More About "Persons"

A recent blog post (about Canada's Famous Five women who succeeded in having the law changed to  have women legally considered "persons" in Canada reminded me that there are some places where women - or other demographic groups - are still not considered "persons" for some reason or another.

A young woman from Iran once told me: You probably wonder why I have immigrated to Canada. In Iran, the country where I was born, because my religion is Bahai, I am not considered a person... That means that I can't go to university. We have our own schools for basic education, but that is as far as we can go.

She then added: In Iran, someone could even kill me and they wouldn't be punished... because I'm not considered a person.

That's what it means to be a non-person?! Her story was a real eye-opener for me!

As Others See Us

I recently attended a retirement party for a former colleague, a teacher who came to Canada twenty-some years ago, a single parent with two young children in tow, fleeing from war in Lebanon.

I realized how brave she had been as her children recounted - with laughter and tears - some of the memories of their early years. The strangest of all was their arrival on October 31 - Halloween. When they stepped off the plane, they were bewildered by the strange people they saw around them. Witches. Others with painted faces, wearing strange clothing.

We were afraid, my colleague May recounted. I thought I had made a terrible mistake and  I wanted to go back. I had chosen Canada over Australia because I remember reading somewhere that Australia had been a penal colony made up of criminals sent from Britain. So I chose Canada. We arrived - and then this!

I thought of another immigrant, a young woman from Somalia who had been in my English class during my teaching days. She laughingly told me that she had fainted when she first arrived. A woman approached her to help her. But she had long red fingernails, something my student had never seen before: I thought her fingers were dripping blood and that she was coming to attack me, so when she approached, I collapsed in a faint.

(Would it be too much to conclude that we never know what kind of an impression we are making?!)

Lost in Translation

I once had a student who was a Mexican priest, in Canada for a sabbatical year of study. One day I was talking to him about his work. He told me that he was a priest in a mountain village, and that his parishioners were very poor. Part of his job involved visiting them in their homes, where he could see how little they had.

They would always offer me food, and I would always have to eat it, even though I often saw hungry children peering in through the door.

Was I eating the children's meal? I often wondered. Was this the only food they had?

But you had to eat it... I said.

Yes, they would have been very offended if I hadn't accepted their hospitality. And the motto of our religious order is: "Be as gentle as a dove and eat like a pig."

Eat like a pig?! I replied, somewhat astounded.

Yes, he nodded. Eat like a pig.

In English to eat like a pig means to eat a lot - as much as you can, I told him.

Oh no! he replied. In my language "to eat like a pig" means to eat whatever is put before you, without asking what it is. There were times I didn't know what I was eating. If I had known, I might not have wanted to eat it. But I followed our motto to "eat like a pig" and I didn't ask any questions. That was the polite way.

Arranged Marriages

Teaching involves learning... And students aren't the only ones doing the learning!

We were reading an article on arranged marriages in my English class for immigrants and, to see how many were familiar with the concept, I asked a question I had never asked before: How many of you had arranged marriages?

I expected to see a few raised hands - the five or six women wearing hijab head coverings, perhaps, but instead... to my utter amazement... almost all the 35 women in the group raised their hands. I looked around, astounded to see that even the wealthy world traveler from Korea who wore designer labels and the carefully coiffed Lebanese teacher dressed in a suit and heels had also raised their hands... The only ones whose hands remained on their desks were from Bosnia and Poland...

You could - as the saying goes - have knocked me over with a feather, I was so surprised...

I knew arranged marriages still existed in countries like India and Pakistan. Occasionally young women students would confess that they had never planned to move to Canada, but their parents had brought them here to visit relatives... and only after their arrival had they been told that a wedding was in the works. These were rare occurrences, so I had naively believed that apart from these rare cases, arranged marriages were a thing of the past...

I was apparently wrong...

Sensing my shock, several women offered comments...

My marriage was an arranged marriage, the Lebanese teacher announced to the class. I have been happily married for thirty years. My daughter chose her own husband, and after five years of marriage, she is divorced... Sometimes arranged marriages are stronger than love marriages.

Many of the women nodded.

Yes, a young woman from Bangladesh added: My father always says arranged marriages are better, because in a love marriage, when the love goes, the marriage goes...

Again many nodded their agreement.

For me, the experience was a complete paradigm shift: No longer would I view arranged marriages as rare or antiquated, but rather as yet another social concept many immigrants have to come to grips with - for themselves and their children - as they adapt to new life in Canada, where all are free to marry whomever they choose.

