Most days living as an American abroad are much like living
as an American at home. Running errands,
cooking dinner, spending time with friends.
Most days are unremarkable. Then
there are days when you notice something and it sticks in your mind.
This morning I welcomed the head embassy gardener, A., and
one of his colleagues into our yard to look at the trees. I love the trees in our yard but half a dozen
of them have sagging limbs hanging over our roof. A. was quite concerned that the trees would
start dropping their branches when the rains start in October. He frowned and confided, “I’m afraid the roof
is made of asbestos, so we don’t want anything to damage it.” I returned a sarcastic “great!” and we shared
a little chuckle. Ah, the joys of living
in an old house.
We continued around to the back of the house where I pointed
out some more branches that should come down.
Now, these were not in-danger-of-causing-us-cancer branches, but they
were dropping too many little yellow flowers into the pool. Those branches have been the constant enemy
of our terrific gardener Chrispin (or just Chris). A. agreed that those too should go.
Within minutes I had convinced the guard to let the tree
trimming crew into the yard – Chris would supervise their work. A. gave them a speech about the US government
worrying about their safety and how they should always wear their harnesses
when climbing up the trees. He also told
them that if they died on the job, he would come back and kill them
himself. More chuckles all around.
Once the trimmers set about their work, A. and I
started talking. It came up in
conversation that I teach history. He
told me that he was never very good in history but still remembers quite a bit
of what they learned in school. He said
that when he was growing up the Zambian education system was very focused on
America and Europe. He smiled sadly as
he remembered knowing more about Detroit than he did about Lusaka. He memorized the population, the climate, and
the history of a city that few Americans even think about these days.
His colleague then said that she is always surprised and a
little offended when Americans give her background information on an event from
American history. With a wide-eyed laugh
she said “I learned all of that in secondary school!”. I tried to make her feel better by admitting
that Americans probably do that because they figure other people know as little
about our history as we do theirs. She
nodded as if she thought I could be on to something.
Then A. asked us if we had heard President Obama’s speech
commemorating the 5oth anniversary of the March on Washington on the radio last
night. I told him I had and was curious
to hear what he thought of it. He beamed
as he talked about our (America’s) lofty ideals and how we seem to always want
to improve upon our past. And about how
he thinks President Obama will be better appreciated once he leaves
office. He said it was too bad, but that
is often what happens with leaders, especially those gifted at public speaking.
That’s what I can’t get out of my head. This man, in Lusaka, Zambia, has thought so
much about American history. I just wish
that our students would learn a little bit more about people beyond our borders.
