Growing up in Illinois, when I was in elementary school, it was commonplace for our school to have several emergency drills in case there was a tornado. We knew to hide under our desks and cover our heads with our hands and wait until the drill was over. The thought behind the drill was that we would be ready if a disaster ever struck. We followed up with fire drills as well. We prepared for what we knew could happen but hoped would never happen to us… (more…)
Recently, while checking out at the grocery store my 6-year old daughter wandered a few aisles down to chat with someone while she waited. In child-friendly Indonesia, this is pretty common.
Though my son is generally more wary of people, my daughter is naturally outgoing and enjoys “making friends” wherever we go – usually chatting away in English about school, her friends, her cat, etc.
My son soon went over to join her while I finished paying. As I started to wheel the shopping cart in their direction, I looked up to see that my daughter was giving this man a giant hug around the waist.
My stomach lurched.
Somehow we’d missed out a key lesson from Stranger Danger 101.
We quickly left the store, parked the cart on the sidewalk outside and discussed the fact that it’s not appropriate to hug or touch people that are not our friends or family. I left it at that for the moment, yet days later I found myself still reflecting on the experience and how cultural variables have shaped my thinking.
Growing up in the US, child safety rules were ingrained from a young age, including the widely used “stranger danger” warning that is intended to keep children safe from adults they don’t know.
In Indonesia, it is not so black and white. Typical rules such as “Don’t talk to strangers” can be tricky, if not impossible. Jakarta dwellers are extremely friendly and it is common to talk with and be approached by strangers wherever you go. For me, these kindly interactions are one of the joys of living here and it’s often the presence of my children that sparks the most interesting exchanges.
Another rule, “Don’t accept gifts from strangers,” can also be difficult to avoid. My children have been offered sweets by security guards and local treats by waiting area strangers. We may not always partake of these offerings, but there are times when it would be impolite to refuse them.
Children in particular attract a great deal of attention in Indonesia and strangers frequently pinch cheeks, touch hair and even take photos. My kids don’t usually appreciate this, but it can be a good opportunity to explore personal boundaries and what is comfortable or not.
Not long ago, an adoring Grandma-type reached out to stroke my daughter’s hair while she was washing her hands in the airport restroom. My daughter recoiled and then shouted “NO! I don’t like it!” at the top of her lungs. Although she probably shocked the small tour group of elderly ladies, her boundaries were clear.
In terms of larger safety concerns, it is interesting to consider how perceptions of danger in different contexts – and perceptions of safety – influence my parenting.
The recent article by Hanna Rosin,”The Overprotected Kid,” raises some important points about these perceptions:
“When you ask parents why they are more protective than their parents were, they might answer that the world is more dangerous than it was when they were growing up. But this isn’t true, or at least not in the way that we think. For example, parents now routinely tell their children never to talk to strangers, even though all available evidence suggests that children have about the same (very slim) chance of being abducted by a stranger as they did a generation ago. Maybe the real question for sharing is, how did these fears come to have such a hold over us? And what have our children lost—and gained—as we’ve succumbed to them?”
Like any parent, I want my children to be safe. However, I don’t want them to grow up in an atmosphere of fear and mistrust. To me, rather than emphasizing stranger danger, it seems far more useful to instill confidence and teach them to recognize and avoid certain situations, rather than people in general.
I hope that I can equip my children with the skills, knowledge and strategies they will need to protect themselves and be safe but not scared. Obviously, it’s an ongoing process but one that is particularly important for our family as we move between countries and as our children grow up and encounter new situations.
How do you navigate cultural norms and perceptions related to child safety?
This is an original post for World Moms Blog by Shaula Bellour, mother of twins and now living in Indonesia.
Photo Credit: Wilson X . This image holds a Flickr Creative Commons attribution license.
This post is a reflection by our editor, MamaMzungu, in Kenya on the September 21, 2013 shooting in Nairobi, when 10-15 unidentified gunmen opened fire in an upscale, downtown shopping mall, killing 62 and wounding more than 175 people.
I’ve spent the last few days fighting back (often unsuccessfully) tears. When I communicate about this tragedy to friends and family, I find myself most often saying, “there are no words.”
Sixty dead souls, children among them, nearly 200 injured and the senseless death toll keeps mounting. Ravi Ramrattan, among them, is a friend who was kind-hearted, whip-smart and had a manner that immediately put everyone at ease. They identified him by his shoes.
Unthinkably, when I describe him, I have to use the verb “was” not “is;” his bright future snatched from him, leaving a crater-sized hole in the hearts of people who loved him. Those are words. And as I type them, here I go again fighting that tightening in my throat and welling in my eyes.
Still, I need to find words. I need to find some sense or meaning out of this tragedy.
When we first heard about the shooting, we were camping in a forest with some friends. We were walking amid astounding beauty with our children, 3 four-year-olds and 3 babies. We received information in fits and starts when cell phone reception worked.
