Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals

Without picking up a dictionary or googling it on Wikipedia, how would you define the word ‘culture’? Do you live your life according to it?  Does it define who you are?  Is it your excuse?  Or would you go so far as to say that it is ‘rubbish’?

I sit here in my lovely window filled kitchen, coffee at my elbow, iTunes playing from my docking station, after just putting a chicken in the oven to cook for dinner.  The ever-present window shutters are not closed yet, despite me feeling like I have 50 Jewish eyes peering in at me from the apartments above us, but I love these tall windows that bring a little bit of outside in.

Over the Freedom Years in South Africa, the term culture has become a bit of a buzzword, a phrase to allow and encourage us to be more forgiving of one another.  Even I am guilty of defending President Zuma to a Dutch national on Facebook a few years ago, saying that it is acceptable for him to have as many wives as he does.  After all, it is his culture, isn’t it?  And while I do not want to stir a political or religious discussion here, it really does provide us food for thought.

While the Fundamentalist Church of Latter Day Saints in Utah live a life where polygamy is acceptable, even in a country where Christianity is the victor, and Burqa clad women are the norm in Islamic countries, cultural explanations falling out of religious beliefs really does make for a difficult conversation.

Politics and religion aside, what about your personal thoughts on your own culture?

To me, the word culture reminds me of my Mum and Dad, early mornings out of bed to attend to feeding calves and hens, porridge, bacon and eggs at 08h00 sharp while we were not allowed to talk while the news was on.  My idea of my culture makes me think of meals times seated at the familial dining room table, and the word bored was not allowed to be spoken aloud.  We had a farm in which to run around on.  We attended boarding school where rules and respect were indoctrinated. 

Sadly, I do not live my life according to how I view my cultural origins.  I wish I was as passionate about rules and expectations with my own daughters as I think my parents were with us.  That being said, my life evolved on its own between leaving home in 1996, my marriage a decade later and the birth of my Alexandria in 2008.  Over a decade of working in hotels or restaurants has led me to be more frivolous with time, more forgiving of my own bad habits. 

It is no secret that I have changed.  We all have.  We evolve over time, for better or worse.  Our perspectives and values change.

As average South African mothers, we spend far too much time focusing on work, and you would be considered lucky to have anything different. 

For 5 years as a mother, I have rushed off to work at 5h40, and was never home until well after 16h00.  Once I was home, I would try spend time focusing on my children, kissing elbows where they have fallen off the jungle gym, laughing at the little jokes that have filtered through from their friends, and relishing in their kisses and hugs.  All too soon, dinner preparations would have to happen, and the girls would have their own dinner given to them before their bath.  By the time Anton was home, the girls would be ready for bed, and we would always watch television while eating our dinner.

This has resulted in my girls being ill-disciplined in their meal habits.  And is the source of some discomfit in my life here in France.

 

My friend Mme H, who hails from Pretoria, is married to Fred from Strasbourg (although they met and got married in South Africa) and has lived here in Strasbourg for about 4 years has become attuned to the French culture.  She is 4 years ahead of me in the experience stakes, and has opened my eyes in a way that scares me, and that I would much rather forget!

The differences in French and South African culture are subtle, while at the same time, vast.  The subtle differences can put it down to the common denominator of globalisation, and despite my comment earlier concerning JZ, you can rest assured that globalisation is a contributing factor in South Africa’s culture.

However, the work culture in South Africa, the 45 hours a week, the need to deliver, the necessity to guard your job, your income, to the detriment of family life is the root of BIG differences in our society and culture.

This year at work, I had the experience of being told that I was not putting enough effort into my job, and I had not achieved my expectations.  In order to fulfill those expectations, I had to increase my work load by 20 hours during that one particular week.  I was told that I had no right to expect to go home to my family for meals and dinner that week.

As angry and bitter I was, I did it.  I was very fortunate and grateful for my in-laws to pick up the pieces, despite the fact that that it’s not expected of them.

The stark contrast to this is the French work culture.  Imagine, my South African friends, a 35 hour working week.  Imagine (as a Mum) being able to tell your supervisors that you do not work on Wednesdays because your children do not have school on those days, so you cannot work.  Imagine being given extra days of leave (on top of the statutory 30 days) because the nature of your job means you have to work a 45hour week.  Imagine being able to tell your boss that you would prefer to be paid overtime for working a public holiday, regardless of the fact that you are in actual fact, a supervisor or junior manager.

