Sakegawa is a town of about 5000 people, spread over a fairly large area. It used to be five different hamlets before it was condensed into one village. In the entire incorporated township, I am the only American (and I’m fairly sure I’m the only foreigner, though there may be a Belgian man running about somewhere). It’s a strange sensation, like living in a fishbowl. No matter where I go or what I’m doing, I inevitably get stares. It isn’t meant to be rude, people are just curious, and it generally doesn’t bother me. Occasionally, when I’m having a rough, confusing day, the scrutiny can be a bit overwhelming, but I’ve found that a bright and pointed smile at the gawker usually solves the problem.
Having grown up in a fairly diverse part of California, I think it’s hard for me to imagine how truly alien I must look in a society that fully admits its own homogenous makeup. It makes me particularly worried about my behavior because I know that, given human nature, some people will generalize my actions to be true for everyone in my country. There was a particular moment during a festival where I had purchased several different festival foods out of a desire to try as much as possible. I was starving and just wanted to sit somewhere and eat, however I kept worrying that people would see me pull out several containers and assume that all foreigners ate that much on a regular basis, or that I eat that much on a regular basis. It took me a good hour and a half to finally talk myself into just sitting down and eating some food, to hell with what people thought. Even then I couldn’t quite relax.
There are perks to being the only foreigner in town, too. The amount of free food I’ve been given could feed a small family for a month. The strangest example of hospitality I have experienced was when a stranger stopped alongside me as I walked home and asked whether I liked pumpkins. After I admitted that yes, I did indeed like pumpkins, he demanded I get in his car and then drove me to his farm where he gave me four pumpkins before driving me home (without ever needing any directions, which was a little disconcerting).
Similar, though less extreme, situations happen pretty much every day. Desserts, dinner, sacks full of vegetables. Little, thoughtful gifts from people who want to welcome me to their town. It’s the double edged sword of living here. Intense hospitality and unending scrutiny. It’s a good trade off. Even if it means my refrigerator is full of rotting vegetables because I haven’t figured out how to eat them all before they go bad. Ah well.
1 comments:
Here's my advice, chickadee--don't worry too much about what other people will think, because no matter what you do, they will think. Best to be yourself, and they'll get used to you anyways. It's a lonely road being a foreigner in a part of the world that isn't used to it. I'll admit--you do have to wear your public face as soon as you step out of your door, and that gets tiring--just don't let your public face and the real you be too separated. :)
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