The tag on my Yogi tea bag this evening gave me some advice. It said: “the greatest tool you could have is to listen.” Now I like Yogi tea just fine but the main reason I drink it is 1.) as an attempt to lower my incredible and unrivaled coffee consumption and 2.) for the good advice the tea tags seem to give. So I have obliged, my less than adequately caffeinated tea bag, I have been listening and jotting notes of things I hear. The following are a few statements, sentences, quotes if you will that I have encountered while playing the listening game. Most are from friends, a few from professors, others are acquaintances. All of their words mean something a little more when placed in context. Read. Listen. Feel. Learn.
“I told you. I am not going to ask how many cows she thinks she’s worth.” G. South Africa. This was said in response to teasing about a friend’s new girlfriend. In many African cultures, it is traditional to purchase a set number of cows for the bride’s family before a wedding. Negotiating the number of livestock is serious business and requires intense bargaining and thorough investigation of what the bride is worth in terms of cattle. Ten cows if she graduated high school. Five more if she graduated college. Maybe seven additional if she is a virgin, and depending on the job she has lined up, this guy could ultimately find himself buying thirty or forty cows for the in laws.
“But what if you go home and you remember that you were born here, but this is not your home any longer? You come back to that place you were born and you realize that it isn’t ready for your voice quite yet. That you are standing and living ahead of home.” X. South Africa. Townships are a difficult place to grow up, and most would assume that they are also a living condition that people are anxious to escape. However, that’s simply not the case. Family, history, language and culture all mix and blend in those townships, and once you step outside of that bubble, it is extremely hard to work yourself back in. Leaving the township life in pursuit of new opportunities is not looked on favorably by township peers. If you leave the place you were born, then you turn your back on the people. And an open armed welcome home is not what is generally expected.
“No, we knew you were American because of your water bottle.” N. South Africa. I always thought it would be my accent that would give me away. But apparently Nalgene water bottles do a lot of talking on their own. N. told me once, “There was a point where everyone was convinced that Americans were required to have an obnoxiously large and colorful water bottle before they came to Africa. Like, they handed you one before you boarded the plane, or something like this.”
“My dad chose a new last name for my family after the war. He just came home from work one day, stepped into my grandfather’s house and said, ‘This is our name now.’” F. Zimbabwe. Civil war raged through Zimbabwe in the seventies. Rebels, nationalists and those loyal to the racist forms of government were in a constant battle. When independence was obtained in 1980, people decided they wanted to start anew: no longer hostage to previous political parties and beliefs, they sought new names. I guess it was just whatever name you felt your family could identify with. Whatever name you could be proud of.
“But I was walking to the market and my brother comes along because he wants to buy a monkey brain. A monkey brain. For food. So I am going to do what any normal person does in that situation. I tell him, “Fine. But I get to pick out the monkey.” M. South Africa. Being fairly adventurous in my taste of food, I have been moderately willing to try most anything that gets offered at dinners. Ostrich, alligator, warthog: didn’t even phase me. However, when we got to the point of caterpillars and chicken eyes, I realized that maybe I wasn’t as…open minded as I initially thought. No monkey brains in my life thus far.
“To us the world happened between a mountain and a sea. Somehow we were dislodged and we set ourselves free.” R. South Africa. I saw this poem written on the wall in the District Six Museum in Cape Town. District Six was a black neighborhood in central Cape Town that inhabitants were forced to evacuate during the apartheid era. The neighborhood was then demolished for “white use in the future.” But District Six was never used by anyone ever again: thousands of blacks were displaced and left homeless while whites never found any use for the neighborhood they destroyed. This poem was written by a woman from District Six who was displaced during apartheid.
“Yeah, at least your grandma doesn’t greet you by licking your forehead.” C. Zimbabwe. Traditional Shona culture places elders at high esteem. Children are expected to take their parents in when they are too old to care for themselves, and the elder’s opinion holds considerable weight in decision making. So, if grandma wants to lick your forehead in order to say hi, then grandma gets to.
“And I was alone in New York with five dollars to my name and all I wanted to do was fill out that job application inside that warm Starbucks. But my mama didn’t raise me like that: to take things that weren’t mine without paying for them. So I sat outside of Starbucks on the ground in the snow and I filled out that application.” M. Uganda. I have incredible respect for the high moral character this Muslim friend upholds, which he credits to his religious upbringing. He will not let a female walk on the side of the street closest to the cars, never once has asked to borrow or use something that was not his, and one time came over and watched me eat an entire dinner which he politely refused and it was not until the next day did I realize that I had eaten in front of a man who had been intently fasting for the past couple of days. Unpretentious dedication at its finest.
Yogi tea, your words of wisdom, they serve me well. Now, please, please give me some academic advice.
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