The tradition of the sworn virgin can be traced to the Kanun of Leke Dukagjini, a code of conduct passed on orally among the clans of northern Albania for more than 500 years. Under the Kanun, the role of a woman is severely circumscribed: take care of children and maintain the home. While a woman’s life is worth half that of a man, a virgin’s value is the same: 12 oxen.This is interesting on a number of levels. first, it implies (or so it seems to me) that women aren't inherently less capable than men since persons who are born women can fulfill male roles within society. Moreover, a woman doesn't lose her value until she becomes sexually active and a potential mother. This is different from other patriarchal models where virginity is valued because a woman becomes "ruined" by sex, and unfit for marriage to a different man, or where extramarital sex brings shame or dishonor onto her male relatives. This 2007 Washington Post article explains,
The idea that a woman would need to forsake love and live as a man to control her own fate seems primitive to modern eyes. But perhaps, in the context of a once-upon-a-time culture, a culture before feminism, it can be seen as progressive. The existence of sworn virgins reveals a cultural belief, however inchoate, that a biological woman can do all the work of a man.Under this paradigm, biology may not be destiny but society is built around two completely separate gender roles. A person's gender role may usually be determined by biological sex, but that can be overridden by social imperatives.
Yes, people absolutely do have a right to object to doing things they find immoral or wrong. And in places where people are legally compelled to be — school, for exampleWhich I don't disagree with - that said, one could argue that the individual's right to be a pharmacist WHILE practicing his or her religion trumps the pharmacist's professional code of conduct. Being the agnostic child of American Catholicism and French laicite, I still side with Jill, though.
— the law should not force them to do things that violate their conscience. But when you voluntarily accept a job in a particular field, you need to be able to do your job. If you’re a pharmacist, that means you need to fill prescriptions — even if you don’t like the drugs people are taking. If you’re a Scientologist who believes, for example, that it’s wrong to use anti-depressants, and you feel so strongly about that belief that you cannot justify being a part of other peoples’ use of anti-depressants, don’t be a pharmacist. If you’re a member of Fred Phelps’ church and you think AIDS is God’s punishment for homosexuality, and in carrying out that punishment you don’t believe that any HIV-positive people should get medication, don’t be a pharmacist. If you’re a fundamentalist Christian who believes it’s wrong to use birth control, and your belief is that it’s also wrong to allow other people to use birth control, then don’t be a pharmacist.
I was annoyed the first time an African American man called me "sister." It was in a Brooklyn store, and I had recently arrived from Nigeria, a country where, thanks to the mosquitoes that kept British colonizers from settling, my skin color did not determine my identity, did not limit my dreams or my confidence. And so, although I grew up reading books about the baffling places where black people were treated badly for being black, race remained an exotic abstraction: It was Kunta Kinte.
Until that day in Brooklyn. To be called "sister" was to be black, and blackness was the very bottom of America's pecking order. I did not want to be black.
Often, American conversations tend to be a search for information. Americans ask a lot of questions, and they are very direct. Their replies to questions may seem abrupt. They are not cautious about their intent or meaning. For example, if the answer to a request is no, generally Americans will simply reply “No.” They may add a brief explanation as to why they are declining the request, but no does mean no. The answer of no does not mean that it is time to start negotiating. Such a direct answer is done without any sign of embarrassment. It is simply communicating a piece of information.In the past few days I've been startled by people not taking "no" for an answer - requests for help or information, invitations to parties, one person even refused to accept (from my point of view) that no, I don't have cable.
What Can I Talk About?I would add politics and sex to that list. ESPECIALLY sex - in a town like DC (and with an election around the corner) I don't see how you can avoid politics altogether, but sex is a big taboo in American society. My American friend Jim traveled to France with me last year and was shocked (and slightly horrified) by how freely my relatives discuss sex - though not so much their own sex lives as their theories about the sex lives of celebrities, President Sarkozy and each other. Meanwhile, discussions of money and salary are completely taboo in France. There is a strong sense of shame attached to having money - but that'll be for another day.
