I’m American and We Hug: The Philosophy

There is this idea that to be culturally competent (or whatever the current phrase is for not being a terrible foreigner) you have to follow the old adage "when in Rome, do what the Romans do." Now if the alternative is to barrel around, oblivious to your surroundings, offending everyone in sight, by all means, follow this adage. However, I think travelers can be a little more nuanced in their comportment and feel okay about it.

The fact of the matter is, I am not Roman. I come into a situation with a background, a culture (however indefinitely defined), and a way of seeing the world. And here's the secret:

NO ONE IN ROME (read: Africa) EXPECTS THE NON-ROMAN (read: white chick) TO DO EXACTLY AS THEY DO.

Nobody on this planet still thinks their culture is the only way that people live. And don't flatter yourself by thinking that people don't know that you're different. If the situation warrants it, people can handle the occasional "I'm actually not going to do that thing because it conflicts with my culture/values/beliefs". Respect them. Respect yourself. Find an in-between version of you that adapts and is flexible but maintains your essence (admittedly, essence is a terrible word but you know what I mean).

To be clear, I do not advocate careless attitudes, inconsiderate statements, or reckless behavior. So where is the line? I’ve been carefully defining this line through the last 5 years of travel and will admit it has moved significantly.

In Morocco I fasted out of respect during the first week of Ramadan when living with a family (I couldn’t bear the thought of my host-mom cooking me food she couldn’t eat herself). However, I didn't feel like I needed to do it once I was living on my own. I am not a Muslim, and nobody thought I was.

It was also no news to anyone that I came from a more permissive culture with regards to romantic relationships so while I didn't advertise the fact that the man I was living with was not (at the time) my husband, I also didn't make him live in a separate apartment so as not to make anyone uncomfortable (and believe me, this was suggested by some foreigners).

I have put some rather repulsive foods in my body for fear of offending the person offering. In general, I stick to this tenant because putting food in your body rarely jeopardizes your core beliefs or cause major harm. However, even on that front, I'm backing up that line. After an incredible bout of food poisoning in Ethiopia, I was forced to tell someone “I can’t drink that because it has local water that my body is not used to” and the person understood. He did not storm off in a rage due to my ungraciousness; he was not offended to his core. He just shrugged and drank more himself.

There is always the question of local dress. While traveling in north or sub-saharan Africa, yes, I try to be conservative. My West African friend asked me “is this how you dress at home?” to which I honestly replied “nope” and he said, “Right, you just do it to not shock anyone”. Yup- exactly. He gets it. And frankly, showing some leg is not essential to my being so that’s one I’m going to adapt on. However, on the other extreme I see some Western ladies who fully adopt West African clothing. They have entire ensembles made complete with a pagne to wrap around their hair that they wear casually to meetings. Now this is certainly “doing what the Romans do” but something about it personally makes me a bit uneasy. It seems to smell faintly of co-opting someone else’s culture. Again, no one thinks they dress that way at home, so it almost feels like they are playing dress-up with someone else’s culture as their costume.

Interpreting how Roman to (pretend to) be is a tricky bit. While a lot of ex-pats use versions of their names that are locally pronounceable (Roman-light) some of them completely change their name to something local (all-out-Roman). I got an email from a Canadian who works at an international NGO whose signature read the equivalent of “Annie dit Ayisha”. I knew a man in Morocco who changed his name from the equivalent of Joseph to Youssef. This seems a bit much for me. I am still Laura but if you want to call me Nora because it is easier, that’s fine, but I’m not going to start monogramming my towels with an N.

I probably started naively trying to be Roman in every possible way. Except that it is only possible to imitate the Romans in the ways you are cognizant of. There is a lot in what it means to be Roman that you won’t pick up on and thus can’t ‘be’. So maybe it’s just about accepting who you are and finding the version of that self that works in your present context, wherever that may be, and remembering that cultural exchange necessitates that you keep some of your own to share with somebody else… otherwise it’s cultural imitation.

I'm American and We Hug: The event

After a week of enjoying the company of my three West African friends, it was time for me to leave. I first said goodbye to the other Western girl and didn’t hesitate to give her a hug. That was the appropriate gesture in both of our cultures, neither of us would feel uncomfortable with it, and frankly, there weren’t many people around to risk offending. So we hugged.

One of the West African friends was delighted by this and sort of clapped and said “hug!” in English. So when it came time to say goodbye to each of the three friends, they gave me kisses on each cheek and I said “I’m American and we hug” and gave them each a nice hug. Now they were not accustomed to hugging so it was mechanically less smooth than one would have hoped with some awkward head and neck placement, so while not really a comfy exchange, definitely a meaningful one.

Yes, these were dudes. Yes, I was in Africa. Yes, I’m a married lady. And yes, I’m sure my guidebook would have told me that this was completely inappropriate behavior, but the thing is, it wasn’t. It was exactly the right thing to do in that moment.

Three Unpaid Friends.

I made three unpaid friends during my last trip to Mali. That's right, three people who were not taxi drivers, waiters, guides, or others who I was in some way paying. This may seem trite but is actually quite a feat for a young woman traveling by herself in Africa on business. Not only is pretty much all of my time spent working with middle aged doctors (who don't really offer a lot of potential in the way of friendship) but my down time is usually in hotels where the choice of friends are either 1. No one because there are no tourists presently in West Africa 2. Western business men prowling for prostitutes or 3. well, prostitutes. And don't get me wrong, I love prostitutes... thing is they have better things to be doing with their time than chatting with me.

Furthermore, during my down time there is a complicated set of social dynamics to navigate. I would love to tattoo across my forehead "Please interpret my friendliness in a platonic manner" with a caveat saying "I don't have as much money as you think I do" and "I promise I'm not as different as you think I am" to enter every situation with a clear understanding but unfortunately, my forehead isn't that big.

So often my meager friendship-making attempts result in blatant disinterest or way-too-much interest. Now don't feel sorry for me, I'm not exactly crying myself to sleep- I'm actually just working my ass off and skyping my friends at home.

However, the stars aligned in Mopti. There were exactly three other people staying at my hotel and they weren't western business men or prostitutes. They were young Malian and Burkinabe dudes there for an internship at the regional bank. As the internet was only functional in a very small part of the hotel, we all spent a whole lot of time in close proximity.

Now I have to admit, I was wary at first. Especially because in true form, within 2 seconds of chatting the most friendly of the three asked me for my phone number, email address, and facebook name. I defended with an honest "I don't usually share personal information" and secretly patted myself on my back for not copping out. So things went well with some casual chatting whenever the connection failed (so hourly) and I officially had unpaid acquaintances.

The friend upgrade was due to another auspicious occurrence. There was another young Western girl in town and together, we made two-- and two meant we felt safe, buffered, comfortable and consequently, way more friendly. So I invited her to meet my then acquaintances and with the power of two, we upped the ante and went to watch their soccer game. I would never have gotten in a taxi with three dudes I barely knew in Mali if it weren't for having a buffer- a girl I could clearly communicate with, who would find the same situations sketchy, and who would be a getaway partner if things went in a bad direction. I am of course a little ashamed of this caution, but it is so.

And after having cheered for their soccer team while drinking water from a bag with a goat tethered two feet behind me, an unpaid friendship was born... and I did eventually share my facebook name.