Next Stop: The Twilight Zone

I mentioned a few posts back that upon first arriving to England, nothing really seems dissimilar from the United States. I also mentioned that many people thought living in England might not be much of a cultural experience, because the English and Americans seem similar. We share a language, a history somewhat, and our close relations over the past several decades has spawned a great degree of cultural exchange.

In a lot of regards, this judgment might be right. Of course, it might be just as correct if I were living in France or Italy. Really, how different are people, anyways? We eat 3 meals a day (typically), shower (I hope), read books, drive cars, get married and have children. It wasn’t until last night when someone was pointing at how truly dissimilar the cultures are that it really stuck me how true that is.When you get past the basest basics, and dismiss all those things that we do share, you realize how much we don’t.

This point became clear when I was out at the pub last night. Mainly, the topic of conversation centred on language. The fellow I was speaking with taught Physics for a year in a school in podunk Virginia. He compared the experience to going to Twin Earth. Looks the same, but hey, it really ain’t. The US is a smorgasbord of different cultures, accents, religious beliefs, and more. If asked, it’s really impossible to give a generic Amerian accent or favorite meal, because there are just too many to choose from. The thing that really got him, though, is how the same words and phrases can mean different things in each country. For example, to ‘knock someone up’ in England means to call on them, (i.e. to stop by), but in the US…well, we all know what it means there. To say you’re pissed in the States means that you’re angry, to say it here means you’re drunk. Needless to say, it causes quite a bit of confusion. And don’t get me started on the fact that they say ‘zed’ to mean the letter ‘z’, I still don’t get that one!

Then, of course, there are all the different ways of describing the same thing. They call the elevator the lift, their ground floor is floor 0, not floor 1. They have car parks, not parking garages. I’ve been searching for 2 weeks to find corn starch and baking soda, only to find that here it’s called corn flour and bicarbonate soda (huh?). They call drinks tipples, pronounce the city Leicester like Lester (whereas I think it should be pronounced Lie-Chester). And they say ‘al-you-min-yum’ instead of ‘aloominum’ (aluminum). Oh, and folks, it's pronounced YorkSHER, not Yorkshire as it's spelled (I won't make that mistake again!).

Really, folks, the list could go on. For the most part, it’s really fun exploring these differences (until the English get all haughty and pull that ‘this is our language and we speak it correctly’ crap, at which point I have to remind them to stop being bitter about losing the colonies, as that was ages ago; we’re just trying to set ourselves apart, that’s all). But really, even though they look like us and behave like us (and in many ways are much more civil), the longer I’m here the more it feels like I’m living in a corner of the Twilight Zone.

P.S.

I forgot a few. The English call cookies, biscuits, and what we would call biscuits, scones. Figured that one out after I tried to follow a recipe from here to make biscuits, and realized that the recipe did not mean what I considered biscuits. O.o

Also, they call costume parties fancy-dress parties, which is confusing to me because I think fancy-dress implies formal.

I Am (Not) My Hair

Straight hair. Short hair. Pixie cut. Bob. Blonde hair. Wavy hair. Hair in the shower. Ew, hair in the drain! Long hair. Thick hair. Curly hair. Thin hair. No hair. Hair is everywhere. And sometimes, it is notoriously missing from shiny, bright, bald, bulbous heads. There's a whole aisle dedicated to it in Wal-Mart. Actually, there may be two. Rows lined with fragrant shampoos, conditioners that make your hair grow, hair dyes, hair gels, hair spray, an assortment of accessories that I've still not figured out (beyond the basic bobby pin and hair tie) and a range of other things. And at the very end, the things I need most: the ethnic hair products. Of course, they take up one side on half the aisle, but they're there. My products, my nutrients, my trusted friends. The nappy girl products. Yeah, that's them.

I've been experimenting with my hair now (or I should say my mother and I have) for 22 years. 22 years, and I still haven't found the right chemical combination. Alcohol dries your hair out. Sulfate makes it even worse. Palmade makes it greasy! That other stuff makes it stink! Watch out for those hair gels, they either make your hair too soft or too stiff. Nothing is just right! Even Goldilocks couldn't figure her way out in the hair care section.