Honestly, the politics of the job here in France is mostly lost on me, because I am still a stay at home mum.  But it does serve as a reminder, a reason as to why my children are so different to French children.
Here in France, a two hour lunch break is commonplace. As parents you have the option to leave your children for lunch at the school canteen. Or as I still do, collect them and take them home for lunch. p>

My Alex and Beth are not badly behaved children.  If I am being delusional in this matter, I am sorry.  Although Beth is partially the source of a head of grey hair, she is the epitome of cuteness with my Mommy friends.  Alex is respectful, and confident in a childlike manner.  Beth is cheeky and cute in one little bundle.  My girls do not bully other children.  My girls do not seek attention.  They are happy carefree little girls.

However, here in France, they are lacking.  They seem to lack grace.  They lack quietness.  They could be considered to naughty, mischievous, without manners. 

Taking public transport with them is one of the difficult parts of my day.  They do not stand demurely to the side, waiting patiently for the bus’s arrival.  Instead, they dash up and down the pavement, playing with each other to whittle away the waiting time. The old ladies also waiting stand cautiously, with baited breath for them to fall into the road, and are quick to shake their head at me for allowing such behaviour.  The girls are eager to be the person to open the tram door, to swipe travel cards, to climb onto their allocated seat, and heaven forbid Alex sits at the window because that is always Beth’s seat.  They do not sit still if the bus or tram is half empty, and are often swopping seats and moving around.  This is in contrast to the French children, who sit, almost bored, in their seats, waiting for their stop.  Where my girls might embarrass me with their exuberance, they appear to love life.  They appear to be happy.

While I am ‘over’ my girls public transport behaviour, I am still struggling with their eating habits.  This is my own fault, for reasons mentioned earlier, but I am determined to change it.

 

Hayley has told me that French children are expected to eat meals as adults do.  They are encouraged to sit demurely at a meal table and eat exactly what the adults are eating, without complaining.  I am not going to dispute all of this.  I think the time spent at a meal table with family members (or friends) is absolutely necessary. I reminds me of Netherby and where I came from.  I am embracing this wholeheartedly here in France, and you won’t recognise us now that we sit and have breakfast together most mornings, and dinner almost every evening.  Even if it is just me at home with the girls at lunch, they sit in the kitchen eating their finger lunch.

However, finger meals themselves are a no-no.  Plain food stuffs are an unacceptable meal.  A 3 year old should be capable of eating as an adult would I am told.  What this now means for us, in an effort to bridge this gap, is that I now cook one meal in the evenings, so chilli and curry is out of the question.  As are cheese sauce based meals, for the time being. 

As I now have all this ‘free’ time, I am able to start broadening the palettes of my children.  (Except for the pumpkin department, which I discovered this week, Beth is allergic to. Go figure.)

I have been told that my girls eat like birds, not actually consuming very much at all.  Considering the fact that my girls do eat vegetables quite well, and are taller than most French children I have come across, this does not bode well with me. 

As a result, I sit with conflicting opinions- while Alex and Beth are fussy eaters, they are not lacking in nutrition, and are quite healthy.  While I will not happily send them off somewhere unfamiliar for lunch, I know my children, and what to feed them. 

Oh dear, I have to laugh!  While this has taken me the better part of 5 hours to write while gathering my thoughts, I seem to have clarified my insecurities somewhat. 

While I feel it is important in our situation to embrace the way of the locals we have chosen to surround ourselves in, it is also important to learn what you feel necessary, to change where you see fit, all the while being true to your heart and who you are.

I cannot force Alex and Beth to sit still on a bus at the snap of a wrist.  I cannot force them to eat Coq au Vin or carpaccio tomorrow.  However, I will do my best to distract them enough that they don’t have to play at tram stations or bus stops, and speak carefully encouraging them to be aware of other people’s space.  Slowly, I will tell them that they should try one new taste every day.  At the same time, I will be forced to think outside the box, stretching MY own capabilities as a mom, and a chef.  Slowly, our lives will change again, and slowly, our own culture will evolve too.