Every now and then something happens and boyfriend and I are forced to look at each other and think "Wow. We really come from different cultures."
It doesn't happen often but there are times when our cultures clash (I think it may have something to do with his people indiscriminately subjugating mine from 1948 to 1994 - but, hey, who's counting?).
Like at my grandfather's 80th birthday party in Durban. Boyfriend did not understand how every woman present (there were, like, a hundred) was my aunty. Or why he had to kiss them all and offer a reverent "Namaste" - but he did, graciously. He's a champ like that.
The nice thing about being forced to deal with a culture that isn't your own is you learn and grow. You should see Boyfriend eat curry and rice with his fingers - he's a pro.
Likewise, before he came along, the idea of being on a farm would have horrified me. The idea of being on a farm with killer-looking insects would have sent me to my grave.
This is pre-Boyfriend Jerusha on a farm with insects:And, honest to blog, this is me on a farm in Limpopo - helping Boyfriend figure out the genus of the monstrosity lurking on the curtain behind us. (With Philip, our German. We're collecting Germans.)