I'm sure men must think most women are just over-reacting. What's the big deal, it's just hair? (Of course, they don't realize the seriousness until they find their first gray hair, or their hair line starts receding, or that little bald spot on their crown develops. But they understand, in the end. They all do.) But when articles appear in the New York Times about the stigma against older women having long hair (when articles appear in the NY Times about hair at all), the issue of hair has to be taken seriously. But it has to be taken even more seriously when you're a half black women living in a world where the hair care market is saturated with products for white women (and only marginally for black women). And of course, neither is right for you. Don't get me wrong, black hair care products are great (and hell, some of the white ones are pretty great, too). But there's nothing like knowing that someone, somewhere in the world, has made a product JUST FOR YOU. But that feeling, it is one I've not yet known. There are great alternatives. I hear all the time just how fabulous Dominican hairdressers are. And that probably has something to do with the fact that Dominicans have hair very similar to the texture that biracial girls do (you know, not quite kinky, not quite straight; it's hovering somewhere in the middle because like everything else in our genetic code, it couldn't make up its damn mind). But still, it isn't quite right, is it?

I had a teacher in Feminist Psychology once who told me that producers make products that are most beneficial (and least detrimental) to themselves. That's why in a male-driven market, feminine products will lead to TSS, contraceptives that "regulate" female hormones will be made to seem more appealing than rubbers a man can just pop on his dick, and pain meds aimed at specifically female aches will be created and sold at exorbitant prices. If women were in charge, she hypothesized, we would make products that were better, healthier, for us. I guess it's the same for hair care. Most producers are white, hence, more white hair care products. And the black producers that there are, they're primarily concerned with their black consumers. Us mixed chicks? Alas, we're the minority here. And while every now and then some miracle elixir may come out that works magic on our hair, we're pretty much relegated to the position of waiting, wishing, and hoping.

Don't misunderstand me. I'm thankful for what advances have been made in the mixed girl hair care world. (I thank God every night for Brazilians and the Brazilian Keratin Treatment, which has finally allowed me to actually comb and style my hair for the first time in 22 years). But I am hopeful that one day, maybe when I have my own little curly headed daughter and her hair to fuss with, they'll have something that works (so that I won't have to put her through the torture that I endured when my mother put a relaxer on my head that burned my hair out. Live and learn, right?).

In the end, though, it's not really the hair that matters, is it? Not to sound cliché, but…hair is just hair. And it's just there. And most of the time it's annoying and frustrating. It gets absolutely everywhere, and I don't even want to think about how much I spend per year on products to keep it up. But still, it's hair, and it's there, and it's mine. It's long. It's thick. It's coarse and it's curly. And it's mine. And it's wild and it's crazy, just like me. So, while I totally agree with Indie Arie, (you know…"I am not my hair, I am the soul that lives within"?), I am my hair. It's a pretty in-your-face representation of my personality. And I'm learning to love that.

Is it or Ain’t It? Homosexuality and the Civil Rights Movement

It's a much discussed topic. And most people fall neatly into two camps: those who think that, obviously, the movement for homosexual rights is an integral (and unfulfilled) part of the Civil Rights movement, and those who think that it very clearly is not.

What of those who think that the quest for homosexual rights is not to be associated with the Civil Rights movement? I suspect that many who associate the Civil Rights movement with the pursuit of rights for members of certain ethnic groups are reluctant to include a class of people that they believe have chosen their lifestyle, rather than being "dealt their hand," so to speak, as African Americans have. Further, it seems that many feel (particularly African-Americans) that homosexuality is a sin, and are hesitant to include amongst themselves such people, (it was widely speculated that the overwhelming amount of support by the Black community in California for Prop 8 was due to religious beliefs.)

I'd like to address these issues, and present the case for why I think that the fight for homosexual rights is a part of the Civil Rights movement.*

Many seem to believe, as I mentioned before, that homosexuality is chosen, that it is a "lifestyle" choice. This seems to me incorrect. Who would willingly choose to be tormented, harassed, and bullied? Scientific studies have shown that homosexually may in fact be linked to genetics, and many gay individuals assert that they do not elect to be gay. I suspect, in fact, that many homosexuals choose to live a heterosexual lifestyle, even though they are unhappy with it. If homosexuality is not (in most cases) chosen, then it is like one's ethnicity or gender, which individuals similarly do not choose. Homosexuals no more choose to be gay than blacks choose to be black, or disabled people choose to be crippled. As homosexuals are systematically discriminated against, for something they could not and did not choose, it seems as though homosexual rights to ought to be classed under Civil Rights.

