In reference to my previous post about wearing hijab to the mosque, I found myself on the opposite side of a situation that I initiate all the time – It’s me who is usually the one who awkwardly asks people where they’re from.
Example: At the Asian festival in Columbus, I spoke with a woman at a stall selling traditional Chinese art. I could tell by her accent that she was probably from Beijing, or at least northern China. I told her I was interested in the Chinese paper cuttings, and that I had lived in Lanzhou, Gansu. We chatted about western China for a while, and then that dreaded moment came.
“Where are you from?”
“Michigan.”
“Welcome to Ohio!” I said, and left it at that.
I find myself in this situation all the time, and I know that it’s me who is at fault. I’m genuinely curious about other languages and cultures - I’m not judging people for having an accent or different customs. But citizenship, nationality, and identity are touchy subjects for most people.
Another example: I met a woman from Uzbekistan a few weeks ago. When I first asked where she was from, her answer was "Well, I was born in Asia, then my family moved to Russia, and now I live in Cincinnati." We had been talking for about 10 minutes when I realized she must be from Kyrgyzstan or Uzbekistan, so I asked, "Which Asian country were you born in?" She was so surprised that I was familiar with her country!
So my turn came at Masjid Noor, a mosque in Dublin. I was washing my hands in the bathroom when a teenager smiled at me in the mirror. I smiled back and said hi.
“Where are you from?” she asked me.
I was completely caught off guard, not only by the words of her question, but by her unspoken assumption that I was different.
“I’m from Columbus.”
“Oh, cool. Did you come with someone today?”
“Yeah, I came with my friend. We work together.”
Being on the other side helps me to understand better. It made wonder what reasons the girl had for (correctly) guessing that I didn’t quite belong. But at the same time, I recognized her interest in me and my story for how I ended up at the conference at Masjid Noor. And then she hit me with this one:
“You look really beautiful in hijab.”
Showing posts with label Central Asia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Central Asia. Show all posts
05 June 2011
10 July 2010
Boulder Dushanbe Tea House
On Friday morning, the last day in Boulder for us Crocs Ambassadors, we had breakfast at the Boulder Dushanbe Tea House. Don’t worry if you didn't know that Dushanbe is the capital of Tajikistan. (See what I did there?) It's Boulder's "sister city" and, apparently, the materials used to construct the building were shipped from Tajikistan specially to make the tea house. Entering the building really was like stepping right into Central Asian culture. Personally, it brought back memories from China - from the similarities in most Asian art and architecture, but also from my encounters with Tajik exchange students.
Kat, Jon with chai tea, Shelly from Crocs, Nina, and Lorraine at breakfastI have never been crazy about chai tea, but I knew it would prepared just right here, and I was not disappointed!
31 May 2010
History and the Future
I am in the middle of "Reading Lolita in Tehran" by Azar Nafisi. I read her second memoir "Things I've Been Silent About: Memories" when it first came out in 2008, and her descriptions of typical life in Iran during times of turmoil intrigued me enough to go back and read her first memoir.
Nafisi grew up in Tehran, studied in Switzerland and the United States, and returned to Tehran as a professor of English literature. "Reading Lolita in Tehran" compares certain novels to the revolution and women's rights issues in Iran in the 1970s when Nafisi taught at the University of Tehran. In reference to "The Great Gatsby" Nafisi says this:
"We in ancient countries have our past - we obsess over the past. They, the Americans, have a dream: they feel nostalgia about the promise of the future." (p. 109)
I have to admit that several times during my semesters abroad, I would listen halfheartedly to my Asian and Central Asian friends' recollections of history. On the outside I was smiling and nodding my head, but inside I was impatient and restless, waiting for the monologue to end. I wanted to hear about what life in their countries was like for them today and where their countries were headed for the future. The past? We can and should learn from it, but we shouldn't cling to it. What an American attitude!
Nafisi grew up in Tehran, studied in Switzerland and the United States, and returned to Tehran as a professor of English literature. "Reading Lolita in Tehran" compares certain novels to the revolution and women's rights issues in Iran in the 1970s when Nafisi taught at the University of Tehran. In reference to "The Great Gatsby" Nafisi says this:
"We in ancient countries have our past - we obsess over the past. They, the Americans, have a dream: they feel nostalgia about the promise of the future." (p. 109)
I have to admit that several times during my semesters abroad, I would listen halfheartedly to my Asian and Central Asian friends' recollections of history. On the outside I was smiling and nodding my head, but inside I was impatient and restless, waiting for the monologue to end. I wanted to hear about what life in their countries was like for them today and where their countries were headed for the future. The past? We can and should learn from it, but we shouldn't cling to it. What an American attitude!
