Another Awkward Exchange

Today I covered for a teacher who had a death in the family.  After lunch I sat in the staff room reading when a tall, graying teacher approached me. 

“What’s your name?”

“Guaria-sensei.”  I showed him the name tag hanging around my beck. 

“What’s your name?”

“Tajima. I’m Tajima.”

“Tajima-sensei?”

“Yes.”

“You are very tall.” 

“Yes.”

“Are you basketball player?”

“No, my sport is swimming.”

“Okay!”  With that he turned and walked away. Another awkward conversation, I think to myself.  But, honestly, I don’t mind too much, because I’ve had so few social interactions in the last two months, that I’ll even welcome a few odd exchanges. 

Kyoto-sensei, who heard us, looks up and says, “He’s our school principal.” 

“He’s the kocho-sensei?”  I can’t even hide my surprise.

“Yes.” 

Okay, then.

06/2020 

Substituting at a School in Chichibu

Pet Peeve:  When people who drive everywhere give me public transit info.  It’s almost always wrong because, they just get info from an app.  Granted, I sometimes get info about buses and trains from apps, but, because I’m a regular rider, I know which info is exact and which is an estimate.  

***

Half-way through first period my phone alarm went off.  It was 9 am, which is the time I’ve been waking up since schools closed for the pandemic.  I had a long commute, so I had to get up at 5:30, walked 30 minutes from the station, and then stood four periods straight.  My feet hurt, and I was so hungry.  And my bladder didn’t appreciate not being emptied on demand. 

***

Teaching class while wearing a mask is hard.  I can’t project because my voice is muffled, and students can’t see my mouth to get clues about enunciation. 

***

After one class ended, a tall boy came to me while I straightened up the tables and said, “Beautiful!”  His friend giggled and slapped him on the arm. 

***

It’s so nice to be back to teaching.  I missed it. 

***

As suspected, there’s no social distancing going on in school.  And some students have their noses hanging out of their masks, while a few others aren’t wearing them at all.

***

I found myself being extra keen to please and be liked.  Despite the warm reception I received at Schools A and B, the evil ones at School C took their toll, apparently.  Being hated from the moment I arrived, before I even had a chance to do anything wrong affected me.  Of course, with tatemae, you can never really know what they’re thinking.  At the very least, they were civil because what’s the point of being mean to someone who is temporary?  Then, again, that’s exactly why some people would want to attack.  Whatever.  Not going to overthink things. I had a good day.

Needles

Was knitting on the train to Seoul. A vendor got on my car selling various things like fanny packs, gloves with special material on the tips that work on smartphone screens, and packs of sewing needles.  He didn’t have anything I needed, so I didn’t pay him any attention.  Then the ajeossi seated beside me bought a pack and presented it to me with a big smile.  I guess he figured that if I knit, I must also sew.  I was so touched. 

When I got home I put them with my craft stuff and didn’t think about them again for more than a year.  Then, after binge watching dozens of quilting videos, I took one out of the package and discovered that they were specially designed to be easier to thread.  Kamsahamnida, ajeossi! 

2015

Korea to Japan

A post on a Facebook expat group asked if any of us had moved from Korea to Japan and why.  The following was my response: 

Lived in Korea 3.5 years.  Had a great time.  Left because I couldn’t put myself through another soul-crushing job hunt there (your photo counts more than education or experience). I miss certain other aspects, though.

Three years in Japan. I like that my apartment isn’t tied to my job, therefore making me homeless the moment a contract ends. Also, Japan has more diversity in its foreigner community because they don’t limit hiring to the Seven Magical Countries (AU, CN, EI, NZ, UK, US, SA). It’s nice to know people from African, Caribbean, and South American countries, which was rare in Korea.

Best of all, in Japan, your visa is attached to you, not your workplace. So you can change jobs and still retain your visa. Also, when you apply, they may give you a one-, three- or five-year visa (I received a three-year visa on my first try.  No running to the immigration office every 12 months.).  All that said, this is my final year. Despite having better immigration rules, Japan leaves too much to be desired for me to consider settling here. West Africa, here I come, corona willing. 