It may be pointed out that as I have alluded in the previous paragraph, homosexuals can choose to hide their sexual orientation, something that African-Americans may not do, and that this fact accounts for why it should not be considered a part of the Civil Rights movement. This strikes me as an ill-conceived argument that shows a considerable misunderstanding of homosexuality and civil rights. Why should anyone elect to hide who and what they are for fear of persecution? I can think of African-Americans who could "pass." Consider the anecdote of the young women in the film "Imitation of Life," who in the movie very successfully did pass as white. The fact that she even had to resort to such behavior to live well is indicative of the failure of the American system to protect all individuals equally under the law. People should not have to "choose" to look and act and believe like other people to avoid discrimination. It is true, perhaps, that homosexuals could deny their inner instincts and live a heterosexual lifestyle. But just because people can "pass" and get away with it, doesn't mean that this should even be a viable option.

And consider what happens when people fail to conform to social norms. Look at the men of Morehouse who are being openly targeted for their desire to wear women's dress. Consider the routine discrimination suffered by members of the transgendered community. And more recently, consider the suicides of the teenagers and college-aged men and women, some of whom were not openly gay, but violated social norms for their gender. No one should be dictated to how to act. And choosing to go against this norm should not result in punishment or being ostracized. Yet it does. Just as choosing to adhere to black social norms yields discrimination in the work force (e.g., wearing dreads, braids, etc.).

Most importantly, let us consider the purpose and aims of the Civil Rights movement: it was about more than just equality under the law, it was also about the fundamental issues of freedom, respect, dignity, and economic and social equality.

Do homosexuals have freedom? Arguably, no. In many states homosexual couples are not permitted to adopt. They aren't free to dress the way they choose; to love who they choose; to live where they choose, (without the fear of persecution).

Are they respected? Do they have dignity? Again, no. In a day and age where children are bullied so badly that suicide seems like the only option, it is clear that the choices that individuals make for themselves are not respected, and that people are not treated with dignity.

Are they equal, socially and economically? Clearly the answer is no. Homosexuals are, in many states, still denied even the access to civil partnerships. I remember reading a story about a lesbian couple in Florida, one member of the partnership fell ill and was hospitalized and was comatose. Her partner was not permitted to come visit her in the hospital for some silly legal reason. If I remember correctly, the children they had together were unable to visit either. Many heterosexual couples wonder why it is so important for gay people to be able to get married. But consider the economic and legal benefits. Insurance, power of attorney, etcetera; nearly unattainable without marriage.

If the definition of the Civil Rights movement that I posted above is accurate, then in every way, the quest for homosexual rights is an integral part of the Civil Rights movement.

The only difference that I can see between the Civil Rights Movement as it pertains to African Americans and the fight that homosexuals are fighting now, is that the denial of rights to African Americans was far more direct. I don't think that the homosexual community will ever be subjects to attacks as direct as, for example, the Chicago race riots. (But then again, consider individual cases like Matthew Shepherd.) But that's because we have gotten better at discrimination, we're craftier now. What homosexuals endure is closet discrimination: it's discrimination that is hidden in word and action, that looks innocent and undirected (consider the military's "don't ask, don't tell policy." It doesn't prohibit homosexuals from serving in the army, it just strongly encourages all members not to disclose their sexual orientation). And that's in some ways worse; it's more difficult to attack. It's like fighting in the dark, or reaching out at an enemy that you can't see.

Civil rights do not belong just to blacks, or women, or children; they belong to all people, by virtue of the fact that we are people. I ask, now, what degree of suffering must a population endure in order for it to be considered a part of the Civil Rights movement? When did the idea of Civil Rights become so selfish, so short-sighted?

Let me close by saying this. No one, not anyone, no government or legal system, no President or Dictator, has ever possessed the ability to give someone rights. We have always had rights. They have always belonged to us, as African Americans, as women, as homosexuals. The most that any government can do is recognize those rights. The homosexual community is standing up and taking back what has been denied them, what was wrongfully refused them. And I applaud you all.

*Note that I may fundamentally misunderstand the debate and the reasons that people might have for not considering homosexual rights a part of the Civil Rights movement.

Link to Dan Savage's 'It Gets Better' YouTube Channel:

www.youtube.com/user/itgetsbetterproject

Where Does the Pollen Go?