One might expect that, in an environment where directness is valued in communication, all topics are appropriate for conversation. That is not really true. Some topics that are generally discussed with acquaintances or those one does not know well:
• The weather
• One’s commuting experience and cars
• Classes and jobs
• Sports
• Music, movies
• Fashion, shopping, and clothes
Topics not to discuss unless you know the people well:
• Money, how much one earns
• Family
• Religion
Another area that can be confusing is humor. Americans often use humor to make their points or to diffuse uncomfortable situations. Humor frequently relies on shared experiences and understandings that a newcomer may lack. That may lead to misunderstandings. This difficulty exists for Americans, too. They may not understand humor that is clear to you. For example, the subtle British style of humor is often puzzling to Americans. If you think of humor as another form of language, you can relax and realize that, over time, you too will speak this language and share the amusing moments.I was talking about that with a British acquaintance of mine - she was telling me how much she hates the American version of "The Office," which I think is hilarious. I, on the other hand am amused by the British version but don't find it nearly as funny as she does. In the US puns are seen as a childish form of humor, whereas in France they are considered very witty and one of the highest forms of humor. Asterix et Obelix Mission Cleopatre is a terrific example of French punny humor at its finest. In addition to word plays it's full of clins d'oeil (winks), or a tongue-in-cheek historical or cultural allusion.
I just read an article in The Economist the other day about how Vietnam was growing like a little dandelion out of the Asian poo hole that it used to be. Hey, that's The Economist's words, not mine (actually, the magazine was much more PC). When I read the article I was like "Hell yeah! You go Vietnam." I mean, call me a veteran-hating, communist bastard all you want, but I seriously became infatuated with Vietnam for the 4 days I visited Hanoi. One reason is that it was my first developing country that I ever visited and it just shocked me. I could understand how the lawlessness and poverty of it all could seem so natural and comforting. No, I don't mean that it comforts me to see poverty and lawlessness.
To begin with, I remember noticing how the roads had no lines and how no one really looked where they were going or at whom they were cutting off, but somehow no one was dying. If that were to happen in the states I'm pretty sure we would all kill each other. Road rage would end America. The horn was just a way to let the person know that they were about to get hit. No one got angry about it; they were actually thankful. Either way, they never looked back. They just turned away from the sound of the horn. If there was more traffic leaving the city (for example) then that side of the road just got bigger and the other side got skinnier. There were not lights at a busy four way intersection. When a side was tired of waiting, they just all teamed up and inched into the intersection to pinch off the flow of traffic, so that they could go.
I remember this vividly because my toes were literally curled the whole ride from the airport to the house. I was white-knuckling the oh-shit handle too. The Heineken I was given didn't relax me at all. I later learned that people actually did get hurt from these methods pretty frequently and occasionally died. That happens everywhere though. Plus, 90% of these people were on scooters, so that equals more pain during collisions.
I had to go to work early the next morning and on the way I saw communism at its best. I'm not kidding. I was loving the fact that everybody and their brother and mother was outside in the parks exercising. The parks were full of people doing odd calisthenics and the sidewalks were full of runners. The whole city wakes up for exercising at 0530 and then goes to work. Hey, I put up with exactly that every day in the Marine Corps and only didn't like it because I couldn't exercise the way I wanted. At least it got me up and got my blood flowing so I could enjoy the day. Hangover days were bad though.
Back on the subject: I was talking to the driver (who was a local) about how everyone there viewed Americans. He told me that they were viewed pretty much the same as most Westerners who traveled there. The newer generations had no real resentment for the war, which they actually call "the American War." The older ones did though. He told me that he thinks that every American hears the word "Vietnam" and thinks "War." I told him that unfortunately he was right.
The place just had a fun feel to it. I went out one night and had a blast with locals and Americans alike. I didn't really take too kindly to finding out that the guy at the Techno club who offered me a couple clove cigarettes was hitting on me. Yeah, no more clove cigs for me, thanks. I met a British cat at that same club who was backpacking through the country. He said he was staying in a hotel and eating three meals a day for about $12 total. He also said that he really enjoyed the people there too. That's about all I remember because he split into two people and starting moving around a bit, so it was hard to focus on him. I think the clover cigarette guy roofy-ed me.
I just read an article in The Economist the other day about how Vietnam was growing like a little dandelion out of the Asian poo hole that it used to be. Hey, that's The Economist's words, not mine (actually, the magazine was much more PC). When I read the article I was like "Hell yeah! You go Vietnam." I mean, call me a veteran-hating, communist bastard all you want, but I seriously became infatuated with Vietnam for the 4 days I visited Hanoi. One reason is that it was my first developing country that I ever visited and it just shocked me. I could understand how the lawlessness and poverty of it all could seem so natural and comforting. No, I don't mean that it comforts me to see poverty and lawlessness. I'm talking about how poor people in these cultures aren't freak shows. It is just accepted that poverty is a part of life, so they live with it on a more natural level than people from rich countries. As far as lawlessness, for example, every time I am in a place where seeing a cop is about as common as a seeing a black unicorn, I always feel just as safe as in a country where cops seem to be at every bakery.