Layers

Bra, panty, socks (two pairs)

Silk thermal long-sleeved top, silk thermal bottom, legwarmers (to pairs)

Blouse, cardigan, trousers

Wool mittens, silk headscarf, wool hat, wool scarf

Coat, shoes

December in Gyeonggido

***

Bra, panty, slip

Dress

Sandals

May to September

2013

If Three’s a Crowd, What’s Four or Five?

Not only was he tall, dark and handsome, but also endlessly charming. His short afro looked lumpy, and he often wore rumpled clothes, as if he’d just gotten up from a nap.  On anyone else it would have looked sloppy, but it only added to his allure.  In the same way that he moved easily among Asians, Africans, Europeans and Americans, he spoke in a mixture of French-accented English and Korean, sometimes adding a Portuguese word here and there.

A long-time resident of Korea, he’d become a well-known fixture in Seoul expat circles.  Women were immediately smitten by his flirty playfulness, and men were quickly put at ease by his clever banter. It wasn’t far-fetched to assume that he had a girlfriend in every province plus two or three more in Seoul.  A bit of a renaissance man, over the years he’d held several jobs ranging from IT to academia to the arts.  He seemed to know someone everywhere.

I once attended a party sponsored by the Angolan embassy.  He was there tirelessly twirling the women around the dance floor, and in between, schmoozing with the men.  At one point he noticed me at a table.  “Why are you sitting?  Come dance!”  It was less of a request, and more of a command.  He swung me so expertly to the rhythm of the intoxicating kizomba music, that he made me look like a pro despite my feeble partner dancing skills.  I giggled self-consciously and made a valiant effort to keep up.

One day we bumped into each other in the hallway leading to the toilet at Laurent’s wine bar, Le Moulin.  He struck up a conversation that went a bit deeper than the usual superficial small talk.  He discovered that, despite my baby face, I, like him, was in my forties.  In that instant, as if he’d just slid on a pair of new glasses, he began to see me differently. Although I was flattered by the belated attention, I was also wary.  Korean women can be very territorial.  If he had a Korean girlfriend (or two), I didn’t want to get caught up in drama. 

Late one September afternoon, I ran into him near Noksapyeong.  “Are you busy now? Come meet my friends in the park.”  He was headed to an evening picnic by the Han River.  We got off at the wrong station, and ended up having to walk more than a kilometer to the meeting spot.  He talked a bit about work, his family, his philosophy of life, and other things. He complained that he hadn’t had a girlfriend in a long time.  I was surprised because he was so popular, and more than a few women had crushes on him.  “Yes, everyone thinks I have so many,” he lamented. Dusk had fallen, and we walked along quietly on the dark, empty road. 

“What do you think of monogamy,” he asked, placing the accent on the last syllable of the word.  “It’s necessary,” I answered.  He sighed heavily, and went on a mini-rant about how frustrating it is to live in a world where so many people are unenlightened about relationships.  Monogamy is unnatural, and we should be free to love as many people as we want, he said. I didn’t say much, but in my head there was a lot going on.  I wanted to say, “If that’s what you’re into, cool, but you’re on your own with that.  Glad you mentioned it now before anything got started between us. Good luck finding someone.”  I’m not jealous by nature, but I don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect mutual exclusivity from a romantic partner. 

It wasn’t ‘til much later that the irony of what he said dawned on me.  One minute he was complaining about not having had a girlfriend in a while, and the next, he was ranting about people not being more accepting of polyamory. How are you going to complain about not having one, then rant about people not being interested to be one of several?  Greedy.  Also, what flavor of polyamory is he into?  Had I been willing to step into that portal with him, would I have been sharing him with other men, women or both?  You know what?  It doesn’t even matter. ‘Cause I’m selfish, and everything isn’t meant to be shared. 

