How living abroad taught me about white privilege

          On the day I officially moved into my own little house in Nicaragua, I spent the afternoon rushing around the city of Masaya purchasing the various things I would need.  I squeezed my way through the crowded, pungent pathways of the market to buy a padlock for my door.  I biked over to the tiny stand on the side of the road where the only locksmith in town made copies of my keys for me.  I stopped by the supermarket to pick up a broom, some mouse traps, and matches for my gas stove.  Lastly, I needed a refrigerator.  Sunburned and sweaty after my long day of running errands, I walked over to an appliance store called “El Gallo Más Gallo” and called my good friend David to see if he would come by with his pick-up truck and help me out.  While I waited for him I went in and scoped out the refrigerators.  An extremely enthusiastic salesman helped me pick one out and then wrote down my name and the model of the refrigerator I wanted on a little blue form.

            Now, when you move to a new country you have to relearn how a lot of basic, everyday transactions work.  In Nicaragua, you have to learn that you should pay with exact change when you buy something from the small corner store.  You have to learn which line in the bank you should wait in depending on what type of transaction, or how many transactions, you want.  You have to learn that when you go into a large clothing store with multiple rooms you may not carry items you are potentially interested in purchasing from one room to another.  You have to learn that you don’t need to tip the cab driver, but you do need to negotiate the price before you get in.

            What I hadn’t yet learned about El Gallo Más Gallo is that buying appliances there is a three-step process.  A salesperson writes up a bill for you, you wait in a long line to present your bill to the cashier, and then you return to the salesperson, hand him your receipt and he gives you the item you purchased.  In my haze of exhaustion and dehydration I let the salesman excitedly lead me straight up to the cashier and ring up my bill.  It wasn’t until the transaction was finished and I turned around, receipt in hand, did I notice that there were about 30 very pissed off looking Nicaraguans waiting in line behind me.

I could tell you that the reason I didn’t demand a refund and then go buy my refrigerator elsewhere is because that would have taken forever and caused all those people to wait in line even longer (although it would have… everything in Nicaragua takes forever).  I could tell you it was because I didn’t want to inconvenience David, who was waiting outside with his truck.  But the truth is it was probably because I was hot, tired, thirsty, and incredibly embarrassed that I had been oblivious enough to let this happen in the first place.  I just wanted to get out of there, so I did the easy thing and I went home with my new refrigerator.

I tell this story because it is such a concrete, undeniable example of white privilege.  But there were a million other more subtle instances just like this one.  There were times when I was allowed into upscale establishments despite being underdressed while others were turned away.  There were times when people clearly assumed that I was wealthy or well educated and seemed to automatically take me more seriously than my Nicaraguan coworkers or friends.  I noticed that other white people chose to sit next to me on the bus or ask for me directions, even if they spoke Spanish perfectly well.  I could hail a cab faster than most people and get better customer service than most other patrons.  Sometimes, the security guard checking people’s bags at the entrance of a nice store just waved me on by.  People instinctively trusted me to keep an eye on their backpack for a few minutes while they went to the bathroom or to just pay them back later if they covered my lunch.

And yet, most of these privileges are not unique to my time in Nicaragua.  They have always been a part of my life.  I simply recognized them as characteristics of privilege because for the first time, I was part of a privileged minority instead of a privileged majority.  In the communities where I had lived before moving to Nicaragua, I was used to seeing most of the people around me receive the same treatment that I did.  It wasn’t until I was in an environment where the treatment I received usually differed from that of my friends and coworkers that I recognized this ugly phenomenon for what it was: white privilege.  Although it made bolder, more conspicuous appearances in my life than it had previously, it was not a new experience.

I still haven’t learned to recognize all the ways in which being white automatically puts me in front of others on a daily basis.  Much like that day in El Gallo Más Gallo, I’m sure that all too often I am so oblivious and wrapped up in myself that I don’t notice the privileges I am being afforded.  After all, that’s what privilege is.  But after life in Nicaragua, I am making a concerted effort to do something that I should have done a long time ago:  educate myself and pay attention.  So one of the things that I now strive to do is take notice of the many ways in which I am routinely being led to the front of the line, and step back to wait my turn.

The rude thing you should stop saying to the quiet person in the room

          As a relatively reserved person, it happens to me pretty often.  Usually, I’m at a party or some other type of social gathering and I’m having a great time.  I’m listening to one of my friends tell a story, I’m laughing at a joke an acquaintance just told, and I’m adding my own comments here and there when I feel like it.  Then, someone turns to me and says, “Why are you so quiet?”