"Go! You Go!"

Reflecting on a recent blog post, which showed how confusion can occur if even one word is misunderstood, I recalled an incident that happened once in class when I was teaching English to immigrants.

At break time, a young student approached me and said: I have a problem. I don't understand why people tell me to go at the store.

They tell you to leave?

Yes, he replied.

I was puzzled.

Did you do something wrong? Did you touch something you weren't supposed to?

No, he replied. I just buy my stuff. I pay for it. And then the cashier tells me to go.

Is he angry?

No, he's smiling. He gives me my change and says: "Go. You go."

I suddenly recognized the intonation in his words...

Oh! The cashier isn't saying "Go, you go." He's saying: "There you go!"

There you go? What does that mean?

There you go? It means: I'm finished. You can go now!

The student smiled, relieved that he wasn't being asked to leave the store!

Small Talk

My students who were learning English often commented that the only place they were able to practice their English was at the bus stop. There strangers would talk to them, usually commenting on... the weather!

Why always the weather? they wanted to know.

It's a safe subject - it doesn't offend anyone, I replied, explaining that "small talk" was a polite way of acknowledging that a person was there, a way of being friendly without being personal. I also added that every city was different. In some large cities, nobody talks to strangers.

Do people standing at a bus stop in your country talk to each other? I would often ask. And if so, what would they talk about?

Politics, an African student said.

That's too controversial for Canada, I would reply. In Canada the weather is perfect... It changes frequently, so there is lots to say!

This past week, for example...














Saturday... "Winter is really here!"














Sunday... "Those roads sure are icy!"














Monday... "Feels like spring!"














Tuesday... "I wonder if we're in for a mild winter... Wouldn't that be nice?!"














And the following Saturday again... "Skiers are going to be happy!"

Something new to say every day! And nobody is offended!

Why Do We Get Colds When the Weather Changes?

The weather has suddenly changed. Summer has morphed into fall - and I have to adjust to the new reality! It takes a while. Now I often feel too hot or too cold... as I try to figure out how to dress in this in-between season. It will take me a couple of weeks to adjust. In the meantime, I feel as if I'm coming down with a cold. I got chilled outdoors one day, then spent an evening with several sniffling people - who weren't sure if they were suffering from colds or allergies...

So I've been popping pills to build my immunity - but the sense that my body is fighting off illness lingers...

I'm not sharing this to complain - but rather because whenever I feel like this, I think of two ESL students I taught at the University of Ottawa a few years back. My class consisted of a dozen foreign students, among them two research scientists from Iran who had come to Canada for post-doctoral studies. Both had backgrounds in medicine.

Their English improved to the point where we could talk about everyday things. I discovered, for example, that in Iran students have to pass stringent examinations to be accepted into university and that one of these men had not been a serious student when he was younger. He had not bothered to study for the entrance exams... and had failed on his first try.

Realizing that his future depended on attending university, he decided to apply himself - and was accepted his second time round. He went on to excel in medicine, and was now doing post-doctoral research. So academically he was no slouch.

One day I arrived in class with a cold - and I made some comment about wishing I had a magic pill that would take colds away.

My Iranian medical researcher replied: No, colds are necessary... the body needs colds.

Then his English failed him - he didn't have the vocabulary to tell me why this was true.

He went up to the blackboard and drew a series of diagrams with plus and minus signs (ions...?) He tried to explain what he meant - as I and the rest of the class tried to understand. It seemed as if something had to balance something... Gazing at our puzzled faces, he finally put down the chalk in frustration and sat down.

We were all so disappointed! We really wanted to know WHY!

So now - every time I get a cold (or feel as if I'm coming down with one), I think of that student and the knowledge he had to share... but couldn't.

I also scan health sections of magazines and newspapers. Perhaps some journalist has discovered the secret... Doesn't anybody else know WHY colds are sometimes necessary for the body?! Knowing why, I'd probably bear the discomfort more patiently!

He Followed Me...

Congratulations! I heard you got married during the summer. I said to an attractive young Afghani woman when I saw her in the hall the first day of school. Do I know your husband? Does he go to school here?

No, she replied. He's been in Canada for a long time. He followed me for three years. Finally he asked my father if he could marry me... My father asked me if I wanted him... And I said, Yes.

He followed you? What does that mean? I asked. I had heard the expression before (from a young Iranian woman who told me that young men often "followed" girls home from school in her country.)