Turkish Freebie

The man at the counter at the kebab place in Itaewon remembered me from two weeks before and kept making eyes at me and cracking jokes.  These Turkish men sure know how to flirt.  He put meat in my falafel.  Thanks?  Perhaps he was trying to be nice and giving me a freebie.  Thanks? Thankfully, it was probably lamb, so I could just pick it out and eat the sandwich.  Had it been pork, I’d have to throw the entire sandwich away.

2015

Doppelgangers

I’m amazed by the great variety of facial features of Korean people. [Outside of Gangnam and Apbujeong, that is. Many of the women and quite a few men in those two places look like clones because they’ve been carved up according to society’s beauty ideal.]

On a sort of related note, this week I saw the incarnation of Elmer Fudd (sans glasses) and Fred Flintstone.  Had to suppress the urge to go up and say “Yabba, dabba, doo!”  I amuse myself too easily. 

2014

Unexpected Benefit to Wearing a Mask

I had wakame rice at lunch.  Didn’t realize I had a piece of seaweed stuck in my teeth until seven hours later.  And it didn’t matter because nobody saw my smile. 

***

Wore a bra for 14 hours today.  That hasn’t happened since March.

06/2020

Can You Read That?”

Random man on train sees me reading my subway map and asks “Can you read that?”  No, I just enjoy looking at the pretty colored lines on the paper. 

2014 

Broken Tooth and Village People

Broke a molar last week while eating nori.  Nori.  Went to my dentist in Gunma.  He repaired it in less than 30 minutes and it cost me ¥2070.  Since it wasn’t too far from where I used to live, I hopped on the electric blue village van for a quick visit. Four of my former students were on there:  Hakura, Ririko, Yoshinosuke and Rin.  Was so happy to see them.  They’re tenth and twelfth graders now!  We chatted a bit, then I let them get back to their video games and music. 

On the ride up the mountain the sky opened up in a sudden thunderstorm.  Up until then, the day had been bright, hot and humid.  The forecast hadn’t even said there’d be rain.  But then, the mountain seems to have its own weather system.  A few minutes after arriving at the village, it became a light drizzle.  As I walked down the hill from the gas station, a woman jumped out of a white pick-up truck, ran across the street and held a burgundy colored umbrella at me.  “Please take it.”  I was surprised, but then not.  This is how people are in the village.  I miss that.   

June 10, 2020

Pointing a Gun at Customers

On the way to Kyomu Supa to buy granola and cashews, I stopped at a traditional confectionery shop.  I had no intention of purchasing anything, but I’d spied the alcohol pump near the door, and I wanted to spray my hands down.  Six steps into the place, one of the clerks approached me apologetically with a temperature gun.  I bent my head down so she could check me.  Thirty-seven degrees.  “Okay, please continue shopping.”  Is that what we’re doing now?  I was more amused than upset.  Had my temperature been high, would they have thrown me out? 

June 10, 2020

I’m Done

You know how when you’re dating someone and a moment comes when you realize you’re done with him, and that a breakup is imminent?  You might not break up right then, but you know it’s coming in a few days or weeks? I’m there with Japan.  I may have to stay here for another few months because of the pandemic, but I’m done.

 

Today I went to the main post office in town to transfer money from my post office bank account to my U.S. bank account.  I’d done it several times before.  Since I’ve moved from Gunma, every time I go to the post office to make some sort of transaction, whether sending a postcard or paying my taxes, it’s a major ordeal, so I’d been psyching myself up for the nonsense.  Believe it or not, the language barrier isn’t really part of it.  What makes it a big headache is Japan’s ultra-bureaucratic way of doing everything. Every. Thing.  If there’s a complicated, convoluted, illogical way of completing any task, they’ll devise and implement it.   

I take a number. When it is called, I present my completed international money transfer form.  He asks for my bank book, ID card, My Number card (similar to social security card) and tells me to be seated. After inspecting everything for about 10 minutes, he beckons me to the window. 

Him:  Is Japanese okay?

