Adventures in Fieldwork Part 4

 Adventures in Fieldwork Part 4

Note: This essay is about my own culture shock and is not in any way intended to be disparaging towards the people in Village. The conditions there are complex and I am not being critical of the place or the people. My focus is on my own mindset and shortcomings in this situation.

All photos by Shari Burke

One and a half years after I left Village, I was preparing to return.  I’d switched my research focus to language preservation, thinking that this might be more useful to the Native people I hoped to be working with. Also, I was quite fascinated by the topic. I had another grant and had managed to convince myself that since I had experienced the culture shock last time, I would be better prepared for the trip this time.  I kept repeating this to myself as if that would make something wonderful happen. Instead, I spent the week between Christmas and New Year’s with an upset stomach and headaches. I would leave on January 2.  

   This time, I would not be able to stay with my friends.  They were in Fairbanks and in their house were two of their daughters, their boyfriends and assorted children.  My friend thought I’d be more comfortable elsewhere and she wanted to be the one to find a place for me to stay. I would have rather done this myself, but she was adamant and I did not want to insult her. I was told not to worry—I could either stay with this woman from the Park Service, or with some relatives I had met last time I was there—since I was Kuukpiaq, she felt they would be happy to have me there, if they were in town. Besides, it would be better to stay with the relatives I was told.  The woman from the Park Service would be a last resort since she was white woman.  I stopped myself before I could remind her that I, too, was a white woman!

    On January 1, I heard that the call from the relatives had come—they would be happy to host me for the week I was there, I was told.  All I had to do was call and let them know when I would be arriving.  I did that immediately.  My call was answered by a barely intelligible drunk young man who informed me that his parents would not be home that night.  There was nothing else to do but to wait until morning.  I slept little that night.

    The next morning dawned clear and cold.  I called Village and spoke to a somewhat dazed sounding fellow, who said he would be at the airport later that day.  I left my house and in spite of the cold, found myself drenched in a cold, clammy sweat.  I sat in the plane at the gate for a long time while they waited to see what the weather was like in Anchorage.  I watched them de-ice the plane and prayed  for a blizzard in Anchorage.  Alas, no blizzard appeared and we were soon on our way.  My mental conversation with myself continued all the way to Anchorage and through the next flight.  “Everything will be fine,” I told myself.

 

I got to Village and walked out the back end of the plane and down the steps.  We headed toward the terminal building and I scanned the crowd looking for the people who were to meet me, but there was no sign of them.  By the time I got inside, the luggage was already being unloaded and there were stacks of beer cases duct taped together.  A couple of minutes before my suitcase appeared, my hosts rushed in.  They exchanged glances when they saw my suitcase, but I told myself it meant nothing.  It was just my nervousness.  I kept up the stream of cheerful chatter that was flowing out from my mouth.

    We rushed back to their house and wolfed down some dinner.  then we sped over to the school where a basketball tournament was being held.  In an Alaskan village, basketball tournaments are like the Super Bowl.  We settled into the bleachers as the game was starting.  I was informed that both teams were from Village, but one was Native and one was White.  As I dutifully began to cheer for the Native team, they relaxed and got into the game.  I started to relax, too.

    That was a bit premature, however.  We went back to their house after the game and engaged in small talk for awhile.  Then they told me that since as far as they knew their son hadn’t been home in a week, I would sleep in his room.  “I hope he doesn’t come home and get into bed with you, “ they said laughing.  I smiled weakly and thought of the drunken man I had spoken to on the phone.  I knew in my gut that he’d be home that night.  Then they finally got to the point.  “How long are you staying?” they asked.  I tried to be upbeat as I told them I’d be in town for a week.  Their faces fell and my heart began to pound.  They then proceeded to spend 15 minutes explaining why I could not stay there.  I told them that I could get in touch with the woman from the Park Service.  Acid dripped from every word as they asked with disgust, “Is she WHITE?”  “I think so,” I responded and felt very, very tired.  I said I would go to bed.