Cultural Pollination. I'm sure this isn't the first usage; I'm not so arrogant as to think that I coined the term. But I've never heard it so before so I'll at least give myself credit for it here.

What is cultural pollination? And what's more, why am I writing about it here?

Cultural pollination is the accepting, sharing, and adapting of cultures dissimilar from your own. It is the evolution of your own traditions and culture by adapting the unique traditions of another's. And it's what I'm being forced to do here. When I researched Sheffield, they did say that they were international. But I equated this with FSU's statement that they are "diverse," and so I didn't take it to mean much. But seriously, I've been tossed into a cultural whirlpool, and I'm drowning. That coming from a girl who is in a multicultural sorority. Perhaps I'm not being clear about the degree of diversity here. Let's see if I can be more vivid.

Let's start with the Asians.* The Judge, in West Side Story, when discussing the influx of Puerto Ricans in a not-so-elegant and intolerant manner, exclaimed "Help! I'm drowning in Tamales!" Well, folks, I'm drowning in wasabi. I mean, seriously. If all of the Asians of Sheffield united and planned to revolt against the British government, they could, in all seriousness, start a small colony here. I'm sure that people thought, when they heard I was moving to England, that the cultural experience would be nil. Well, they were wrong. I've never felt more out of place. I've honestly met more Asians than I have British folks. This may have to do with the fact that all of my flatmates, save one, are Asian. And the fact that my Asian flatmates have had their Asian friends over a few times, and so I've met all of them, as well. The Asian food mart is actually closer to where I live than the Tesco.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. My flatmates are wonderful! The other night, they had a party and made dumplings, and they made vegetarian ones just for me! It was so fun (pictures coming soon!), and I learned how to mix everything and fold dumplings, and I had so much food that I risked exploding if I consumed more. And they are all so friendly!

Now let's get on to our next cultural group, and the real reason that I'm writing this blog. The Middle Easterners. Where do I begin? At the beginning, I suppose, is a very good place to start (Thanks, Julie Andrews!). The first event I went to during Intro (Fresher's) Week, was the social at Interval Bar. It was just a little social for post-grads, and everyone was standing around looking awkward because they knew no one else there. So I'm at a table with my flatmate, and this guy comes up to our table and introduces himself. My flatmate asks him where he is from. "Iraq," he says. "Oh." I said, audibly. Fully formed, perfectly enunciated, round-lipped, I tasted the word as it left my lips before I could contain it. "Why?" he asks, "where are you from?" "America," I say. And everyone can smell the awkwardness, as the silence follows my declaration and everyone looks around nervously and sips their beer. It is in this moment that I realize, though I've met Muslims (and I am, in fact, friends with several), I have never met someone who is actually from the Middle East. Like, ever. (He tried to save the situation by making a joke about how we are neighbors, but it was beyond redemption).This situation is made worse by the fact that I routinely see this guy (his name is Muhammad, which inevitably makes me think of the big stink caused by that cartoon making fun of the prophet). And we never know what to do, so we just look at each other, acknowledge that we've met, and keep it moving.

Situation #2. Pub Crawl number 2 was this past Friday (and it's the reason I did not make it to my Peak District hike like I was supposed to Saturday morning). At our final bar, our resting place for the evening (and my new favorite watering hole because it reminds me of Potbelly's), I met an Iranian; he is the flatmate of my flatmate's class buddy (whew! Confusing). As we were introduced - we basically had the same exchange as Muhammad and I- only this time it was followed by the Iranian's friend saying, "Ah! He hates Americans!" Oh, dear. Then I had to launch into this long (and rehearsed) monologue detailing that I am an American, but I am not America; we're a diverse country, with equally diverse beliefs and viewpoints; it's not fair to hate me for something a few of my fellow countrymen think; blah, blah, blah. And that's when Harry Potter woke from the dead and blasted me with "Avada Kedavra" because that's what happens when you deliver monologues. Nah, just kidding. But he (the Iranian, not Harry Potter) finally confessed that he doesn't actually hate Americans, but that he was entertained by my soliloquy none the less. FAIL.

Whether in jest, or not, this situation is frustrating. I feel like I am a cultural ambassador for America; a representative of what she has to offer the world. And I hate it. Whenever I go out, whenever I meet new people, I'm always thinking "I have to make a good impression. What they think of me is what they'll think of all Americans." Must be on best behavior. I know that I'm being (unnecessarily) hard on myself, but this is, in a sense, very true. People will judge me. They will judge Americans because of me. And vice versa, whatever they already think about Americans they will project on to me.

