Mistaken Identity

Upon meeting a Nepali for the first time, they inevitably ask me what in the world I’m doing here. It’s a legitimate question. Many days I myself am unsure of my exact role here, but like all Peace Corps volunteers I’ve prepared a brief spiel to explain my purpose (mine goes something like “I’m an American volunteer giving technical support in the sectors of health, sanitation, and agriculture”). With or without that statement, though, many strangers create their own theories to explain the presence of a young, white, Nepali-speaking man in a remote village in Southeast Asia. These common cases of mistaken identity have included:

·      A tourist – No surprise here, except that in the past eight months, no volunteer in my district has ever seen a western tourist in the area. We’re a little ways off the beaten trail for trekkers and adventurers, and Dang is famous for, well, not really anything. Beyond that, the fact that I’m speaking fairly fluent Nepali should be a pretty good indicator that I’m not just passing through.

·      A missionary – Nepalis often ask if I am Christian, and if Christianity is the only religion in the America (people almost always say America when they mean the US, and some even get confused if I say USA rather than America). In any case, I usually respond with no, almost every religion in the world is practiced in “America,” and I practice all of them (which is pretty contrary to the truth, since I’m in fact an atheist). Still, some people don’t accept that quaint non-answer; two weeks ago a local government representative insisted, despite my claims otherwise, I must be a Catholic. I used to tell people that I’m a humanist (in Nepali), which nearly always went over their heads. A friend experienced the strangest encounter with religion yet, an anecdote that requires some background. Walking along roads unfamiliar and not, we volunteers are often heckled by little children shouting cheerfully (even jeerfully) two English phrases that all Nepali children must learn in school: “What is your name?” and “Where are you going?” In a startling departure from these usual salutations, one little girl actually greeted a nearby volunteer, in English, “Do you follow Jesus Christ?” She did, but felt a little bit uncertain about diving into a dogmatic discussion with a small Hindu child.

·      A doctor – This happens pretty much whenever I’m at the health center. Typically it’s an elderly person who hands me a sheet of paper and begins prattling unintelligibly until I point them in the direction of a health worker. I suppose I should be flattered by their gross overestimation, because at this point I’m really only qualified enough to give advice on healthy eating and hand washing.

·      An agricultural expert – I admit, I try pretty hard to pull this one off. When it comes to making compost, concocting organic pesticides, designing a kitchen garden, building a greenhouse, or cultivating mushrooms, I can talk a big game. Outside that, I’m pretty useless. I’ve been approached for advice on rice planting (something that even American farmers typically know little about), vegetable diseases (so far, mostly a matter of too much moisture), and tropical pomiculture (fruit farming, it might surprise you, was not my major in college). My host family has created a maxim that “everything Ben plants grows,” so I’ve got a lot to live up to.

·      A spy – Usually I just laugh and hope they’re kidding. A spy. Now that’s ridiculous…

·      An English teacher – I’ve now taught a few English grammar classes at the local boarding school, and have come to the conclusion that the resident English teachers are better equipped to teach English than me. It’s one thing to know how to speak English, but it’s quite another to how to teach it. Sure, my conversational diction and syntax are highly superior to the other teachers’, but grammar book smarts is mediocre at best (wait, should that be “book smarts is” or “book smarts are?” See what I mean?). Did you know that there are seven categories of pronouns? Or that there are four kinds of proper nouns? Teaching English in a foreign language is an additional set of challenges. Last week, I had a lengthy debate with an English teacher over the grammatical correctness of a passive interrogative present continuous construction (in other words, whether asking a question like “Is the TV being watched?” is kosher). I won (it is), but it was quite an experience to argue about my own mother tongue (in Nepali) based on little more than intuition.

·      A student studying to be a Nepali language teacher back in the US – Some Nepalis fail to grasp that a) there are very few Nepali speakers in America and b) Nepali is the 63th most popular language in the world. But it’s feasible, I suppose.

·      A student studying Nepali health and agriculture – Interesting from an academic perspective, but, seeing as the US is a few generations beyond plowing with oxen and treating tuberculosis outbreaks, such knowledge would have limited practical applications back home.

·      A potential husband – Many people, even those who know me well, continue to ask me if I’m going to marry a Nepali. I haven’t yet received a formal proposal, but with the dozens of people out searching for my potential bride I fear that the day when I’ll have to tell a poor, hopeful girl “I don’t” is rapidly approaching.

·      A way to move to America – Linked loosely to the role above. Others have proposed that I hire them to work as a servant, sneak them in, or simply tell the US government that we’re friends and s/he should be allowed to enter the country with me. And since I can never tell if people are kidding or not, I either end up missing the joke or leading them on.

·      A way to meet an American girl to marry and move to America – A surprisingly large number of Nepali men I’ve met think they have a serious chance of bagging a female volunteer. In a future post, I’m really going to lay into the gender dynamics in rural Nepal, and then you’ll see just why that’s so improbable. It’s gotten so bad that when people ask about my lady friends, I also add “but they really don’t want to get married.”

·      A bag of money – My least favorite of all. While I own some pretty fancy American gadgets (laptop, iPhone, headlamp, Leatherman), I currently make about as much as a Nepali schoolteacher —just enough to get by. If I’m going to conduct a training, people inevitably expect that I’ll provide an attendance stipend and refreshments—something that I can’t afford. It’s not really their fault—this practice has become practically institutionalized by the government and NGOs, which often gives things away (free medicine, free mosquito nets, free toilets). Of course it’s great that people can obtain essential things for free, but that’s not the Peace Corps’ approach to development—a capacity building, community driven methodology that I support. Still, it’s what many people have been conditioned to expect. One day, a slightly fanatical woman led me to the village’s temples and requested the equivalent of $4,000 to help them renovate one and build a new one. Others expect handouts, like the many people who, every time we meet, ask me why I haven’t given them any food from my garden or brought them anything from the bazaar. Giving such gifts isn’t uncommon in Nepal, but to expect it is pretty rude. If I aid someone, I’m inevitably expected to help everyone else as well.

As the months have gone by, more and more community members have developed a pretty good understanding of my abilities and limitations. But that’s what makes it so frustrating when a neighbor or friend does cross the line, urging me to get married or to give something away. I guess it just takes a long time to get someone to appreciate your identity, especially working across cultural and language barriers.