Posts

Posted on

Things left unsaid

#2

“Они иногда переглядывались, но никогда не здоровались и, уж конечно, не
разговаривали. (Sometimes they would exchange looks, but they never greeted each other, and, certainly, they never spoke.)” — Denis Dragunskyi, from “An officer and an acrobat: a story told by Irina Pavlovna” translation mine.

Armenia attracts travelers from all over the world. It is a beautiful country on the crossroads of many different cultures, languages, and traditions. But travelers often pick Armenia because it is convenient, not because of its rich cultural offerings. I have met here people from Slovenia, the Philippines, Austria, the US, Turkey, England, and Germany among others. They all travel through Armenia on the way to somewhere else—I might as well see it, since I am going to _______ anyway. Few of the travelers I have met came to Armenia for its own sake. This is not so for the Ukrainians and Russians who have flooded Yerevan (and continue to do so) after Russia commenced its full-scale assault on Ukraine. For them, Armenia is the final destination. Often so palpably final that it seems painful. Many of the Ukrainians here have nowhere to go back to. Many of the Russians feel they can’t go back anywhere either. They’re both in limbo. And yet, the experience is not exactly the same.

***

A Pole, a Ukrainian, and three Russians walk into a shared hostel kitchen. The Ukrainian, we’ll call her Alina, came from Luhansk. The Russians, we’ll call them Dima, Yurii, and Yelena, relocated here from Moscow, or Vladimir, or Rostov. The Pole, that’s me, passing through, a blip in their interrupted lives. The three Russians talk about this and that and laugh among themselves, in the language we all share, glancing at us from the corner of their eyes. But, like in Dragynskyi’s story, we don’t talk. Not then, anyway. Later on I will have learned that they were embarrassed, the Russians, to talk to us, especially to Alina, who had to leave her home due to their country’s violent war. Alina’s family relocated to Kyiv. She went to Poland, then Italy, and now here. But she won’t learn this piece of information. By the time the Russians spoke to me, Alina was long gone, having left this hostel thinking the Russians were having a great time, while she waited each morning for messages from her family to find out if they’d survived another night of missile strikes. And none of this is their fault. Not Alina’s; not her family’s; and not the Russians’, who themselves haven’t been part of the Russian war effort. These things, left unsaid, serve to divide—though we all had a shared language to say them.

***

I often get mistaken for Russian here, and receive either unprompted kindness, or hostility, then apologies once the other parties realize they erred in their assumption. And we have a shared language to iron all of this out—I’m grateful I get to study it, and grateful again that it is in Armenia. People don’t pick where they’re from, but they do pick how they act, and who they are. Being here among so many different origin stories, where so many people share the same language, where we can choose to talk to each other despite the differences is moving. Armenians, Ukrainians, Russians, and passersby like me, or like my international classmates, have something in common. I had the privilege recently of seeing the fruits of what this kind of communication can look like in the basement of a residential building that houses a Ukrainian volunteer organization, run by Ukrainians, Russians, and Belarusians. We spent an evening together making and then eating obscene amounts of vareniki, and as they were sharing stories of migration, I heard a profound sense of loss, but also hope for the future. And they were all on the same side, even as they all acknowledged their stories are different and the suffering is not the same either. The Russian language has recently been described as a tool of imperialist oppression, and it is that undoubtedly too—maybe even predominantly. But, on the tongues of diverse populations it is a bridge to understanding, and using it to build and include rather than tear down and oppress is, surely, a powerful act of resistance.

That basement seemed to me like its centre.

Posted on

Blog 5: Cultural Dimensions

A large dimensional discrepancy between the US and Italy according to this tool is long term orientation. Italy has a high index of long term orientation at 61, while the US has a very low index at 26. Long term orientation describes how a society maintains links with its past despite developing technologies of the present and future. While staying in Siena, which has had the same population since the medieval ages and retains many centuries old traditions, I observed first hand how passionate Italians are about preserving their past. My apartment building is likely over 500 years old, twice as old as the US. For this reason alone, it is easy to see how Italians are more concerned with preserving their ancestral history, there is more to preserve. My cultural course professor expressed this to us as well during a class when she told us that Italians are generally scared of welcoming in Americans because they perceive us to be a threat to the preservation of traditions.

Another large difference between these countries’ two indexes is the Indulgence-restraint dimension. The US has a very high degree of Indulgence at 68, while Italy’s is only 30. This surprised me because, in some situations, I observed Italians to be more indulgent than Americans. For example, in Italy, leisure time and long, long meals with company are very important. Whereas in the US it is common to eat shortly and alone. However, it makes sense that the US has a high indulgence score because of our work hard, play hard mentality.

Posted on

Global Community

I’ve been thinking a lot about my global community while I’ve been in Amman. I’ve relied on people from all over the world for help that has been essential for my functioning in Amman and in this language program. The language program is tough, and I’ve honestly been struggling during my time here – struggling with my coursework, my health, struggling with a seemingly endless saga with my water cooler, and struggling with how to live everyday in Amman – in which I am divorced from so many of the things that are essential to ground myself. 

And yet, my global community is what has helped me get through the day-to-day this summer and has prompted a lot of reflection for me. 

