Wake-up call
Adventures abroad open social, cultural horizons
I think it was the damn roosters.
My first day in Tanzania would be
punctuated by a total failure to catch
up on nine hours of jet lag, which
was preceded by two days of straight
parties and preparations before I left
London.
6:08 a.m., the crack of dawn.
This is how it would be every day, I
was told. Most of the Tanzanians
came straight from the shamba
(farm), and for them, the local roam
ing roosters and their punctual
mechanical wake-up call was all part
of their daily routine, which appar
ently didn’t include ignoring the sun
(or the killing, kicking, chasing or
yelling at the inconsiderate livestock
roaming an otherwise modernized
society).
Half an hour of cocka-doodle
doos later, I conceded the first of
many defeats to an insurmountable
and omnipresent East African cul
ture. Yet the rudest awakening was
yet to come.
As I stumbled to the shower, I
was astounded to see that not only
was there no water, but that the water
we were expected to get from the
nearby well was icy cold. Are you
getting the picture of agitation I’m
trying to paint?
It’s 6:40 a.m., about 11 p.m. on
my internal chronometer, and I’m
fetching my first bucket of ice water
to shower with.
Correction, the showers weren’t
working;jny first bucket bath (ah ...
hub ahuh, ahuh). Picture a big, sadis
tically inclined grin on my face, a
dry chuckle.
The grin turned into a frosty
daunting of chill as one ice-dold
bucket spawned my first African
dancing lesson to the rhythm of arti
ficial raindrops.
The process of re-enculturation
had begun. I had proven myself wor
thy in the shower, now I had to prove
myself worthy in the breakfast cafe
teria.
I began by assertively approach
ing the first line I saw that appeared
to be producing a plate of food as a
result of being in it.
By the time I was certain that (
was in the right line, I realized:
A) Everybody was ordering their
food in Swahili, and
B) I was surrounded by a slender
guardrail, which I couldn’t duck out
of. My first inter-cultural adventure,
locked, loaded and ready to go.
As I got to the front of the line, I
smiled and looked at the lady. She
smiled back and said, “Vipi nawe,
unataka kula nini?”
Yeah, exactly. It sounded like gib
berish then to me, too. Even then I
could guess that the proper response
was not, “Uh, yes ma’am,” although
that’s what I said.
More staring, more anxiety fol
lowed by confused laughing and
impatient pushing. Finally, I pointed
at someone’s plate to the amusement
of everybody in the line, and I
received my tea, white bread and
scrambled eggs with a side of sea salt
sufficient to raise the blood pressure
of a camel.
My daily eating adventures were
greatly expanded every time I
ordered something different or ate at
a different place.
Likewise, the quality of my food
varied according to my relative com
munication success. It’s quite an
original type of speech anxiety,
learning what you said based on
what kind of food is given to you. I
don’t recommend it.'
One day, I was with some street
friends of mind, and I decided to buy
them lunch.
Seizing the opportunity present
ed here by the naive tourist, they
took it upon themselves to order the
most delicious delicacy reserved for
this oh so special day; beef tongue
soup and a side of roasted fat
(ah...huh ahuh, ahuh).
Now, picture me again with a big,
sadistically inclined grin oh my face
soon to be animated by animal lard
dripping off my cheeks and fresh
beef tongue stuck in my teeth. (Go
ahead. There’s a picture of me in the
upper-left corher of the article: Draw
it in if you like.)
But not all of my eating experi
ences were so difficult or disgusting;
in fact, most of them were delicious
and even enchanting.
In my opinion, the most success
ful cross-cultural interaction and the
tastiest, safest food was always found
eating in my friends' homes, espe
cially my girlfriend’s.
Spending time learning and
adapting to the setting while
immersed in a family atmosphere is
the best way to obtain cross-cultural
communication skills.
The tempo of the language
calms.
Without as many external social
intrusions, family and cultural values
are freed to resonate in action and
«
One by one, we adventurous liberals are
stealing the unsatiated dropping Of
marginalized underclassmen and sending
them overseas.
discussion, if you are prepared to lis
ten.
