cultural encounters

(I apologize for the trite title).

While researching for a presentation on the cultural influences of health and illness, I can't seem to keep myself from drifting back and forth between my presentation notes and daydreams of past experiences. At a French department meeting last Friday, I responded to a question from Madame Gross about my multi-cultural experience in Senegal with, "Well, frankly.. I learned quickly to emphasize my Chinese heritage. That way, I found myself treated for the most part like an equal by the Senegalese. I didnt find myself getting special privileges for being an American nor terribly taken advantage of because I was an outsider."

Chinese-Senegalese relations are pretty good. As outsiders, the Chinese interact a lot with the Senegalese on a personal level than do "les blancs" or "les toubabs". Whites for the most part are usually in Senegal as ambassadors on business-- thus very detached from Senegalese society except for the few occasions they decide to get cultured and try to play the tom toms, buy a Youssou N'Dour CD, or hop on a boat for a history lesson at Goree. On the other hand, the Chinese who export a the majority of Senegal's imported goods, are (for the most part, once again) there working side by side with the Senegalese trying to make a living. I remember talking to NDiaye about this subject and he told me that he particularly liked the Chinese because they seemed to be willing to take on any task and whatever it is, work their hardest at it. "The whites" on the otherhand, are "less honest"-- they had the cushiony jobs and were overpaid for them.

That is not to say, however, that my experience as a Chinese-American have always been a simple one. Here in the United States, though I prefer to claim to my Taiwanese heritage, I grew up with the label Asian-- I was apparently not even "good" enough to earn the Asian-American label... instead, I was just stuck with the big yellow sticker. I remember sitting in the car one day with my mom and Carlos, a childhood friend from the neighborhood of the first house I ever lived in... I was sharing with them about a picture I colored in class that day (I was in elementary school) and in the process I told them that my skin color was yellow like the crayon I used. They told me that yellow was just a label for race, that my skin color was not actually yellow. I didn't buy one bit of it.

Then I remember the experience of buying a new house. The real estate agent of the people we were trying to buy a house from decided half way through the exchange that he, too, wanted to buy the house he was trying to sell. To get us out of the deal, he tried every dirty trick up his sleeve. At first, he tried outbidding us only to reveal that he didn't real have as much money as he said he did. Then, he tried adding the family's (of the house we were trying to buy) owed tax money to the price of the house--- apparently something over eighty grand. We managed to get that nixed right away. Then he decided to play the I'm-a-WASP-and-therefore-think-I-am-the-shit game. I remember my dad coming to me one day while I was doing my homework and asking me to proofread some document for grammatical errors. I didn't understand what was going on at the time, but I did what I was asked and handed it back to him. He looked pretty concerned, asked me again if I was sure it was okay, and I assured him it was perfect. I learned later on that apparently, in every meeting with my parents, the real-estate agent would correct each grammatical mistake in each and every sentence my parents spoke. Buying a house from him was basically playing a game of "ching chang chong" with the maturity of a fourteen year old dressed in a suit and tie.

I'm no saint at cultural sensitivity, though. While in Senegal, those in my Wolof course were growing frustrated with the professor because her lessons were moving at too slow of a rate. I decide to take initiative and told her that we were hoping that she would move faster in the grammar lessons. She was in the most foul mood after that conversation and I just couldn't understand why. That is, until now. I tried using a Western form of conflict resolution which unfortunately conflicts with the utmost respect the Senegalese have for their teachers. Basically, I downright insulted her by telling her that she wasn't good at her profession.

Growing up in high school, perhaps what I am most ashamed about, is the Asian versus white dichotomy I bought into. I saw things in two colors-- either white or colored. Everything I read in school taught me that Western logic, style, and religion was the best. (As a matter of fact, the majority of the things I learn today still preach that lesson... just more subtly). I was ashamed of being "Asian" because it was a label forced upon me and I confused my hatred for predjudices with, well, justification for being racist against myself. At some point in sophomore year I forced myself to choose between my white friends (who all played soccer, basketball, or did Poms) and my Asian friends (who played volleyball). I chose the latter. After that, I still got to occasionally be the token Asian, but for the most part, I hung out in "chinatown" during lunch-- the back auxilary gym hang out spot for all minorities, though mostly people of Asian heritage.

While sitting in our Country Analysis and International Development courses in Dakar, we had this one professor who was unforgettable. He spent every class just bitching about globalization and outright saying "YOU GUYS"-- as in us Western raised kids-- "are the source of all the problems in the world". My initial emotional response was like that of what I think was the majority of the class-- anger. He was blaming us for imperialism, for the colonization of Africa, for slavery, and for basically all injustices that the Senegalese have experienced. After the initial shock subsided, however, I could understand his perspective. Though we were not present in the times of all those atrocities, we still choose to live in a society that upholds the same culture that led to the atrocities. Furthermore, we still chose to live in a country represented by Bush (at that time), we still held onto our Western outlooks, and basically, unconsciously were beakens for Western civilization.

I could probably end this post better, but I don't feel like it would be appropriate. There are no clean conclusions to the discussion of culture.

(God, that instead in intself was pretty lame. Sorry.)