There is a word that follows each volunteer of Team India, as we jovially refer to ourselves, like a persistent mosquito. Yes, that really is an accurate analogy. For David and me, the word is
saip. And for Lindsey, Sudie, Ariel, and Becca, it is
madama. Each of the volunteers has a different relationship with their word/mosquito. Some swat it immediately, others wear Off! to prevent it’s attacks, and some may smile lovingly at this integral part of God’s creation. I fall into Category 1: The Swatters. I anticipate swatting the word when no one is even speaking. I dream about its death. If this word,
saip, were actually a tangible being I would guillotine it.
The word
saip, I am told, is the Malayalam counterpart to
sahib, which simply means sir in Hindi. And now, Dear Reader, you are thinking, “Oh, how polite and innocent of a word.” Not so fast! During India’s visit from her "friend" (intended to read sarcasticaly) Colonization,
sahib/
saip began to be used out of (undeserved) respect for Englishmen (and
madama for women in case you hadn’t put that together yet). And now the term is synonymous with “foreigner.” Having people recognize me as a foreigner isn’t offensive in and of itself; indeed, I am a foreigner and have no shame in being one. But there’s something about me that allows people to make that judgment: my skin.
I am struggling because for the first time in my life I feel defined by the color of my skin. As a white man who grew up in the U.S., I have always been the majority. And while there were times when I’m sure I was the minority in a room, they were rare and passing. No, unlike others, my skin has never made me feel abnormal. The society I come from repeatedly affirms that I am the normal one whose Band-aids have always matched my skin. But the truth is there’s nothing any more “normal” about the color of my skin, yours, an Indian’s, or Barack Obama’s. The challenge is that I have now received a label that I did not ask for and would prefer to reject. And because I don’t speak Malayalam, I will never even understand the complexity of the connotations associated with the word
saip, my label, like its users do.
What I do have control over, and will use more carefully from here on out, is the labels that I place on others. For example, until now, I have never really understood why U.S. citizens whose ancestors were Mexican do not want to be referred to as Mexican themselves. I always thought, “Well, my grandmother doesn’t mind being called German.” I think I get it now. There are plenty of connotations and various understandings associated with the word “Mexican” and if you prefer “Hispanic” or “Latina/o,” I am happy to oblige. It is not denying someone’s identity; it is recognizing the common humanity and honoring people enough to empower them to choose how that identity is expressed through a medium as powerful as language.
So, one of my struggles in India is to
not become frustrated or offended as I hear
saip littered throughout Malayalam conversations right in from of me or when a child sights me on the street and immediately starts pointing to their parent while saying that dreaded word. Instead, I will try to appreciate that this situation offers me an opportunity to feel the uncomfortableness of being the minority (and believe me, it’s a unique, powerful, and irreplaceable experience) and allows me, in a small way, to be in solidarity with other minorities in the world, especially in my own country, who struggle to escape undesired, painful, divisive labels.
