Dear America,
I've written you a letter. I've been back here for one month, and have a few things to comment on.
America, I know why you're fat. You're sold more than you could possibly ever need, and made to believe, through media force-feeding, that what you need will never be what you actually have. America! Land of the free chips with your drink, unlimited bread and butter, 20% more for free if you order an "extra value" meal. You have to withstand at least four sales pitches for over-sized muffins, cookies or whipped cream to order a cup of coffee. I've ordered ice cream twice in this country since I've been back. Twice, I've asked for a "kid-size," and been presented with massive, double-scoops of ice cream, piled high inside my bowl. Should I complain? Do I have any obligation to feel guilty for the excess? I just wanted the littlest scoop... I don't really like ice cream, nor being obese. I asked if I could please just get a "kiddie" size, or if they could just take some out of the bowl before I take it, and both times was adamantly refused. Well, nobody likes to say no to food. Especially not Americans.
Dear America, you're so sparkly and shiny. Your restaurants are lessons in efficiency and cleanliness beyond any sense of the imagination. Your gigantic grocery stores resemble hospitals. You never have to smell the meat or fish or chicken that you buy, nor see that it actually comes from a once-living animal, because all that blood and death happens behind closed doors and comes out in pristine, sterilized packages. You are never faced with humanity's grotesque scents, with the reality that we exist in a living, dying world. Your public toilets are cleaned hourly (and don't forget you can complain to management if there's a problem!) and are stocked with soap that squirts out automatically and paper that comes out with the magical wave of a hand. To have a fly in your restaurant is a disgrace. You are mortified by any potential for a public health hazard, while the rest of the developing world endures disease-carrying insects, filthy produce and questionable water as a daily part of life. Dirty dishes? Washed, sanitized and dried in minutes. Sometimes, I'd tell women in my village (who scrub dishes for hours everyday) about these miraculous machines called "dishwashers." They never believed me.
You smell damn good, America. We all wear deodorant; in fact, most of us wear something to prevent us from the horror of sweating at all. We have machines that wash our clothes with the click of a button. To have clean, fresh-smelling clothes takes the amount of effort it takes to carry your dirty clothes to the machine, which for most of us, is INSIDE our incredible, perfectly comfortable houses! Click: clean. Your public bathrooms are spritzed automatically with scented chemicals; floors and sinks cared for regularly. You can have your seat warmed, the air in your car, home or office at the exact temperature of your desiring; you can ask your server at the restaurant to turn the air conditioning up if you're feeling a little warm or ask your flight attendant for a blanket if your poor ankles are cold. America, you do not know discomfort. Trust me, you do not know discomfort.
America, your children complain too much. I recently heard 11-year old children here whining they had nothing to do!-- with more toys, games, music, computers, televisions, iphones, ipods, itouches, ipads, food, candy, movies, books and sports equipment to entertain them than any child in my village will ever see (or imagine) in their entire lifetime. I spent two years watching hundreds of children share a single broken bicycle- or play soccer in a dirt field with a makeshift ball made of random bits of plastic bags and rubber bands- with not a peep of complaining. In fact, the children there were more delighted and grateful than any I've seen in the US, with all its endless gadgets to occupy and placate our children.
Your adults are no better, America. You complain about leg room when there's more than enough space for at least five more people to sit in your aisle, two babies on your lap, ten chickens at your feet, a sack of potatoes under your bum and a few goats above your head. You whine about the price of gas while forgetting the absolute luxury of owning your own vehicle and the level of quality and perfection in the roads you get to drive. More importantly, you could SO easily carpool, take public transit or (heaven forbid you exercise), bike or walk to your destination. You complain about traffic but insist on driving yourself; you want bigger highways instead of focusing on improving public transportation or building light rail. You complain about the taste of your water, and insist on buying bottled water when you have some of the safest water in the world. While so many other people on the planet suffer through unimaginable lengths just for the basic human right for access to clean drinking water, you spend top dollar on something that truly, miraculously, comes flowing right to your own homes.
