In Zambia, I've had glimpses of the same poor taste in music (refer back to the hip hop music at full volume at the zoo), but I only fully grasped the extent of the problem this afternoon when we went visited Lilah and Millie's nannies' homes and neighborhood in Lusaka. The two reasons for the visit were for Christie and Craig and the kids to be able to visit Mary and Beauty's homes and be able to spend time with their families again before moving back to the States in December and for Dez to be able to see more of a working class/ poorer area to hopefully start grasping the difference between needs (clean water), wants (a toy), and more than enough ("all my toys are boring").
We turned off the main paved road onto the narrow dirt roads of their neighborhood and drove past the small concrete 1-2 room homes. This is not a destitute neighborhood as many families have at least one wage earner and and most structures even have piped water. Children are clothed, there are some very healthy chickens running around, and while there is a lot trash strewn about, there is no smell of excrement permeating the air as is the case in areas with more food, water, and sanitation shortages. With that said, when it is a six year old's first close glimpse into life in a resource constrained area, it is an assault on the senses.
The biggest assault on the senses as we parked and got out at Mary's house however, even for Dez, was the thumping bass from an inexplicably large sound system and the front yard (dirt area) full of young girls dwarfing Beyoncé's skills with their booty shaking. This is not surprising because JLo and Beyonce likely lifted this style of dance from expert practitioners in Africa, but as uncomfortable as it is to watch grown pop stars do it, it's even worse to watch six and eight year olds. Dez immediately wandered into the yard and perched on a woodpile next to 15-20 kids to watch the spectacle. I immediately started taking pictures, fearing it would end before I had proof.
The fear was unfounded. The dancing, with various combinations of children (occasionally boys, but usually girls, and at one point me and a group of grandmothers), continued throughout the party.
Let me be clear. Before you romanticize this scene by thinking of how vibrant and musically driven other cultures are and how drab the U.S. is, stop yourself. The music came from a large and cranked to full volume stereo in the house. The sterio, a tv, very sparse furniture and a large poster of Jesus Christ were the only things in the house's communal room...making the stereo an income-eating purchase at some point.
In addition, the dancing was not culturally vibrant. It was uncomfortable. The boys were cute, and the older boys did some impressive breakdancing, but the girls commanded the stage most of the time and they were gyrating. The only thing that saved it from seeming completely inappropriate even to watch was the absolute comedic element involved with observing Mary, Lilah's main nanny, beaming proudly and clapping to the beat as her oldest granddaughter put Miley Cyrus and all other sexually explicit U.S. pop artists to shame. Christie and I literally stood with our mouths open as said 12 year old granddaughter, who was the lead dancer in a haphazard group of six girls who actually had some choreographed (or at least synchronized) movements grabbed herself at one point. We assumed it was a Michael Jackson-inspired move until the hand just remained there moving as furiously as the rest of her for the remainder of the performance.
I hope no one read this who will be mortified by that description. It was quite necessary to include for full context.
What happened after this, however, will bring me joy for years to come. And I have it on video, so it can bring all of you joy as well. As Craig said later, "I don't know how much you paid for your plane ticket, but it was absolutely worth it for that video alone."
Once some of the boys about Dezi's age joined the dance party, I asked him if he'd like to go dance with them. He shrugged, feigning disinterest, and stated, "Well, I'd like to do some hip hop, but there's not enough room with all of them dancing right there." I assume you're guessing at the conclusion here, and let me give context that there were 30-40 children and about 15 adults in this yard area. Our dialogue continued like this:
Me: Well, you could go behind them because there's plenty of space there.
Dez: There's no way to get by them.
Me: We could walk right around the gate and come through the back easily.
Dez: Well, no one would even see me dancing back there so what's the point.
Me: I guarantee if you start dancing, they will all turn around. I absolutely promise they will.
Dez: Alright then. If you're really sure.