It’s these intra-personal settings
(at the dinner table, cooking and
cleaning together) in which close
bonds are gradually formed.
The amalgamation of world
views is most efficiently coalesced
when cooking together over a big pot
of stew followed hy a few beers.
I can’t begin to share with you
the knowledge that I gained as a
process of this self-motivated,
Afrocentric indoctrination.
What I will say is that, as a result,
I gained self-knowjedge followed by
a world knowledge that I didn’t even
know I needed to know.
Indoctrinating myself in such a
drastically alien language and culture
has expanded and distinguished
every sense of my being: spiritual,
mental and emotional.
After such an awakening, I can’t
think of a more paradoxical place to
return to than Lincoln, Nebraska.
Perhaps1 in clashing so much with
the racial, political and cultural xeno
phobia of the state, I might be
enough of an eyesore - or maybe an
entry point for non-traditional think
ing.
Although I’m as powerful as the
“Big Red” machine (certainly a
euphemism of ideology and propa
ganda for the state), it’s inevitable
that I will have some impact on cam
pus. *
I’ve already sent one young lady
on the same study abroad program I
was on, and I am working on a few
more (Study Abroad Extravaganza.
Union - 7 p.m. Sept. 28th).
One by one, we adventurous lib
erals are stealing the unsatiated drop
pings of marginalized underclassmen
and sending them overseas. As we
return, we add diversity, which builds
cultural strength and social harmony -
- ultimately playing a crucial role in
the endurance of humanity.
Next time I’m going to give you,
the reader, the “how to” speech on
traveling and studying abroad.
I’ll include some relevant infor
mation on traveling in Third World
countries, including how to adjust to
it mentally and physically.
After that, I’ll have a couple of
adventure stories to tell somewhat in
the oeuvre of Mark Twain.
Now, which one should I pick:
the three-week land trip across
Africa or the Indian shoe thief on the
train?
Well, tune in same Baker time,
same Baker channel in two weeks.
Until then, start plotting and
planning your own adventures. There
are still plenty out there.
, David Baker is a senior sociology, anthropology and African studies major and a Daily Nebraskan columnist.
, i
Under fire
Shedding light on women’s studies program leads to backlash
The women’s studies program.
Whacked-out feminists? Maniacal les
bians? If that’s what came to mind,
don’t despair. You’re not over-reacting,
nor are you guilty of vicious stereotyp
ing. It seems to me you’re right on the
mark.
So, the women’s studies depart
ment at the University of Nebraska
Lincoln not only seeks to advance a
lesbian agenda, it’s intolerant of any
opinions that don’t mesh with the lib
eral rhetoric of the academe.
' In fact, as a former student of the
program, I would suggest not taking
any of its classes. Under any circum
stances.
In my experience, you will be v
attacked outright. For evidence of this,
please visit the UNL women’s studies
Web site: www.unl.edu/
womenssp/wshome/html.
Click on the icon “Women’s
Studies Students Speak Out in
Response to Campus Attacks
(New!!!!).”
What was the campus attack you
ask? A smear campaign? A string of
assaults? What?
Lil’ of me. That’s what.
You see, I wrote a column during
the spring semester suggesting that the
program was marginalizing itself by
putting too much focus on lesbianism,
i ' • t
I 7
•|
k
rather than taking a fresh look at the
collective experiences of women.
Well, the entire department
became hysterical, as you can see by
your computer screen.
But what I said is in fact true. The
women’s studies department focuses
on lesbianism and rejects alternative
points of view - like say, for instance, a
biblical one.
And their response to my assertion
that the program should be audited for
content confirms my worst fears.
Let me explain. I think it’s incredi
bly important that a university have
programs like women’s studies,
African-American studies, American
Indian studies, etc.
I was all about women’s studies.
And even now I’m concerned with the
undercurrents of oppression that
plague women in pop culture and the
work place.
