Alternate title: In Quebec, I Didn’t Quite Kiss the Girl
The man approached me by at a writer’s conference in Guelph, Ontario. I was 18, juggling a hacky sack in the corner and feeling distinctly out of place in this gaggle of rich, middle-aged artsy types. “Allow me,” he began, “to greet you in the traditional Roman fashion.” And then he reached out and grabbed my forearm and waited patiently until I grabbed his in return. He gave our entangled arms a few good shakes and then wandered off, apparently satisfied. I shrugged and made another swoop at the refreshment table, musing how everybody just wants to say hello.
And it is true, in Nairobi, Toronto, Plymouth and Bukavu. Granted, in some societies of the world, people are a little more forbidding and unapproachable, but there is something in the human psyche that impels us to greet or acknowledge people we meet – whether a dreamy old man, lost in the traditions of a dead society or the landscaper who flipped me the bird when I ran a red light on my bike.
And in case you were worried that I might be gearing up for a socio-philosphical take on how the world says “Hi”, don’t worry. This is, after all, Facebook.
When I was 8, my family camped with the Masaai in Kenya for a month. The Masaai people are known to greet people by spitting in their face. We were warned of this eventuality and I was, of course fascinated with the idea. Who says that you can’t be culturally appreciative at 8? My mom, however, cramped my education by absolutely forbidding me to do it.
In East Africa, greeting is a hallowed ritual; every time you meet a friend, you shake his hand. It also common for male (or female) friends to continue holding onto the other’s hand as they talk. I very quickly learned the implications this sort of thing carries in the Western world, but yes, I have held a guy’s hand and walked down the street with him. It was, as they say, cultural.
A very large part of my life in Arua, Uganda, revolved around the Taekwondo club I was a member of. It was there that I learned to bow. Bow on entering the gym, bow before exercises, bow before having the crap beaten out of you (or vice versa) and bow after. And bow when the coach screams at you. Apparently, traditional martial arts are beneficial because they teach you to respect people and have self control. This is probably true: all I know is that after two years, I was acting like a bobble head. I would play soccer, and when someone pushed me, I kicked his legs out and then bowed to him when he hit the ground and then bowed to the ref when he called for a penalty kick and then gradually bowed my way off the field as my team screamed for a substitute. Yes, it was hard to make the transition between contact and non contact sports.
Last winter, my family moved into a very small house in a small town an hour northwest of Montreal. Our intent was to learn French in the shortest time possible and our friends assured us that Repentigny was a bastion of Quebec language and culture. On our first night there, the pastor and his wife came to visit us. After the initial greetings, his wife turned to us kids hanging around in the kitchen and said: “I am going to teach you how to greet in true Quebec fashion, and that means kissing.” I smirked. The last time I was in Quebec I was 7, and a little askance at the French conception of greeting. At 18, however, opinions change. My training went well, and after a few mishaps where I learned how to pick which side to start on, I felt ready. The first Sunday, at the little church we attended a new acquaintance was introducing me to the youth.
“And this is Marie,” he gestured.
“Plaisir”, I said, and leaned in reaching for her shoulders. At about half way there, I paused. She had not moved. Everyone was, in fact, looking at me as I balanced at a 45 deg angle. Sacre merde, I thought, this is awkward. I quickly straightened, vigorously shook her extended hand and never, ever again initiated a “traditional French greeting”.
How we greet people very much reflects our fascinating diversity as the human race. So it is always a little sad to return to Canada and the West, where it is considered unnecessary and ill-advised to say hi to strangers, and it is thought overly exuberant and needlessly unhygienic to shake your friend’s hand every time you see him. And that is why I intend to be different, a mover and a shaker in our society. And the next time that I see you, I’m going to spit in your face. Hey, it’s a sign of affection.