The sun at this point had lowered in the sky to be casting such beautiful light that even the run down homes, which were not destitute but still easily qualify as impoverished, looked lovely. And I am not joking at all when I say that somehow Dez planted himself in a spot that caused the sunlight to land on his face like a spotlight. And he started to dance. And people started to turn. And for anyone who has not seen him dance, it is impossible to describe. But because I have to try, here is my best shot. He moves with jerks and twerks (not unlike a seizure), shuffling his feet in all directions, pausing for dramatic effect in freeze positions with greater or less frequency depending on the crowds's reaction, and all the while assuming an expression of someone who is utterly convinced they are creating great art. His cousin dances exactly the same way. Therefore, I watch him with enormous love and affection and great relief in knowing that it comes from Jer's side of the family. I have a video of him dancing his heart out in the equivalent of an African village with all eyes on him and it will absolutely be played at his wedding some day.
The issue with this style of dance is that it attracts a lot of attention, and even in the U.S., a very tolerant culture, it can cause adults to erupt with laughter and cheers. I thought (wrongly) that he had noticed this.
By the time he was finished, he had the whole crowd of people around him cheering. He looked happy and pleased and I high fived him. He went back to where he was sitting before, and I took pictures of kids to show them what they looked like and videos of the girls dancing to play back to the great laughter of the kids who would crowd around to watch. Dez was watching and taking it all in until some older boys took to the "stage" and started breakdancing to cheering, I looked over at Dez expecting him to be impressed or amused and he looked back at me with the saddest, most defeated expression that it broke my heart. A couple steps and I was to him, pulling him up on my lap squatting on an old box, and his tears started. I think the full length of the trip and all the senses and experiences he'd taken in during the travels crashed down on him in a moment of sheer exhaustion and disappointment at being upstaged by teenagers. He sobbed out under his breath that none of the kids were paying any attention to him or playing with him and that they'd all just laughed and pointed as he danced.
Which wasn't true because some had simply looked shocked and stood paralyzed.
And this brings us to an important lesson from traveling. While it can expose you to new things, create questions that lead to great introspection and growth, and make you realize that yours is not necessarily the greatest culture in the world, there are also times that you learn things about another culture that you really don't like. And it can make you appreciate home.
In this case, Dez and I agreed that one thing we love about the U.S. is that people tend to be very thoughtful of one another and very sensitive to when someone is sad. We love that kids give each other thumbs up and pats on the back and words of encouragement, and that kids see all other kids as people and think to introduce themselves and ask questions and not just touch their face and hair.
I did try to explain that people weren't laughing to be mean, they were just happy and having fun watching him, and they laughed at others as well. It didn't make it nicer, but it was normal for their culture and not seen as mean, and we agreed we're glad laughing at other people isn't seen as okay in our culture.
We readied to leave soon after, and to their credit and being very sweet Mary, Christie and Beauty got some of the kids to come over and introduce themselves to Dez on the way out, which did help. This small group was much better and it made me wish there was a way to just have him interact with a couple of kids, but the reality is that a little blond attracts a lot of attention in a neighborhood like Mary's, and asking to play with just 1-2 kids is absurd - children tend to arrive in swarms and word travels fast in areas when the competing option for distraction is a worn out ball or tattered wad of newspaper tied with twine being used for soccer. (Dez gave Mary a new soccer ball for her grandkids the day after the party - we'd forgotten to bring it with us when we were leaving for the party, which probably turned out to be good because of the large number of kids there.)
At the end of the day, all culturally-sensitive rationalizations don't change the fact that the kids saw Desmond more as a curiosity than a fellow kid. The interesting outcome was that it made him really appreciative of his good friends from home who operate with his same cultural norms. It's similar to how ex-pats gravitate toward each other in foreign countries. And having buddies like River and Granite who you're so excited to see when you get home, and saying things like, "Dad and you and me and Josie have to be sure we all stay safe because we're a pretty small family after all and I love you guys a lot," are great messages to come out of an adventure as well.
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