Me:  I speak a little. [He goes to the back and retrieves a small, white device that looks like a tamagochi.  If you speak Japanese into it, it translates the sentence to English, and vice versa. I pull out my phone so I can respond via translation app.] 

Him: There are many problems. It needs the routing number.  [My fault. I left it at home.] 

Me:  I will bring it tomorrow.  [I already know that nothing will be accomplished today.]  

Him:  I must ask many questions. 

Me:  [Just ask them, man!] What to you need to know?

Him:  What is the purpose of the gift you’re sending. 

Me:  [Gift?] I’m sending money from my Japan account to my U.S. account to pay storage rent.  See? It’s written here on the form “rent for storage.”

Him:  I need all the details of the story before I can make the transfer.

Me:  [Story?] I must pay rent for the storage place that contains my furniture.

[He calls Japan Post’s English hotline for international transfers.]

Him:  It rings, but there is no answer. Do you want to call the English hotline from home?

Him:  I have no questions.

Me:  Is it better if I come in the morning?

Him:  Yes. When you come tomorrow, bring someone who can speak Japanese.

Me:  There is nobody I can bring.

Him:  Is it your first time making a transfer?

Me:  Last year I transferred money for the same purpose, and there was no problem.

Him:  Many changes. It is difficult now. We will need documents.

Me:  What document do you need?

Him:  A contract or invoice.

Me:  The contract is in America, but the invoices are sent by e-mail. [I pull out my tablet and show him the most recent invoice.]

Him:  Bring printout of the invoice.

Me:  I do not own a printer, if I forward the invoice to you, you can print it.

Him:  We can’t do that. You must bring printout.

Me:  That’s impossible for me because I don’t have a printer.

Him:  The company can’t do that.

Me:  I can forward the e-mail invoice to you.

Him:  We can’t do the transaction.

Me:  In America documentation is done electronically to prevent wasting paper

Him:  Yes, me too. [What?  No, y’all waste paper as if computers did not! There must be a hardcopy of everything. And don’t even get me started on all the faxing, like it’s 1995.]

Me:  If you give your e-mail address, I can send the invoice, and you can print.

Him:  Maybe you can print it at the convenience store.

Me:  They make photocopies.  Not printing from the internet.

Him:  Ah, yes.

Me:  What other suggestions do you have for places to print an e-mail?

Him:  Even if you bring the document, I will have many questions. [Is he trying to discourage me from making the transfer?  WTH?]

Me:  What questions?

Him:  It depends on the document.

Me:  All the information you need is on the invoice I showed you.  

Him:  Bring the document.

Me:  [I pick up my backpack, get up and walk out. Sort of like that meme of Annalise Keating.] 

This is an abridged version of our exchange. There was also a lot of head tilting, eyebrow scratching, twenty bows, three dozen “Komenasai,” and the mandatory lengthy consultations with co-workers.  Good thing I was wearing a mask because I have zero poker face.  He would have seen exactly how irritated and frustrated I was, how idiotic I think his rigidity is, and how little I appreciate his oh-so-polite, but empty apologies. 

I wasn’t trying to be difficult, but I don’t have any personal contacts in this city, so I can’t ask a friend to print it for me.  Also, I’m not working, so I can’t print it at work.  If they said, they’d charge me 100 or 200 yen for printing out the invoice, I would’ve paid it.  But no, automatons can only do things the way they were programmed to.  Thinking is not allowed.   No room for creative problem solving. 

Should’ve asked him if HE had a printer at home.  Many Japanese people don’t even have computers at home.  Talking ‘bout “Bring the document.”  Hell, he probably doesn’t even have an e-mail address.  Lucky for him we were talking through devices because if I were fluent, I would have scorched him with the most withering sarcasm ever.  Ugh.  UGH! 

