My study of the non-West blossomed
during a gap year I spent living in a small village on the northern coast of
Haiti. Having grown up in an elite Washington D.C. community, I was eager to
break out of my bubble and see the world from a different vantage point. The
year surpassed all expectations as it allowed me to understand myself and the
West in new ways, highlighting, for me, why studying the non-West is so
valuable.
One of the most transformative
aspects of living in Haiti was learning to unearth many culturally-dependent
aspects of myself that I had not previously realized were influenced so
strongly by the place I had grown up in. One example of this was my perception
of beauty. Eighteen years in an elite Washington community during an age of
exploding media had produced in me a strong sense that thin body types are more
beautiful than thick ones; sequined, puffy wedding gowns are gaudy; and
hair-left-unbrushed is stylish and sexy. In Haiti, however, to be thin often
means one is struggling financially and is thus underfed; huge, sequined
wedding dresses suggest wealth and are considered beautiful; and unbrushed hair
implies that one is living in squalor. With these new perceptions of beauty
constantly reinforced throughout the year, my taste changed dramatically, and I
realized the extent to which culture influences something that seems as
intrinsic and deeply set as my sense of beauty. Haiti allowed me to see how other
ideas of mine – those regarding morality, time, relationships, and family, to
name a few -- have been ingrained in me by the society around me, and by
experiencing other ways of thinking about these topics, I could begin to
critically examine my own ideas and decide whether I want to maintain or change
them.
In addition to shedding light on
various aspects of myself, living in Haiti allowed me to see the West from a
drastically different viewpoint and challenged the “West is best” attitude that
is so pervasive in the U.S. Eating local non-processed and non-chemically-tainted
foods, walking everywhere rather than driving in cars, living in a village in
which everyone knows everyone else and crime rates are extremely low; all of
these things felt extremely valuable and made me wary of plans to “develop” the
community in ways that would alter these aspects. In an age that is
increasingly focused on economic growth and consumed with the technological
advancements that have seeped into every aspect of American society, it is
difficult – especially for young people -- in the United States to resist the
trend. But living in and studying a place like rural Haiti promotes an
appreciation for simpler and more sustainable lifestyles, and calls into
question whether the path the West is currently on is truly the most desirable
one.
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Viewing oneself and one’s home through
a new lens opens the door to new paths and ways of being. While I was in Haiti,
I often felt like I was growing up again, just like a young boy, Valerie, who
had been adopted by the doctors and nurses at the hospital where I was living. When
I arrived, Valerie was two years old. Our Creole was at about the same level,
as was our sense of cultural norms, and our knowledge of the things surrounding
us. By the end of the year, we were both competent/fluent in Creole and had a
deeper (though still not complete) understanding of our surroundings and how to
behave appropriately. In this way, living in Haiti was an opportunity for me to
grow up a second time with a different set of eyes, focused on different
things, with a different language guiding my way of thought and a different
group of people leading me. This process of growing up again showed me that
there is not just one way to think about beauty or morality or family, and
there is not just one possible path for the West to “progress” upon. For me, that
is why studying the non-West, particularly at young ages, is so meaningful; it
liberates us from one way of viewing the world and gives us the gift of choice.