Dear America, your customer service rocks. Someone comes to your table, asks you what you want to eat and drink from an incredible plethora of food options, brings you what you want almost instantaneously and continuously checks on your every need & desire without (too much) prompting. I suggest you go to Africa if you'd like to spend an afternoon waving down a waitress who sulks at you, and a half an hour later, may decide to bring you a menu if she feels like it, only to tell you the kitchen closed a while ago, or that they're out of everything on the menu. You'll then be served warm beer, and be made to feel you're putting everyone out to ask for a glass, or at least a few stale peanuts. America, give your waitstaff the tips they deserve; they rock your world, and you know it.
America, the beautiful. Your streets are clean, your parks pristine, your landscapes vast and diverse. The complexity of flora & fauna that live in your mountains, rivers, deserts and glaciers are breathtaking, and the fact that so many of these animals and the places they call home are protected by people fighting to save them, is inspiring. You have so much beauty, so many open, wild spaces; a pride in your towns, cities, gardens and parks. People care about this country and it shows, no matter what your political or geographical persuasion.
But one last thing, America. This really bothers me: you just don't share. When a friend of mine & I sat down at a crowded pub a month ago, and had to sit at the only two empty seats in the place, the man eating at the table didn't give the obligatory karibo to welcome us! I was shocked. And then surprised by my shock. I couldn't believe how engrained this Malagasy cultural tradition has become in me, and how much I miss its absence in American culture. Why don't we invite people to join us? Why cultivate this "every-man-for-himself" mentality? I want to karibo everyone I see when I'm eating or drinking! -- and I feel people are rude when they don't do the same to me. Likeiwse, I saw a couple kids argue over who would get to eat an entire bag of cotton candy last week. This brought to mind innumerable moments in my village, when I saw small children splitting up the tiniest treats amongst themselves, such as a single peanut, or a half a mango. Karibo. I miss saying it, I miss meaning it, I miss hearing it. So, I welcome you anytime, America, and also thank you for taking me back into your big, albeit insane, arms.
I've written you a letter. I've been back here for one month, and have a few things to comment on.
America, I know why you're fat. You're sold more than you could possibly ever need, and made to believe, through media force-feeding, that what you need will never be what you actually have. America! Land of the free chips with your drink, unlimited bread and butter, 20% more for free if you order an "extra value" meal. You have to withstand at least four sales pitches for over-sized muffins, cookies or whipped cream to order a cup of coffee. I've ordered ice cream twice in this country since I've been back. Twice, I've asked for a "kid-size," and been presented with massive, double-scoops of ice cream, piled high inside my bowl. Should I complain? Do I have any obligation to feel guilty for the excess? I just wanted the littlest scoop... I don't really like ice cream, nor being obese. I asked if I could please just get a "kiddie" size, or if they could just take some out of the bowl before I take it, and both times was adamantly refused. Well, nobody likes to say no to food. Especially not Americans.
Dear America, you're so sparkly and shiny. Your restaurants are lessons in efficiency and cleanliness beyond any sense of the imagination. Your gigantic grocery stores resemble hospitals. You never have to smell the meat or fish or chicken that you buy, nor see that it actually comes from a once-living animal, because all that blood and death happens behind closed doors and comes out in pristine, sterilized packages. You are never faced with humanity's grotesque scents, with the reality that we exist in a living, dying world. Your public toilets are cleaned hourly (and don't forget you can complain to management if there's a problem!) and are stocked with soap that squirts out automatically and paper that comes out with the magical wave of a hand. To have a fly in your restaurant is a disgrace. You are mortified by any potential for a public health hazard, while the rest of the developing world endures disease-carrying insects, filthy produce and questionable water as a daily part of life. Dirty dishes? Washed, sanitized and dried in minutes. Sometimes, I'd tell women in my village (who scrub dishes for hours everyday) about these miraculous machines called "dishwashers." They never believed me.
