Katalausha's Jazz

When you travel to a country of a very different economic situation than your home country… you feel embarrassed by your wealth [I am generalizing completely based on my personal experience here in Zambia]. For me, this wealth was my iPod. I hid it entirely for the first while here in Zambia, mostly because I didn’t want it to be a barrier between me and Zambians, but there was also the bonus of the less people who knew I had something valuable, the less likely they would try to rob me. But I couldn’t keep it hidden forever, being that I am living in a house without electricity I charge it, and my cell phone [thank you all who send me text messages], at the office. Consequently, I have had to explain it to each of my inquisitive co-workers. Once the iPod was out of the bag, so to speak, I stopped worrying about it so much. I let my family see me with it… and I am so glad I did. The ensuing discussion with Katalausha revealed his passion for Jazz, and his love for the bass guitar he can’t effectively play in his house sans electricity.

I must go on a tangent here on the culture barrier [at first I was going to call it the language barrier, but the language barrier is just the tip of the iceberg that is the culture barrier]. People think differently in different cultures. All those wonderful, deep, meaningful conversations you have with your friends… they are made possible by the level to which you are identical in culture that person. You may have different backgrounds and opinions, but you exist in the same world… speak not only the same language but most of the same slang and idioms. Your thought process is similar. Your values are similar. The vast, complex array of unspoken rules of interactions are fluidly navigated by both of you making each interaction, in a way, a sort of elegant dance. And all that is lost when you leave that extremely narrow place that is your cultural home.
As a Junior Fellow, you want to explore the painfully difficult issues pervading development… and yet how do you even begin when you realize how insecure you are about using the word “development” or even “poverty” to your co-workers. Meanwhile you are busy walking on eggshells trying not to break any of those unspoken rules that absolutely everyone around you understands as completely as you are oblivious, hoping the ones you do break don’t cost you trust with your partner organization, or that visa you need to stay in the country. Cultures are different worlds…

But all those barriers and hindrances can be shattered in an instant by something so small as Katalausha’s passion for Jazz. I like Jazz. I am not passionate connoisseur, but I very much enjoy it. To what extent that passion is common ground between me and him does not matter though, because suddenly Katalausha is a real person who makes sense to me. He is no longer another Zambian that I make pleasant small talk with , that little passion has showed me a window into who he is. He goes from being a person from another world…
…to becoming a brother and dear friend.