Multiculturalism

[garran]

Coming home from UBC, I took the 99 to Broadway [edit: Broadway and Granville, that is] and then the 17 downtown (which isn't as weird as it might seem, since the 99 is fast enough that I caught a significantly earlier 17 than I would have if I'd taken it from school in the first place). On the 17 I sat next to a slim black woman in her forties; on her other side, sitting forward, instead of sideways like us, because he was at the very back of the bus, was a young asian man with 80s rock star hair, and on our way downtown the two of them had a conversation. These are only excerpts, as filtered through my imperfect recollection.

He was from China; he had been here in Vancouver about a month. She had been here for seventeen years, but he didn't hear her say so, because he was carrying on one of his own thoughts from before at the same time. He had recently graduated from high school, and was here, apparently, preparing to go to UBC.

"Do you like your country?" she asked. "What?" "Do you... Do you like China? Is China good?" "Oh. Yes!" "Ha ha, that's good. Are you -- " "China is cool!"

"How long have you been here?" he said, because he had not heard her before. "Oh, a long time," she said. "Twenty years?" "No, no. Seventeen years!" "Ahh. Where are you from?" "Ethiopia." "Ethi...?" "Ethiopia. East Africa. You know, Kenya, Ethiopia, Sudan, Egypt..." "Ahh. Ethiopia. Like, in the Olympics!" "Yes, yes, that's right." "Africa." "Yes. Not West Africa, though! That's, that's Africa. Afro-America. No. I am from East Africa."

She was happy to be living here; she thought that he would like it, too. "It is nice here. Very, very beautiful. Friendly. Peace, peace, lots of peace." "The prisons are nice," he said. Prisons? Was he making fun of her? "Eh?" "The prisons are nice." But she took it in stride. "Yes, yes. Peace everywhere. It is good. Not so much of that war and fighting. In East Africa, Ethiopia sometimes, phwoo, oh my God!"

"Do you believe in Jesus?" "No," he said. "No? What do you believe in?" "I am... Not religious." "No? Oh my God, oh my God!" she laughed. "So you are just like, woo!" and she made an expansive gesture with her arms, as though indicating a person scattering in all directions. "Yes, that is me." "Here, here, I have something for you." She opened her purse, and removed some little cards with religious scenes printed on them. He took a couple. "Ah. Jesus," he said, cautiously identifying the main figure in the picture. "Yes. These are for you. Keep them with you. The story on the back of that one is very nice. It's good. Keep them in your purse."

"I like Korean food," she said. "You like Korean food?" he repeated. "Yes, I like Korean food, and Japan food. Chinese food, I have never tried that. No one ever takes me to it! But many of my friends are Korean." "I really like Japanese food," he said. "You do? I like it, too. I would like to try Chinese food. I hear that it is very hot. I like that." "Yes, I like Japanese food. But I love my country!"

Comments

[ria-oaks.livejournal.com]

Hah, that's great. I love how diverse our city is, and how you can see those types of random interactions all the time...

Good recall, btw. XD

And hm, the 99 then 17 is faster than just the 17 eh? So what, 99 to Broadway & Granville then 17? Interesting... never tried that, because I don't like to change over if I can avoid it (end up stuck outside in the rain...) otoh, I could see how it would work well because there are lots of buses than go from BW%Granville downtown (or at least 2 that I can think of offhand).

[masamage.livejournal.com]

I was impressed by the recall, too. Did you take notes or something?

And yes, as I said in chat, this is all awesome.

[garran.livejournal.com]

I didn't take notes, but there are two things going on. For one, it was a pretty memorable conversation, and I've repeated the most memorable parts of it. Since I knew that I'd want to post about it when I got home, I spent the rest of the way home sort of running over my memory of it in my head, the same way I used to keep hold of poems I'd composed while far away from access to any notation device, and I sat down and wrote it in within an hour of overhearing, so it was all still pretty fresh.

The other thing is that I'm an unreliable narrator, so my recall may not be as good as it looks. Much of the conversation that I've left out I did so because I couldn't remember it clearly enough, including some bits that might have made good segments for this post if I could have, like the exchange in which she asked him if he spent time in Chinatown, and he said no, because somebody had told him it was dangerous; some of the other stuff that's missing no doubt actually goes within the segments I've recorded, but got left out because my memory simplified things. Furthermore, I often couldn't remember the precise phasing even of the things I did attempt to quote (excepting the most remarkable bits), and so what actually got written down is reverse-engineered from my sense of approximately what was said, combined with my more general sense of how these people spoke.

I tried to stay faithful to the spirit, and I think I probably did. At the very least I think this is a pretty accurate representation of what the conversation was like for me.


-Andy H.

[garran.livejournal.com]

Yeah, you can also catch the 10, the 16, or the 98, at least. I usually end up on the 17, because it's usually the one that comes right after I get there.

Naturally, I prefer the 44, if I can swing it, though.


-Andy H.

[ria-oaks.livejournal.com]

Oh right, the 44... yeah, that's a good one. I just wish there was a bus that went from Phibbs straight to UBC and vice versa.

[zuki-san.livejournal.com]

Once more: Yes, that's a very cool sort of conversation to overhear!

UMBC is pretty multicultural too, but then again, I tend to spend my downtime hanging out in the multicultural/interfaith centre, so I get the best of that. Like learning that my friend Olivia, who grew up in the worst parts of Balitmore City, has a jamacian father that makes a mean goat curry. Words like that make me salivate. Or listening to the dialogue between her and the apparently-of-middle eastern extract office assistant in the Mosaic Center, listening to them compare notes on the terrible neighborhoods they grew up in. (He also grew up in Baltimore, mind. But he's been 'back home,' too. Very cool guy. Currently a big DBZ fan, apparently. Thinks I'd have a talent for voice acting.)

I keep consistently meeting cool people by hanging out there.

In conclusion: Baltimore is not Boise.