Often on Sunday mornings I go out for breakfast with one of my friends. Church is in the late afternoon, so we can sit there as long as we like. Half way through the meal a street vendor came in to sell these weird whistles that squeal and make you sound like Donald Duck. Hard to explain. All you need to know is that they are totally annoying. He sold them to about four kids in the restaurant and they were squawking with them. My friend, who is not shy, told their parents this is a public restaurant and that they shouldn’t let their kids be so disruptive to others. They got into it a bit.
People here are a bit more direct, don’t hold their tongue in silent disgust like the a good Canadian would. Good thing I had an American upbringing so that I was familiar with loud public disagreements. My friend apologized later for the disagreement between tables, but I told her in all honestly it didn’t phase me in the least. To get my attention there would at least have to be a few things thrown (Disney stuffed animals, mittens–you know who you are) before I would even be slightly phased. A little hot tempered yelling is simply not going to get me worked up.
The older girls had play practice all afternoon. That ate up most of the day until church.
Went to church, there was a big church team there from Florida. They did the music. Don’t know why I find hands in the air so distracting, but I guess it’s my keep your hands in your lap Menno roots.
After church we had a dinner invitation. One of the women from the English class wanted to have us over for supper. They are originally from Bangledesh. The father has been working at the bank here for the past two years. They have a three boys and are concerned about their education, decided to immigrate to Canada because they think it’s a good country. Don’t know anyone there, except, now us. The mom and three boys are going to move somewhere, while the dad continues to work here or wherever he can find work, which could be anywhere in the world. He will likely be supporting them from afar, doesn’t think he can find the work he does in Canada. They were asking me about different cities. I can’t imagine trying to randomly settle on a city to live in, with only the internet as your guide. No wait, that’s what I did moving here. Never mind.
Socially speaking the evening was interesting. I prepared the girls that I wasn’t familiar with their culture, but to follow my lead. They were awesome. We spent about an hour sitting in the living room. I was talking with the husband, the wife was in the kitchen, their three boys were upstairs, my three girls were sitting silently squished on a loveseat. I was impressed because Cali didn’t fidget or complain for the entire time. That’s my girl.
He said in his country they don’t eat until 9 or 10 pm, but they realize that’s not our culture. Next they led us to a table full of amazing and delicious food, a feast. Only our family ate while the mom and dad watched every bite we took. The boys never said hello, never interacted with us. I tried to draw them into the conversation, but they were having none of it.
The father was at least good at carrying a conversation or it would have been fairly awkward. He explained that in his country if you are entertaining a large group of people you go to a restaurant, but if you are entertaining a small number of people it is more polite to serve only food you have prepared.
Everything she made was delicious. I told her she should open a restaurant. There was a chicken dish, two beef dishes, a jumbo shrimp dish, rice, some kind of flatbread, eggplant, fresh veggies, and a couple more dishes I don’t know how to describe. The father explained how to eat the food with your fingers. Then only thing more unnerving than eating with your fingers is having other people who aren’t eating, watching YOU eat with your fingers. Good thing we aren’t overly self-conscious people. Cali ate five small platefuls of food. The dad was delighted to see her eat, which encouraged her to eat more. I honestly don’t know where she put all of it. She just kept eating, he would offer her more food with a smile, she would keep eating. He was very pleased with her appetite. I was afraid she might explode.
We talked about different aspects of their culture, they also asked a lot of questions about Canadian culture. They wondered how kids get to and from school, how meals are scheduled, what kids eat at school. They were surprised all three girls take buses to school, two on city buses, Cali on a school bus.
When we left to go home, he offered to drive us part of the way home, but mentioned he wasn’t a very good driver. When he said he that I quickly answered we’d walk, really. It was only 7:30. He insisted on driving us a couple of blocks, dropping us off in town, then we walked home. I suppose that was the proper thing from his point of view. He brought his 15 year old son along so that he could drive home after we got dropped off, since his son doesn’t have a license (laws, shlaws). I welcomed the walk home, since I haven’t been that full since Christmas, and if Cali was going to hurl, I wouldn’t have to clean it up. Great evening. A good one for the girls to see how to act in an unfamiliar cross-cultural experience within their unfamiliar cross-cultural experience. Now we’re into stacking.