Our troubles are all the same.
Traveling to Africa usually involves observing things like poverty, food, language, and religion. You constantly compare. We have stuff, they don't. They spend all day outside, we don't. You do this because it's all so different. Returning to the States makes the contrast even sharper. Anyone who leaves poverty for prosperity feels it, but the scariest part for me was time.
Robert Levine, a social psychologist, details this perfectly in his book "A Geography of Time." His research proves the seemingly simple concept that each culture has its own sense of time. More that that, the way you or I perceive time has as much to do with our culture as our religion or our diet. This can show up in big ways like the social punishment for arriving late (we Americans are bloody executioners) or how fast we drive. Or it can show up subtle ways.
Dogon: come for the views, stay for the views
A Peace Corps buddy of mine lived in West Africa for over two years. Shortly before the end of his stint he received training on reintegration into American society. The most striking thing about the training program involved preparing for the underwhelming response of your loved ones to your return. "Prepare a two or three sentence summary of your trip," the trainers advised, "For some of your closest friends and relatives, that's all they'll want to hear." After 28 months abroad, your closest relatives will only want to hear a 60 second summary.
This attitude stands in striking contrast to where my buddy was coming from in West Africa.
If you ever get to Mali, the Dogon Country should be your first destination. You need a guide, and they can be expensive. However, a guide there is worth every penny for two reasons. One: his name might be something unique like Mr. Togo. And two: he'll know everybody.
Dogon greetings are comprehensive partly because time moves slower in the Dogon Country. Remember how an African 2 years had to be distilled into 60 American seconds. Saying hello in Dogon takes 60 seconds by itself.
Mr. Togo, how are you?
Se-om (good)
How's your brother?
Se-om
How's your mother?
Se-om
How's your sister?
Se-om
How's your aunt?
Se-om
How's your wife?
Se-om
How's your chief?
Se-om
How's your boss?
Se-om
What does it say about a culture when greetings take this long? I know it's their custom and the pace of each question was rapid fire, but think how nice it would be if everyone you met cared that much. You'd never get anything done, but maybe that's not the point; I've never seen a more close-knit community.
Maybe we should all spend more time outside.
