Village Girl Wide-Eyed in the City

I grew up in the small village of Cooperstown, New York - population 2800. Growing up in such a rural location, one truly gets the sense of how it is the community and culture, not just the immediate family, that inspires and molds the mind of a young child. 

Cooperstown has 2 elementary schools/kindergartens (one public, one private) and one middle/high school (public). When my classmates and I graduated in 2000, we were a predominantly racially homogeneous, close-knit class of less than 100. Everybody knew everybody's business to the extend that if you liked a boy, you could get his personal history (inclusive of baby stories, dating history, educational performance, drinking habits, and family status) just from asking around. People are known by their family, who they associate with and what their job is. To this day, I am known by locals as "F and/or N's daughter." With the exception of those who moved to Cooperstown after I graduated, I feel like most locals will be able to tell you my basic life history - that I lived in Japan "for years and years" and speak the language, that I used to date an Arab (God forbid!) and a Japanese (or maybe he was Chinese?), and that now I am "doing something, somewhere in Africa." My dear brother likes to spread the rumor that I am "handing out blankets." Good grief. I'm sure that by now Cooperstonians are also aware that I am dating a black man (again, God forbid ). What he does and what a great guy he is - that's not important - he's black. Can I hear an "oh my God, did you hear that?!" <rolling eyes>

As much as I tease my fellow Cooperstonians (yes that is an actual word, not coined by me), I adore my village to the fullest extent possible. In fact, I am sure that I drive my non-Cooperstonian friends crazy with the many fond childhood memories I so often rattle on about. I would return to village life in a flash if I could somehow also manage to find challenging employment in humanitarian aid and raise my children in a multi-lingual/racial/religious/cultural environment. Unfortunately, I doubt that is possible so stuck in a metropolis I shall remain. Regardless, you can take a girl out of her village, but you can never take the village out of the girl. As much as I try to adjust to city life, be it Kampala, Addis Ababa, Tokyo, Yokohama, Monterey, Bangkok, or my current Nairobi, the villager in me always resists and remains strong. For instance, though I've mastered some street smarts like holding my purse close, acting like I know where I'm going (even when  I have no clue) and avoiding alleys when I'm on my own. I know not to wander around at night unless I am with a Kenyan, I know not to accept the first price offered to me (especially in Kenya), I know not to leave my drink unattended and not to dance with random guys. I know that, in Kenya at least, I should avoid sidewalks, not "jump off matatus," always ask the price before getting on public transportation, or give to beggars. Fine. But can I figure out the twists and turns of city streets? Figure out where my matatu stops in town? Not scrunch up my nose when a fowl smelling bus goes by or get upset (and even offended) when somebody litters? It's just not going to happen. I still find myself surprised with the city dweller's inclination towards distrust, their tendency to be self-centered, their love of business and their ability to remain so long away from fresh air and greenness. As much as I love being in a metropolis full of opportunity and excitement, I miss the genuineness and peacefulness that the countryside offers. I miss people really knowing each other. I miss the feeling that if I, or someone close to me, falters or falls on hard times, that my fellow "townies" will have their back. I've come to acknowledge that it is infeasible for city dwellers to show genuine kindness to everybody - they'd be exploited, go broke and be walked on in no time. Awareness and acknowledgement aside though, it makes me sad. I often find myself staring off into space, thinking of my village, remembering, appreciating, ...and smiling.