Post-Covid: Look to Japan

by with 2 Comments CultureFeatured

During 2008, I signed a small record contract with an Indie Music Label in Yokohama and had the pleasure to perform my first tour in Japan around that time. What I learned then about Japanese culture seemed strange and almost archaic. Now, while living during a pandemic, it makes complete sense to me.

Perhaps Japan, one of the oldest surviving civilizations on the planet (its first settlers came possibly 15,000 years ago), has not only survived its share of pandemics, but also learned from them enough to adopt customs that effectively combat them.

Here are all the customs inherent to Japanese people that seemed strange when I visited, but now seem like remnants of a post-pandemic society:

Bowing…

No kissing like Europeans.
No hugging like Americans.
Not even high fives or fist bumps.
The Japanese did not touch at all, but they were still extremely affectionate in their accepted form of greeting/departing. A longer, deeper bow meant that much more respect or love than a simple head nod.

I saw a young girl recognize my tour manager from across a record store and run full speed right up to him only to stop 5 feet short and bow almost all the way to the ground. It was akin to the biggest hug you ever saw in America.

This custom seemed distant and almost silly, pre-pandemic. Now, as I see friends in safe, outdoor settings and we awkwardly say hi or do a nervous fist bump, I understand how useful it would be to have a universally embraced form of greeting that was both effectively expressive and Covid-safe.

Face masks…

In Japan, I was caught off guard at the airports and walking around Tokyo to see so many face masks – a decade ago! I thought, “are these people horrifically sick? Should I be nervous?”

When I inquired about the custom that was only bothering American me, the response was almost condescending: “They are just sick with a cold or flu and don’t want to spread germs to others. It’s basic consideration.”

Americans seemed to detest the stigma of showing weakness or hiding their face… or maybe they just don’t care about negatively affecting their neighbor?

Whatever the reason for not having this custom pre-pandemic, it would seem the stigma persists as mask-wearing has been a uniquely American political conflict during Covid when it would seem like the easiest way to reduce (not eliminate, mind you) the spread of infection.

Residences Off Limits…

I was surprised when my record label in Yokohama put me up at a hotel instead of staying at a family residence. I was used to sleeping in guest rooms or pull-out couches around the US and UK as a way to save money and also have a sense of “home” or family while abroad. In Ireland, my agent had a guest room that practically felt like mine for how many nights I had stayed there on multiple tours.

But in Japan, residences were sacred and I was not welcome in anyone’s home. I thought it had to do with privacy, but in a Covid world, I wonder if it had more to do with germs. Americans were used to constant visitors from friends and family before the pandemic, but that has drastically changed to be much closer to pre-pandemic Japan with little to no guests now.

Of these 3 Japanese customs, I would be very happy to see bowing and face masks become a permanent part of American life. I would, however, be very sad to lose frequent and numerous guests in my home as that is my most regrettable loss this past year. I miss family and friends visiting, holding my children, singing songs, and sharing a moment of affection in this brief, precarious existence.

Similar Read: It’s Time to Bow

Reflections from a First-Generation African

by with No Comment CultureFeaturedGen Z

Immediately when I stepped foot in Ghana-it changed me. The air was dry and dusty, the pace immediately slower, relaxed, and the people busy but conversational and friendly. Ghana was different but surprisingly familiar. Nothing like I thought it would be, but not distant from what I’d experienced growing up. I didn’t grow up entirely like the Africans I knew—in a two-parent household with children running around and rice and stew being served for dinner three times a week. I grew up in a home that was rooted in African ideals but preoccupied with the American pressure to “make it.” Our family friends were Ghanaian, Jamaican, and Nigerian, yet with the demand of my parents’ work, they dwindled in how frequently I saw them and size. I remember when I was younger attending loud Nigerian parties where the music boomed and shook the house. My dad played his old man hits of Nigeria and welcomed the friendly atmosphere of like-minded Africa. This faded as my father grew older and farther apart from my mother. They eventually separated then divorced, only leaving the authoritarian ideals intact.

Divorce is not talked about in African families—at least not in mine. African families are supposed to be strong with formidable ideals and the strive to create a more prosperous future for children. But every African family is different. Some may engage fully with their African cultures, others may be “Americanized.” Yet, we all bond through similar cultures. I could claim to be African but knew it was not valid until a native African confirmed my claim. I could claim to be Black but knew I could be invalidated at any time, leaving me to choose what was convenient. I was Black when defending myself against White classmates, but African when it served me and suited my ego.  I fluidly navigated different social identities but knew I wanted to explore my African roots when I was forced to engage a Black world that didn’t fully accept me.

These intersecting identities drove me to travel abroad to Accra, Ghana. Where I knew family resided. Family, I had not met, and my mother spoke little of. Family brings worth, memories, and a perspective of your parents that you never would have gathered from them themselves. But families also expose truths that shock you and may even harm the interpretation you have of your identity. My family greeted me with warmth when they visited me at the University of Ghana. They brought laughter, wisdom, and tenderness. I learned about my mother and pieced together the missing puzzle piece to complete the mosaic of who my family was. Yet, upon leaving I realized that it was only one piece of the puzzle and there was a multitude of other insights and knowledge, I’ve yet to discover.

From my experience aboard, I learned I am a lot like Ghanaian and African people—despite the continental divide. The way I look, my expressions, and the foods I love to eat relate. However, I also learned I am different than many Africans as well. I am not religious enough. I do not know the local language and my bargaining skills are subpar. I am a coalition of identities. We must acknowledge that Africans have relatively different experiences and ancestry. Ghana is a heterogeneous state made up of people from various ethnic groups, religions, and ancestral stories. The journey to America to achieve the American dream may be presented as the same but is not—an obvious observation but something that is not quite explored. Identities are not linear. They are multilateral and even though I had the privilege of visiting a country where my parents were from, African identities and culture are not far from any of our descendants. I write this piece to give thanks to those who granted me the opportunity to study abroad, but also to acknowledge that a person is not simply a result of their parents, but created by experience, exploration, and aspiration to compose their own identity.