In my previous post, I mentioned reverse culture shock. After having lived long term in another culture, it is typical to need time to readjust to your original culture. I didn’t think I would have it very bad, seeing has I’ve only been in Uganda for a year and regularly seek out “Western” spaces, especially in Kampala, but let me tell you…
*Note: Many of these things happened right at the beginning of my time in the US, and so whether they should be blamed on reverse culture shock or jet lag is questionable….
The first night I was home was legitimately challenging for me. First of all, I did not sleep a bit in Doha during my eight hour layover, and although I slept on the 14 hours flight, it was constantly interrupted by the food carts and other passengers. There was a snow storm in Chicago, so we got out of Chicago as quickly as possible, and stopped in Bloomington, IL for the night because the closer we got to St. Louis, the more quickly the snow was turning to freezing rain. (Did I mention how much I missed winter? No? That’s because I only missed the snow.) We went to dinner at Cracker Barrel, and I couldn’t finish my meal. I wondered how American Bethany was able to finish this size of a meal, considering my family wasn’t having much of any problems. (Keep in mind that I’ve lost about 30 pounds in the past year, so my stomach is much smaller than it was.) Alas, I was not even able to enjoy the apple butter due to my fullness.
As we were leaving, my dad announced to the rest of us that he needed to go to Walmart to get windshield washer fluid. I volunteered to go with him because I’ve heard from many other RPCVs that Walmart is one of the scariest places to visit when readjusting. I didn’t necessarily believe that, so I thought I would see for myself. I didn’t even make it inside the building, though, before Ugandan Bethany made a fool of American Bethany. After being blown away by the automatic sliding doors at the airport earlier that day, I thought I had gotten past the automatic door hurdle. Apparently not. As I was walking into the building, I went to go through the left-hand door, you know, the entrance. When the door didn’t open, I was so confused; I literally just hit the door. With my hand. Because I didn’t know how to handle this in my jetlagged mind, and my body had done it before my mind approved. My dad just laughed at me and pointed to the “Entrance” sign. I had tried to go in the Exit, which makes sense considering American drive on the right side of the road, not the left, but…. Yeah.
*Note: To be fair, we had to stay in Bloomington on the way back to Chicago as well, and we went back to Walmart, and the sticker on the literal door (not above it) looks exactly the same as the one on the other door. Also, in most Walmarts, both doors open both ways to keep people from looking like idiots. I saw someone try to go in the Exit when we were there the second time, although she didn’t hit the door like I did.
Inside of Walmart wasn’t that big of a deal, though, considering I was working really, really hard just to remember I wanted Vicks tissues (Kampala cold, yay) and gum. He mentioned how the Walmart was set up like Kirksville Walmart, and so I spend the majority of the time comparing it to Kirksville and other Walmarts. I told my dad how RPCVs talked about how terrifying Walmart could be and how I didn’t believe them. Little did I know what would be coming tomorrow.
The next day we went home early, and my mom, sister, and I had just enough time to go thrift shopping for some clothes that actually fit me. We stopped by Schnuck’s, a St. Louis supermarket chain, on the way home to get stuff for chili because I was craving it due to the cold. I got through the door just fine, but that was the end of that. Considering I had slept since the night before, I was much more awake and thus much more able to take everything in. Also, I was shopping with my mom, not my dad, and so we weren’t in a huge hurry. We were just fighting against the pending ice storm and time, you know, no big deal. I didn’t realize until later how impulsive I’ve become in shops. See, in Uganda, if you don’t buy something when you see it, especially if it’s foreign, it’s gone. This has led me to splurge when I see something I want that I haven’t had in the last few months (or year). My mom was in for a treat, for sure. First I saw Fritos scoops and cheese dip, then I commented on how small and hard the mangoes were (it’s certainly not mango season in the US), then I found the marshmallow cream, had to ask my mom where to find animal crackers (She was already in the cracker aisle, so that should have been obvious. I immediately remembered about the signs above the aisles.), found cookie mix, my mom reminded me that they BAKE COOKIES IN SUPERMARKETS and we bought cookies from the bakery (I got more than everyone, of course), and so much more. By the end of the trip, I had gasped and ran to pick something probably 50 times, and I had to remove myself from the checkout aisle because I was going to throw more things in my mom’s cart. I stood by the door until I got distracted by the Redbox machine and went to see how many titles I actually knew. I think I found two. The whole trip my mom just laughed and laughed at me, not sure what to make of it. I tried to keep her from telling everyone, but eventually I just owned it (obviously, considering I’m putting it on my blog!!).
The third day I was home, I drove for the first time in over a year. I was nervous about it, especially considering the roads were nowhere near perfect from the ice storm the day before, but it actually was so easy, I couldn’t believe I had worried about it. I have talked with other expats around Fort Portal about this, and I think the reason why is because I seriously haven’t driven while I’ve been here. We’re not allowed to drive as PCVs, and I would honestly be terrified to do it anyway because of the rules of the road, or rather lack thereof. I miss the freedom of being able to just hop in my car and go wherever I want whenever I want, but I certainly don’t miss the price of it!