29 December 2009
The Fight
So my last post was basically to introduce a cultural custom that culminated in a fight in my dorm that my friend Rustam broke up. Here’s the story.
I was coming back from eating dinner with my friend Lily when a huge, bloody brawl broke out at my doorstep. Lily and I climbed the back stairs up to my floor, and at the top of steps were about 30 of the guys from Central Asia. They were blocking the way to get to my room. We had heard them yelling as we came up, but when I saw their faces, I was scared to death. I grabbed Lily and turned the other way, going straight to Rustam’s room for safety. But Rustam’s door was wide open and no one was inside. We went back into the hallway, but in the opposite direction of the fight.
It suddenly got really, really quiet. Then Rustam marched down the hallway into his room. He went to his bathroom and started washing his hands, but not before I saw all the blood going down the drain. There was blood all over his shirt, too. I took Lily’s arm and we tried to go back to my room, but all the guys were still there and wouldn’t let me through. I just starting pushed them aside and went through anyway. At my door, there was blood smeared all over the hallway floor and wall. I felt sick.
Later, Rustam came by and told us the story. A guy from Kazakhstan went to shake hands with a guy from Kyrgyzstan, and he intentionally shook his hand “the wrong way” showing disrespect. They yelled at each other for a few minutes, then all the Kazakh guys came to defend their country, and the all Kyrgyz guys did the same. The Uzbek guys obviously wanted to watch. While they were yelling, Rustam was doing his evening prayers. Needless to say, people started throwing punches, and a bloody nose made everything messy. At this point, Rustam went out to break up the fight. He said two guys were fighting, and the rest were just watching. Disgusting. Rustam also said that when Lily and I came up to the floor, the guys were mortified. And they didn’t want to let us go through when it was over because they didn’t want us to see the blood. While they can be pretty wild and like to fight, they always keep a sense of respect for women. When I see them now, some act ashamed. Rightfully so.
Hello, culture shock.
I was coming back from eating dinner with my friend Lily when a huge, bloody brawl broke out at my doorstep. Lily and I climbed the back stairs up to my floor, and at the top of steps were about 30 of the guys from Central Asia. They were blocking the way to get to my room. We had heard them yelling as we came up, but when I saw their faces, I was scared to death. I grabbed Lily and turned the other way, going straight to Rustam’s room for safety. But Rustam’s door was wide open and no one was inside. We went back into the hallway, but in the opposite direction of the fight.
It suddenly got really, really quiet. Then Rustam marched down the hallway into his room. He went to his bathroom and started washing his hands, but not before I saw all the blood going down the drain. There was blood all over his shirt, too. I took Lily’s arm and we tried to go back to my room, but all the guys were still there and wouldn’t let me through. I just starting pushed them aside and went through anyway. At my door, there was blood smeared all over the hallway floor and wall. I felt sick.
Later, Rustam came by and told us the story. A guy from Kazakhstan went to shake hands with a guy from Kyrgyzstan, and he intentionally shook his hand “the wrong way” showing disrespect. They yelled at each other for a few minutes, then all the Kazakh guys came to defend their country, and the all Kyrgyz guys did the same. The Uzbek guys obviously wanted to watch. While they were yelling, Rustam was doing his evening prayers. Needless to say, people started throwing punches, and a bloody nose made everything messy. At this point, Rustam went out to break up the fight. He said two guys were fighting, and the rest were just watching. Disgusting. Rustam also said that when Lily and I came up to the floor, the guys were mortified. And they didn’t want to let us go through when it was over because they didn’t want us to see the blood. While they can be pretty wild and like to fight, they always keep a sense of respect for women. When I see them now, some act ashamed. Rightfully so.
Hello, culture shock.
28 December 2009
Shaking Hands
The male students from Central Asia are big on shaking hands. It’s a cultural tradition that is extremely important to them. When they meet each other across town, on campus, or even outside their own dorm rooms, they shake hands and greet each other. It doesn’t matter if they just saw this person 2 minutes ago, if they are really busy, or if there are 20 guys to shake hands with. Not shaking hands is a major form of disrespect.
When I go somewhere with one of these guys, I usually allot an extra 10 minutes or so because they will inevitably encounter some of their pack along the way. And, when they are all shaking hands, I stand there like an idiot the whole time. Really, what am I supposed to do while this is going on?
