ktravula – a travelogue!

reflections on the world

Many Choices

There has always been more than one choice to make on returning to Lagos. When I left from here ten months ago, I was just an obscure citizen wary of many the propects of distance as I made my first journey out of the continent. Now I seem to have acquired a reputation of staring, and talking about the most random, most obscure details of everywhere I go. Nothing has changed about me, I like to believe, except for that little (just appearing) pot belly :D . Maybe I’ve made more friends, or spoken albeit virtually to more people since the last year. I’m still the same, I like to think. But here are choices tugging at my shirt as I contemplate the next first steps.

The Tourist: Looking at Lagos through the prism of a different country has definitely not helped my first days. Even I feel awkward now whipping out my camera while walking on the streets. These are places where I’ve walked many times before, so they are not totally new to me. I have a choice now of blending in totally as peacefully as I can as a returned son of the land, ignoring all inconsistencies visible to the eyes, or keeping up with the traveller spirit that sees all and tells all. This is not an easy choice to immediately make, and I’m sure that the genius  folks who fashioned this travelling exchange programme never considered how hard it might be for one to fit into the new frame of mind of an old society after such a year’s absence. So, I’d just be me then, whatever that is, hoping that someone points out to me when I’m beginning to overstep accepted conventions.

No more culture shock posts, promise :) . I’m home after all.

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Culture Shock

This is a guest-post by my cool and brilliant colleague Professor of Spanish language and literature who also blogs as Clarissa on issues of feminism, literature, journalism , immigration, politics, and her love for the Kindle. :) Originally from Ukraine, she migrated to Canada, and she got her PhD at Yale University in the United States. She has recently taught at Cornell University before coming over to our prestigious SI University. Hers is the first in a series of guest blogposts coming on this blog in the coming weeks. Thank you Clarissa for the post. Find her blog here.

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When I was 22, I emigrated from Ukraine to Canada. I was fully prepared to experience a massive culture shock but none came. Sure, it took some time to get used to the idea of a credit card and a check-book, realize that a bus driver doesn’t give out change and there is no need to negotiate the price of a ride with the cab-driver before getting into the cab, and figure out why maple syrup can be poured on bacon and eggs. The process of learning these small things was really fun and caused me no shock whatsoever.
Five years later I decided to go to graduate school in the United States. Having lived in North America for a while, watching American TV and reading American books and newspapers, I expected even less of a culture shock on this change of residence. I was only moving to Connecticut, where the climate and the way of life were supposed to be pretty similar to what I had gotten used to in Canada.

Boy, was I ever wrong. A massive culture shock hit me immediately after crossing the US border and remained with me for years to come. It took time and effort to understand this new reality, learn to like, and eventually even love it.

I the US I discovered a deeply divided society. Glaring class inequalities, the likes of which I never saw back in Canada, racism, religious fanaticism, gender inequalities, economically devastated areas with the kind of poverty I never saw even back in Ukraine, crime, violence, inept governmental strcutures. All this was very different from the US I had seen in movies and TV shows.

But soon I also discovered that yet another US exists. The country of intellectuals, thinkers, artists. The country of hard-working, kind, generous people, who have not abandoned the struggle for the perfect society they inherited from their founders. The country of intellectually curious people. The country of people who hate injustice and inequality. The country that deserves better than the corrupt structures governing them.

When people read the very critical things I write about the US on my blog, they sometimes ask me, “Why do you live in this country if you dislike it so much?”. But I ask, does hating injustice and inequality mean hating America? Or is it just the opposite?

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I love Clarissa’s blog because of the way she looks at the world. Even though she hasn’t called it that, her blog is a travelogue of sorts as well – a response to the American society from the viewpoint of an immigrant. And as expected of someone of her level of brilliance, she doesn’t suffer fools gladly, and she says what’s in her mind no matter whose ox is gored. I particularly like the way she responds to the people who make foolish or hateful comments on her blog. I wish I could be that quick-witted sometimes. :)

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Wrapping up. Thanks Providence!

Downtown Providence

Just like it began on Wednesday August 12, all the days of my orientation at Brown University, Providence, Rhode Island has come to an end, and I now have to pack my bags and head to the American Midwest where a different and more practical challenge awaits me. But like I wished when I began, I have now discovered that having a blog would help me stay committed to finding time every day to reflect on what the day means to me, and my Fulbright program. This travelogue now mandates me to find time everyday of my trip to share what is happening to me at any given time, wherever I am on the American soil. I like that.

In teaching us about culture shock earlier in the week, we were told that there are four stages in “Culture shock” that we would most likely experience: Honeymoon stage, Despair stage, Recovery stage and the Adjustment stage. It goes without saying that I’m still at the honeymoon stage, and that a time will come, whether I like it or not, when I might be too drained to write anything or update this blog. I am prepared for that, mentally. It is another matter whether I would physically be able to beat a temperature of minus 12 to type on the keyboard with – as I can imagine it now – my real thick handgloves. But I do hope to cross the bridge only when I reach it.

Buffet

What did I learn this week? One important lesson is that people are not the same across board even though we all have things that unite us. The women are an especially interesting study. While some will gladly allow you to take their pictures or take pictures with them holding their hands/side, some others are averse even to the idea of putting their photo in your camera in whatever form. Religion? Cultural upbringing? Preference? What matters at the end is the respect with which you are given the information, and the maturity with which you must accept it without malice. I have also learnt that not all familiarly looking leaf on the buffet is cabbage or lettuce. Sometimes it is a very sour vegetable that will not go down your throat no matter how you try.

Bye Bye Brown Classroom

Bye Bye Brown Classroom

I also learnt a few new words. In Hindi, I now know that to say Mera naam Kola hai is to introduce myself, while to say Tumhara naam kia hai? is to ask that of another person. My German vocabulary also swelled up by one, as I learnt in a hard way that “Tisch” means table. I have also learnt how to write NIGERIA in Chinese, and to read my name in Arabic. When I think about it, those languages are not so hard, as long as you have a willing teacher.

Now as I pack my bags right now after 2am when everyone else is asleep, let me share this with you. It is a quiz joke you must never repeat.

What do you call someone who speaks more than one language?
Answer: A multilingual.
What do you call someone who speaks only two languages?
Answer: A bilingual.
What do you call someone who speaks only three languages?
Answer: A trilingual.
Now, what do you call someone who speaks only one language?

Answer: An American.

Of course that’s not true. All the Americans I’ve met here speak or are at least trying to learn another language other than English. So if you must repeat the joke, do remember my disclaimer. Next stop: St. Louis, Missouri.

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