I had anticipated having problems with the food and my digestive tract, and so I tried very hard not to eat everything (or at least not to complain when I ate too much of something and didn’t feel well). The thing that I really never anticipated having problems with, though, is the tap water. I have been drinking filtered water for the past year, and apparently it has had an effect on the microbiome of my stomach. The whole time I was home, I was being made sick by the tap water. I kept moving around, though, so I thought it was the specific place’s tap water, because some places I wasn’t sick. It wasn’t until the end of my trip that I realized those times I hadn’t been sick I was drinking either filtered or bottled (thus filtered) water. I caught the stomach bug that’s still going around my hometown, and so I was sick the last five or so days I was home, and I eventually broke down and had my mom buy me bottled water because I was dehydrated and couldn’t drink the tap water. I know next time when I go home that I’ll need a Brita bottle waiting for me. Maybe I’ll even have my family send me one for my Europe trip I’m planning to take after Peace Corps.
The day of my flight back to Uganda, my dad told me that the whole first week or so I was home I was speaking just like I would to a Ugandan. I had thought I did a good job of going back to my American self – I certainly was speaking quicker than to a Ugandan – but apparently some things stick with you longer than you realize. Because of my malleable accent, I picked up the southern accent much thicker than normal when I went to visit family in deep, southern Illinois. I was talking like a southerner for about half my trip! I eventually adjusted to my typical accent, but it took much longer than anticipated. I also screamed “IWE!” at my sister on that second day home while we were shopping. When she wouldn’t look at me, I asked my mom why she wouldn’t look at me. She asked me what I had said. Only then did I realize that I had said “iwe” instead of “you.” It’s strange being with people who don’t understand the typical phrases in your local language. Another word I kept using constantly was “toilet.” Before coming to the US, I didn’t realize how much I used it in my everyday life. I kept asking people where the toilet was and telling them I’d be right back because I needed the toilet. Although everyone obviously understands that one, I just felt rightly awkward using it, considering it’s certainly not something I would have said prior to coming to Uganda. I would have even made fun of someone who said it. Thankfully my family is much more merciful than I sometimes am.
These are just a few of the stories I have from my trip home. Generally speaking, it was smooth other than these things, but it was certainly challenging. The strangest thing about the whole ordeal is that in my mind I would know the right thing to do in these situations, but my body would just do a completely different thing. My knee-jerk reactions have become so different than they ever were in the US. In some instances, it’s hilarious, in others it’s sad, and still in others it’s a great thing. It will be interesting when I move back to the US full-time to see the challenges I find after the “honeymoon” period wears off and true reverse culture shock starts.
*Note: Many of these things happened right at the beginning of my time in the US, and so whether they should be blamed on reverse culture shock or jet lag is questionable….
The first night I was home was legitimately challenging for me. First of all, I did not sleep a bit in Doha during my eight hour layover, and although I slept on the 14 hours flight, it was constantly interrupted by the food carts and other passengers. There was a snow storm in Chicago, so we got out of Chicago as quickly as possible, and stopped in Bloomington, IL for the night because the closer we got to St. Louis, the more quickly the snow was turning to freezing rain. (Did I mention how much I missed winter? No? That’s because I only missed the snow.) We went to dinner at Cracker Barrel, and I couldn’t finish my meal. I wondered how American Bethany was able to finish this size of a meal, considering my family wasn’t having much of any problems. (Keep in mind that I’ve lost about 30 pounds in the past year, so my stomach is much smaller than it was.) Alas, I was not even able to enjoy the apple butter due to my fullness.
As we were leaving, my dad announced to the rest of us that he needed to go to Walmart to get windshield washer fluid. I volunteered to go with him because I’ve heard from many other RPCVs that Walmart is one of the scariest places to visit when readjusting. I didn’t necessarily believe that, so I thought I would see for myself. I didn’t even make it inside the building, though, before Ugandan Bethany made a fool of American Bethany. After being blown away by the automatic sliding doors at the airport earlier that day, I thought I had gotten past the automatic door hurdle. Apparently not. As I was walking into the building, I went to go through the left-hand door, you know, the entrance. When the door didn’t open, I was so confused; I literally just hit the door. With my hand. Because I didn’t know how to handle this in my jetlagged mind, and my body had done it before my mind approved. My dad just laughed at me and pointed to the “Entrance” sign. I had tried to go in the Exit, which makes sense considering American drive on the right side of the road, not the left, but…. Yeah.
*Note: To be fair, we had to stay in Bloomington on the way back to Chicago as well, and we went back to Walmart, and the sticker on the literal door (not above it) looks exactly the same as the one on the other door. Also, in most Walmarts, both doors open both ways to keep people from looking like idiots. I saw someone try to go in the Exit when we were there the second time, although she didn’t hit the door like I did.
