The Opposite of Culture Clash

Eating my burnt vegetable stir-fry last night, I hear Flora stomping up the stairs with her characteristic short, powerful steps. “Maggy-ee,” she emerges at the top, clutching 3 different tops. “What one is nicest? After a mini-fashion show in the kitchen, Flora asks me, “You, you know I like when you do makeup, it’s nice. You will do mine??” Ahhhhh! On the one hand, incredibly flattered, on the other, terribly betwixt because I rarely wear makeup, and it’s always ME who is begging my more cosmetically inclined friends to help me with smoky eyes or lined lips. Nonetheless, I give flora a mini-lesson in applying eyeliner, eye shadow (light on the lid and dark in the crease, thank you Bridget and Caroline for those many pre-teen makeover sessions…you taught me well) and mascara. In the end, Flora looked really nice, and she sat while I did my maquillage and kept oohing and ahhing at my technique and the result.

Together we hopped on the tram, surely looking like an incredibly odd couple; the tall, American girl, and the short Filipina woman. We arrived at her friends’ studio, right near the water and with a view of the jet d’eau (famous fountain on Lake Geneva). I took my seat, and was treated with the utmost kindness, as well as curiosity. There was Ramon, the pseudo lecherous middle aged man who made a few marriage proposals and innuendos towards me throughout the night, only to be hit and clucked at in Tagalong, the others continually reminding me that he is “big jokester”; Nora, the quiet, kind girlfriend of Ramon, who asked me tons of questions and kept inquiring if I was enjoying myself, visibly happy when my response was an enthusiastic yes.

There was Laurie and Donald, the bantering, funny live-in domestic couple of a Senegalese family. The first thing Laurie said to me was, “Maggy-ee (yes they all say my name this way) you have lost weight! And you look very pretty!” The second thing Laurie asked me was how old I was, and the third if I had a boyfriend (they all can’t comprehend how I am 23 and not only not married, but have no intentions to tie the knot in the near future). I could see the wheels in her head turning, and she matter-of-factly stated, “Ah. Then you can meet my son. He is 21 and photographer in Manila. You leave Thursday? I will show you his picture and give you his email. You want to come to Philippines soon? When you go, no need for hotel, you stay with my family. And you meet my son.” Donald, her boyfriend, kept cracking jokes about the Swiss, and jumped to refill my wine as soon as I finished a glass. And of course sitting next to me was Flora, my gracious host, who was so much fun, and amazing at making me feel comfortable among her friends. While they all speak English well, together they speak in Tagalong, and Flora translated everything so I wouldn’t feel left out.

We arrived to the practically empty Little Manila karaoke bar, which to Flora was great news because this way we could all sing before the crowds came (Gulp. I don’t sing but I know Flora had been telling them I would). Immediately, a Chinese waitress appeared with a pitcher of beer and the song book. Flora wasted no time getting 2 requests in. She has an amazing voice, and sang her favorite cheesy Celine Dion love songs better than the Québécoise herself. Flora passed the songbook to me, and kept urging me to sing. I’m sure the beer and wine had something to do with it, but all of a sudden I just didn’t care what anyone thought. Here I was, in a dimly lit, semi-seedy southeast Asian karaoke bar, surrounding by the kind friends of Flora, plus some drunk Irish men and the wait staff. Looking through the book, I saw they had French songs. Pawing through I saw one of my favorites, a cheesy French classic called “Aux Champs Elysees,” something every French person knows and loves to hate, that I think we learned in my 9th grade French class. What the hell, go big or go home….I’ll never be able to sing French karaoke in the states, so WHY NOT!?!? My turn came, and I belted it out with best rolling R’s, liaisons, and back throat hocking sound that I could. Of course my voice cracked, and I sounded like a pre-pubescent boy, but Floras friends and some other very drunk Swiss people even joined in the chorus. And there was applause at the end. I even got up enough guts to sing “The Gambler,” the quintessential college bar song, which nobody knew but nevertheless accompanied me, their Filipino accents enthusiastically proclaiming, “you’ve got know when to hold em’…..know when to fold em!!!!!” Flora and I also did a duet of “Sweet Caroline,” which I belted out in pure happiness thinking that very soon I will get to see my dear curly haired friend.

As the night progressed, many of Floras friends came by, all welcoming and happy to meet me. Flora and I had a tête-à-tête, huddling in the back corner sharing our crazy Funk family stories. She pointed around the room to the different Filipinos (“see that one there, he is a gay. And them there, they are how do you say….. liking girls?” “Lesbians?” “Ah yes, they are lesbians! Watch how they dance.”) She also pointed out the different Asian factions; “see they, are Chinese, they are OK. But over there, the Mongolians, they are not good. They are hard and cause trouble.” This point was reconfirmed to the Filipino crowd when one of the Mongolian girls elbowed Flora and her friend while they were dancing, causing the men to confront each other, resulting in a beer getting spilled (on Flora and almost me!), and the police coming. I was worried when I saw the gendarmerie arrive because I know most of Flora’s friends work here illegally, but she waved it off as the stupidity of the Mongolians…..they were angry so they called the police, and if anyone would get in trouble it would be them.

Around 2am we had to catch the last tram (which we missed and had to take a taxi). Flora was on her cell phone the whole way home clucking emphatically to all her friends recounting the drama of the night (the only part of which I understood was when she would emphasize “Mongolian” with an acidic distaste, then keep clucking away). Before we said goodnight, Flora even advised me, “Maggy-ee, you must take 2 aspirin, so that tomorrow you don’t have a headache” (which I of course forgot to do and am now suffering, albeit mildly, the consequences.

The whole night, I couldn’t help but reflect on how wonderful it has been to have Flora in my life. She’s been my shoulder to cry on, my partner in commiseration, my storyteller, and my anchor…grounding and humbling me when I get upset about the little things. Even tonight, she was always leading the way to cross streets, putting her arm across me at the cross walk if she thought I was too close to road. In a way, she has been like a surrogate mother this year. When Michelle told me that I “had to be sure about taking the job, because we have someone who watches the kids that we will have to let go,” I never knew it was a live-in nanny/housekeeper who had been with them for 6 years, and who the kids were as attached to as their mother. When I learned the true nature of what had unfolded before I arrived, I fully expected Flora to hate and resent me. It was out of my control, but I had replaced her and caused her to lose work and a lot of money.

Her friendship and companionship has been the most unexpected gift of this past year. To learn about another culture, of the hardship and duress people suffer for the love and well-being of their families, and to be a recipient of incredible kindness from someone that doesn’t have a lot to begin with has been eye-opening and wonderful. In a few minutes, I’m going with Flora to her church picnic, where she assures me there will be great food, lots of games and even, in her words, “the contest where you do drinking beer to see who can finish the can fastest.”

I only hope one day Flora will come to visit me, and that I’ll be able to show her the same warmth and kindness that has made my life here one that I will dearly miss.