I don’t know about you, but as long as I have been in school there has always been a push for diversity, whether it be Black History Month or the International Festival. For my high school, the international bazaar was the place to get your helping of diversity.
Considering that my high school was right outside of South Charlotte, there was very little diversity. The few students who weren’t German or Italian were picked through and personally “invited” by the coordinator to make a booth for the bazaar. “Hey, you there! Yes, you, non-white student. How would you like a table at our international bazaar?”
When I was initially approached freshman year of high school, I was hesitant. What would a whole table dedicated to Pakistan even have? I could do the classy thing and cover it in plates of rice and curry. That would be a total crowd-pleaser. Even besides the fact that I initially had no good ideas for the table, I was worried if I was even the best candidate for it. Sure, I was the only Pakistani student who was up for the job, but I was born in Chicago. Raised in the good U-S-of-A. What if I got my culture wrong? In my insecure freshman mind, that kind of stuff could happen.
I put my worries to rest when I realized that I am a great representative of my culture, if I do say so myself. My parents did a fantastic job of raising my siblings and me with that delicate balance of being Americans but also knowing our roots. It couldn’t have been easy. The task entailed frequent trips to Pakistan, celebrating holidays in traditional clothes and speaking the language, Urdu. But, we never forgot that we are just as American as anyone else who was born and raised here. As Mindy Kaling likes to put it, we were raised with “the entitlement of a tall, blond, white man.” Props to my parents, man. This all seems very tricky.
Flash forward to the international bazaar. The day of the event. You nervous? You’re probably thinking things like: “Did she represent her culture correctly?”; “Were people interested?”; and “I wonder how much she made her mom cook.” Let me put your thoughts to ease. The bazaar was a hit. With the help of my family and three non-Pakistani friends, we created a booth that was the talk of the town (disclaimer: this is hyperbolic).
Ideas for the table came to me after some soul-searching and brainstorming. I realized that Pakistan is a textiles hub. Every time my family visited, we would go to markets that are simply covered in every kind of fabric possible. Pakistan makes some of those hip clothes you kids are buying from Urban Outfitters. And yes, we make good food, so I used that to my advantage and had my mom cook up something nice and spicy.
It is a strange thing, being one of the only windows to Pakistani culture for a room full of people. You don’t want to leave them to learning about your culture on their own because they will likely turn to the news, which does a great job of showing all the horrible things about it. You also don’t want to act like you are the only real-life Pakistani that some of these people will ever meet because that’s condescending. However, in reality, some people really won’t ever meet another person from my country. The pressure is on.
In the end, our booth looked like a colorful mix of food, fabric and fun. People loved hearing about my culture, and I realized that I loved talking about it. At the end of the day, the only way to change a stereotype is by giving people a reason to think differently. I kept this in mind and continued representing Pakistan at the international bazaar every other year I was in high school. Diversity, am I right?
