The Land of Over-labeling: Part 1

Though we are only in our second month as temporary Singaporeans, here is one thing I can say for sure: Singapore is predictable...to the nth degree. This convenient feature of Singaporean life becomes blatantly apparent when using the city's subway transit system...the MRT.

Singapore's MRT works much like any other subway. The lines are color-coded, and you know which direction to go based on a particular line's termination point. Easy enough, right? Well, just in case the color-coding and directional logic evades a novices skill set, each line is also labeled based on which directional areas it serves (NE, SW, etc.). Presumably, if you know which area of town you need to go (and can't figure out the colors) you can still get to your destination. And just in case you're still not sure which line is the correct one to board, each line is also numbered.

So by now, any novice traveling by subway in Singapore has probably boarded the correct train. But how do you know at which station to disembark? No problem. Chinatown is labeled "Chinatown." Same for "Little India" and the "Changi Airport." Additionally, all the stations are labeled not only in English but in Chinese, Malay, and Tamil. And just in case you don't read or speak any of those languages, each station is also labeled based on directional route with a consecutive numbering scheme (NE22, NE23, etc).

So props to Singapore for making it easy to get around. But for those looking for the excitement of the unpredictable, you'll be predictably disappointed.

Culture Shock

Thanks to all of you who are sticking with me despite a month-long hiatus from blogging! As a segue into Singapore life, I thought it might be amusing to explore what might happen if a Nigerian showed up in Singapore or vice versa. This is how I see it playing out:

Nigerian in Singapore
"Tunde" arrives at the airport in Singapore and is immediately stopped by customs. He bought 20 IPods during his layover in London and brought two cartons of cigarettes from Nigeria. He's questioned by customs thoroughly, tries to slip the agent some cash which is quickly rejected, raises his voice and yells a bit (to the consternation of the customs agent), and gets his cigarettes confiscated.

Looking to replace his lost goods, he browses in the duty free shops for a bit and finally emerges at baggage claim to a worried looking chauffeur. Your plane arrived over 2 hours ago. Is everything alright? No wahala, Tunde says. His nervous driver quickly drops him off at his new home and leaves hurridly...he's already 5 minutes late picking up his next appointment.

Tunde leaves for work the next day...no car, no driver, no security? He wonders why he must take care of his commute himself and opts for a cab over the subway. He stops at McDonald's on the way, eats his McMuffin enroute, and discards his wrapper out the car window getting a couple odd looks as he does so. He arrives to work about 9:30...not bad considering he had to arrange transportation himself.

His new boss introduces herself, gives a quick overview of his job duties, and sets him to work on a project. Rude, he thinks. She didn't even ask about my family.

Singaporean in Nigeria
"Wan Li" arrives in the Lagos airport and waits for her company vehicle to pick her up. Why she couldn't just take a cab into the city she does not know. After two hours of waiting, her van finally arrives. She's wondering if the van driver did something terribly wrong; afterall, there are four gentleman armed with AK47s following behind. Just for security they tell her. Security? How dangerous is this place?

She's been informed that her commute to work will be long. I've had to commute in from Ang Mo Kio 6 days a week in Singapore, she thinks. Long commute, no problem. Her first day of work, she arrives late...two hours late! Who'd have thought 15 kilometers could take 3 hours! Completely embarrassed she profusely apoligizes to her boss. No wahala, her boss says. He's just arrived as well! Her boss procedes to ask her about her family and chat for the next two hours. By now it's lunch time. Wan Li is getting nervous that she has not yet settled in and been given an assignment. Once again, no wahala. The assignment will come when it's time.

She decides after work she wants to do a bit of shopping. Wan Li heads to the market and is immediately accosted (figuratively, of course) by 10 salespeople wanting her business. She quickly ducks into a make-shift booth to look at a tank top from H&M. "3,500 Naira" the gentleman says...she does the math in her head...$30? I could get this for $5 in Singapore! She finally talks him down to 2,500 and leaves feeling ripped off.


As Americans, I believe we have an advantage. Partly because of language (everyone speaks English, and those that don't know someone who does); partly because of media (we automatically have a common ground based on the international reach of American films and TV); and partly because of a general American knowledge (because of its high profile on the international scene, most people know how Americans act more than Americans do). But for those coming to and from countries such as Nigeria or Singapore, good luck. They are the ones who will truly be culture shocked.

180 Degrees of Separation

It has been one week, Brian and I are officially settled in Singapore, and the differences between our former home and our new home....well, let's just say it's a whole different world!

Upon arrival, differences between the 2nd largest city in Africa and the city-state we would now live in became immediately apparent. We traversed a sea of never-ending tall buildings all the way from the airport to our new flat; impeccably manicured flora flanked all the roads; and everyone looked, well, American (except for obvious ethnic differences). In other words, this could have been any big, new city in the States with shopping galore and socio-economic differences not immediately apparent.

But not only did things look different, things seemed to work differently. Case in point. Obviously when a new tenant moves into an apartment, certain things must happen. Linens need to be changed, day-to-day norms need to be explained, and often there is a welcome package for those moving in. All of this was true for us in both Lagos and Singapore, but logistically they occurred in much different manners.

Just before leaving Lagos, I happened to be home when our roommate's new linens arrived. Others (a group of 4 or 5 to be exact) had come the day before but had not completed the job. This new group I encountered (only 3 this time) had the missing items and were required to remove others. After discussing for about 15 minutes what was needed, what had been dropped off, and what they were providing that day, I still didn't have a clear idea of exactly what had been removed, added, or left alone. I signed the "drop off" papers reluctantly, unclear as to what I was signing for...some of the items had been in our flat for months!

In Singapore, however, the handling of linens was taken care of by one person; and, upon a request for more towels, they magically appeared in our bathroom the next day (and every day that followed). To be fair...we did have to sign for the items in our apartment, but the list was the most exhaustive, accurate, yet understandable itemized list I had ever seen, accounting for everything from wall art to the dish drainer. And I haven't thought about our linens since.

As for our Lagos welcome package and learning the day-to-day norms of our living compound, this required "networking" for us to finally feel settled in. In Singapore, on the other hand, the welcome package was in our flat upon arrival, and routines and norms of our apartment complex were explained in detail to us an hour after we arrived.

In way, it's a bit like entering the twilight zone...coming from a place of inconsistency and few rules to a place where consistency and rules are king. But really, I think it's just 180 degree of cultural separation.