Beyond the nametag

The following two articles are written by undergraduate students active as leaders in Episcopal Campus Ministry at the Chapel of the Cross. They are reprinted with permission from the Spring 2005 issue of Carolina Passports to let parishioners know the high caliber of people/Christians involved in ECM.

Lauren Westafer

"Anj...Anja?" I struggled with the foreign pronunciation as I read my housing assignment.

"How am I going to live with her if I cannot even pronounce her name," I asked my friend in frustration. I took every opportunity presented over the summer to find out how to say her name to no avail. Weeks later, dripping with August sweat from lifting a futon up two flights of stairs, I met my roommate, Anjni. Throughout the first few hot weeks of September, I attempted to use her given name as little as possible. I did not intend to offend her that early in the semester. I listened to the phone conversations she held with her parents in quick, Gujarati with both intimidation and awe. I could speak Italian, sort of, and therein existed the extent of my spoken foreign language education.

At some impalpable yet pivotal point during the fall semester, I decided to tackle her name. Perhaps her mother's delicious cooking persuaded me to make this move. (Even though we are no longer roommates, I still manage to sneak her mother's samosas, which I maintain are the best in the world). Curious and completely intrigued, I began my quest to augment my learning outside the classroom with questions about Indian culture. Hailing from a suburban, homogeneous beach town in Florida, I knew a lot about surf culture but absolutely nothing about global traditions. Anjni, in conjunction with my other hall mates on the Health Science Floor, soon resolved this issue through various diverse experiences that they opened up for me. Late night studying in the hall lounge turned into a forum for political, ethical, and religious conversation and debate. These individuals were just typical college students, but for me they provided a different lens through which I could view the world. Unwearyingly, they spoke to me about Hinduism, Islam, and Buddhism, showed me photographs from their childhood or visits to their respective countries, and facilitated my transformation into a connoisseur of South Asian food. Seriousness, however, was not by any means the predominant atmosphere. These late night conversations turned into bhangra dance lessons and all kinds of silliness.

In January, driving back to Chapel Hill after viewing a ridiculously long and particularly awful Hindi film, I decided to ask my suitemate to teach me a few Hindi phrases. I wanted to surprise my friend who resided down the hall. Suddenly shy about my pronunciation, it took me minutes to produce a meek "aap kaise hain" (how are you) for my Pakistani hall mate, Fauzia. I am sure that everyone, including myself, perceived this interest in Hindi/Urdu as a fleeting phenomenon. By late February, however, a few phrases written on Post-it notes soon transformed into a huge pile of flashcards. I pestered Fauzia at all hours of the day for "just a few more words," a request that she very patiently and motherly fulfilled.

Late one night last spring, I tagged along with two friends to the Hindu center in Morrisville. A live satellite broadcast of the historic cricket match between India and Pakistan drew hundreds of individuals to the center that night and offered me an interesting and new form of procrastination. Those early morning hours were too exciting and fun-filled for me to realize how odd I must have appeared. I surely looked ridiculously out of place in the room, which was almost entirely filled with fans of India's tram, standing on a chair cheering for Pakistan by yelling "Pakistan Zindabad!" Looking back, I was one of a handful of females at the broadcast and the only Caucasian. By the time I went on this outing however, the cultural expanse that seemed to separate me from these South Asian individuals disappeared. With the exception of my Hindi pronunciation, I felt entirely comfortable sipping hot chai and talking about the cricket test match.

Another benefit of rooming with Anjni lies in her great artistic abilities. On the eve of a snowstorm, Anjni drew an intricate design on my hand and forearm in "mehndi" (henna). For the next week, people around campus constantly inquired about my "dirty hands." This experience was exceptional because for once I was able to share an amazing and unique culture, one that now comprised part of my identity, with others.

The skills that I learned last year from Anjni, Fauzia, and the others remain a very active part of my life. During a hall social gathering at the beginning of the fall semester, I overheard the conversation next to me in which a guy stated he was Pakistani. Overwhelmed with excitement, I maneuvered by way into the conversation and then began talking to him in Urdu. He literally dropped the cookie that was headed for his mouth and stared at me with a frightened and confused look. "But, but you're...white," he stuttered. In an effort to prove that it was not a joke planned by his Pakistani roommate, I proceeded to show him my collection of Bollywood films and sang a few Hindi songs. Although he finally believed me, he still upholds that I scare him when we speak Urdu. Presently, his roommate involves the two of us into Urdu speaking competitions, constantly placing his bet on me.

I would like to think that I could repay Anjni, Fauzia, and the rest for the ways in which they have shaped my life. Our friendship and these shared cultural experiences defined my academic concentration and served as the impetus behind my plan to study abroad in India this summer. Anjni's mother suggested that Anjni learn Hindi from me, but even this gesture would fall short of compensation. If it were possible, I would give everyone at Carolina the gift of a culturally different living experience. It is in learning about the traditions of the world's people, as they actually exist outside of the textbook, that we can bridge any differences and incorporate ourselves into an identity without national boundaries - a global identity.

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© 2005 The Chapel of the Cross