June 9, 2020

The Pandemic has Driven me to Drink Cheap Vodka, Rumour Has it

For the first few months since I moved into my neighborhood, I’d pass by Yamaya daily, but never went in because, it’s a liquor store, so they have nothing for me there.  Then one day, on a quest for a bottle of melon soda, I stepped in and discovered that it had two entire aisles dedicated to food.  One was mostly chips, nuts, candy, dried fish and rice snacks.  The other, had all sorts of imported products from other Asian countries and Europe such as Indian curry, Thai guava juice, French cheese, Korean ssamjang, Spanish olives, Italian pastas, spices, and assorted canned goods.  All at great prices.  They didn’t have the melon soda I’d gone there looking for, but I found much more important stuff there.  I began making regular stops there on my weekly trips to the larger supermarkets.   

Fast forward to today.  Although I’m home most of the time, and can wash my hands with soap and hot water, I want some hand sanitizer to carry in my backpack for times when that’s not possible. Like last week when I used the toilet at Honjo Station and there was no soap at the sinks.  No, they hadn’t run out.  Some public toilets simply have no soap.  And the water is always cold.  Ugh!  A little 200 milliliter pump of hand sanitizer costs upward of 700 yen, even at the discount store.  No problem. I’ll make some. There are hundreds of recipes online for making your own hand sanitizer gel or spray.  Even the Centers for Disease Control website posted a recipe.  So I went on a quest to find alcohol, which is one of the main ingredients.  

One liter of rubbing alcohol goes for ¥1980 at Sugi pharmacy.  Daiso, the ¥100 shop, has none.  Yaoko and Belc supermarket prices are similar to those at the pharmacy.  So I decide to go for the next best thing.  The do-it-yourself recipes suggest a high-proof alcohol like vodka as an alternative to rubbing alcohol.  I go to Yamaya and find the vodka section.  I know absolutely nothing about vodka except that it originated in Russia.  (The only other time I’ve bought a bottle of alcohol was in Korea when I hosted the Kwanzaa celebration, and needed a bottle of soju to pour libations.)  I reach for the one in the pretty amethyst blue bottle.  Then I notice the princes ranging from ¥800 to ¥3500.  I put it back and grab the cheapest bottle (which is still much cheaper than the pharmacy’s alcohol).  I pick up a can of garbanzos (for tomorrow’s curry) and a box of Belgian tea cookies. 

As I head toward the register at the front, something catches my eye.  A black man!  I very seldom see anyone black people around here. Downton, once in a while, but here, no.  He must have felt my brown presence (or maybe it was my bright orange dress) because, right at that moment, he looked up. I bowed to him, and he smiled and bowed back.  He was handsome, dressed business casual, and sported a cleanly shaved head.  I turned down an aisle and thought, “That looks like Fumiko’s husband!”  She is the secretary of my former boss, who is married to a Black British man.  I hadn’t seen him in almost three years, so I couldn’t be sure.  I don’t remember him having a mustache, though.  Has he been working out?  I don’t remember him having such a nice build, either.  

Maybe it IS him.  Fumiko lives in my same city, so it very well could be him.  “Shit! Shit!  SHIT!”  I’ve shopped at Yamaya countless times, and the one day I go in to purchase liquor, I run into someone who knows that I don’t drink for religious reasons.  And here I am holding a big-ass 700 ml bottle of vodka looking like a right hypocrite.  Nobody would guess my reason for purchasing it. I try to stall so that he can go to the register first, but I’m lousy at that. There’s nothing to browse at.  Besides, I’m usually an in-and-out type of shopper.  It’s not so much that I don’t want him to think I’m a drinker, I’m more concerned that he’ll think I’m a liar, and therefore, a bad Christian.  There are more than enough dishonest ones around, I’m doing my best to be a good one, not perfect, but at least be a little better today than I was yesterday.           

Finally, I just go up to the cashier to pay.  If I hang around the store too long, I’ll start looking suspicious in a different way.  While I pay for my items, I see him walk out of the door followed by a thin, short-haired Japanese woman.  Hold up!  Fumiko is chubby and has shoulder-length hair.  Who’s he hanging out with at the liquor store??  You know what?  It’s none of my business.  