My student explained: It means he likes me. Girls in my country don't go out on dates, so if a guy likes a girl, he follows her.

Does he talk to her?

No, he just wants to see where she lives, so that he can ask her father if he can marry her.

Your husband followed you for three years?

Yes. Then he told me that he wanted to ask my father's permission to marry me... And I said, okay.

Hmmm. In Canada, if someone follows someone else, we consider that "stalking"... I commented. "Stalking" is against the law. If you follow someone, that person could call the police and complain.

The young woman stared at me in disbelief...

As she walked away, I'm sure she was thinking: What strange ideas Canadians have!

"Heroes" Among Us?

When I taught English to immigrants, I was always on the lookout for interesting newspaper stories to read and discuss in class. I felt that if I could get my students "hooked" on reading the paper in English, they would learn so much on their own.

One article I used over and over again in class was a story about a shepherd in the Alps whose cellphone saved his life. Alone in the mountains with his sheep, he used his cellphone to keep in touch with family and friends.

One day, going after a wandering ewe that was approaching the edge of a cliff, the shepherd slipped on the wet grass and slid to the edge himself. Flat on his face, almost falling over the cliff, he grabbed his cell phone and dialed 911... but was disconnected. At this point he started to slide over the cliff, so he dropped his phone to grab some tufts of grass. Fortunately - though his hands weren't free - his cell phone landed in front of his face... and he was able to press the redial button with his nose!

To add to the drama of the story, the 911 operator at first didn't believe him when he said he was hanging over a cliff and needed to be rescued... But he was able to persuade her (with his screams) and was rescued by a helicopter not long afterward.

This story has a lot of drama - and a happy ending - so one of the things I used to do in class was have students in pairs act out some part of the story (the conversation between the shepherd and the telephone operator, for example) or to pretend they were being interviewed by a television studio after the event... How might the shepherd express gratitude to the telephone operator - for believing his improbable story? Or the helicopter pilot for rescuing him from certain death?

Although the students always found the story interesting, I often found the the discussions that ensued in class fascinating as well.

I discovered, for example, that the word HERO has different connotations for students from different cultures. Whereas we (in Canada) use hero lightly, meaning someone who helped another person, sometimes - but not always - in a life threatening situation, many languages view a hero as more than that.

Who was the hero in this story? I would ask. The shepherd? The helicopter pilot? (The cell phone?!)...

None, an Asian student once told me.

Why? I asked, surprised...

Because nobody died. In my language, a person has to die to be a hero... the student explained.

Others nodded. It was the same in their language and culture...

Another time I asked the question: What would you say to thank this person who had saved your life?

I expected to hear expressions of profuse gratitude, and from some students I did. But one exception stands out in my mind:

I wouldn't thank anyone, one Moslem woman replied. I would thank God. In my religion you don't thank a person for saving you. You thank God for sending the person!

So much for the idea that we all think the same... Teaching often ended up being a learning experience for me - as I was reminded again and again that inter-cultural communication involves more than speaking the same language!

You Can't Say That!!

One of the surprising things I encountered in Israel was the normalcy of asking: "How much did that cost?" or "How much do you earn?" - questions that are taboo in Canada...

Later, as a teacher of English to newcomers, I had to explain what one could and couldn't politely say in Canada - as taboos are not the same in all parts of the world...

One gentleman from Colombia laughingly mentioned that in his country telling people they were fat wasn't taboo. (He had tried it in Canada and met with an icy response!) In his country, a woman might not like to hear that she appeared to have gained weight, but telling her wasn't taboo. (Perhaps people were less uptight about their weight and body image there, the class suggested.)

The subject of taboos always brought on a lively discussion.

I was reminded of all this because the other day, with all the excitement of tree-cutting and re-roofing on our street, my husband had gone over to watch.














"The roof job only cost $5000," he commented on his return.

"Did you ask?" I asked.

"No, Rob [our neighbor] just told me," he replied.

"Do people usually talk about the cost of re-shingling a roof?" I asked. "Is it the same as telling someone how much you paid for a house, a renovation? Or a car?"

My husband had to think for a minute.

"Well, it depends on what kind of friends we are," he replied. "If he was a really close friend, I might tell him what I paid for my car."

It was hard for him to define what was "appropriate."

The subtleties of language extend far beyond what words - and sentences - really mean!