To begin with, I remember noticing how the roads had no lines and how no one really looked where they were going or at whom they were cutting off, but somehow no one was dying. If that were to happen in the states I'm pretty sure we would all kill each other. Road rage would end America. The horn was just a way to let the person know that they were about to get hit. No one got angry about it; they were actually thankful. Either way, they never looked back. They just turned away from the sound of the horn. If there was more traffic leaving the city (for example) then that side of the road just got bigger and the other side got skinnier. There were not lights at a busy four way intersection. When a side was tired of waiting, they just all teamed up and inched into the intersection to pinch off the flow of traffic, so that they could go.
I remember this vividly because my toes were literally curled the whole ride from the airport to the house. I was white-knuckling the oh-shit handle too. The Heineken I was given didn't relax me at all. I later learned that people actually did get hurt from these methods pretty frequently and occasionally died. That happens everywhere though. Plus, 90% of these people were on scooters, so that equals more pain during collisions.
I had to go to work early the next morning and on the way I saw communism at its best. I'm not kidding. I was loving the fact that everybody and their brother and mother was outside in the parks exercising. The parks were full of people doing odd calisthenics and the sidewalks were full of runners. The whole city wakes up for exercising at 0530 and then goes to work. Hey, I put up with exactly that every day in the Marine Corps and only didn't like it because I couldn't exercise the way I wanted. At least it got me up and got my blood flowing so I could enjoy the day. Hang over days were bad though.
Back on the subject: I was talking to the driver (who was a local) about how everyone there viewed Americans. he told me that they were viewed pretty much the same as most Westerners who traveled there. The newer generations had no real resentment for the war. The older ones did though. He told me that he thinks that every American hears the word "Vietnam" and thinks "War." I told him that unfortunately he was right.
The place just had a fun feel to it. I went out one night and had a blast with locals and Americans alike. I didn't really take to kindly to finding out that the guy at the Techno club who offered me a couple clove cigarettes was hitting on me. Yeah, no more clove cigs for me, thanks. I met a British cat at that same club that was backpacking through the country. He said he was staying in a hotel and eating three meals a day for about $12 per day. He also said that he really enjoyed the people there too. That's about all I remember because he split into two people and starting moving around a bit, so it was hard to focus on him. I think the clover cigarette guy roofy-ed me.
Yeah, I think I'm just going to end with that.
Although time is simply an idea—an intellectual concept—people talk about time as if it is a commodity. People view time as something that can be saved, spent, used wisely, or wasted. Americans not only speak of time as something tangible but, more importantly, they believe it is scarce. It is considered a valuable but limited resource. “Time is money!” One hears people wishing aloud that they could just add a few hours to the day or another day to each week. Then they could get everything done. “There’s never enough time,” they complain!Contrast that with the Middle Eastern concept of Insh'Allah:
In this great piece, Cullen Murphy discusses the term and how the US Army is adopting the concept as a result of the Iraq war:In šaʾ Allāh (إن شاء الله) is an Arabic term evoked by Arabic, Persian, and Urdu speakers to indicate hope for an aforementioned event to occur in the future. The phrase translates into English as "God willing" or "If it is God's will", sometimes spoken as DV, the Latin abbreviation for Deo volente.
The term is also related to another Arabic term, Mā šāʾ Allāh (ما شاء الله), which means "God has willed it".
This word is often used to indicate a desire to do something that you wish may occur. This also provides God's blessing on what you are about to do. For example, if you want to do something, in particular if you know that it is very hard to achieve, you invoke God's blessing before it occurs or before you set out to do it. In Judaism, B'ezrat Hashem (בעזרת השם), "With God's Help," and Im Yirtze Hashem (אם ירצה השם), "If God wishes it," are used for the same reason.
Usage of Insha'Allah derives from Islamic scripture, Surat Al Kahf (18):24 : "And never say of anything, 'I shall do such and such thing tomorrow. Except (with the saying): 'If God wills!' And remember your lord when you forget..."
When worlds collide, the sparks are sometimes linguistic. Not long ago, in a Q and A on the Web site of The New York Times, an Iraqi translator was asked to explain the points of difference he saw between his own people and the Americans he encountered in Iraq. He brought up the Arabic phrase "inshallah." The Americans, he said, "have respect for time"; Iraqis, in contrast, "use the word inshallah, which means `if God wishes,' to postpone things."Americans have a strong sense of agency over the world around them, from our schedules to our careers to creating a new world order. Careful planning and hard work can conquer all, even if love can't. This NYT article is the perfect example of that - two American couples decide that if their sex lives aren't working for them, they're going to have to work for their sex lives.