/So, you would think that women’s
studies would be the study of women,
not the study of lesbians. After all,
most women aren’t lesbians.
You would think all women would
not only be welcome in the program
but encouraged to define themselves
as feminists.
Well, not me. It seems the instruc
tors and students in the program
thought I was anti-women’s studies.
Quite the contrary.
I was in the program because I
happen to believe it’s a valid field of
study. The study of women, that is. The
study of lesbians... well, maybe some
other day.
The stated purpose of the depart- .
ment is to have a program that
“explores the contributions of women
to all aspects of society, and integrates
a new and broader understanding of
women and gender into traditional aca
demic fields.”
Groovy, I say.
But that’s really not the case in
these classes - at least not in my expe
rience or any experiences others have
recounted to me. In fact, in one class
this semester a friend of mine spent the
entire first period of class chanting the
word “lesbian” just to get comfortable
with it.
Just what do you think they’ll be
studying this semester? Lesbians, I
would wager.
So, the Web page was an in-class
project overseen by one of my former
instructors. And it would seem the
course work entailed railing on my col
umn.
I’m somewhat flattered that my
opinions are so widely regarded. I just
didn’t realize the process of debunking
them was 400 level academic work.
Wow. Good job to me, I guess.
I find it interesting that instead of
refuting my ideas and illustrating how
they think I’m mistaken, they just took
pot shots at me because I don’t share
their opinions. This is precisely why I
encourage you to keep your distance -
lest you encounter a bunch of carica
tures of angry, whacked-out, irrational,
butch women.
Now come on, do you really
believe students in this program are all
angry, irrational or butch? That’s ludi
crous.
So were their assertions about me.
I don’t know what in the blazes to
do. So here I woke up one morning to
discover that the women’s studies
department was after me. The DN
printed a “guest column” signed by a
dozen or so graduate students directly
attacking me.
u
Then virtually every student, and a good
number of instructors, wrote into the DN
hailing me as the spawn of evil
*
Then virtually every student, and a
good number of instructors, wrote into
the DN hailing me as the spawn of the
devil.
Another professor alerted me that
the department has reprinted my col
umn on the Internet and posted direct
intellectual and character attacks
against me.
I later learn they expanded their
attack and called it a “discussion” and
an effort to “create a working defini
tion” of themselves. Blah, blah, blah.
They say they are pursuing double
majors. Me, too. They say they are .
high achieving. Me, too. They are
members of the Honors Program and
receive academic awards and scholar
ships. Me, too. They are activists. Hey.
Me, too.
So you would think I’d be allowed
to join the party. No.
They call me an outsider. An out
side attacker, no less.
I’m not an outsider. For crying out
loud, I was in the program. I took their
classes. How exactly does that work?
Oh yeah, they don’t want any of
my kind (read: Christian conserva
tives) challenging them.
So they go on to “contextualize”
their point by railing on everything
else I write. They suggest I support a
patriarchal society. They call me
misogynistic. That means they think I
hate women. They say I misrepresent
statistical data and am an irresponsible
journalist.
Well, pooh-pooh on them, I say. If
they can’t practice what they preach,
which is embracing diversity and wel
coming different perspectives, well,
they can just cry about it.
And they did. I tried to talk to the
department chairwoman about it, tried
to make her see the unequal balance of
power when an entire department lash
es out against the opinions of a student
who merely questioned the curricu
lum. But she dismissed me.
So here we are, and I’m still won
dering how the university can justify
departments on the fringe, which are
not currently pursuing any real acade
mic achievement and instead pick on
undergrads.
And I guess I just wanted to warn
students to keep their distance. This
goes double if you’re male, heterosex
ual, Christian, conservative or capital
ist. Vbu’re the enemy, and you must be
squashed quickly.
And if you choose to participate in
the program, either buy into their jar
gon quickly or be afraid. Be very
afraid. ;i- ' 5
Jessica Flanagain is a senior English and philosophy major and a Daily Nebraskan columnist