  1. The international community at Qasid: people come from all over the world to study at Qasid. While most of the people in my class are from the US (minus one Turkish man who joined our class a few weeks in), it’s still pretty international. Three of us are from India, one of my colleagues is from India, and the other is from Pakistan. But perhaps more notable is the community I surround myself with outside of classes. My closest friends here are a woman from Greece, from Italy, and from Hong Kong. Last night while out to dinner at an absolutely gorgeous restaurant, I couldn’t help but ponder the ways in which being foreigners – and also being PhD students, and also women, and also students who are really struggling in our language classes – has united us, despite the fact that we ourselves are from such different backgrounds. This is not to say that our own cultural identities are erased in the process – far from it – but rather points to the intersectionality of our identities. These girls are my rocks in this crazy summer, and I feel a sense of grounding when I am with them, even though they are as “foreign” to me as any of my Jordanian teachers or non-American classmates. 
  2. My platonic soul mate: my best friend is a Syrian woman that I have never met in person. Our lives aligned in a brief moment, we met, and we have been fast friends ever since. We study similar topics, have similar passions surrounding women’s empowerment, and share similar political outlooks. She is in Lebanon now, but just knowing she is in the same time zone is in and of itself comforting to me, when I am so far away from home. Not only this, but she is genuinely invested in supporting me as I try to learn her native language. Here are a collection of texts from the past few weeks:
    • “How do you say ‘you got this’ in Arabic?” (there’s no equivalent) 
    • “How would you say ‘I’ve realized new sides of my dog’ in Arabic?” 
    • Do you have any favorite Shami terms? (Shami is the Levantine dialect). Her response is that her favorite one is “bury me,” which is supposedly a term that indicates a profession of love (still thinking through the logic on that one). 
    • “I don’t know case endings please send help” (she sent help in the sense that she also could not remember how to do case endings, which was incredibly comforting as I struggled to learn them myself). 

My point, here, is that despite the fact that we have never met, and despite living worlds away both figuratively and (most of the time) literally, we have also found so many means of connection, as well as ways of supporting each other as we journey through both life and academia. 

  1. My Syrian community: For the past several years, I have worked extensively in service on the Syrian community. First, through Syrian Youth Empowerment (SYE), where I helped hundreds of Syrian students apply to college and then through DAWNetwork, my own mentorship program for Syrian girls. This summer, this community has shown up for me over, and over, and over again. In the first weeks I was here, I posted on Instagram asking if any of my native Arabic friends could do me a favor (recording my vocab list so I could practice pronunciation). I got over 50 responses from people who were willing to help. A couple of weeks later, I again posted on Instagram asking a question about visas for Syrians to come to the US. Once again, my inbox was filled with responses. And just today, I messaged a wonderful student of mine from a few years ago who is starting up an Arabic tutoring program. I was curious what her prices were as I think it might be a great supplement to my solo studies once I’m back on campus in South Bend. She responded “So regarding your question, I am happy that a day when I can help you has come haha, so I am happy to take this voluntarily. This is honestly from the bottom of my heart and I feel so happy that you are considering taking sessions with me.” For me, this is not about the money, and it certainly isn’t something I deserve. For me, it is a manifestation of one of my guiding principles – that I will be changed in my volunteer work as much as I will support others. Today, I know that I have a true community that values relationships over what can be given and taken, and I am eternally grateful. 

Somewhat unfortunately, I feel like the biggest gap in my “global community” is a connection with local communities in Jordan. When I’ve done study abroad programs in the past, they have often been made up of half local people and half international students. I am only just realizing the true extent of the benefit of this model. Obviously, there is no clear way of having a model like that in a language program, but I have still felt that it has been difficult to connect with local Jordanians in sustained ways. This, both during this trip and in the future, is my next challenge. 

Posted on

A D.I.V.E. into Wine

I have been thoroughly enjoying every moment of my stay in Siena, and it fills me with sadness to be leaving in such a short time. I have only been studying in Siena for a month, and I feel like I have not only gained so much knowledge about the Italian language and culture, but also have embarked on a journey of self-discovery. Because of the numerous benefits I have been able to reap from this study abroad program, I have had very few incidents that I would consider to be “critical.” Nonetheless, I would like to provide a D.I.V.E. reflection on a particular critical incident that occurred to me at the onset of our program.

Upon my arrival in Siena at the beginning of these five weeks, the language school I am attending had graciously welcomed all incoming students to Siena with an amazingly delicious four-course dinner. While sitting at the dinner table, eagerly waiting to dive into this delicious meal, I noticed that bottles of wine were placed on the table as a drink option.

The presence of wine initially caught me off guard. As a 20-year-old in the United States, I am still under the legal drinking age. As a result, in the United States, I would never be offered alcohol in a professional setting, such as this distinguished dinner with my Italian professors and other staff members. Even if I were of legal drinking age, the addition of alcohol in a formal setting would still strike me as odd, considering the potential complications that arise from its excessive consumption. Thus, I interpreted the school to be offering me something that I should not have, since I am not used to this type of situation in the United States.

In addition, after discussing with my Notre Dame peers, it became apparent that they too experienced a sense of unease and discomfort when being served alcohol in the presence of our superiors. However, as days went by and I begun to settle into my routine here in Siena, I quickly learned that wine and other alcohol drinks are an integral part of Italian meals. In fact, having wine with dinner is just as common as having water with dinner. While many may perceive wine solely as an intoxicating beverage, Italians regard wine as an essential taste profile to the dinner, overall enhancing the other flavors of their meal.

Although I initially had a negative response to the inclusion of wine at our welcoming dinner, it was only a reflection of my unfamiliarity with this aspect of Italian culture. However, over time, as I immersed myself further into Italian culture, I came to appreciate wine as an essential and cherished element of the Italian dinner table.