ACA Blog

Movies and books about cross-cultural relationships just wouldn’t be complete without the jokes about language misunderstands and mishaps. Who can forget the scene in “Lost in Translation,” where a Japanese woman is asking Bill Murray to “lip” her stockings, rather than “rip.” Or in “Under The Tuscan Sun,” when the protagonist confuses the Italian word for single with the word “celibate.” At times jokes of this nature can cross the line, but as with jokes of all genres, there’s no doubt a grain of truth in the awkwardness felt on both sides of a couple that just can’t understand each other.

Stepping out of Pudong International Airport in Shanghai, China for the first time you’ll immediately notice the air. You never really thought about air much before but you notice it now, and you wonder if it’s always this gray. After you get in a taxi and it takes you a few miles away from the airport, you begin to see high rise buildings and you think, “Oh, we must already be getting to the downtown.” But then the taxi keeps rolling on and the buildings keep getting bigger and 45 minutes later you finally arrive in what is actually the downtown. And then it sinks in that this is what a city of 20 million people looks like.

In brainstorming about what I would write in this, my first blog with the ACA, I really struggled with getting started. I typed and deleted, typed and deleted and then once more, some keystrokes followed by a stab at the ole backspace. Nothing seemed adequate for describing or introducing what it is that I do and where I live. I’d come up with a smorgasbord of topics that I wanted to write about, but I didn’t feel I could just jump straight in to one of them with no introduction.

During my travels in the summer of 2012, I had the opportunity to meet people from all walks of life. I flew back from Morocco where I worked as a counselor at an American style university until June. I landed in Los Angeles where I spent some time visiting friends.

I suppose that every graduate program struggles with the best way to examine students. Schools wrestle with their mission and the responsibility to turn out graduates who meet some mysterious set of criteria which is never easy to define. The degree says something: “this is a researcher,” “this is a competent clinician,” “this person knows how to teach,” “this person carries on the honor and reputation of the university.”

While I have been teaching on the KeMU campus, my spouse, Joan, has been volunteering several nights a week at a children’s home not far away. A university driver picks her up about 5:00 and she returns to the Guest House on campus where we are staying about 9:00 PM. Each night when she returns, she is full of stories about “the kids.” It takes her a while to talk about what has happened, what she has experienced, and what she might do next to be helpful.

Recently I began a new part-time job working as part of a team of crisis clinicians in a local ER. I am going to be working inside of Trumbull Memorial Hospital which is located in Warren, Ohio. Trumbull County is located in the northern region of Appalachia and has around 225,000 residents, including both urban and rural areas. In the past, many Trumbull county workers were employed in the steel and automobile industries and when those industries went downhill, so did most of the region, including notable cities like nearby Youngstown and Akron.

I’ve learned to purposely avoid certain conversations so as to not be seen as an angry black woman. I try to explain to people that I’m passionate about things and sometimes my passion and the expression of that emotion may seem like anger if you’re not accustom to a really good heated discussion. I get it. So there are conversations that I won’t get into on Facebook for example. I skip past any status about being a good wife (I don’t believe I’m quite qualified to lead that discussion). I avoid MOST parenting discussions and I have NEVER engaged in a political debate via social media. My blogs…up to this point have been primarily safe. I think, so far, I've avoided angry black woman….until now. Now…I’m angry and I’m black and I’m a woman so…try as I might to avoid this discussion, I’m going to go ahead and jump into it because well…it’s my turn to submit a blog.

I suppose that most teachers wonder about the degree to which the things they are teaching have significance or relevance for the students in class. In a previous blog statement, I expressed some concern about whether language differences were limiting my effectiveness. Then Friday came along.

Kenya Methodist University (KeMU) where my wife and I have taken residence this week has enough of the old British tradition attached to it that there are tea breaks at 10:15 and again at 4:00. I’d personally like to find a cup of black coffee at those times, but having a cup of the local chai—hot milk, some tea, and lots of sugar—can be kind of nice.