Ugly As A Mud Fence
November 27, 2005
It is amazing the things that can happen in a week, even an uneventful week like this one. Conversations, parent teacher conferences, outings, and subtleties all provide fodder for one’s mind.
Racism has finally reared its ugly head this week. There is one gentleman we quite enjoy. An older fellow, he has been very gracious to us and is enamored with Zachary. As it turns out, Zman holds a tremendous similarity in appearance to this man’s grandson. One night, comments were made, and his true colors came to bare. It saddens me. I am not one who tolerates racism, but I like this man, and I find that my views are in the minority.
As soon as the comment was made, the rest of my table mates nodded in agreement and proceeded to make their own contributions to the conversation. These contributions ranged from agreement to bad jokes that weren’t funny the first time I heard them as a child. It was suddenly apparent that our views were not the views of most of those around us. If we make those views plain, we risk ostracizing ourselves from everyone here. If we keep these views inside, we may explode. Our challenge is to find the happy medium; maintain our self integrity without pissing everybody off.
Conferences were interesting. I rarely get the opportunity to meet the men in my student’s lives. I know most of the mothers quite well, but the fathers don’t seem to come around much. Conferences are the one time I get to meet everyone. Some are quiet, not participating in the meeting at all, while others are very outspoken and help to provide valuable insight into their child’s performance. Always I learn something more about each family.
Friday night was quiet. I had a great conversation with a Namibian man named Morne (more – nay). As a child, he remembers hiding under his bed when the sirens went off. He would stay there until the bombing stopped and then he would crawl back up and go to sleep. In the eighth grade he and his classmates were provided with AK47’s. They were required to carry them everywhere. They were provided with ammo twice a week when they went to the shooting range. As a result of conscription, every male child has to spend at least two years in the military upon matriculation (graduation). This existence is so far removed from mine that I don’t even know how to relate. His stories are amazing. Namibia was liberated from the Germans by the South Africans during WWII. South Africa then claimed it as a province. As time wore on, communism continued to prevail in Angola (the neighbor to the north), so Namibia was recruited as a launching point for South African “freedom fighters”. This, in turn brought retaliation upon the Namibians. This war continued for quite some time, although it appears to be over for the time being. Namibia is now its own free state.
Saturday was another voyage to the Baobab Camp. It was Jannie’s birthday and we promised we’d come. It was a small gathering. I asked how many people live in the camp. I was told there were eight. This, of course, means eight ex-pats. They live inside their own fenced enclosure. Immediately outside this enclosure is another enclosure where the Malians live. There are a good many of them, although we could not get a straight answer about exactly how many. Apparently no one has ever asked before and their vagueness demonstrated that they couldn’t really care less. It was a fun party with lots of food, good music, and good darts.
We are learning. Every day is a new lesson. An Aussie I met last night told me that we would need to go home as we really needed contact with our own people. I laughed at the suggestion that I might actually miss American “culture”, but in the end I think he’s right. It’s hard to be surrounded by folks with such different ways of speaking, living, and viewing the world, especially when you are aware that there is no escape. We are all trapped in this fishbowl together for the next two years.
MJR
It is amazing the things that can happen in a week, even an uneventful week like this one. Conversations, parent teacher conferences, outings, and subtleties all provide fodder for one’s mind.
Racism has finally reared its ugly head this week. There is one gentleman we quite enjoy. An older fellow, he has been very gracious to us and is enamored with Zachary. As it turns out, Zman holds a tremendous similarity in appearance to this man’s grandson. One night, comments were made, and his true colors came to bare. It saddens me. I am not one who tolerates racism, but I like this man, and I find that my views are in the minority.
As soon as the comment was made, the rest of my table mates nodded in agreement and proceeded to make their own contributions to the conversation. These contributions ranged from agreement to bad jokes that weren’t funny the first time I heard them as a child. It was suddenly apparent that our views were not the views of most of those around us. If we make those views plain, we risk ostracizing ourselves from everyone here. If we keep these views inside, we may explode. Our challenge is to find the happy medium; maintain our self integrity without pissing everybody off.
Conferences were interesting. I rarely get the opportunity to meet the men in my student’s lives. I know most of the mothers quite well, but the fathers don’t seem to come around much. Conferences are the one time I get to meet everyone. Some are quiet, not participating in the meeting at all, while others are very outspoken and help to provide valuable insight into their child’s performance. Always I learn something more about each family.
Friday night was quiet. I had a great conversation with a Namibian man named Morne (more – nay). As a child, he remembers hiding under his bed when the sirens went off. He would stay there until the bombing stopped and then he would crawl back up and go to sleep. In the eighth grade he and his classmates were provided with AK47’s. They were required to carry them everywhere. They were provided with ammo twice a week when they went to the shooting range. As a result of conscription, every male child has to spend at least two years in the military upon matriculation (graduation). This existence is so far removed from mine that I don’t even know how to relate. His stories are amazing. Namibia was liberated from the Germans by the South Africans during WWII. South Africa then claimed it as a province. As time wore on, communism continued to prevail in Angola (the neighbor to the north), so Namibia was recruited as a launching point for South African “freedom fighters”. This, in turn brought retaliation upon the Namibians. This war continued for quite some time, although it appears to be over for the time being. Namibia is now its own free state.
Saturday was another voyage to the Baobab Camp. It was Jannie’s birthday and we promised we’d come. It was a small gathering. I asked how many people live in the camp. I was told there were eight. This, of course, means eight ex-pats. They live inside their own fenced enclosure. Immediately outside this enclosure is another enclosure where the Malians live. There are a good many of them, although we could not get a straight answer about exactly how many. Apparently no one has ever asked before and their vagueness demonstrated that they couldn’t really care less. It was a fun party with lots of food, good music, and good darts.
We are learning. Every day is a new lesson. An Aussie I met last night told me that we would need to go home as we really needed contact with our own people. I laughed at the suggestion that I might actually miss American “culture”, but in the end I think he’s right. It’s hard to be surrounded by folks with such different ways of speaking, living, and viewing the world, especially when you are aware that there is no escape. We are all trapped in this fishbowl together for the next two years.
MJR
posted by Bronx to Timbuktu at 10:15 PM
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