Needing the Neighbors

One of the things we talk about when we come here is dependency. The potential for unhealthy dependency as wealthy, educated, white outsiders come with money, time, connections and knowledge and overwhelm the people who live here with our resources. This can easily create a (bad) dynamic in which we hold all the power, all the decision making, all the answers.

We also talk about another kind of dependency. One in which we knowingly and willingly choose to be dependent on our neighbors. We depend on them to teach us the ways of a place where we know next to nothing. We depend on them to teach us how to live in a culture where we're certain to make mistakes. We depend on them to teach us their language, which they can speak effortlessly and fluently.

This kind of dependency can be good. It shows my neighbors that I value them. That I actually need them if I'm going to do life here well. Hopefully it shows them the worth of what they already know and can do. It can even (in some ways) begin to balance out the kind of prestige that gets automatically put on me because of my skin color, my gender, and my country of origin.

The only problem is, it's hard. It's easier (and far more comfortable) to go to the upscale air conditioned grocery store to do my food shopping than to ask my poor neighbors (who can't afford to shop at that place) where to find that one specific ingredient I want in the market. It's easier (and far less confusing) to look up directions online to the place I want to go than it is to try to ask my neighbors and understand their response in my second language. It's easier (and far less awkward and vulnerable) to go to my teammates and expat friends when I need emotional support than it is to share my feelings with my neighbors.

So sometimes a little forced dependency is good. Like when it's 90 degrees and 80% humidity and the ceiling fan breaks at 4am. I can't fix the fan on my own. I don't even have anything tall enough to stand on to see if I might be able to fix the fan on my own. I don't have the number of the right person to call who can fix it. The neighbors had the right number, a stool, and a small fan they loaned me so I wouldn't melt while I waited for the fix-it man. They also had a lot of sympathy and kind words for the loss of sleep.

As much as that was a pretty miserable experience, I'm thankful for the ways it allowed me to truly depend on my neighbors and express my gratitude for their help.