But I can't complain because, well, I'm guilty of it, too. I went out Tuesday night with my flatmate and a few of our friends, and we discussed the stereotypes that each of us had about the country of origin of the other people there. We represented 5 nationalities (French, American, English, Irish, and Indian). I was honest, in giving my opinion on how I think most Americans feel: the French are a cheese-eating, baguette-carrying, fashion-obsessed, Pepe LePeiu laughing people; the English are snobs; the Irish are alcoholics; and Indians (not Native Americans) spontaneously burst into Bollywood style song-and-dance. Do you know what they ALL, every one of them, thought about Americans? We're fat people, who sit on our front porch in a too-small T-shirt, navel protruding, sipping beer. Ay caramba. I suppose it could be worse; at least they didn't say stupid, right? Right?! No wait, they think that, too (thanks George W. Bush!).

But, the point is, cultural pollination. I'm in a city with a multitude of people representing various nationalities. And the truth is, we all have misconceptions about each other. But we have the unique opportunity to prove each other wrong. I'm learning a lot about other people (and I'm pretty sure that by the end of the year I'll actually BE Asian), and they're learning a lot about me (and, about America).

So where does all this cultural pollen go? In my heart and mind (and occasionally, stomach).

Come on baby, pollinate me!

*Though India is considered a part of the Asian continent, I am excluding it here. There are a lot of Indians, which I naturally expected, but the Asians (Chinese, Japanese, Taiwanese, Malaysians, etc. outnumber them).

Protest: Like a gentleman

 

As a student from America, where the general mood towards politics is rather somber, and the scene is only peppered with radicals (such as the tea-partiers), coming to the UK was quite a shock. Witnessing student activism here was incredible. From the lecture I was given about being a ‘global citizen’ from Mr. Forstenzer, the President of the Student Union, to the socialists handing out “down with Capitalism” fliers in the Union, the involvement of students here borders on the unreal.

So I was quite surprised by an article I read asserting that the average British student was too polite in debate, and should instead act more like a German student activist. The author recounts several instances of student activism both here at Sheffield and in Berlin, and suggests that the Sheffield student pulls a leaflet out of the German book. Well, Mr. Leeuwen, I respectfully disagree.

While I think the degree of student activism here is delightful, and a welcomed change from the apathetic and willful ignorance of the average American student toward politics, there are right ways and wrong ways to attract attention to a political issue, and I think the German students have taken the latter form. It’s right to want student activism at Sheffield to be forceful, perhaps he is right, the students here are a bit docile. But does this mean resorting to throwing petrol bombs and hurling stones?

We, at the University level, should demand a higher class of activism. I am an advocate of the “use your words” school, and think that instead of resorting to violence, we should employ our greatest asset – our intellectual ability. Passion is a mighty force, and I encourage students to take advantage of that passion; but, we must be mindful that in the hands of anyone, passion can also be a deadly weapon.

You have to wonder to whom the German students are appealing when they protest in such vulgar ways. Fellow students? I think not. They’re attracting people who don’t take the time to look into the issues and instead are drawn in by the cheap thrills of blowing up a McDonald’s or setting on fire a Burger King. It’s theatrics. And it’s a disappointing show, especially coming from students, from whom more, and better, is expected.

Think Out Loud

So I left you last time saying that I had much to tell, but that I hadn’t the time to tell it. But now I have so here goes. I had my post-graduate talk yesterday with members of my college (Arts & Humanities), and it’s basically just a “Welcome to Sheffield, we’re awesome!” talk. They had a few “important” people speak, and then they had the president of the student union speak. I really didn’t think I’d be interested in anything he had to say, until he introduced himself as a PhD student in Philosophy, which instantly captured my attention.

Now I thought he was just going to talk about all of the services offered by the student union, but instead he started talking about student activism. He was on his soap box sounding, quite honestly, self-righteous, talking about how we are obligated to help others as we have the means, and how we should look into volunteering and so on and so on. Which made me a bit annoyed because I didn’t go to be lectured to about being a better citizen. But, then I realized that this must be how I sound when I talk to people, and so I listened even harder. And I realized that what he had to say made a lot of sense.

