common and that’s very important (if not more important), too.

But, there’s more! My mom has her own small business in the US. As I mentioned, she came along with me this trip and it was fascinating to watch her take on Africa. Near the end of the trip, we were at the beach one day. A woman came along desperately trying to sell her wares (mostly jewelry) but their dilapidated state didn’t really pique anyone’s interest. Somehow, as my mom was rummaging through the goods, she became this woman’s advocate- maybe the shared experiences of struggling to survive as a woman-owned small business? They didn’t share much language in common- maybe just a handful of English words- but my mother and another girl on the trip earned the commission of one necklace each for taking it upon themselves to sell this woman’s jewelry to people throughout our group. And my mom drives a hard bargain. The woman sat back and watched as members of our group tried to bargain and my mother flat out refused to lower “her” prices. All in all, I think my mom and Keisha sold more of this woman’s jewelry than she’d managed to sell all day, if not all week. And that, my friends, is cultural immersion at its finest. No language required!