Inside out

Last week I went to my second education conference in a month here in this new land (note to self: two conferences in one month is at least one too many). This one was quite different from the last in that it is an international conference: only 30% of the 500 people here are kiwis. This puts me in a space I’ve never been to before. Generally, I’m the American in the midst of New Zealanders. At this conference, my name badge said NZ, my colleagues were New Zealanders, and I understand the NZ context and acronyms. I presented about NZ schools in groups of New Zealanders. I wasn't a native like the kiwis but I was also not a foreigner like the other 70% of attendees.

Six months ago this neither-here-nor-there place would have made me feel really uncomfortable. (You can check the blogs from June to see.) Last week, I was having fun with it. All of us from NZCER went out to dinner after the conference opening. We gossiped about the others we had seen there, and I heard stories about people I didn’t know—as usual. But I also heard about people I do know, and I got to catch up with friends I’ve made who don’t live in Wellington. We talked about major ideas in NZ education and I could engage at a whole different level than I have been able to before. We drank lovely NZ wine in the warm summer sun and watched the ships come and go in the Auckland harbour. "I love it here so much!" I called out to the delight of my colleagues. When the obviously-North-American waiter came to take my order, I asked him where he was from. “A little town in the US called Annapolis which most people haven’t heard of here,” he told me, and we chatted mid-Atlantic news for a few minutes. I complemented him on his pronunciation of “fillet” (which he said with an “et” ending instead of the “ay” ending we’d use in the US). He said, "No one understands what I'm saying if I say it the regular way," and the kiwis at the table were mystified at our union about that—what other way would you pronounce fillet?

On the second night of the conference, Robyn took me to her son’s flat for dinner. There, I glimpsed inside my friend’s family and met the lovely grown man she raised. Again, I was an outsider—had never met S or his partner before—but I was welcomed inside, an outsider-friend. Together we poked at the fire and cooked corn on the cob over open flames, and I laughed and laughed at the pukekos climbing up out of the estuary (it’s worth a look at these fantastic birds: click here ). We talked about what we do for a living and what we do for joy, and I suddenly felt more family than foreign on the whole scale of things.

The next morning I sat down next to an American at the opening symposium. We were supposed to turn to a neighbour and explain a particular piece of our school system to this international colleague. She explained something about the Florida system and, after a glance at my name tag, asked me about New Zealand. I opened my mouth to explain that I was from the US, but then it turned out that I really did know the answer to her question from the NZ context. So I explained that and then she carefully explained Florida to me and the particulars of her part of Florida—as though I had never heard of Florida before. I told her I knew Florida, that I was from the US, but she glossed over that and continued on. My name tag said New Zealand, and so it was. I was from a country around the world from Florida, and I needed the context! I smiled to myself, and when she asked questions, I gave more context from my part of the world, this little island nation I call home.

(pictures today are mostly from the conference opening at the Orakei Marae which is also worth a look: http://www.ngatiwhatuaorakei.com/Orakei_Marae.htm. The picture of me with the kids is in a rose garden in Wellington.)