And yes, I don’t drink alcohol, but I do cuss on occasion.  Because (choose one) 

(a)  …like I said, I’m not perfect. 

(b)  …I’m grown.

(c)  …I can.

(d)  …you can run and tell that, but who would care?

June 8, 2020

Korean Generalizations About Foreigners

In high school and university English classes my teachers and professors often warned us to be careful in using the words ‘always,’ ‘never,’ ‘all,’ and ‘none’ in our writing.  There are very few absolutes in this world, and most statements have exceptions.  Korean and Japanese people live by generalizations, especially when it comes to other cultures.  It can’t be blamed just on lazy thinking.  Having a very “us-versus-them” mentality about the world, makes it easy for them to accept even the most obviously ridiculous generalizations.  If I had a dollar for every generalization I’ve had to refute, especially when I taught adults, I’d have a nice little pile of extra money stashed away. 

“All Americans are fat.” - Am I fat? No? Then not all. Use ‘some.’ Also, not all Koreans are slim, right?  So that sentence isn’t even necessary.  And, ‘fat’ is rude, it’s more polite to say ‘overweight.’

“All foreigners are violent.” - Am I violent? Have you ever seen me or any of the other foreign teachers at this school have a fight with anyone? No?  You said that because you watched some drunk, American soldiers fighting in Itaewon on the news, right?  If you must, it’s more correct to say those drunk, American soldiers are violent.  Drunk people behave badly everywhere, by the way. [Besides, I don’t recall ever witnessing adult men fighting in the street in the U.S., but adult Korean men fighting was a fairly common occurrence on weekends.]

“All Americans eat hamburguers.” - Many people who try to eat healthy avoid burgers.  They might eat fish and chicken instead. Also, many people, like me, don’t eat any meat. Teachers Amanda and Martha are also vegetarian. The three Americans in this building don’t eat meat. Is it correct to say ‘all Americans?’ "No."  What should we say instead? “Some.”

“All foreigners wear shoes in their houses.” – My mother, who knows very little about Asian culture, and isn’t even interested in coming to visit, hasn’t allowed anyone to wear shoes in the house for as long as I can remember.  Many people in other countries, whether for reasons of cleanliness, or because they don’t want to ruin their hardwood floors or carpets, take off their shoes in the house. So, again, should we say ‘all?’ “No, some.” 

I was asked by the staff of the home for disabled adults I’d worked at through the English village’s Teach Away program, to give a talk about English language and culture.  For the culture segment, I talked about generalizations.  “Kimmy,” my Korean co-teacher, translated.

I said that Koreans often base their ideas about people from other countries on hearsay or on one person they met.  Say, for example, you meet someone who dislikes eggplants.  Is it correct to say that all foreigners hate eggplant?  Eggplant parmesan, baba ganoush, and ratatouille are popular eggplant dishes from other countries.  That means that many people are eating and enjoying them.  That also means that we cannot say that foreigners dislike eggplant based on the one person you met.  Everybody is different. 

Even within a family, people can be very different.  For example, I like strawberries.  (Korean strawberry season is in March, so I had strawberries on the brain.)  My brother hates strawberries.  He doesn’t want strawberry ice cream, strawberry milkshake, strawberry shortcake, nor strawberries and whipped cream.  No strawberries for him, please.  If a Korean met him, learned about his aversion to strawberries, then assumed that all foreigners disliked them, she’d be wrong.  In the same way that if they met me, learned that I liked them, then assumed that all foreigners liked them, she’d be wrong. Every person is different, don’t expect everyone to be just like the person you heard of or met before.  Not even all Koreans are exactly the same, right?  I’m sure you can think of many differences between you and your co-workers or family members.  

The perspective I shared was one they had never considered, so it gave them something to think about.  Hopefully, their future encounters with people of other cultures won’t be fraught with generalizations.   

