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Cooper Stephenson Henkel

Professor Heidi Kelley
Cultural Anthropology
11 February 2015
From El Nahra to Christ School:
A Comparative Autoethnography
One of the more recent and immersive instances of culture shock in my life involves a
fairly rash decision to attend boarding school in North Carolina. Dissatisfied with the dwindling
Washington Island Schools student body and funding, my parents presented to me several
avenues by which I could complete my final two years of high school.
One option involved relocating to Louisville, Kentucky (my place of origin) or to
Lexington, Kentucky to live with family and ultimately to attend one of western Kentuckys
numerous private schools. Another more enticing option was to find a residential boarding
school that looked suitable. Not wanting to reacquaint myself with the potential distractions and
pitfalls of familial relations, I decided that the opportunity to attend a residential high school was
too exotic and enthralling to ignore. By means of a boarding school advisor, I discovered the
Asheville area and the two predominant boarding school options there, Christ School (located
just south of the city, in Arden) and The Asheville School. The advisor, after several sessions
over the phone, somehow deemed the single-gender, staunchly religious Christ School a better fit
for me.
In August 2010, after a pleasant summer spent fortifying Island friendships, my parents
and I travelled to Arden for registration and move-in. Registration day, my campus debut, was a
jarring experience for me and my parents and probably for anyone who sensed our alien
presence. Akin to Elizabeth Ferneas ethnography Guests of the Sheik, one of the initial and most
blunt culture jolts stemmed from a stark difference in dress. Having finally reached a train

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station near her final destination, Fernea recalls: [as] people gathered to stare at meI
slowly became aware thatI was the only woman without an abayah. I began to be selfconscious (Fernea 5). The universality of the abayahor traditional covering worn by women
in southern Iraqmanifests as a distinct and strictly-followed code of dress to which Fernea, a
Chicagoan, does not automatically or naturally adhere. Within mere minutes of her arrival to the
Diwaniya station, Ferneas decision to publically forgo the abayah quickly becomes a point of
obvious contention and, in turn, powerful embarrassment.
My family and I, on the other hand, were well aware that the school mandated a uniform
style of dress for its students, but without proper introduction to Southern upper-middle class
society, the striking similarity between regional fashion and the Christ School uniform was not
obvious until our physical arrival. To illustrate this cultural disparity, I had on: a pair of red high
tops, skin-tight jeans, and a low-cut T-shirt; the other students, however, wore button-downs
neatly tucked in to colored slacks or shorts, top siders sans socks, and, if aiming for something a
bit more formal, ties or bow-ties. Although expressing identity through a distinct sense of style
had been paramount during my time at the public Island school, I quickly regretted appearing at
Christ School in my usual getup, for my unintentionally unique style evoked a forceful and
uncomfortable sense of vulnerability.
The extent to which the sexes are segregated presents another challenging cultural
obstacle for both Fernea and for me. In Ferneas ethnography, the cultural mandate by which
women must remain covered while in public is a powerful illustration of implicitor unspoken
but commonly understoodsexual segregation. Mohammed, the servant who attends
unwaveringly to the needs of Fernea and her husband Bob, is one of the few village men with
whom Fernea maintains regular contact. Despite his dutiful and relaxed demeanor, however,

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Mohammed is quick to defend his fragile sense of masculinity: Mohammed asked only one
favor of me the first day. Repeated over and over again, he asked me please not to tell anyone
he washed our dishes or he would be shamed among men for doing womens work (Fernea 17).
Being a naturally effeminate individual myself, a similar preoccupation with masculinity
was evident early during my time at Christ School. To illustrate, there predominated an
understanding that expendable school funds were by default spent on athletics facilities and
equipment, rather than channeled toward expanding the limited arts program or improving the
unimpressive campus dining services. The school administration (comprised entirely of men)
seemed hell-bent on the constant reinforcement of masculinity through the elevation of
traditionally manly or boyish endeavors, such as sports. The prep conducted by the
faculty and administration of Christ School, I observed, was not a transparent preparation of
students for an independent college life at all; rather, the students faced incessant conditioning
meant to reinforce traditional gender roles, which generally went unquestioned. Similar to
Ferneas observations, gender roles were so efficiently enforced at Christ School due to the
guiding principle of sexual segregation so prevalent in campus culture.
Although the settings of mine and Ferneas ethnographies are extremely different, our
transitions into foreign cultures are marked with moments of sometimes shocking cultural
difference. Recalling these moments is for me somewhat of a painful chore, because unlike the
purposeful and extensive writings of Fernea, once I acquired the knowledge with which I could
act more appropriate according to the cultural guidelines of Christ School, I tended to abandon
my former line of thinking and behavior. Perhaps in the future I can recall this comparative
exercise in order to take more careful note of the unsettling but vital steps that are a large part of
coming to know another culture.

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