Time is a funny, funny thing. take, for example, how long there is until Christmas. Today is 16 August 2017. According to Google, there 131 days until Christmas. That means there are just over four and a half months left for all of the usual preparations such as gift buying, travel plans making, menu preparing, etc.
131 days, at least to me, seems like an awful long time. It's more than a third of the year. I have to wake up, go to sleep, and do my normal things up to 131 times before the most wonderful time of the year arrives. When I think about how many months are left until Christmas, though, I almost feel sad. It feels like I was just home for Christmas a few weeks ago, and yet, eight months have passed since I arrived (actually, eight months ago today), and over seven have passed since I returned to Uganda. Four and a half months until Christmas seems like ample time to prepare, although still a bit far off. I know that I can save money in the long run by starting my Christmas shopping soon and that doing so will allow me to focus on more important things later.
Then, I think about how many weeks are left. 18 weeks. At first, this count doesn't seem to mean much. After all, we usually count down in either months or days to Christmas (depending on how enthusiastic you are about the season). Suddenly, I realized.... There is only one week left in Term Two, three weeks of break, my COS conference during the first week of Term Three, six weeks of classes (And I have to find time to do some workshops!), four weeks of exams (two for each year), one week of marking, and then only two weeks until Christmas! How crazy is that? See, when I break things down by week, I realize that while there are 131 days, four and a half months left until Christmas, I have an awful lot to do in the next 18 weeks. I also realize that I only have 15 weeks left with my students - really only 10 when you count the time that I'll be gone.
When I joined Peace Corps, I heard all about how funny time is. One of my trainers passed on this wisdom: "The days feel long but the weeks fly by." Every Friday this rings true: "How did I make it through another week so quickly when I was sure on Wednesday that it would never end?" I'm not so sure that my musings have a point to them other than to echo others about how important it is to lie in the moment. Because in reality, those 18 weeks until Christmas will absolutely fly by.
Wednesday, August 16, 2017
Monday, June 5, 2017
Don't Pop My Bubble
“In America, personal space means physical space. Americans
have their ‘bubbles.’ But in Uganda, personal space has nothing to do with
physical space. Personal space means not being forced into social interactions.”
This statement rang with such truth, and yet - how had I
missed it? During our PST, we had been taught that the idea of personal space
was different here than it was in the US. I’ve experienced this many, many
times in the past year and a half. Every time my colleagues and I line up for
lunch in the staff room, there is about six inches between each of us. It makes
me so uncomfortable that I have taken to standing to the side of the line in
order to get some room, much to the amusement of my colleagues.
But we were never given the other piece of the puzzle. In
the past month, I have taken this vital piece of information and applied it to
my observations. Greeting is incredibly important in all cultures, but the way
this plays out is different. In America, if a person is talking to another
person or busy in any way, it is perfectly acceptable not to greet them out of respect
for their busyness. In Uganda, however, not greeting someone, especially
someone you know personally, is incredibly rude. You greet the people who work
at the grocery store, you greet everyone in the staff room regardless of how
busy they are, you greet your friends on the street for 20 minutes because you
have to greet. It has always perplexed me as to why my colleagues will
interrupt my conversation just to say “Hello,” but such is Ugandan culture.
Outside of this, however, people seem intimidated by my busyness. After finding
the other piece of the puzzle, I know they are respecting my personal space by
not engaging me in unwanted social interaction.
Now I’m having a bit of a hard time remembering how America
works these days, but being busy is seen as normal. We Americans are obsessed
with being busy all the time. This is especially true at work. If you’re not busy constantly while at work,
then you’re seen as lazy, one of the worst things to be. Alternately, in
Uganda, relationships are so much more important than being busy. You can
postpone a deadline, you can delay arriving at a function, but you can’t forget
to greet someone, to talk with them, to spend time together. It’s the eternal
paradox of an American living in Uganda. The struggle between boredom from lack
of busyness and being accepted by spending your time with your colleagues even
when you have due dates…. The struggle is real.
For some, this struggle is a challenge to be overcome. For
others, it’s a constant reminder of how much they miss home. For most, it
depends on the day. Difference in personal space is just one aspect of how
difficult it is to live in another culture. But living in another culture is
also a supreme opportunity to learn every day, to change your life. Everything
about it threatens to pop your bubble, in more ways than one.
