This week I have the pleasure of
getting paid to manage the selection and decoration of a Christmas tree for my
office. Not because my boss is overcome with holiday spirit but because some
clients from China are visiting next week and apparently they get a kick out of
seeing our traditions in action. This made the culture-junkie in me so happy.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had money traveled abroad and I kinda
forgot that there's stuff we Americans do that is totally weird to other parts
of the world. Like chop down 8’ tall trees, prop them up in our living rooms and
place cookies under them for the imaginary man who breaks into every Christian
household on the 24th.
This makes me nostalgic for my
time in the Peace Corps and the inherent comedy of holiday discussions. On
Halloween, two volunteers and I explained to our neighbor that, for Americans, it's a day devoted to spirits and
mischief and that everyone dresses up in costumes and children go door to door
at night to collect candy from the adults. “We have this in Morocco!” he beamed.
“The men kill goats, dress in their skins and throw water on the children!” We
blinked at him. Chickens clucked in the distance. "Riiiight." I said.
"And when exactly is that holiday?" Because that sounds utterly traumatic and I want to make sure I stay
home.
Then there was the time I told a
neighbor that I would be out of town to meet up with other volunteers for
Superbowl Sunday. "Sunday is holy in America, yes? Superbowl Sunday is a religious
day?" I couldn't argue with that. "Yes" I told him. "A very
important religious day."
The ultimate holiday conversation,
though, – one that is still a hit with my family and friends nearly fourteen
years later – revolved around Easter. It was my first experience with Aid el Kebir,
the most sacred of Muslim holidays, which is marked by slaughtering a sheep and
feasting around the clock on every (every)
part of the body. Islam runs on a lunar calendar and it happened that that year
the Aid fell in early April. After the slaughter ceremony, as I sat on the
floor choking down sheep's stomach with my Moroccan family, it dawned on me
that Easter was being celebrated back in the States. My language skills were limited
at the time but I had studied holiday vocabulary in preparation for the Aid so
I thought explaining Easter could be fun way to practice. I cleared my throat
and everyone looked at me. I was shy about talking and rarely initiated
conversation so their interest was piqued.
“So... um, in America, we have a
holiday right now, too...“
“Religious?” the father
interrupted.
I nodded emphatically. “Yes, yes!
Religious.“ Murmurs of approval all around. “Um, to celebrate… we, er…”
“You kill a sheep!” a cousin submitted.
This, too, was met with happy support.
“Well, no.” I stammered. “We
have, um... there’s, er…” I fumbled for a stick and drew in the dirt. “What’s
this?” I asked my friend Fatima.
“A rabbit.” she answered,
supplying the Berber word. Her face lit up with comprehension. “The Americans
kill a rabbit!” she exclaimed. Thunderous praise.
“That pleases God!” preached an
uncle and everyone clucked in agreement.
I kneaded my temples and cursed
myself for starting this conversation. Why didn't I just say, "Christians
celebrate Jesus dying and then coming alive again and living forever. We wear
nice clothes and eat a special dinner"? What possessed me to try to articulate
secular mythology with a vocabulary of present tense verbs, local fruits and vegetables and numbers 1-100?
"We don't kill the
rabbit." I sputtered. "The rabbit... it’s not alive, it's - what's
the word? - it's, um, in our heads and parents put candy in baskets for the
children but they tell the children that the candy is from the rabbit.”
As I was talking I knew it
sounded asinine but I didn't have the language skills to salvage any of it so I
just punished my ignorant mouth with a fistful of sheep's stomach and vowed to
never again say anything other than, "It's hot outside!" and "This
couscous is delicious." Fatima patted my hand.
“I understand." she
reassured me. "You give gifts to the children but you
lie and say the presents are from a rabbit.”
The uncle shook his head sadly.
“They shouldn’t lie on a holy day.”
“It's hot outside.” I mumbled.
Now that I’m older and understand
that these “teachable moments” are completely forgettable, I realize I should
have rolled with the rabbit slaughter, enjoyed the applause and washed down the
lies with some sweet mint tea but I was 22 and life was very serious and
important so I marched ahead with my culture lesson. I'm much older and
slightly wiser now so my current position is that holidays are about humility,
not humiliation. This means that when our Chinese clients come to town on Monday I will do
my best to share Christmas with them but if a special-needs reindeer's
redemption story gets lost in
translation I will not think twice about steering the conversation to Katy
Perry and In N Out.