            Sometimes they phrase it differently.  Instead of asking, they just inform me that I’m quiet (What!?  I had no idea this was a personality trait I possessed.  Thank you so much for pointing that out!).  Sometimes they ask me if I am ok (Well I was, but now I feel super self-conscious, thanks for that).  Other times, and this is the most audacious of them all, they tell me that I should be more confident.

            In the oft spoken words of the introverted President of the United States, “let me be clear.”  I am confident.  I am confident enough that even though I live in a society that often seems to value qualities like being outgoing and talkative above all else, I have the courage to just be the contemplative, analytical person that I am instead of wasting my energy trying to act like someone else.  I am confident enough that years ago I stopped worrying about whether or not I am talking as much as everyone else in the conversation and started to just relax and enjoy myself.  I do not need to come out of my shell or let down my walls or whatever other metaphor you want to use.  This is me being myself.  I am quiet, and I don’t owe you an explanation for it.

Now, I totally get that when someone makes one of these comments they are usually doing it with the best of intentions.  They are worried that I want to speak up but am too nervous to do so, and they are trying to find a way to get me talking and include me in the conversation.  But acting like there is something inherently wrong with me because I am introverted and tend to talk less than the average person is not the way to go about it.

Let’s flip this around.  Imagine, for a moment, that you are an extrovert.  You’re at a party and you’re telling a story to your friends.  People are laughing and occasionally interjecting with their own comments.  Suddenly, someone turns to you and says, “I noticed that you are talking way more than anyone else in this conversation and I just thought I would point that out in front of everyone and ask you to justify it.  I mean it kind of seems like you verbalize pretty much everything that passes through your head, even though sometimes those things are not at all interesting or funny.  Do you have a compulsive need to talk when there is silence?  You know, I think people would like you even if you didn’t try to be the center of attention all the time.  You should try to have the confidence to quiet down and listen more!”

            How incredibly rude, I am so sorry someone just said that to you.  Of course not all extroverts feel compelled to draw attention to themselves out of insecurity.  In fact, most of the extroverts I know are enviably self-confident individuals who make a concerted effort to use their naturally outgoing nature to make everyone around them feel comfortable.  I know I shouldn't really speak on behalf of all introverts, but the truth is we would all be lost without our outgoing friends.  If you weren’t around to keep the conversation going, every party would just be one long, awkward silence.  I know I for one am deeply grateful for those moments when I am feeling unsure of how to interject my way into a conversation and suddenly a more socially adept person finds a way to include me.  But do me a favor, extroverts of the world, and learn to appreciate the quiet people in your life for who they are instead of interrogating them as to why they aren't just like you.  They are often great listeners, loyal friends, compassionate people, and incredibly creative thinkers.  And please please pleeeeeease stop assuming we are all insecure.

So what can you do when you notice that one person seems to be getting excluded from the conversation and you want to get them talking?  Well, if you’ve paid attention to anything you read so far then you know that’s not exactly my area of expertise.  But never fear, I googled “how to start a conversation.”  These all seem like decent ways to start talking to someone without implying that there is something wrong with them:

-       If you’re in an ongoing conversation with multiple people, ask the person their opinion about whatever is being discussed

-       Ask the person about their hobbies and/or interests

-       If you already know the person, ask them about something that is going on in their life (a project they’ve been working on, their job, a problem they have been trying to resolve recently, etc.)

-       Ask the person how they’ve been lately, or what is new in their life

You get the idea.  Just talk to them, instead of saying something that makes them feel super uncomfortable and alienated in front of everyone.  Of course, if you notice that a friend of yours is acting differently than they usually do it’s appropriate to take them aside and ask if something is wrong.  Or if someone you know seems to really struggle with low self-confidence or social anxiety, you should definitely talk to them about it and ask if there is any way you can support them.  But those kinds of conversations are only appropriate between close friends, in private.

If you are asking because you are genuinely interested in learning more about why some people are quieter than others (and why that’s actually a good thing!), watch this great TED talk by Susan Cain (disponible con subtítulos en español).

