Difference

When I lived in South Korea, I was often met at the doors of shops with the welcoming statement, "No, no, no big sizes here, go other shop." The crazily tiny and beautiful Korean girls meant that I was seen as huge, although in most Western countries a size 10 might be seen as being just fine, thank you very much.

But all is not lost for my self-esteem in Asia:

The other day, here in Sabah, I walked into a little shop. As I passed the counter at the doorway, there was a sigh, and the shop assistant murmured, "So beautiful, lah." And yes, she was looking at me ;) I checked...

Now this is the kind of place I like to live!

There are two downsides to being the kind of person that draws sighs of admiration from lovely Malaysian girls.

The first is that the commentary doesn't always come from the girls, it's often too blunt, and it's not always wholly complimentary. A headmaster's comment on seeing me for the first time in three weeks recently: "Emily, you are looking so slim and beautiful. Your body looks very good like that. Have you stopped eating? Because last time I saw you, you were getting quite fat." Yes. Cultural norms can be a bit of a shock.

The second, of course, is that often, and I am reluctant to admit this, the admiration isn't of my actual beauty, my perfect skin, my soft, wavy hair, my slender body... none of which are attributes I can honestly boast of. The admiration is of my white skin - the paler the better: the compliments tend to dry out after I've spent a couple of days on the beach.

Many Asians are so locked into a particular ideal of beauty that I have to really search for non-whitening cosmetics - and we're not just talking about face cream here, but even deodorant, which advertises its whitening properties in nice big letters. Because, you know, pale armpits are one of the first thing men want to see.

It's such a shame, when on the other side, us orang putih are trying our very best to darken our skins...

It's a crazy world.

Timing

Timing is everything, huh?

I got invited by a friend who lives in my village to attend the wedding of her neighbour. As you may have picked up from other blogs, weddings here are an open affair, and any passing stranger is welcome to drop by for a bite to eat. I knew that the wedding was happening - it had been happening all day, with cars roaring past my house, filled with gong-players escorting the wedding party to the Catholic church in town, and back again, then music, then entertainment for the family while photos were taken at the hot springs, then more gong-playing. 

So I walked up the road to meet my friend, and she brought me to the village hall, where some of my students were performing the bamboo dance for the bride and groom. We peeked in through the window for a while, and then my friend suggested we go and salaam the happy couple. Just then, the electricity went out! Now, this has been happening a lot lately, on, off, on, off - I just keep a candle to hand and make sure my Kindle is fully charged for those very dark hours - and my, is it dark in a village of 100 people when the power goes out!

Anyway, so the power was out. Amazingly the bamboo dancers continued - bamboo dancing is not something I would be willingly doing at the best of times, and here were these young girls committing their slender ankles to bamboo poles being slammed together with force by their brothers, in the dark! Brave kids.

Anyway. So the the power was out. We went ahead anyway, squeezing past the dancers and through the audience, and up to the stage, where the newly married couple was seated. It was very dark, but without appearing too schoolmarmish and crazy (I think...) I managed to squint over at them and offer my congratulations, as my friend explained who I was. They appeared pleased to see me, as all the brides and grooms whose weddings I've crashed have appeared to be. They greeted me politely, and asked me to accept a gift from their bridesmaid, who passed me a golden pen prettily boxed and beribboned - another tradition that always leaves me balanced precariously between my roots (i.e. Give The Bride A Present) and trying to be culturally sensitive (i.e. Accept A Gift From The Bride.)

So there I was, smiling and half bowing and heading off the stage. Which is when the lights came on.

Now, I like to think it was a collective gasp at my awesomeness, but I have to say, it was probably the shock for a hundred people of suddenly seeing an orang putih where none had been before. Like magic! 

I'm just grateful I didn't fall over.

Never mind, at least I got a delicious meal out of it. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, in Sabah they feed their gatecrashers. 

Most of my little students were in attendance as well, dressed in all their finery and squealing "Cikgu Emily! Cikgu Emily!" which is a HUGE improvement on "Orang putih! Aaargh!", and anyway, I quite like being Teacher Emily... 