I’m not really well-versed on the political and social system in the UK, I mean, keeping up with American politics is headache enough. But, listening to him, I realized they’re facing the same struggles as we are in the US. Particularly, the education system is facing budget cuts, which has the students up in arms. What really stuck out, I guess, about this young man’s talk is how active all of the students here seem to be. Even the university itself. People here are really tuned in, they’re aware. And what’s more, they actually care.

I wrote a few blogs back about how our failure to stay abreast of national affairs and politics and all the BS that lies between has resulted in our total downfall. And I asked you to consider the world that we live in and to really question if you’re happy with it. And that’s what he was doing. He was saying to to use our voice because, very fortunately, we have one and we are articulate enough to employ it. Progress is made, however, by more than just lofty ideals; it’s made by actual individuals, by you, and by me.

Margaret Mead wrote the too-oft quoted statement that one should “never doubt that a small group of people can change the world; indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.” Well, despite how often we’ve heard this, I think we’ve forgotten how true it is. I realize that, like the guy I’m talking about, I’ve gotten on my soap box and proselytized, but I’m just asking you to please, think out loud. Engage with others, challenge the old ideas, and let’s start a revolution.



The world does not have to continue moving toward disaster. But unless men change - which they still have time to do - the collapse will come. And if you want to know the specific process that will bring it about, that process - the beginning of the end - is visble today. - Ayn Rand, Ford Hall Forum, 1977

No Day But Today

So, much has happened since the last time I wrote. First, I made a friend – my flatmate. Her name is Florie, and she’s from France! And, get this. She’s from Montpellier (which is where I spent a day last summer)! She’s very nice, and actually she reminds me a bit of Katie, which makes me smile. We went all over yesterday, searching for the supermarket and shopping for things for the flat. Which brings me to the flat itself. My flat has 6 rooms (and right now I’ve only 4 roommates, the 5th hasn’t shown yet), and we shared a kitchen and showers. My room is fairly decent, see? Still working on it though. My other flatmates are all Asian, (they aren't like aKDPhi). But they’re nice all the same. They come from Malaysia, Taiwan and China, but they all speak the same language. So Florie and I are very glad to have each other since we have similar cultures.

Oddly, I’m the youngest person here (so far). I was expecting to be older, since Brits finish university in 3 years and not 4. But Florie is 24 and my other flatmates are 28! This didn’t bother me until I went out last night for the Postgraduates Social and I was called “a baby.” What? Anyhow, we moved past that minor issue and I actually had a great time out. The social scene here is so different. First, there was no fight at the bar last night. The whole night! No obnoxiously loud noise…I mean, music, playing in the background. And no drunken girl embarrassing herself by assaulting every seemingly available man. Oh, and no smoking. Very nice. (Especially since I thought I might have to pick the habit up to meet people. I swear, everyone here seems to smoke!) But I enjoyed it, and I met a lot of cool people. They told me which bars to avoid, and what streets had all the good going-out spots. One fellow I was talking to told me that I had “a bit of cheek.” I don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but he was sort of laughing when he said it, so…who knows.

I hate to go on and on about how much I love it here but…I love it here. I find myself humming or singing to myself when I’m out walking about. I don’t really know how to explain it, but it’s sort of like this is the place where I’m the most myself. Of course, I still have to get accustomed to some things. For example, they have money in every denomination imaginable. They have bills for amounts as small as 5, but then they have a 2 pound coin, a 1 pound coin, a 50p (pence) coin, a 20p coin, a 10p coin, a 5p coin, and a 2p and 1p coin. It’s so confusing! I feel like an idiot standing at registers trying to figure out which coin is which. The weather is difficult, too. Very mercurial. Today, for example, it’s so hot that I’m dressed fairly lightly (by English standards). But yesterday I had 2 coats on at one point. Then the sun came out and my flatmate and I were peeling off layers of clothes like onions! It rains, it shines, all in the span of 20 minutes.
I have more to say, but this is quite long enough already. I’ll just leave you now with a few things I picked up about my new home.

Fun Facts About Sheffield

Sheffield is the 4th largest city in the UK .
The University of Sheffield’s Student union is the largest in the UK.
There are just under 2 million people in Sheffield.
There are about 55,000 students at the 2 universities in Sheffield.

Sheffield is home to the oldest football league in the UK, Sheffield United F.C.

Sheffield's shopping mall, Meadowhall, is the second largest in the UK.

That's all for now. I'm sure the list will grow.

From Sheffield,

Briana