Dating : Beyond Skin-Deep: Is African and Chinese Culture as Different as We Think?

The first guy I dated seriously is Kenyan. I’m a second generation Taiwanese-American who grew up in New Hampshire and the daughter of very conservative and sporadically traditional parents. I have a feeling that many people in my situation would be hesitant about bringing their partner home to meet the parents– a very Western ritual, I’m told. But I was more worried about the existence of a boyfriend, not so much his race. In many regards, my parents are not typical “tiger-parents” who mapped out my life from a young age. They emigrated from Taiwan nearly 40 years ago and have assimilated well into rural New England culture, from enjoying the nature and relative solitude to falling in with the small town pace of life. It took me a long time to even begin to see how my parents accepted or rejected certain American norms. The resulting mindset is one that is asperous and unexpected. As it is with every family, especially immigrant families today, the clash of culture wrought many a conflict. It tested the ability and capacity for my parents and I to communicate.

I learned from my older brother’s mistakes in terms of failing to disclose or properly warm up our parents to his girlfriend (who is Chinese, from Hong Kong! That should have been easy.). I wanted to avoid as much of that tension as possible. A few months into dating, I eased my parents into my new boyfriend’s existence. I was living in Kenya at the time and I don’t remember if they explicitly asked about his race– maybe they did? But I was strategic in my approach by talking up the positives and mentioning how he’s religious, a responsible older brother, studying to be an engineer. About 8 months into dating, when we were both back in the States, I introduced my mother to K, who’s charming and sociable and made a great first impression. When he eventually met my father, that went well too– I’d told K so much about my parents, he had no problem sustaining good conversations, carefully calibrated to impress. He did well. They liked him a whole lot and never questioned our relationship or where it was heading.

I’m really lucky in this regard. I know all too many Chinese parents who would never be okay with their children dating someone who isn’t Chinese or white, let alone African. In my younger days, I used to pick fights with my parents about their political leanings. But this experience has shown me how they are very accepting despite the uncomfortable viewpoints they may hold. In 2018, as I prepared to move to Nairobi to tap into the ecological conservation space, I had one too many Chinese relatives and acquaintances say, just make sure you don’t end up getting a black boyfriend. Don’t get HIV.

I often joke about how I’m rather averse to dating white boys. It’s not just that I’m really not attracted to blonde people, but I feel that there would be so many cultural barriers to work through that it would be difficult to attain the form of deeper understanding I look for. Being with K made me realize the vast similarities between Chinese and African cultures, generally speaking. It goes as follows: corporal punishment is not off the table, the demand for parental respect and deference is great, both Africans and Chinese expect their kids to do something useful-– be an engineer, doctor, or lawyer. Moreover, the distance shared between parents and kids is much healthier and less blurred than it is for Caucasians, who tend to go on about how they are “best friends” with their parents. Generally speaking, Asians and Africans do not relate much to that sentiment. To us, parents are familial figures we love, fear, and increasingly take care of. The proportions may be different, but the core idea is the same.

As K and I became close, I felt comfortable revealing certain aspects about my childhood to him. Especially the backlogged emotional process of resolving anguishes stemming from adolescent fights I’ve had with my parents. I’m not sure if I would have revealed so much to someone who didn’t understand the normally complex dynamics in my family as well as he did. While we grew up in diametric households with entirely different disciplines, expectations, and atmospheres, I found that somehow, the expectations and essence were far more similar than I had imagined. My parents were much more involved in my upbringing than his were, but the structure of it all still resonated.

I actually became annoyed with him on several occasions for understanding my parents a bit too well. “You should really stop taking their side,” I’d complain, “That’s kind of messed up.” The matter at hand probably involved something about how I responded to some familial demand, remnants of my parents’ traditional expectations of me. Looking back, I appreciate how he tried to act as a bridge between my parents and I at times. Of course I wish that hadn’t been the case, but in the moment, it can be so hard to keep things from getting murky.