There are reasons why Americans get stereotyped they way we
do, and a whole Land Rover full of them pulled up to the foundation this
afternoon.
Two men,
three women, all in t-shirts, cargo shorts, bucket hats (except for one woman
in a visor), sunglasses, sturdy sneakers, and white tube socks. It’s like they
were wearing a uniform. Three of the five also had huge cameras, which
they did not lower once for the entire time they were there. In the first 10
minutes, they took more pictures than I’ve taken in 3 weeks.
They ended
up being some sweet folks from Wichita, Kansas who support a health clinic in a
village around the corner. It sounds like they’re doing good work—(if you are
good Christian people with charitable intentions but no clue about the developing world,
giving money directly to rural doctors is probably one of the best ways not to
screw it up)—but man, they make a laughable first impression.
I’m not
really sure why, but the shorts in particular get to me. PSA to all Americans:
shorts do not keep you cool. If they did, people who live in hot places would
wear them. Almost universally they do not. They wear long, light, loose pants
and skirts, because that is what keeps
you cool and protects you from the sun and bugs and the prickly plants along
the paths. Shorts are also not appropriate for nearly any workplace, from offices
to construction sites, so wearing them indicates that you are not working or
serving in any official capacity—you are just here for fun. Shorts are
appropriate for children because they grow so fast, and for playing
sports, and that is it. Shorts do not even make sense to wear when it’s hot in
in the US, (seriously, when have you ever been wearing pants in the summer and
though “Damn, my shins are sweaty”? Never, that’s when), but I will concede
their use as a quirk of fashion and culture, which operate outside the bounds
of rationality. But in Haiti, there is no excuse. Wearing shorts while white just
marks you out as an American and opens you up to snarky know-it-all criticism
from people like me.
In a quasi-related incident, one of my co-workers pointed out to me that I don't often wear sunglasses while we were trekking through peanut fields the other day. I acknowledged that that is correct, because I usually wear a hat and wearing both is overkill. He thought about this for a minute and said, "Hmm. Americans usually wear sunglasses though." I laughed, because he had actually hit upon the real reason I don't usually wear sunglasses--because they make you look distant, aloof and American. When I'm standing in farmer's field for no obvious reason, unable to connect verbally or professionally, I want him at least to be able to see my eyes.
The other
thing that weirds me out is the automatic presumption that it’s okay to take a
million pictures everywhere you go. If you’re at a known tourist destination or
in a spot of obvious natural beauty, fine, point-and-shoot to your heart’s
content. But when you roll up on someone’s turf and start taking pictures of
everything just because you’ve never seen it before, that is weird and impolite.
If a bunch of people, clearly from out of town, came to the strip mall where
you sell insurance in Wichita and started taking pictures of
everything, would that feel normal to you? Are you in the habit of taking
pictures of strangers in your hometown? No, you are not. If you see a
photo-worthy stranger who is not obviously a performance artist, you ask them
before taking their picture.
The same rules apply when you
travel, and they apply doubly when you travel to poor places. Not everyone is
going to appreciate a well-fed white guy in shorts taking a picture of their
mud-and-stick house. It’s tempting to take pictures of kids, because they love
cameras and they beg you to as soon as they see you have a camera, but how do
you think their mothers feel about you going home with a souvenir of their kids
in ripped t-shirts and messy hair?
This is not to say that all poor
people are or should be ashamed of they look. Many of them are happy to be
in your pictures—once you ask permission and maybe explain why you want the
photo (“I love the color you house is painted. Can I take a picture?”). They
just don’t want to be gawked at, like any other human being going about their
normal business.
This is part of the reason that I
never have many good pictures when I travel. It’s not because I don’t see cool
or interesting stuff—I do, all the time. But my idea of “cool and interesting”
is another person’s idea of “that thing I do on Tuesdays,” so I like to ask
permission first to be on the safe side. Sometimes I can’t find a way to do
that, so I miss the chance. Sometimes I can’t remember how to say it in Creole,
despite my best efforts to memorize the phrase. Also, I tend to see the best
stuff when I’m on a moving vehicle and I can’t get to my camera in time. My
travel photo albums tend to be heavy on landscapes and short on people, even
though it’s the people that are truly worth remembering.
For instance, I really wish I had a
picture of those Kansans today.
No comments:
Post a Comment