Inside of Walmart wasn’t that big of a deal, though, considering I was working really, really hard just to remember I wanted Vicks tissues (Kampala cold, yay) and gum. He mentioned how the Walmart was set up like Kirksville Walmart, and so I spend the majority of the time comparing it to Kirksville and other Walmarts. I told my dad how RPCVs talked about how terrifying Walmart could be and how I didn’t believe them. Little did I know what would be coming tomorrow.
The next day we went home early, and my mom, sister, and I had just enough time to go thrift shopping for some clothes that actually fit me. We stopped by Schnuck’s, a St. Louis supermarket chain, on the way home to get stuff for chili because I was craving it due to the cold. I got through the door just fine, but that was the end of that. Considering I had slept since the night before, I was much more awake and thus much more able to take everything in. Also, I was shopping with my mom, not my dad, and so we weren’t in a huge hurry. We were just fighting against the pending ice storm and time, you know, no big deal. I didn’t realize until later how impulsive I’ve become in shops. See, in Uganda, if you don’t buy something when you see it, especially if it’s foreign, it’s gone. This has led me to splurge when I see something I want that I haven’t had in the last few months (or year). My mom was in for a treat, for sure. First I saw Fritos scoops and cheese dip, then I commented on how small and hard the mangoes were (it’s certainly not mango season in the US), then I found the marshmallow cream, had to ask my mom where to find animal crackers (She was already in the cracker aisle, so that should have been obvious. I immediately remembered about the signs above the aisles.), found cookie mix, my mom reminded me that they BAKE COOKIES IN SUPERMARKETS and we bought cookies from the bakery (I got more than everyone, of course), and so much more. By the end of the trip, I had gasped and ran to pick something probably 50 times, and I had to remove myself from the checkout aisle because I was going to throw more things in my mom’s cart. I stood by the door until I got distracted by the Redbox machine and went to see how many titles I actually knew. I think I found two. The whole trip my mom just laughed and laughed at me, not sure what to make of it. I tried to keep her from telling everyone, but eventually I just owned it (obviously, considering I’m putting it on my blog!!).
The third day I was home, I drove for the first time in over a year. I was nervous about it, especially considering the roads were nowhere near perfect from the ice storm the day before, but it actually was so easy, I couldn’t believe I had worried about it. I have talked with other expats around Fort Portal about this, and I think the reason why is because I seriously haven’t driven while I’ve been here. We’re not allowed to drive as PCVs, and I would honestly be terrified to do it anyway because of the rules of the road, or rather lack thereof. I miss the freedom of being able to just hop in my car and go wherever I want whenever I want, but I certainly don’t miss the price of it!
I had anticipated having problems with the food and my digestive tract, and so I tried very hard not to eat everything (or at least not to complain when I ate too much of something and didn’t feel well). The thing that I really never anticipated having problems with, though, is the tap water. I have been drinking filtered water for the past year, and apparently it has had an effect on the microbiome of my stomach. The whole time I was home, I was being made sick by the tap water. I kept moving around, though, so I thought it was the specific place’s tap water, because some places I wasn’t sick. It wasn’t until the end of my trip that I realized those times I hadn’t been sick I was drinking either filtered or bottled (thus filtered) water. I caught the stomach bug that’s still going around my hometown, and so I was sick the last five or so days I was home, and I eventually broke down and had my mom buy me bottled water because I was dehydrated and couldn’t drink the tap water. I know next time when I go home that I’ll need a Brita bottle waiting for me. Maybe I’ll even have my family send me one for my Europe trip I’m planning to take after Peace Corps.
The day of my flight back to Uganda, my dad told me that the whole first week or so I was home I was speaking just like I would to a Ugandan. I had thought I did a good job of going back to my American self – I certainly was speaking quicker than to a Ugandan – but apparently some things stick with you longer than you realize. Because of my malleable accent, I picked up the southern accent much thicker than normal when I went to visit family in deep, southern Illinois. I was talking like a southerner for about half my trip! I eventually adjusted to my typical accent, but it took much longer than anticipated. I also screamed “IWE!” at my sister on that second day home while we were shopping. When she wouldn’t look at me, I asked my mom why she wouldn’t look at me. She asked me what I had said. Only then did I realize that I had said “iwe” instead of “you.” It’s strange being with people who don’t understand the typical phrases in your local language. Another word I kept using constantly was “toilet.” Before coming to the US, I didn’t realize how much I used it in my everyday life. I kept asking people where the toilet was and telling them I’d be right back because I needed the toilet. Although everyone obviously understands that one, I just felt rightly awkward using it, considering it’s certainly not something I would have said prior to coming to Uganda. I would have even made fun of someone who said it. Thankfully my family is much more merciful than I sometimes am.
These are just a few of the stories I have from my trip home. Generally speaking, it was smooth other than these things, but it was certainly challenging. The strangest thing about the whole ordeal is that in my mind I would know the right thing to do in these situations, but my body would just do a completely different thing. My knee-jerk reactions have become so different than they ever were in the US. In some instances, it’s hilarious, in others it’s sad, and still in others it’s a great thing. It will be interesting when I move back to the US full-time to see the challenges I find after the “honeymoon” period wears off and true reverse culture shock starts.
No comments:
Post a Comment