Saturday, April 1, 2017
Humility
It's nearly midnight here (almost 1:00 am at publishing), and most would expect me to be asleep by now - even on a Friday night - especially considering I've been in bed since 8:30 pm due to a lack of power. But alas, like so many other nights in the past few weeks, I lay awake, scrolling through Facebook in an attempt not to put too much thought into my life at the moment. It's been quite a while since I made a blog post, and a huge part of me regrets that, but between writer's block, busyness, and a general lack of physical and mental well-being, I haven't really been in the mood to write. Even my journaling has suffered, which is usually a stress outlet for me.
Can I be honest with you, oh anonymous readers? I haven't been okay lately. There is certainly such a thing as a mid-service slump, and I have joined the ranks. Hard. The slump was intensified by an ulcer that I had. It was a very real, if slim, possibly that I could have been sent home. Because of that and so many other things, my world has been upside down for the last couple of weeks.
I strive to post positive but real experiences on my blog so as to paint a positive but real picture of Uganda. I am really not lying when I talk about how much I love this country, it's people, my students, the culture…. But there is a very real sense of entitlement, of guilt, of questioning your entire experience that has come to the forefront of my mind. So few people can truly understand this feeling. Both an awesome, idealistic view of Peace Corps and a pessimistic, distasteful view of Peace Corps coexist in my mind. I can really, truly see both sides. This is all made worse by the fact that I'm missing important things at home, that I'm not as certain about my future as I would like to be…. I know I'm right where God wants me and that I'm learning from this experience things I could never learn at home, but there are really so many things to be anxious about.
The past few days have really, honestly been better. I'm finally back to work full-time this week after a delay from the ulcer and time spent in Kampala. (If there's one thing I've learned about my time management skills in Uganda, it's that I'm definitely better off when I'm busier. I mean, I finally cleaned my house today after at least a month and a half of just doing the bare minimum since I had everything else on my list finished.) More than anything, though, I've really been getting back to my pursuit of being Christ like after being sick. Living many thousands of miles away from home has been even more challenging than most can imagine, but I'm realizing that some of my suffering is not outside of God's purpose.
I have never been someone to be called humble. Honestly, only within the past few years have I seen and experienced true humility and understood its purpose. When I was in the youth group at my previous church, my youth pastor taught us that giving allows us to have a blessing. Although this could cause obvious problems with giving from a cheerful heart (2 Corinthians 9:7), he was using it as an example for someone who constantly gives to other people but refuses to receive. He told us to tell them to “Let me have my blessing!” or more simply “Let me bless you!” as a funny way to get around the awkwardness of the situation. It's still a line I use on my mom from time to time.
Much more recently, my (Ugandan) neighbor got frustrated with me because I wouldn't allow her to do my dishes for me. In my mind, I was being responsible. I dirtied the dishes, so why should she clean them for me? She said in an exasperated voice, “Why don't you ever let me help you? You are always helping us, but you never let us help you.” In that moment I was greatly humbled. Although I was simply trying not to be lazy, I was blocking her blessing, so to speak. I was too prideful in my “I'm a responsible adult that can do my own dishes” to allow her to help me.
Since then, God has shown me that my determination to be responsible is sometimes a source of pride for me. I struggle daily with pride, as many do. Many times it's a control thing - I'm a bit of a control freak - but even that is pride manifested. True humility not only gives but receives...regardless of how the dishes are washed and dried.
Proverbs tells us, famously, that pride comes before the fall (16:18), and I wonder if God hasn't used my recent circumstances to teach me a little humility. I had to rely quite a lot on my neighbors before my trip to Kampala, and even once I was in Kampala, they were paramount in a mission to bring me more clothes so I didn't have to wear dirty ones.
I'm by no means perfect, and I never will be. I'm also by no means perfectly okay, even now. I feel the depression and anxiety trying to creep their way back into my life when I sit idle for too long. But the reality of the situation is this: Even though I may not be okay right now, I know that I will be in the future because my God is great. My Savior will help me through this. In the end, everything will be more than just okay.
Can I be honest with you, oh anonymous readers? I haven't been okay lately. There is certainly such a thing as a mid-service slump, and I have joined the ranks. Hard. The slump was intensified by an ulcer that I had. It was a very real, if slim, possibly that I could have been sent home. Because of that and so many other things, my world has been upside down for the last couple of weeks.
I strive to post positive but real experiences on my blog so as to paint a positive but real picture of Uganda. I am really not lying when I talk about how much I love this country, it's people, my students, the culture…. But there is a very real sense of entitlement, of guilt, of questioning your entire experience that has come to the forefront of my mind. So few people can truly understand this feeling. Both an awesome, idealistic view of Peace Corps and a pessimistic, distasteful view of Peace Corps coexist in my mind. I can really, truly see both sides. This is all made worse by the fact that I'm missing important things at home, that I'm not as certain about my future as I would like to be…. I know I'm right where God wants me and that I'm learning from this experience things I could never learn at home, but there are really so many things to be anxious about.