It may be that this point of difference won’t be a distinction much longer. An American colonel in Iraq, writing to The Washington Post’s Thomas E. Ricks, recently observed: "The phrase ‘inshallah,’ or ‘God willing,’ has permeated all ranks of the Army. When you talk to U.S. soldiers about the possible success of ‘the surge,’ you’d be surprised how many responded with ‘inshallah.’” The phrase seems to have permeated all ranks of the diplomatic corps, too: Zalmay Khalilzad, when he was the U.S. ambassador to Iraq, once stated at a press conference, “Inshallah, Iraq will succeed.
That they thought a sex marathon would reinvigorate their marriages might say as much about the American penchant for exercise and goal-setting as it does about the state of romance.I couldn't agree more. I'll have to write later about American-style exercise vs. general physical activity. Insh'Allah.
As an American in Okinawa, Japan
When I think of the people from each country that I have lived in or visited I find myself thinking that they are extremely nice to me. They go out of their way to make this foreigner feel comfortable. Well, the people in Okinawa, Japan are by far the most genuinely nice that I've met. They are nice in a different way than any other cultures engage others. They take intense pride in being kind to others. From my point of view I was wondering if they wanted if they wanted a tip or something after doing a good deed. I was just taken aback quite a bit while I was there. As far as ever leaving a tip for them, say, at a restaurant, forget it. They take that as an extreme insult and cut your arm off with a katana! They're that nice. I'm serious.
One such story takes place on the day that I was leaving. The fact that I was in a busy airport and they weren't going to ever see me again is what makes this story so shocking to me. I got my ticket from Naha, Okinawa to Tokyo and then L.A., but that was it. The desk clerk told me I would have to have get the rest of my tickets when I landed in the crazy LAX airport. I wasn't too happy about that because I was still new at flying by myself and LAX is the size of Disneyland, only instead of a princesses, clowns, and some roller coasters rides it has gypsies, con artists, and buses that try to run you down. I said "Whatev" and went through to catch my flight. After I took my seat and the doors were about to close, a stewardess found me in my seat and handed me the tickets all the way home to Louisville, Kentucky. The only thing I think that could have happened is that they saw the disappointment on my face when they originally said they I would have to get the rest of the tickets in LAX. Wow! What? I was dumbfounded. Up till that point, all I saw from any airport staff was some everyday kindness with the attitude of processing people in and out.
I have to throw in the fact that I was one of thousands of U.S. Marines occupying the island, as Marines have since WWII. The Okinawans have dealt with the good, bad, and the ugly of us over the 6 decades that we were there. The whole time I was there I was only directly shunned once. That was the time I was kicked out as soon as I entered a photo shop right outside of Camp Hansen. The man gingerly came out of the back room and got meaner than a hippo on her period when he saw that it was an American. It was scary. I later found out that he had problems with Marines getting stupid in his store and supposedly he was close to one of the young girls who was raped on the island a couple years earlier.
Dating was very difficult for me there. For one, I just don't have game. For two, I was 19 years old and it seemed like every girl I met at a club looked 18, but was actually 28 (even after a year I could never guess a girl's age there, so I went around assuming everyone was 10 years older than what I thought). For three, how do you read someone who has almost no expression on their face most of the time and rarely ever looks you in the eye? I will say though, that they still showed utmost kindness even while being awkwardly approached by an insecure skinny round-eyed boy. Kudos to them. Luckily for me there was a naval and an air force base on the island with equally insecure round-eye girls.
Food there took a little getting used to because it was... you know... healthy. If I wanted to cheat and go to the JapDonald's then I was going to pay $3 for a hamburger almost as small as a White Castle. It was a benefit in disguise. These Okinawans live the longest of anyone in the world for a reason. They live healthy; especially the older generation, which is a pretty old generation. I saw or heard of so many people over the century mark or close to it. The wouldn't hesitate to tell you that its not good for you to smoke or eat McShit. They said Wendy's was cool to eat though (not really, but I gotta give props to the fresh patty place I love). Most of them were still practicing some form of martial arts or yoga. Just being around them made me feel like I knew absolutely nothing about how life should be lived. Oh, and I keep calling them Okinawans instead of Japanese because they are about as Japanese as Hawaiians are American. Okinawans might be Japanese, but they have a separate set of traditions and culture.
Overall, I would say that Okinawans would love to have their whole island back, but I only saw a couple instances of rudeness towards us Americans while I was there. The air there was made up of pride, respect, and peace. This was in a place where people were stacked on top of each other, it was ok to pee outside (if you were drunk outside of a bar), they served saké from a jar with an entire dead snake in it, they have sweet potato ice cream, and there is a spectacular banana show (that you must see).
All joking aside, this is one place that I wish I could have appreciated more while I was there and I would recommend anyone to go. I'm basing this off of the fact that the people make the place.
