When You Say it Louder and Slower, I Still Don’t Understand

I have come to a few conclusions as a traveler. One is that the world would be a better place if everyone knew what it feels like to be the minority. The second is that people universally talk to foreigners like they are idiots. When you are the one speaking to someone who doesn’t understand it doesn’t seem so idiotic. However, when you are a foreigner and have no idea what someone just said to you it doesn’t matter how slow or loud you repeat yourself, I don’t know what you are saying to me. Like the time in France when I couldn’t successfully order a royale with cheese on my own. So the next logical conclusion (especially for Americans towards foreigners), is if you are in my country you should speak my language. Okay, fair enough. The reality is that even the best intentioned foreigner just might not get around to it. Immersion only works if you get a clue. I am certainly guilty of this. I can’t tell you how many times I have said “I really need to learn Thai, then it was Korean, and now it’s French. My bad, it’s my job to communicate in your language, not the other way around. I at least try and in most places aside from NE Asia find people to be very forgiving if you make a hint of effort.

Today, after school I had my first experience on my own in Niger. Tiff drove and I went into a pharmacy by myself. She had gone to pick up a prescription for me and they gave her the wrong amount so we decided to go back, and just have them redo it. Turns out they just hand you back the piece of paper when you pick up your meds. So we pull into the sandy parking lot out of a chaotic roundabout teeming with motorbikes and horns honking. She explains to me that when I get inside I need to go to the right first and hand them my paper. If I don’t push my way up to the front other people will and I will wait forever. Then they will fill it and I will go to a glass window on the back wall to pay and pick up. Right, okay, sounds simple enough? I promptly walk in and go to the glass window first. A man behind me whispers “psssst” and points to the other counter. I look at him totally confused but still trying to maintain my “I got this” attitude. The women behind the counter are dressed in all white from headscarf to toe. They mumble and grunt as people come up. As soon as I make my way to the front it seems as if all of them disappear at once. I wait and wait until a woman takes my paper. She types a bit on her computer and says something to me, shaking her head, “You don’t have it?” I reply. She repeats herself then looking irritated, writes 5600 on a sheet of paper (the currency here is CFA). “Ok” I nod, “Merci.” She doesn’t look impressed. Now I go back to the other counter and see that they improperly filled the prescription again. I start to try to tell them and a woman next to me chimes in speaking English and translating for me. I repeat myself again. “I know, I am explaining it to them” she politely reminds me. “Merci,” “Beacoup.” I guess I thought if I said it over and over they would get it, see how that works? They tell me to pay and go back to the delightful woman I saw first, then come back. “Okay” I mutter hesitantly. There is now a much larger crowd of people surrounding her counter. Not to be confused with a line. I thank the woman for her help, probably to the point of annoyance. Then make my way over to the crowd. The woman looks up from her computer and says “come” motioning to me. I walk up and show her the paper and the package of medicine. I just point to the numbers in the hopes she would cooperate. She nodded, typed a bit, and motioned her hand toward the payment window. In the mean time before leaving, the woman who helped me came over and checked in to make sure I had been successful. Kind strangers are really the best, on any continent. I paid without saying anything. I handed the woman a few crumpled up bills looking at her helplessly and she accepted, giving me change and a receipt. I mumbled a thank you and promptly got out of there as quickly as possible. If you ever need to be put in your place just walk into a Nigerien pharmacy. I felt like I had no clue what was going on and I was at the mercy of the people around me. Probably because that was just the case. I felt like I have all these preconceived notions about what Africa is going to be like, and now I am really here and I have to figure out how to get the things I need on my own sometimes. I was nervous and intimidated. I could have had school send a driver to pick up what I needed and deliver it to my house. That would not have taught me anything about life here in Niger, or myself. It doesn’t matter how many places you have been or how many times you have walked into a shop by yourself. New continent, new ballgame and you better be up for the challenge or you’re not gonna make it.

Perceptions

Perception. It’s a funny thing. With a fresh pair of eyes we try to configure our new surroundings, but first impressions are not always as they seem. The reality of a new people, place and culture rarely matches up with the images we have in our heads. As I boarded the plane to Niamey in Istanbul I struck up a conversation with an 8- year old American boy. He asked me if I have ever been to Africa and I replied, “No.” “Well, he said, “However you think it’s going to be in your head, it’s different than that.” When I asked him if he thinks I will like it, he thought for a moment, then answered, “It depends on what you like.” Not only was I taken aback by his words of wisdom, but with the likelihood he was absolutely right. As I write this I have only been to my house, the house next door, and school. Later today we will gather at the Ambassador’s residence for a promotion ceremony of a teacher’s husband. Social events of any kind are particularly appealing as we don’t get out much. The reality of living in a fishbowl still hasn’t fully sunk in. With that said, it’s not as I imagined it to be. I feel safe in my home, and the daily bomb sweeps of our car at school have become routine. It’s hard to imagine, I know. The people here are warm and friendly in demeanor. In a matter of a few days I have seen acts of kindness that are few and far between in many other places. The reality and perception of an immediate threat are not the same. With that said, I do not plan to test the waters on this, but for purposes of sanity believe it’s important to understand the difference. What I thought I knew about the world and life in a Muslim country have been proved false. Preconceived notions we carry with us are often toxic. If you say you don’t have them, somewhere deep down, and they don’t surface in your thoughts if only for a moment, you are lying. We all do. The difference is whether or not you are willing to admit it, and break past those barriers. It’s only when we are honest with ourselves that we can face our fear of the unknown and cease to be afraid of what we don’t understand. The house I live in is by far the grandest place I have ever resided. We have a pool in the front yard and a gardener. My bathroom is over half the size of my first apartment and the first night I got lost in the many hallways. There are four bedrooms and mine is well furnished and comfortable. My favorite part of the house is the grand staircase that leads to the roof. From a design perspective it is a horrible use of space, but just like the pool in the front yard and the 24 hour security, it is a display of wealth in this culture. Before you go thinking that I am living like the “other half” bear in mind how much we go without. The power goes out almost daily, along with the internet. We are restricted to only certain places in the city and mostly just our house, school, and the embassy. I am not allowed to get mail. That means I can’t order any of the things that aren’t available in this country. We bring in our own coffee, laundry detergent, cosmetics and toiletries, bath towels, sheets, furniture, kitchen supplies, etc. If you are willing to push the boundary it is amazing to see how adaptable a person can be. Those things I always thought I couldn't live without are no longer things. The images in my mind of how Africa would be and life in a Muslim country have changed. It's only when we push the boundary and explore that we truly begin to understand the world we live in.