Ever hate being put in a box. Ever gotten angry about a gross generalization concerning you, your people, your religion? Ever made a stereotype and then had it broken in such a powerful way you stopped to really evaluate your presuppositions?
A couple days ago I was sitting with the ladies downstairs. My friends. Five young ladies, a young mother, me and two little toddlers duking it out while Zana gets passed from loving hands to loving laps. Zayba, the young mother, likes to wear her muu muu all day. Who wouldn't in this heat. However maybe it would be better worn just indoors. Much to my surprise one of the young ladies commented on her indecency.
"Who are you? Pamela?" The comment was coupled with a cryptic look at exposed skin. I went into gales of laughter. Of all the people. Of all the illustrations to use. Pamela Anderson. I know she was on their version of Big Brother here in India but really is this what America exports? Is this what my friends know of my country... Pamela Anderson?
Last night I was sitting on a bed in the middle of nowhere eating spicy mutton with truly dear friends. Abraham was playing with the precious items on the bed frame shelf. It held various knick knacks all carefully dusted. One was a blond doll the height of my hand. It was a MacDonald's doll complete with a little register and a MacD hat.
What do we know of Afghanis, Khans? Are the Muslims we hear about in faraway lands condensed into one face? A big bearded man with a fierce agenda of destruction and annihilation? The more I thought about Pamela Anderson the more I found the situation humorless. I am a modest wife who finds my identity in more than flaunting my sexuality yet my culture has been given a face. When I speak of where I am from I fall into a stereotype that is not at all comfortable for me. Zayba in her muu muu would be horrified if someone questioned if my clothes meant I joined Al Qaeda.
What do you know of someone's country who is not of your culture? Ask. Listen. Learn. And avoid boxes.
A couple days ago I was sitting with the ladies downstairs. My friends. Five young ladies, a young mother, me and two little toddlers duking it out while Zana gets passed from loving hands to loving laps. Zayba, the young mother, likes to wear her muu muu all day. Who wouldn't in this heat. However maybe it would be better worn just indoors. Much to my surprise one of the young ladies commented on her indecency.
"Who are you? Pamela?" The comment was coupled with a cryptic look at exposed skin. I went into gales of laughter. Of all the people. Of all the illustrations to use. Pamela Anderson. I know she was on their version of Big Brother here in India but really is this what America exports? Is this what my friends know of my country... Pamela Anderson?
Last night I was sitting on a bed in the middle of nowhere eating spicy mutton with truly dear friends. Abraham was playing with the precious items on the bed frame shelf. It held various knick knacks all carefully dusted. One was a blond doll the height of my hand. It was a MacDonald's doll complete with a little register and a MacD hat.
What do we know of Afghanis, Khans? Are the Muslims we hear about in faraway lands condensed into one face? A big bearded man with a fierce agenda of destruction and annihilation? The more I thought about Pamela Anderson the more I found the situation humorless. I am a modest wife who finds my identity in more than flaunting my sexuality yet my culture has been given a face. When I speak of where I am from I fall into a stereotype that is not at all comfortable for me. Zayba in her muu muu would be horrified if someone questioned if my clothes meant I joined Al Qaeda.
What do you know of someone's country who is not of your culture? Ask. Listen. Learn. And avoid boxes.
You need to write columns in newspapers Girl! This is excellent!
ReplyDeleteVery good Charity...
ReplyDeleteThis applies to all levels of humanity.... We do make assumptions, don't we???