Or better yet, read her whole book, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking

A Lesson in Humility

When I took trips to Nicaragua as a volunteer with Bridges to Community during high school, I distinctly remember finding it amusing that the Nicaraguan masons with whom we worked would always rinse the cement off their boots at the end of the day.  As a teenager participating in a weeklong, adventurous service learning trip in what I perceived at the time as an exotic country, I prided myself on being dirty at the end of each day.  There was something liberating about getting absolutely filthy and not giving a damn about it.  Not to mention, how dirty you got was considered to be an indisputable measurement of how hard you had worked.  Why would I ever want to wash away the evidence of my obviously superior cement mixing skills?

Well, I still find a certain sense of satisfaction in working and sweating until I am abominably filthy, but I found out the hard way that there is a very practical reason why Nicaraguans rinse their boots off at the end of a day on the construction site.  After a couple months of working full time with Bridges, I discovered that cement literally eats away at fabric, leather, and rubber if you don’t clean it off your clothing and shoes before it dries.  My trusty L.L. Bean work boots soon had gaping holes in them, and the rubber soles gradually detached themselves and began to flop around as I walked.  Eventually I had to discard my well-loved boots and acquire a new pair.  After that, I followed the masons’ example and diligently rinsed off my boots at the end of each day.

The trouble with washing off your boots is that the water on our worksites was usually stored in huge, chest-high metal barrels.  Ok, so maybe they were waist-high for those who are not vertically challenged.  But regardless, they were high enough that using your hands to splash enough water onto your boots to clean them properly without going through the arduous ordeal of taking them off was always a bit of a challenge.  So one afternoon when we had just finished mixing a massive batch of cement, I found myself wandering around the worksite looking for a small bowl of some sort that I could use to scoop water onto my feet.

An elderly woman who lived next door in what could tactfully be described as a humble home took note of my aimless wandering and asked me what I was looking for.  She was one of those women whose face had been so weathered by the sun and body so ravaged by years of scrubbing clothes and carrying firewood that it was impossible to tell whether she was sixty or eighty five.  Nonetheless, her appearance was pristine.  She wore a conservative blouse, an immaculate white skirt, and her hair was twisted into a knot on the back of her head.  She hobbled slowly into her home, emerged with a small plastic dish, and proceeded to fill it with water for me.

As I reached out to take the dish from her, I was first confused and then dismayed as instead of passing it to me she knelt down in the mud and cement at my feet.  Despite my fervent protests and a few meek attempts to take the the bowl, she proceeded to wash my boots meticulously.  She wiped mud from the rubber soles, scraped cement out from under the laces, and then carefully rinsed off any remaining traces of grime.  I was utterly at a loss as to how to react to this act that to her must have seemed like a basic act of civility, but to me felt like a manifestation of the fundamentally unacceptable imbalance of power in this world.  So once she had finished devotedly washing my boots I just said thank you.  She smiled, nodded, and shuffled back into her house.

An Honest Cover Letter

Unemployed Person

The Suburbs

My Parents’ House

unemployedperson@gmail.com

3/28/14

An Organization I Saw Online

Trendy Neighborhood

Any Large Metropolitan Area

person@anorganizationisawonline.org

Just In Case Someone Reads This,

            I am writing to inform you that I am unemployed and have been for a period of time that is now beginning to look bad on my resume.  I learned about the exciting new opportunity available at your organization when I briefly checked idealist.org while taking a break from watching Netflix and eating a snack in my bed.  As soon as I read the job description I knew that it would be the perfect match for me because it is actually a salaried position that does not require a masters degree.  I feel confident that I could do the job adequately, but I am also aware that a multitude of much more qualified candidates will apply and I will never receive so much as a confirmation that you received this application.

            I attended a college and worked at other jobs in the past.  Most of the responsibilities and required skills at my last job are not relevant to the position I am currently applying for, but over the last few months I have become very skilled at making it sound like they are.  In the past I had specific career goals and a passionate commitment to certain things.  An extended period of unemployment has left me unable to recall what those things were at this time.  Were I able to do so, I would eloquently make connections between those things and the values mentioned in the mission statement on your website.

            I would describe myself as detail-oriented, proactive, culturally competent, flexible, organized, fun and even cute if that helps.  In fact I am willing to go so far as to assert that I am extremely gifted, experienced in everything, possess rare talents, am perfect, and can be accurately described by any other positive sounding adjectives that you deem desirable in a candidate for this position.  I am eager to confirm that I am comfortable working under pressure in a fast paced environment, possess strong communication skills, and I will even say that I work well as a member of a team as well as independently even though that seems like it’s probably a contradiction for most people.  In short, I am committed to describing my skills and work habits in whatever way sounds best.