SAYONARA
Gynecologists report that in the past few years, more Muslim women are asking for certificates of virginity to provide proof to others. That in turn has created a demand among cosmetic surgeons for hymen replacements, which, if done properly, they say, will not be detected and will produce tell-tale vaginal bleeding on the wedding night. The service is widely advertised on the Internet; medical tourism packages are available to countries like Tunisia where it is less expensive.And even more baffling...
The groom, an engineer, applied for an annulment because his bride, a student nurse, had lied to him about her virginity. Under the French civil code, an annulment can be granted “if there was a mistake about the person or the essential qualities of the person”. The judge declared the marriage void since it was “founded on a lie about her virginity”, which the bride acknowledged, and this constituted an “essential quality” in the eyes of both parties. The bride did not contest the annulment.1) Women should have the right to pay for whatever ridiculous surgeries they want
The restrictionist message is brutally simple — that illegal immigrants deserve no rights, mercy or hope. It refuses to recognize that illegality is not an identity; it is a status that can be mended by making reparations and resuming a lawful life.
Like many social workers in pre-war Poland, Mrs Sendler belonged to the Socialist Party: not for its political ideology, but because it combined compassion with dislike of money-worship.I think this sentence encapsulates the soul of European socialism. Though my American-educated, Cartesian mind believes in the logic of market economics and free trade, my heart is true to its French roots. My grandparents worshiped two institutions with equal degrees of veneration: the Public School and the Catholic Church, and instilled in their children (and later, my cousins and me) the sacrosanct values of education and compassion.
General consensus, without beating around the bush, I feel like I am viewed as nice person with lots of money to most people in Ouagadougou. However, in this case, if the word "viewed" was a country (if I may) then it would be Canada: peaceful and loved by all. I should change the word "viewed" to a more targeted and edgy country such as, well, America. I feel like I walk around with a huge, red, flashing, neon light above my noggin. Sometimes I don't want to leave my apartment because of it. I wouldn't take to being famous very well. If I were Britney Spears, who has it 100x worse than I do, I would probably end up like, um... like Michael Jackson I guess. Either that or fake my death like Tupac.
After talking to a few locals and just walking around and getting a feel for the people, I feel like they genuinely like me. Money aside, they are mostly just intrigued by me. America is the melting pot, but this place is pretty much all one race. Even living back home in the east end of Louisville, KY (predominately white), if I see a brotha or sista walking down the street they stick out to me. In cities like D.C., I couldn't even tell you who is white, black, latino, or M.I.B. agents. Race is less apparent because of the constant mixture of people. Living here gives you a feeling like you don't belong, but you are welcome to stay. Here's an example that everyone can relate to: Imagine you were back in your gangster days (some of you OG's out there don't have to imagine. Do you? 'cause you're still a G), and you walk through Crip territory wearing a Chicago Bulls Jersey with matching red shorts, a Red Sox hat, and you're blushing. As you pimp-limp from corner to corner you can feel all eyes on you. You're on the wrong side of the orchard and everyone knows it. You accidentally bump into someone and the world stops turning because you see them reach into their pocket. Unexpectedly, they all laugh, comment on the new silly color in their neighborhood, ask if you're lost or need help, and then give you a slice of a mango. I can't really explain the feeling any better than that.
I was telling my buddy Moses last night how I felt like I stood out so much and I thought it was because of my skin and money. He pretty much confirmed it and added that some people call him boss because he rides a scooter and they only have a bicycle to ride, donkey cart, or maybe ride nothing. Can you picture a person riding nothing? No. You can't. Because you can't see nothing.
Congo told me that he was a big fan of Americans over Europeans and especially French. Definitely not grinning ear to ear from my flag-waving pride, I asked him him why? First, he talked about how the French were difficult and lazy. He said Americans were easier to get along with. I told him how the nicest people that I met in my Eurotrip were french, but they definitely are not known to be workaholics. Second, he told me that he loved the idea of the freedom to work as much as you want, creating as much wealth as you wanted. This also comes from a guy whose career goal is to work six 12-hour days for the rest of his life.
The down side is that I do get the occasional guy mean-mugging me. I haven't figured that out yet, so I chalk it up to too much Haterade for those guys. Also, its a given that with the bartering system in place here that the salesman/saleslady will hike the price up sometimes up to 8 times the amount the item should be sold. Also, most don't mind selling it too me even though they know its a p.o.s.
In closing, living like a mini-Britney Spears is kinda nice. I haven't shown my crotch though because I haven't lost my mind or class, yet. Oh, and its a good feeling to be an American in Ouagadougou.
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