Perspectives

Perspectives on life are fascinating, partly because of their complexity, and partly because a glimpse of the world from another's perspective tends to broaden our own. Intercultural communication must necessarily center on an attempt to view the world from a different place, a place whose groundwork is made up of different cultures, religions, and economic backgrounds.

I was in Guayaquil, Ecuador. We had spent the previous night wandering the recently renovated riverfront, which is a showpeice of archetectural mastery and wealth. Our wanderlust satisfied, we crashed in our 3 dollar hostel. Sleep came readily that night, and departed reluctantly the next morning, when we set off early for some more exploration. As we wandered through streets of varying size and prosperity, we came on a group of juice stands, clustered under a bridge. Not hungry, I didn't join the group when everyone went to buy some crunchable, munchable, or sipable snack. Still sleepy, I leaned up against a cement wall a little ways off from the stands. I love to observe people, and my subconcious immediately began to observe a little girl, who danced between the stands with the infectious enthusiasm of a 4 year-old.

Suddenly, I wondered what the world looked like to her, and for that matter, what she thought the world was? My perception of her world is dimmed by the multiple differences between us, not least of which was the simple difference in height. I normally stand a head taller than most of the adults here, but the difference between myself and the little girl was even more dramatic. I remember clearly when my perception of the kitchen sink was simply the limited portion I could see when I opened the cabinent and stood on the edge to reach the faucet knob. This problem was solved easily enough, I sat down on the sidewalk, and suddenly her world came into focus. The business man walking down the street was no longer a face creased with worry and stress as it studied the progress charts, but rather a rapidly moving pair of navy blue pants, the shiny black shoes, and the unfathomable upper portion of his body.

Still, there were barriers between us, barriers of age, experience, and ethnicity. All I could do was guess, guess what the world looked like through her eyes. I knew that even if we saw exactly the same things, (extremely unlikely), we would interperet them differently, and so I was left, left to plumb the depths of her world, as the blind man would attempt to navigate through a complex intersection in New York city.

Her world, I postulate, is like a huge rambling house, each room is lit by a lightbulb of varying brightness. As she passes every day with her mother from her house in the city to the fruit stand, she walks through the rooms of the greatest clarity; After all, she knows this route well enough. The weekly trips to the bakery, market, and church are journeys into rooms of lesser brightness, in which the main features of the room are distinguishable, but not intimate. Even further afield, there are a series rooms that is only a memory, fascinating, but just a wee bit scary. It was the chirstmastime journey to the relatives in another city, the trip consisted of a long bus ride, and a new home, and broke all barriers as they passed rapidly from room to dark room, flying through the doors at a bewildering pace. And then there are rooms that are completely dark, those doors have never been opened, and just now, at 4 years old, they don't need to open. With age, more doors will open, and the areas of brightness will undoubtedly change. Life however, does not exhaust the capacity of this house, after all, there is always that valley or mountaintop, (excuse me, doors) that is unknown, unreached, and enchantingly alluring.

This,however, is only what I can guess. I am left like the blind men with the elephant, only to guess at the accuracy of my imaginations. Frustrating work it is, but inescapably, one of life's greatest pleasures.