Although the job application process had gradually but decidedly worn away at my self-confidence and sense of ambition, I maintain hope that if someone would contact me for an interview I would at least be able to feel things again.  Accordingly, I look forward to hearing back from you regarding this job opening, another job opening at your organization, or literally any job opening anywhere ever.  I appreciate your time and consideration, since being unemployed is the worst and you have the power to save me.

Desperately,

An Unemployed Person

Things people say to you when you've just returned from living in a "third world" country and my somewhat snarky responses

1.) It must have been so hard living there.  I could never do that.

Actually it wasn’t and you totally could.  Sure, there were aspects of life in Nicaragua that were harder than life here in good old ‘Merica.  I got catcalled every morning while I walked my dog in my frumpy pajamas, going to the bank to cash a check usually took at least two hours, and sometimes I discovered that my underwear had gotten moldy in my dresser (true story).  But I also lived 20 minutes away from a pristine volcanic laguna where I could go swimming with my friends and drink rum on the beach, I found that it was not at all uncommon to wake up on Sunday morning to some sort of elaborate and/or debaucherous parade passing my house, and people gave me fresh mangos for free all the time.  It doesn’t take long to get used to going without the little conveniences that we have in the USA, and you really don’t miss them much when you’re eating a huge avocado in your hammock.

2.) You’re finally back in civilization!!!

Does this even merit a response?  Probably not, but since I’ve heard it pretty often let me spell out something that I really thought everyone already knew until so many people said this to me:  no country or culture is more or less civilized than any other.  To suggest otherwise, even if you’re kinda sorta joking around, is really pretty offensive.  

During the entire time I was in Nicaragua I don’t think I ever saw anyone eat food in front of others without offering to share it with whoever was present, and that includes children under the age of five.  I noticed that whenever anyone entered a room, they always went out of their way to personally greet and chat with everyone in it.  No one would ever refill their own glass without offering to refresh everyone else’s first.  And I can’t even count the number of times that people invited me into their homes, offered me food, gave me a ride, insisted on helping me, etc. etc. etc.  I could go on for pages listing the many ways in which Nicaraguans struck me with their generosity and attentiveness to others.  But instead I’ll just say this:  don’t call those people uncivilized in front of me.

3.) You are so brave!

Thanks, but I’m really not.  Nicaragua is one of the safest countries in Central America, with homicide rates at just 13 per 100,000 in 2012, compared to Honduras where that same stat went up to 82 in 2010.  Even right here in the US of A,  homicides in Detroit reached 54.6 per capita in 2012.  I know, when you hear the word “Nicaragua” you vaguely associate it with some sort of war in the 80’s.  But you should really try to get past that because it’s one of the only countries in Central America that still isn’t overrun by drug crime, and it has a rapidly growing eco-tourism industry.  If you ever find yourself balking at the idea of visiting Nicaragua, just keep in mind that literally the worst thing that happened to me while I lived there was that I was once on a two hour bus ride where I had to pee the entire time and couldn’t get off.  I know that sounds ridiculous but you are seriously underestimating how badly I had to pee.

4.) You took bucket showers?? It must feel great to take a real, hot shower and finally get clean.

Ok, first of all can we talk about the fact that you think I haven’t been clean for the past two years?  Actually let’s not, I don’t really want to think too much about that.  Instead I’ll just explain the two differences between a bucket shower and a “real” shower:

1.  When you take a “real” shower the water is mechanically pumped above your head through a pipe and then it falls on you.  When you take a bucket shower, you lift the water up and pour it over your head manually using a small bowl.  Contrary to popular belief, this is not an egregious human rights violation.  In fact, once you’ve done it a few times, it doesn’t even feel inconvenient.  It just feels like taking a shower.

2.  When you take a “real” shower the water is automatically heated up in a tank before it falls on you.  When you take a bucket shower, if you want the water to be warm you have to boil some of it on the stove first.  This really isn’t that inconvenient, all it takes is a little bit of foresight and about 15 seconds of your time, but you still won’t do it because it’s 80 degrees out.

5.) Were there any foods that you missed?

Excellent question.  The answer is pizza.*

6.) Do you miss it?

*This applies equally to when I lived in Ohio