First Impressions

What do Canadian men do? a distinguished-looking Somali man asked me one day in class. The 40-something-year-old had recently arrived as an immigrant from Saudi Arabia, where he had been working in a bank.

What do you mean? I asked.

Well, whenever I go into a bank, I see women everywhere. In Saudi Arabia, I would never see a woman in the bank because there were separate banks for men and women. Men worked in the men's bank - and the women's bank had only female employees. I worked in a men's bank. If I had to give something to a woman employee in the women's bank, I passed it to her through a small hole in the wall. I never saw her. But here - in banks, stores, coffee shops, school, everywhere - I rarely see men. I mostly see women... Where are all the Canadian men?

Where do you think they are? I asked, curious to hear his interpretation of the situation.

I don't know... Are they at home, looking after the children?

I smiled... But he didn't - he was completely serious... So I explained that in Canada, young women often serve the public, so they are the ones you see. But men also work in banks, schools and stores - often behind the scenes, in decision-making positions...

For him, this totally different way of doing things - in Canada - was almost beyond comprehension.

He may someday laugh at his first impressions, just as another student - a young Somali woman - did when she told me about her arrival in North America.

Her husband was supposed to meet her at the airport in New York City, but he wasn't there when she got off the plane. Not knowing what to do, she went over to the information kiosk to try to get help. But she couldn't speak English. The person in the kiosk called over a woman security officer to help her. This security officer was wearing bright red nail-polish - something my student had never seen. So she panicked! Thinking the woman's hands were dripping blood - and having heard of the dangers of New York City - my student assumed that the woman was going to attack her! She was so frightened, she fainted!

What happened next? I asked, laughing.

When I woke up, my husband was there, standing beside me.

I was so stupid, she laughed, recalling the event. I really didn't know anything about life in North America!

Experiencing another culture can be very confusing!

Looking forward? Or Looking back?

January 1st - in the media - is spent looking back on major events of the previous year, and - this year - on memorable events of the decade.

Some cultures celebrate New Year by looking at the year ahead - with symbols used to wish people a HAPPY NEW YEAR. In Israel, the New Year (Rosh Ha-Shana) comes in September or October and January 1st is referred to as "Sylvester." (I'm not sure who St. Sylvester was or why January 1st is associated with him.) But on Rosh Ha-Shana, sliced apples are dipped in honey - then eaten as good luck for a sweet year ahead.

Iranian New Year (No-Ruz) is celebrated on March 21, the first day of spring. It is celebrated with outdoor picnics - where people can enjoy nature beginning to bud.

Several years ago, one of my sons was visiting a friend in Denmark on New Year's Eve. As midnight approached, everyone stood up on chairs, and - when they ran out of chairs, on the sofa! At the stroke of midnight everyone jumped onto the ground. I never did find out why in Denmark it is good luck to be in the air - not on the ground - when New Year arrives!

There are no GOOD LUCK symbols here in Canada for the new year... But we do often plan a new course in life. A New Year offers hope for a NEW BEGINNING and a better year ahead. Like many others, I take time to assess my life's journey - and plan for change.

So ... today as I look back at 2009 - thankful for the year and its many blessings - I also look ahead, thankful for the gifts of MEMORY (which allows me to learn from my mistakes) and HOPE (which encourages me to try, try again!)

And to all who read this - may you also be filled with hope for a BLESSED NEW YEAR!

Persevere!

There was a time in my teaching career when I taught part-time at the University of Ottawa. Every semester a group of us part-timers would share the courses left over after the full-time teachers had taken their picks. I liked to teach beginners: I had done it for several years and felt confident in this cozy niche.

Then a new co-ordinator came on board, and suddenly he had me teaching intermediate, advanced, advanced writing, pronunciation, a media seminar - a new course every semester - courses I had no idea how to teach. I always went into that first class trembling - wondering how I would manage. I'd ask other teachers for suggestions, check out dozens of books from the teacher resource library ... and I managed! In fact, I usually enjoyed it in the end. But the first half of the semester was always difficult, as I tried to figure out what to do.

And as much as I resented the new co-ordinator's tactics, in the end it was a good experience for me. I developed as a teacher - and my filing cabinet of ideas grew! Over time, I was able to better understand how language learning develops, and better help my students with their difficulties.

Sometimes (always?) the hard things in life are the very things that will lead us to new skills, which, of course, open up new opportunities for us. I used to tell my discouraged language learners that learning English is like climbing a mountain. Sometimes there will be periods when they don't see any progress. But if they pursevere along these plateaux, they will eventually see changes and improvements. If they don't stop...