You smell damn good, America. We all wear deodorant; in fact, most of us wear something to prevent us from the horror of sweating at all. We have machines that wash our clothes with the click of a button. To have clean, fresh-smelling clothes takes the amount of effort it takes to carry your dirty clothes to the machine, which for most of us, is INSIDE our incredible, perfectly comfortable houses! Click: clean. Your public bathrooms are spritzed automatically with scented chemicals; floors and sinks cared for regularly. You can have your seat warmed, the air in your car, home or office at the exact temperature of your desiring; you can ask your server at the restaurant to turn the air conditioning up if you're feeling a little warm or ask your flight attendant for a blanket if your poor ankles are cold. America, you do not know discomfort. Trust me, you do not know discomfort.
America, your children complain too much. I recently heard 11-year old children here whining they had nothing to do!-- with more toys, games, music, computers, televisions, iphones, ipods, itouches, ipads, food, candy, movies, books and sports equipment to entertain them than any child in my village will ever see (or imagine) in their entire lifetime. I spent two years watching hundreds of children share a single broken bicycle- or play soccer in a dirt field with a makeshift ball made of random bits of plastic bags and rubber bands- with not a peep of complaining. In fact, the children there were more delighted and grateful than any I've seen in the US, with all its endless gadgets to occupy and placate our children.
Your adults are no better, America. You complain about leg room when there's more than enough space for at least five more people to sit in your aisle, two babies on your lap, ten chickens at your feet, a sack of potatoes under your bum and a few goats above your head. You whine about the price of gas while forgetting the absolute luxury of owning your own vehicle and the level of quality and perfection in the roads you get to drive. More importantly, you could SO easily carpool, take public transit or (heaven forbid you exercise), bike or walk to your destination. You complain about traffic but insist on driving yourself; you want bigger highways instead of focusing on improving public transportation or building light rail. You complain about the taste of your water, and insist on buying bottled water when you have some of the safest water in the world. While so many other people on the planet suffer through unimaginable lengths just for the basic human right for access to clean drinking water, you spend top dollar on something that truly, miraculously, comes flowing right to your own homes.
Dear America, your customer service rocks. Someone comes to your table, asks you what you want to eat and drink from an incredible plethora of food options, brings you what you want almost instantaneously and continuously checks on your every need & desire without (too much) prompting. I suggest you go to Africa if you'd like to spend an afternoon waving down a waitress who sulks at you, and a half an hour later, may decide to bring you a menu if she feels like it, only to tell you the kitchen closed a while ago, or that they're out of everything on the menu. You'll then be served warm beer, and be made to feel you're putting everyone out to ask for a glass, or at least a few stale peanuts. America, give your waitstaff the tips they deserve; they rock your world, and you know it.
America, the beautiful. Your streets are clean, your parks pristine, your landscapes vast and diverse. The complexity of flora & fauna that live in your mountains, rivers, deserts and glaciers are breathtaking, and the fact that so many of these animals and the places they call home are protected by people fighting to save them, is inspiring. You have so much beauty, so many open, wild spaces; a pride in your towns, cities, gardens and parks. People care about this country and it shows, no matter what your political or geographical persuasion.
But one last thing, America. This really bothers me: you just don't share. When a friend of mine & I sat down at a crowded pub a month ago, and had to sit at the only two empty seats in the place, the man eating at the table didn't give the obligatory karibo to welcome us! I was shocked. And then surprised by my shock. I couldn't believe how engrained this Malagasy cultural tradition has become in me, and how much I miss its absence in American culture. Why don't we invite people to join us? Why cultivate this "every-man-for-himself" mentality? I want to karibo everyone I see when I'm eating or drinking! -- and I feel people are rude when they don't do the same to me. Likeiwse, I saw a couple kids argue over who would get to eat an entire bag of cotton candy last week. This brought to mind innumerable moments in my village, when I saw small children splitting up the tiniest treats amongst themselves, such as a single peanut, or a half a mango. Karibo. I miss saying it, I miss meaning it, I miss hearing it. So, I welcome you anytime, America, and also thank you for taking me back into your big, albeit insane, arms.