End of Year

 So we've finally come to the end of the school year in Malaysia. The last few weeks have been a constant struggle to find and speak to teachers, who have been busy with a pile of administrative tasks. Although the aim is not to take teachers out of class, in reality there is very little teaching time in the last month, as there is no real administrative staff in schools. Teachers have to write, record, and submit reports on each child, take in and report on textbooks, complete data on assessments and progress online, make reports to the local, district, state and national offices, and... well... take part in a LOT of ceremonial days. Yes, ceremonies are a large part of the last month; they're a large part of the year, really, but the last month is crazy.

Ceremonies include preschool graduations in which the children wear little hats and red capes, Parent-Teacher Association fishing competitions, singing and drama competitions, Year 6 farewells, teacher appreciation days, prizegivings, and parent report readings.

The other day, I was invited along to a farewell party for Year 6 at one of my schools. Thinking it would be a bit of makan with the kids and their teachers, I wore a skirt and short-sleeved blouse. To their credit, the headmaster and curriculum head didn't bat an eyelid as they told me that since the exam results have been delayed, the party was postponed until late November, and instead, the day would be devoted to entertaining none other than the State Minister for Education, and his wife. I batted several eyelids as I cast an eye over my totally inappropriate clothing. I did manage to get out of sitting on the VIP couches at the front of the hall with the Minister and his entourage, as we listened to a wee little thing belt out that song about living your dreams and aiming higher. You know the one.

But later on I was called up to the stage for photographs, which rather amusingly ended up being me in short sleeves with around 20 men. Well, not that amusingly...

Then at the end, the headmaster, who is a lovely man, called on me to come back to the stage to receive a gift in thanks for the year, and it was only when I returned to my seat next to my teacher that I realised that this was my new baju kurung.

Baju kurung is the uniform of Malaysian women. All teachers have to wear it in school, although I have seen a few daring women in skirts and blouses lately. It consists of a knee-length, long-sleeved blouse worn over a "sarong" skirt. It's grown on me. When I first arrived I swore that nobody, but nobody, was getting me into what is basically a bright purple (/orange/yellow/other luminous unmatched patterned material) sack, covering as much as it can without putting a paper bag on one's head.

Now, I looked at my present, and said, "What a pretty combination of blue stripes and purple swirls." It has a neckline of large plastic beads. I did tell my teacher that they weren't getting me into the traditional high heels as well, but I'm not so sure anymore that I will be finishing my contract without owning at least one set...

So off I went into the office to get changed, and when I came out, the Minister and his wife congratulated me with big smiles on how pretty I had suddenly become. The teachers all exclaimed and smiled and patted me on the back, and I smiled back and realised that this moment should have come several months ago. Their pleasure shamed me!

After makan, I had to pop into another school where the teachers were having a meeting, and I actually got a round of applause when I walked in.

Unfortunately, although I was asked to pose for photos with every single person at both schools, I didn't take one myself, so you will have to wait until the new year for a photograph of me in my lovely new uniform. 

For now, school is over, my meetings with my Project colleagues are done, the cats are settled and I have found someone to feed and cuddle them while I'm gone. Tomorrow, I fly home to Zimbabwe, and sadza, and Castle beers, and Amarula in morning coffee, and my family and friends, and I cannot wait!

Cultural blunders...

Last Sunday I read a book with one of the little girls who comes to see me in the cafe every week. Easy right? Hmm...

So we're reading a book about animals, and deciding which one is the King of the Beasts. Everything goes smoothly - we roar for the lion, we wiggle our noses for the rabbit, we woof woof for the dog... the little girl is unimpressed and shakes her head. Is that a dog? Yes! What does a dog do?

Mung Mung!

A cat goes "yow! yow!", and (my personal favourite) a frog goes not "ribbit ribbit", but "gaggle gaggle"!

I realise now why I often get blank faces in class when we're playing charades and other guessing games...

Another vital piece of cultural information for teachers is that red pens are now a no-no. I know what you're thinking - what is a teacher without her red pen? But using one runs the risk of accidentally writing someone's name in red, which implies that that person is dead. Quite important then.

It can be a bit of a minefield, but I'm still grateful that total Americanisation hasn't yet overwhelmed Korea :)