When I go somewhere with one of these guys, I usually allot an extra 10 minutes or so because they will inevitably encounter some of their pack along the way. And, when they are all shaking hands, I stand there like an idiot the whole time. Really, what am I supposed to do while this is going on?
23 September 2009
My Uzbek Friends
I met my first real friends here while in the kitchen. Rustam and his sister Shokhina are from Uzbekistan and prefer their country’s food to Chinese food. Rustam and I speak Chinese to each other, and Shokhina and I speak English. To each other, Rustam and Shokhina speak Russian or Uzbek. Each of us acts as translators at some point during every conversation. It’s a pretty good system.
The night we met, Shokhina was cooking soup with lamb, carrots, and rice. We talked for a long time since it took a while for it to cook. They invited me to eat with them, so in Rustam’s room we talked for an hour more.
Since then, we often hang out and go places together. I really enjoy being with them even though the cultural differences are significant. Many American girls would be offended by the way Rustam treats me; He doesn’t want me to walk anywhere alone, I’m not allowed to pay for anything when we’re together, and he often suggests things I should or shouldn’t do based on how life in Uzbekistan is. I remind him that things are different in America, that I am very independent, and that I have been living my life my own way for over 20 years. It’s just too hard for him to accept sometimes, and it’s never a big deal to me, so he usually gets his way.
For example, one time our taxi driver wouldn’t accept a large bill from Rustam. I had smaller change and paid before Rustam could object. Later, Rustam insisted on repaying me in 1 and 0.5 denominations. We argued about it for several minutes, and there was nothing I could do but take it. Another time, I hung out with Rustam and Shokhina after I had taken a shower, and my hair was still damp. Rustam handed me a hairdryer and made me blow dry my hair because he thought I would get sick otherwise.
I’m learning so much about Islam, Central Asia, and Uzbek culture from Shokhina and Rustam. I’ve watched Rustam perform his ritual hand and head cleansing, get out his prayer rug, face west, and spend five minutes praying out loud, standing, kneeling, and bowing. I’ve learned how sacred bread is to them. “You can stand on the Koran to reach bread, but you can’t stand on bread to reach the Koran.” Shokhina is getting married soon, so I’ve also learned about their wedding traditions and family life in Uzbekistan.
In addition, Rutam has started teaching me Russian. Last time I was in Lanzhou, I wish I would have taken more advantage of all the things I can learn from my classmates. So, I’m going to first learn to read Russian, and then learn to speak it. I don’t expect to learn very much since Chinese is difficult enough, but I hope to get a good background in the language.
The night we met, Shokhina was cooking soup with lamb, carrots, and rice. We talked for a long time since it took a while for it to cook. They invited me to eat with them, so in Rustam’s room we talked for an hour more.
Since then, we often hang out and go places together. I really enjoy being with them even though the cultural differences are significant. Many American girls would be offended by the way Rustam treats me; He doesn’t want me to walk anywhere alone, I’m not allowed to pay for anything when we’re together, and he often suggests things I should or shouldn’t do based on how life in Uzbekistan is. I remind him that things are different in America, that I am very independent, and that I have been living my life my own way for over 20 years. It’s just too hard for him to accept sometimes, and it’s never a big deal to me, so he usually gets his way.
For example, one time our taxi driver wouldn’t accept a large bill from Rustam. I had smaller change and paid before Rustam could object. Later, Rustam insisted on repaying me in 1 and 0.5 denominations. We argued about it for several minutes, and there was nothing I could do but take it. Another time, I hung out with Rustam and Shokhina after I had taken a shower, and my hair was still damp. Rustam handed me a hairdryer and made me blow dry my hair because he thought I would get sick otherwise.
I’m learning so much about Islam, Central Asia, and Uzbek culture from Shokhina and Rustam. I’ve watched Rustam perform his ritual hand and head cleansing, get out his prayer rug, face west, and spend five minutes praying out loud, standing, kneeling, and bowing. I’ve learned how sacred bread is to them. “You can stand on the Koran to reach bread, but you can’t stand on bread to reach the Koran.” Shokhina is getting married soon, so I’ve also learned about their wedding traditions and family life in Uzbekistan.
In addition, Rutam has started teaching me Russian. Last time I was in Lanzhou, I wish I would have taken more advantage of all the things I can learn from my classmates. So, I’m going to first learn to read Russian, and then learn to speak it. I don’t expect to learn very much since Chinese is difficult enough, but I hope to get a good background in the language.
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