First it was 15-20 dead. Shit. That’s gotta be a terrorist attack.
Then it was 29. Holy crap. Pit in the belly. Do we know anyone?
Then it was 39. But these numbers could keep going up. Where will it stop?.
Then, 59 dead. Silence.
But it was one small detail, not the numbers, that finally made that scene at the luxury mall real: It was a children’s day at the mall. Something I might have taken my own babies to. Some of these children were now dead.
I was going to write something about numbers, how we interpret tragedy and risk through a narrow and almost tribal lens. How I’ve seen a lot of equally senseless and avoidable death from terror of poverty. And those numbers are higher than 60.
How disappointing the truth is that it pains me to my core, when the victims look like me – when I can picture myself and my children in that circumstance.
How, as much as I think of myself as part of a truly global community, the world spins off its axis more for me when my bubble of safety and comfort is exploded.
But forget all that. I’m not in the mood to be philosophical yet. I just want to be sad. I want to mourn.
All life is precious. And fleeting. And nothing is sure. I just want to hug my family extra tight. And I want to pray to a god which I have to cling to, even though such senselessness make me doubt his existence, to bring comfort to the people who are unexpectedly burying loved ones too soon.
Mama Mzungu is a World Moms Blog editor and contributor living in Kenya with her husband and two young children. You can read more about their life and recent events on her blog: Mama Mzungu This article was reposted on World Moms Blog with permission.
The image used in this post is credited to US Army Africa and holds a Flickr Creative Commons attribution license.
Originally from Chicago, Kim has dabbled in world travel through her 20s and is finally realizing her dream of living and working in Western Kenya with her husband and two small boys, Caleb and Emmet. She writes about tension of looking at what the family left in the US and feeling like they live a relatively simple life, and then looking at their neighbors and feeling embarrassed by their riches. She writes about clumsily navigating the inevitable cultural differences and learning every day that we share more than we don’t. Come visit her at Mama Mzungu.
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As I pulled up to the car pool line I passed the neighbor’s car as she finished dropping off and headed back home. We gave a quick wave and went on our way.
I dropped Jackson off and watched as he slowly made his way into school without a care in the world. And just when I thought he had long forgotten about me he turned around, cracked a smile and waved. I shed a few tears as I drove off, and reminded myself that letting him go and grow is a good thing! It’s out of my comfort zone at times which can be scary, but it’s good for him, for me, for us.
A few minutes later a text popped up on my cell phone. It was from my neighbor.
“Sometimes I get teary eyed dropping off the kids at school and thinking of Newtown”
“Me too” I replied. Me too. (more…)
Natalia and her son in Tunis.
As I sat in the Embassy listening to the rocks and chants hitting the wall outside, I couldn’t help but feel as though my maternal instincts had failed me. Why didn’t I know to leave? Why did I stand on the second floor, flippantly observing the gathering crowds, and assume it would just be your standard protest? Shouldn’t I have had some sixth sense, some feeling in my gut that things were going to go from bad to worse?
I knew that the baby was far from danger, picked up by family friends from his daycare miles from the Embassy. The staff had in fact been quite at a loss to understand why I couldn’t pick him up at 2pm. “Protests you say?”
The events of September 14th at the U.S Embassy in Tunis took many people by surprise. Not least of which the Tunisians who were even more taken aback when the order was given to evacuate all non-essential Embassy personnel and all families. (more…)
Knotted Gun sculpture outside UN Headquarters in NYC.
Here, in South Korea, as in every other part of the world, there has been grief and shock over the shootings in Connecticut. The loss of so many young lives in such a vicious act of violence is incomprehensible across languages, religions, and cultures.
After tragedies like this one, which are all too commonplace in the US, people want as much information as possible about the shooter, their family, their upbringing. Any clue at all as to how this could have happened, even though we all know that no answer will ever satisfy us. There is nothing we could discover that would make this ok or comprehensible.
As people across the world ask why – why on earth would someone do this? – in many places people are asking why this young man had access to weapons that could fire 6 bullets per second. (more…)
Ms. V returned from a 3-year stint in Seoul, South Korea and is now living in the US in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with her partner, their two kids, three ferocious felines, and a dog named Avon Barksdale. She grew up all over the US, mostly along the east coast, but lived in New York City longer than anywhere else, so considers NYC “home.” Her love of travel has taken her all over the world and to all but four of the 50 states. Ms. V is contemplative and sacred activist, exploring the intersection of yoga, new monasticism, feminism and social change. She is the co-director and co-founder of Samdhana-Karana Yoga: A Healing Arts Center, a non-profit yoga studio and the spiritual director for Hab Community. While not marveling at her beautiful children, she enjoys reading, cooking, and has dreams of one day sleeping again.
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