The following story is an excerpt from my book, The Heart of Homestay: Creating Meaningful Connections When Hosting International Students. It’s one of my dad’s favourites!
Back in the days when my parents were the only ones who answered the CHN phone outside of office hours, my dad, Fraser, took a call from a Japanese student in Toronto whom he had met at the language school orientation the week before. With no preamble, she said she wanted to move to a new family. Immediately.
“Okay, I’m listening,” Fraser said. “What’s up?”
“I don’t feel comfortable here. I can’t—I don’t—I’m worried.” Himari’s voice was quiet, trembling.
Fraser was surprised, given what he knew of the host family. “When I saw you last week, everything was perfect! I was just telling my wife, Robin, how happy you’ve been. What happened? When did things change?”
“Last night, I lost my pencil.”
Her pencil? Whether or not Fraser was surprised by this detail, he didn’t show it. In homestay, when someone complains, the underlying issue is often something deeper.
“Have you asked your host about the pencil?”
“Oh no, no, I couldn’t do that.”
In many Eastern cultures such as Chinese, Japanese, Thai, and Korean, as well as Arabic, Indian, Russian and other Slavic traditions, there is a sociological concept known as “face.” It’s a group of customs dealing with dignity, honour, morality, and prestige that guide behaviour in social relationships. Face can be lost or gained, given or taken. The importance of face cannot be underestimated. People from these cultures will go to great lengths to protect face (their own as well as others) to avoid shame. In fact, making someone lose face can sometimes insult them so much as to create an enemy for life.
Face can be lost in a number of common situations in a homestay setting, when openly criticizing, challenging, disagreeing with, or denying students; calling them out on a lie; interrupting them; or being angry at them. Both the host and the student can lose face in these situations.
Understanding the concept of face can help hosts better grasp why a student might not say what they really think, or outright lie. Many students will avoid confrontation by turning down an invitation with a vague “Maybe,” “Yes, maybe,” “I’ll do my best,” “Let’s think/talk about it later,” or “I need to discuss it with so-and-so first.” Or they may say nothing to avoid revealing their lack of ability or knowledge (such as being able to speak English).
Himari suspected someone had taken her special pencil. In her culture, however, she couldn’t confront anyone; to do so would either cause the host to lose face (by catching them in a theft) or she would lose face by falsely accusing them. If someone had taken the pencil, her silence avoided humiliation on both sides.
Fraser understood that Himari was trying to save face—both hers and her host’s—by asking for a relocation. He also understood that his response had the power to transform this experience for Himari and her host.
“Leave this with me,” Fraser said. “Give me fifteen minutes, and if at the end of that time you’re not happy, then I’m going to come and get you.”
Himari was skeptical. “You’re not going to speak to my host, are you?”
“Leave this with me. The deal is, if you’re not happy, I’ll come and get you.”
Fraser called the host.
“Ashley,” he said, “you have to promise me you’re not going to laugh when I tell you this. Under any circumstances, please don’t laugh.” She started to chuckle with anticipation before he began, but regained her composure when she understood his tone to be serious. “Here’s the situation. Your student is nervous. She’s lost her pencil. In her mind, it means something else could go missing. And she can’t talk to you, because you might lose face. So, she’s having trouble coping with this. It’s nothing to do with you. It’s to do with the difference in culture, and the relationships between people in Japan. I’m going to ask you to help her navigate this challenge. But that means you’ve got to be smart about how you go about this. You can’t judge her. You certainly can’t consider this trivial, because for her it’s a big deal. It’s so big that she wants to move to a new host.”
“Okay, I’m listening,” Ashley said.
“I want you to go down the hall and ask your student if you can help her find her pencil. And you can’t laugh. You have to take this seriously. She’s being very brave.”
“Got it.”
“I’m going to hang up now and call Himari, and ask her to ask you for help.”
When Fraser called Himari, she said she couldn’t ask her host for help. Fraser encouraged her and reminded her that if it didn’t work out, he would be there in twenty-five minutes to pick her up.
“Now, you need to believe in yourself and believe in your host. Try it! Then call me back and tell me how you get along.”
Himari summoned her courage and walked down the hall to ask Ashley for help. The host was ready. She didn’t laugh, she didn’t minimize it, and she didn’t make assumptions or accusations. They soon found the missing pencil in a kitchen drawer— you know, the spot where people put the bits and bobs that float around the house and need a place to land.
It was a watershed moment: for the first time, Himari began to understand that with Ashley, she had permission to express her feelings, even if it might make Ashley uncomfortable.
Himari’s story is a reminder that relationships can suffer not only because of language barriers or pronunciation blunders, but because of cultural differences. How have you seen culture impact communication in particular?