These difficult things in life are the very things that lead to growth!

So if the going is tough - this shortest day of winter daylight (in the Northern Hemisphere) - don't give up.

Persevere! There is a new (and better) plateau over the horizon!

I've got a cold...

I've been fighting off a cold for the past week or so, and it finally got the best of me. So I have succumbed and am slowing down and letting my body mend.

May was so busy, so hectic - and now, in June, the pressure is off... and instead of being energized, I get sick... Strange!

It makes me think of a conversation I once had with a student from Bosnia a few months after the civil war there had ended. He came to class to inform me that he would be away for a while. He was going back to his country for a few weeks to see his mother who'd had a heart attack.

Throughout the war she had lived alone, he said, cut off from her children who lived in the same city, but in the opposite side of town. They couldn't see each other - war was raging in the center of the city - and they couldn't pass. So she was there alone. Now that the war was over, they were re-united again, but ironically now she is sick in the hospital.

Imagine how hard it would have been if she'd had a heart attack during the fighting, I said. She would have been totally alone.

That's the strange part, he replied. During the war, people didn't seem to get sick. They were strong. But now since the fighting has ended, there have been so many heart attacks, especially among older people.

During the war, they were tough. But now that the pressure is off, the stress they lived under before is taking its toll.

Whatever Doesn't Kill Me Makes Me Stronger

I found a quote that describes my life, one of my students, a young woman from Somalia, told me one day.

What is it? I asked.

What doesn't kill me makes me stronger, she replied, and went on to explain. I had to leave my country because of the war. I didn't get killed, like so many others did. I managed to escape to Italy. I had to learn Italian to live and work there - that made me stronger. Then Canada accepted my family as immigrants, and now I'm learning English and computers. It is making me stronger! This is the proverb that describes my life.

Armed with this attitude of becoming stronger, she went on to get her high school diploma, then a part-time job as a Walmart cashier. Before long, she was a full-time cashier, then the store's head cashier. Eventually, after completing an accounting program part-time at a local community college, she went on to a job in management.

How much easier it would be to deal with life's problems and setbacks, if we only had this young woman's attitude of viewing these bumps and roadblocks as opportunities for strengthening and growth.

More About Streets of Gold...

In my English chass, we were discussing myths about life in Canada, especially the common notion that everyone in Canada is rich and, figuratively or literally, streets here are paved with gold.

Then one lady laughingly told us this story.

Her cousins were new immigrants to Canada. Both had jobs and from time to time would send money home to their father. Then the younger brother lost his job, and was no longer able to send any home.

Why is your brother no longer sending us anything? the father asked the older brother on the phone.

Oh, he's very lazy, his brother joked. He sleeps late all the time. The government of Canada throws money on the streets every night, but you have to get up early to pick it up. By the time my brother gets up, the money has all been taken.

The next time the father spoke to his younger son on the phone, he chastised him.

What's this I hear about you sleeping late and not waking up in time to pick the government money up off the streets?

The younger son didn't know what his father was talking about and thought the old man was losing his mind!

Myths and Questionable Truths about Canadian Winters

Myths abound about Canadian winters. Sometimes it's hard to know what to believe!

One Mexican lady - a university chemistry professor in her own country - laughingly told me that she had been fearful about doing her sabbatical year in Canada. People had warned her that Canadian winters were so cold that people's noses and fingers fell off! When she arrived, she anxiously looked around to see what percentage of the population were missing noses. She was literally shocked not to find any!

Tell this story to immigrants from India, Africa or the Far East, and they nod. Yes, they had been told that too before coming to Canada.

So why did you come? I asked.

We were also told that the streets were paved with gold! one lady from Afghanistan replied with a smile.

A man from New Brunswick told me that when he was a child, snow was occasionally so high that it blocked the door of the house. He then had to leave for school through an upstairs bedroom window, then slide off the roof of the porch to the ground.

I found that hard to believe.

You were smaller then. I told him, You probably just thought the snow was that high.

No, he was probably telling the truth, a teacher from New Brunswick assured me. I remember winters when overnight the snow blocked the doorway and no one could get out.

One time, when the dog wanted to go out, we had to lift him up almost to the top of the door frame, where a foot of clear space remained.

Now, I've never spent winter in New Brunswick, but I find all that hard to believe!