Being the Immigrant

Learning the language when living in a foreign country is certainly a useful (if frustrating) enterprise, but along with helping me move beyond embarrassing pantomimes, I have also discovered a deep, retroactive sympathy for immigrants in our Iowa town.  Of course, I knew that folks moving from Mexico and other central American countries faced some challenges, but I had no idea how difficult and lonely and exhausting it is to be an immigrant. 

For me, the biggest challenge is this: outside of one's own language/culture circles, an ex-pat constantly feels stupid.  I often want to wear a sign or even shout "I am not dumb--in my own country, at least!" because here, I appear to be an utter fool.  Here's an example--a mere snippet--from a hardware store venture last week, when I went in hopes of finding L-brackets for some shelves I wanted to make (ok, ok, shelves I wanted Nick to make).

Our beloved hardware store.

Hardware owner guy (who knows us from many visits): dives into (yet another) box (on yet another crowded shelf) and holds up a possible bracket to see if it matched my on-going pantomime and insistence on "big!"

Me, responding with great relief: "Yes! Nay!" Then I offer much smiling and nodding and hand-clapping (I am happy about the bracket success and thrilled that I've finally remembered that "nay" in Korean means "yes."  But, clearly, I am acting like a toddler receiving candy).

Guy: smiles and nods, breaking eye contact and making moves toward the register with my bracket.

Me: "Um, eight?"  He turns with a questioning look. Oh!  I must quickly remember my Korean counting numbers learned just 2 weeks ago (vs. the Sino-Korean numbers used for money that I've also just learned)  and I stammer out, "Um, daw-sawt (5), yaw-sawt (6), um..." (try to think of my mnemonic for 7, Oh! sick fish!) "ill-gope, um," (what's the mnemonic for 8?...Alabama woman giving me a doll!) "Yaw-dawl!  Yaw-dawl jew-say-oh!" (which roughly means "please give me eight").

Guy: patiently smiles.  Then he says, with an even bigger smile, "Eight?" as he reaches into the box to count out the brackets. In English.

Arg. 

Cho, SuBin: my outstanding Korean 1 teacher

Regarding language learning.  My Korean class is really challenging (I'm sure I'm the dumbest student in there) and my teacher is fantastic.  If I were still a college dean, I would hire her on the spot. (Further tangent: A few weeks ago Tracey and I asked Professor Cho about our horse manure venture (described here) and in the next class, when teaching us how to ask if someone (e.g., a shopowner) had various things, she asked the class whether we had "mahl tong" and drew a steaming picture of horse poo on the board.  The class was mystified but Tracey and I got the giggles.)  Anyway.  My ability to read and write Korean are passable now, though spelling is still a bit tricky; my ability to understand Korean is still very poor; my pronunciation sounds great to me, but Koreans apparently can't understand my accent. (On another trip to the hardware store, I gestured to Tracey and said "cheen-goo!" to the owner to indicate that she's my friend.  Owner guy stared blankly, shifting his gaze from me to her, then he suddenly brightened, saying "cheen-goo!" in understanding.  Ah, well).

But it's not just language challenges.  When our family is off campus, we tend to get very excited about seeing non-Koreans.  If we're driving, we have an informal "gringo contest" to see who can spot the most foreigners (on grocery runs, for example, the average hovers between 0 and 1).  If we are in the store or walking in town and see a rare "gringo," it's an occasion to smile and make introductions and ask if they know where to get cheese or when the local ex-pat bar is having burrito night or where to find size 13 soccer cleats or the place that supposedly sells used furniture. Talking to native English speakers is so much less exhausting than interacting with Koreans in terms of language, yes, but also a million unwritten rules about personal space and eye contact and respect cues.  Now I finally understand why all the Korean students hung out together on campus or why the Mexicans in town had their own church and grocery store and bar. It makes a whole lot more sense now that I'm the foreigner.  

Finally, what would a Korean blog be without ajummas?  As I have worked to clean up some old ex-pat gardens on campus, ajummas have come by to observe, nod, and pull out the occasional perennial (!).  Last week I got a visit with a thumbs-up from one of them.  This morning, I saw a couple of ajummas in their university grounds-keeping uniforms working in their own (illicit) vegetable garden by the laundry room shed.  Resisting the impulse to mind my own business, I decided to act like an ajumma myself.  I stood a few feet away (WAY too close for my own comfort), watching as they picked some leaf lettuce and fussed over the peppers and tomatoes.  I smiled, gave my own thumbs-up, and pointed to the peppers.  "Go-choo?" I asked. "Nay," they nodded happily, then held up their lettuce leaves, saying "sahng-choo" to indicate their Korean name, and then, oh joyous day, they gave me a heaping, sandy double-handful as a gift.  Ah...my attitude toward ajummas as a group has been diversifying as such incidents wear down my assumptions.

I'm still not sure what in the world I'm doing here in Korea, but what is very clear is my strong sense of how ignorant and judgmental I've been of other people.  God's turning the tables like this, making me the outsider now, has been a neat (if painful) opportunity to grow up a little more each day.