On our last day teaching there, we said goodbye to the students and staff.  They thanked and wished us well.  As “Kimmy” was about to drive out of the gravel parking lot, one of the staff members ran out of the main building and motioned for us to stop.  Then a second one came running holding a white, plastic bag. “A thank you gift for you, teachers.”  We thanked them, said goodbye again, and drove away.  I was going to wait until we returned to campus to look in the bag, but “Kimmy” was curious, so I opened it.  It was a container of fat, juicy, ripe strawberries.   

2014

Sexism in Korea

March is low season at the English Village.  That means that very few, if any, students came on campus.  Because of that, we teachers were outsourced to other places during that month through a program called Teach Away.  “Kimmy,” my Korean co-teacher, and I were assigned to work mornings at a home for adults with developmental disabilities in the countryside, and afternoons in an after-school program for the children of working parents----working mothers, really----in the nearby city.  It is common, sometimes even expected,* for women to quit their careers to become homemakers when they get pregnant, therefore, such programs exist for elementary school-aged children with two working parents. 

At the after-school center, children get help with homework, eat snacks, do art projects and other activities.  “Kimmy” and I were tasked with teaching simple English lessons and a craft activity.  One lesson example is we told them that spring was coming soon and asked them to tell us ten signs of spring. They’d say things like cherry blossoms, butterflies, green everywhere, etc.  We’d write their words on the board, then teach them the English equivalents.  After drilling the English vocabulary, we taught them a simple song about spring, then an age-appropriate spring-related craft:  cut leaves and flower petals out of construction paper to make a spring scene with the younger group, flower origami with the older group.  

Our classes were last, so children were collected by their parents right after our second class.  Two brothers, were often picked up late, so they’d hang around us while we erased the chalkboard, wiped down the low tables, collected supplies, and stacked cushions.  Since it was technically still winter, and Korean buildings are notoriously drafty, I always wore my long orange scarf during class.  Sometimes, while tidying up the classroom, I’d feel a soft tug-tug on my scarf, “Seongsemnim!  Seongsengnim (Teacher)!”  It was the younger of the brothers, a first grader.  I’d stop what I was doing, kneel to his level, and he’d ask me something.  If I understood the question, I’d answer. If I didn’t understand, I’d say, “Mulayo (I don’t know).”  He’d respond with a torrent of words.  I’d just nod my head and say “Ne...majayo (Yes...that's right).”  Satisfied, he’d then walk away.  This is something I love about the little ones, they are undeterred by the language barrier, so they just talk to me as if I understand everything.      

One day I commented to “Kimmy” how cute I thought he was, always tugging my scarf and asking questions.  She agreed that he was cute, then she lowered her voice as if she were about to share some scandalous gossip, “His mother is divorced!”  I was shocked.  Especially since, at barely 30, my co-teacher was much too young to have such an archaic attitude.  But then, she is the product of her culture.  This is a place where divorce is blamed on the woman no matter what caused the breakup, men almost always get custody (because they’re the breadwinners), a married woman (preferably a mother) is more valued than a single one, and divorced women have very little hope for re-marriage (especially if they have children).**  It’s understandable why women stay in abusive and toxic marriages, especially given that many will immediately plunge into poverty the minute they divorce. Of course, their social standing will also take a nose dive.    

A single woman over 30 is considered over the hill, so I also thought it was ironic that she was being judgemental of a woman according sexist standards that could also be used against her.  “Kimmy” did marry (and quit her job) a couple years later.  I heard that she suffered some sort of pregnancy loss.  A childless married woman?  Yet another factor this society uses to judge women by (even if it’s something out of their control, like a fertility issue).  By comparison, a childless, unmarried man of a certain age might be nagged good naturedly by family and friends to get with the program, but he is not being pressured and judged.  And his social standing depends more on his earning power and maleness rather than marital status or progeny.

*This is the reason why job applications ask one’s marital status. And it’s not uncommon (nor illegal) for women to be asked during job interviews if they plan on having children.  How they answer is often used to decide whether they’ll be hired. 

**This explains why you’ll sometimes hear about cases where divorced or single mothers will surrender their child to an orphanage to improve their chances on the (re-)marriage market