International relations

My worlds collided deliciously this afternoon. My 80-year-old grandfather, who has been visiting me for the past week in New Mexico, joined the Special Education department with a lunch of rice, kung-pao chicken and lots of hot sauce. It's the closest form of international relations we've had on this mesa in awhile.

He had spent 6 hours marinating, 4 hours preparing the chicken and 2 hours cooking the food. My colleagues, all of whom are Navajo women, were tickled when he marched into the office with my friend, armed with pots and bowls. One of them even baked a cake. By the end of our lunch break, the ladies had attempted to tease the recipe from my non-English speaking grandfather, begged him to stay until Monday and implored him to come back for a cooking lesson. In his choppy, but enthusiastic English, he promised to come back in a year to cook them a banquet. Then they vowed to take him and my grandmother to the casinos next time. Nothing bridges language barriers like food.

But what surprised me was how comfortable and proud I was of bringing my grandpa for show-and-tell. In Tohatchi, NM, where there is a Chinese-/Taiwanese-American population of 1, I am more at ease with heating my Chinese lunches in the teacher's lounge microwave. I loudly translated back and forth to my grandfather in Chinese without a second thought, whereas I shied away from my heritage growing up in Maryland where my high school was 30% Asian American. Never did I dare bring Tupperware dinners with anything including soy sauce to work. Public translations were always in low tones. It was a subconscious shame.

For some reason, being so far away from the multicultural comforts of Montgomery County has made me dig up my roots. I actually make an effort to cook Chinese and Taiwanese food on my own. I teach my students Chinese phrases. (One student keeps repeating "Xing nian kuai le," which means happy Chinese New Year, to irritate me in the middle of a lesson. I love it.) I'm trying to learn about Taiwanese traditions so I have something to share with my Navajo friends when they explain their rituals. In a community where everyone has a dense culture to call their own, I'm desperately grasping for my own. I may have earned a certificate in Asian American Studies at the University of Maryland, and I may have analyzed theories of race on paper, but it took the Navajo Nation to make me want to be a part of it.

Comments

[Phil Nash]

What a great story!

Keep up the great work!

[Harrison Lapahie]

I hope you enjoy working with the Diné (Navajo) students.

I am Diné married to a Filipina of Chinese and Filipino decent. We have been living in Shiprock for over two years now. I am Chair of the Division of Math, Science & Technology, and Computer Science and Mathematics Instructor, at Diné College - Shiprock.

What I don't like is that when my wife gets ill, we have to go to Farmington, New Mexico (33 miles away), Cortez, Colorado (40 miles away) or Durango Colorado (67 miles away), to see a Doctor or Medical Specialist even though we live only 1/2 mile from the Shiprock Hospital (Northern Navajo Medical Center). She is unable to go there because she is not Diné. We once did, because I felt it was an emergency (she was fainting), and two months later, my wife received a bill for $2222.21, for medical services rendered there (CAT scan, and other servies) and being seeing by their Specialists for about two and a half hours.

Even though you will only be there for maybe another 6 months to complete your teaching internship, you should write NM Congressman Tom Udall and other New Mexico Senators and Congress persons to open up the Navajo Nation Hospitals and Clinics to non-Diné. Diné don't care, but I care, and that is one of my goals.