Culture & Travel

Sitting at the bus stop on the way to my first day of my fourth year of university, I feel a tear roll down my cheek. In the ten-minute walk from my front door to the bench where I wait for the bus, not a single person has said a word to me. The closer I get to my destination, the less hopeful I am that the person passing me on the sidewalk will return my eager smile. By the time I sit down, I feel starved for eye contact, for some recognition by another person. I sit in silence until my bus arrives.

Three weeks ago, I returned to Canada after spending four months living and working in Malawi, a landlocked country in sub-Saharan Africa. I could tell you a lot of things about Malawi – about the staggering HIV/AIDS rates which have orphaned hundreds of thousands of children, about the threat climate change poses to the country’s food security, about the cost of education which prevents many from finishing high school. Instead, I’d like you to remember this: Malawians, whether they know each other or not, always greet one another when they pass in the street.

The first thing I learned in Chichewa, Malawi’s local language, was how to greet another person. Every interaction – with family, friends, colleagues, or the shop owner selling you bread – begins with an exchange of “how are you?”. Even walking about the streets running errands or to and from work, the majority of people will say a quick hello in passing. The first few weeks of my time there involved me constantly pushing myself out of my comfort zone to make eye contact and look as approachable as possible. By the end of my stay, I was impressed by how much happier I felt upon reaching a destination after exchanging pleasantries with strangers along the way.

Many have heard about the potential impacts of culture shock when travelling or living abroad. The Government of Canada even has an entire webpage dedicated to dealing with coping strategies. We hear less about the impacts of reverse culture shock: the feelings after returning to one’s home country after a prolonged stay abroad, and the discomfort upon realizing that the once-familiar has all of a sudden become unfamiliar.

Since coming back to Canada, I have, on more than one occasion, gotten in the wrong side of the car and felt anxious about driving on the right hand side of the road. A functional seatbelt in Malawi is rare, and I catch myself forgetting to use one more often than I’d like to admit.

The traditional clothing I had made in Malawi which I was so proud to wear there create anxiety here. What if wearing a chitenje dress in Canada makes me guilty of cultural appropriation?

Buildings are finished. Roads are paved. Everyone lives indoors, moving about their lives avoiding interactions with strangers. I don’t buy my peanut butter from a stall on the street, and the woman from whom I purchase eggs doesn’t know me by name.

I remember thinking that my city lacked diversity. Now I notice different races everywhere. I think about a friend in Malawi whose sister’s husband moved to Canada and wonder if they could be the person sitting next to me on the bus. Someone tells me they’re from Ghana, and I excitedly tell them about my friend who loved her summer in Kumasi.

In Malawi, Canada is glorified as a country where poverty and inequality cease to exist. I was told that coming back to Canada after spending time in one of the poorest countries in the world would make me more grateful. Instead, I am hyperaware of the inequities which persist despite this supposedly-privileged system in which Canadians live. This realization – that our progressive, democratic, Westernized country is not perfect – is suffocating.

Nobody stares at me because I’m white. Nobody stares at me at all.

A few weeks later, I find myself sitting on the same bench at the same bus stop. A man walking by turns to me and smiles: “good morning.” I return the greeting, giddy. I feel a tear roll down my cheek, this time not out of sadness. I hold onto this little piece of Malawi for the rest of my day.