There was a beautiful picture in the online Times of London travel section this week of a mother in a Masai village in Tanzania; she has a shaved head, long earrings that hang from the tops of her ears and colorful layers of cloth wrapped around her from neck to foot. Another woman in traditional garb stands next to her with a serious and stoic look, possibly trying to figure out how to pose after being asked by the western visitor if he may take their picture. But the mother is distracted by her little girl, who is tugging impatiently at her dress in order to get the attention this intruding photographer is stealing away. He writes below his photograph that children “are the same the world over.”
A human interaction across cultures teaches us how similar we are in the context of what are sometimes shocking cultural differences. I am half-Indian, and sometimes my friends will joke to me about the strange things Indians do and don’t do, like praying to hundreds of gods or not using toilet paper (at least traditionally!). I would love for them to one day visit India–I suspect many of them would grow attached, feeling the thrill of personally connecting with people who take them out of their comfort zones.
These kinds of experiences are so important for young people; they change us in ways that few other things can. I remember how emotionally stirring my experience teaching English in two villages in western Hungary was during my first summer at Stanford. I was nineteen-years-old and had a lot to learn about myself and the world (an eternal condition, I guess). Within two weeks in my first village, Söjtor, I was thinking more seriously about what I wanted out of life than ever before, and actually finding some answers.
When I try to make sense of what in my Hungary experience aided this self-searching process, a few things come to mind. All the ways in which I have been fortunate were drilled home, ways that went even beyond poverty. I learned from so many of my young adult students who are pessimistic about their futures. A bitter history of losing territory at the end of World War I and then suffering under a Communist regime for more than three decades after a failed revolution against it in 1956 has left them still barreling away at the past. Growing up in villages they love (but must leave one day because there are no job opportunities) reinforces the pessimism. One reason they were thrilled to get to know a young American is that most of them do not think they will ever get the chance to visit the U.S. Whenever I have thought about my own future, my vision has included a world entirely open to me, so theirs was a tough outlook for me to absorb.
My time in Hungary involved a lot of familiar experiences in a foreign context. I played with and looked after the most wonderful children everyday. This prompted thoughts about what role I want family to play in my life. The goodness and kindness of everyone in my village warmed and humbled me. This prompted a critical reflection on what kind of person I want to be. In the daytime, I taught and felt the exhilaration of seeing quick student progress and new friendships along the way; in the evenings, I helped till the garden or cook dinner with my generous host families. This prompted a broader consideration of what kind of profession and role in the world could sustain my enthusiasm for a lifetime. By having all these human experiences outside of my element, I was able to examine who I am and where I am going with a new pair of eyes.
My experience is not singular. One of my closest friends at Stanford went to Ghana to volunteer in an orphanage for three weeks during our sophomore year and came back certain she wanted to be a doctor for the first time. Another friend knew he wanted to be a doctor until he went to Madrid for a quarter during his junior year and for the first time questioned whether it was really for him (he described the change as “that typical abroad moment”). Being among different people, habits and cultural traits forces us to examine who we are and what we want from an outside perspective. It reminds us that we are culturally contingent creatures, giving new life to the question of what is meaningful to us. In such moments, we start to take ownership of our lives.
Luckily for us, Stanford has terrific study abroad programs that reach nearly all corners of the globe. If students want a summer abroad, the Haas Center can help them find and fund it. Traveling is the sort of thing whose value is best delivered through experience. We may get the chance later in life, but by then, many of our choices will have been made. Now is the time; so venture out!
Have any crazy culture-shock stories? Send them Aysha’s way at [email protected] .