The past few days have really, honestly been better. I'm finally back to work full-time this week after a delay from the ulcer and time spent in Kampala. (If there's one thing I've learned about my time management skills in Uganda, it's that I'm definitely better off when I'm busier. I mean, I finally cleaned my house today after at least a month and a half of just doing the bare minimum since I had everything else on my list finished.) More than anything, though, I've really been getting back to my pursuit of being Christ like after being sick. Living many thousands of miles away from home has been even more challenging than most can imagine, but I'm realizing that some of my suffering is not outside of God's purpose.
I have never been someone to be called humble. Honestly, only within the past few years have I seen and experienced true humility and understood its purpose. When I was in the youth group at my previous church, my youth pastor taught us that giving allows us to have a blessing. Although this could cause obvious problems with giving from a cheerful heart (2 Corinthians 9:7), he was using it as an example for someone who constantly gives to other people but refuses to receive. He told us to tell them to “Let me have my blessing!” or more simply “Let me bless you!” as a funny way to get around the awkwardness of the situation. It's still a line I use on my mom from time to time.
Much more recently, my (Ugandan) neighbor got frustrated with me because I wouldn't allow her to do my dishes for me. In my mind, I was being responsible. I dirtied the dishes, so why should she clean them for me? She said in an exasperated voice, “Why don't you ever let me help you? You are always helping us, but you never let us help you.” In that moment I was greatly humbled. Although I was simply trying not to be lazy, I was blocking her blessing, so to speak. I was too prideful in my “I'm a responsible adult that can do my own dishes” to allow her to help me.
Since then, God has shown me that my determination to be responsible is sometimes a source of pride for me. I struggle daily with pride, as many do. Many times it's a control thing - I'm a bit of a control freak - but even that is pride manifested. True humility not only gives but receives...regardless of how the dishes are washed and dried.
Proverbs tells us, famously, that pride comes before the fall (16:18), and I wonder if God hasn't used my recent circumstances to teach me a little humility. I had to rely quite a lot on my neighbors before my trip to Kampala, and even once I was in Kampala, they were paramount in a mission to bring me more clothes so I didn't have to wear dirty ones.
I'm by no means perfect, and I never will be. I'm also by no means perfectly okay, even now. I feel the depression and anxiety trying to creep their way back into my life when I sit idle for too long. But the reality of the situation is this: Even though I may not be okay right now, I know that I will be in the future because my God is great. My Savior will help me through this. In the end, everything will be more than just okay.
Thursday, January 26, 2017
Reverse Culture Shock
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.
I Dreamt of a White Christmas
“Home” is a funny word. Although I lived about three hours from my parents’ home during university, I don’t believe I really understood having two completely separate homes. Kirksville is very much like my hometown, small, Walmart just down the road, students working at most of the minimum wage jobs, fast food restaurants open nearly the same hours, even closing on Sundays for church. I thought I had found myself a new home while I was there – I felt out of place with my parents even though I was still living with them part time – but it was really more of the same.
Uganda is completely different. I live on my own. My closest friends are my neighbors and colleagues, not necessarily those just down the hall. Although the social law of proximity still rules, even more so in such a foreign land, my friendships here are so different from the ones in the US. We rarely discuss politics, although it’s still more often than I did in the US, we talk a lot about the weather, a lot about the food we’re making. It doesn’t sound all that different, but I promise you it is. Hugs are less common, but somehow that’s okay. A smile means more than just “hello.”
This is my first time ever living alone. My ineptitude at this rears its head the hardest when I’m cooking, that’s one thing I really wish I had learned before leaving, but cooking, like every other part of living alone, has gotten remarkably easier through the last year. I have remarked several times on this blog, on Facebook, and in my own journal how Uganda feels like home, how it’s no longer this exotic place, how I feel more comfortable here than I would in the US. Over this past year, the thought of going home has become more an anxious one than an exciting one due to readjustment, reverse culture shock.
Cue Christmas. I’ve been so quiet because I’ve been in the US. I had all these plans of uploading pictures and videos to my blog and going through it, making it more cohesive, putting in hyperlinks, the works. Instead, I spent my time talking to people. People obviously wanted to hear all about Uganda, but personally, I cared more about what’s happening right now in their lives, how the past year has affected them. I almost didn’t even feel the need to “catch up” with people due to Facebook. We live in an amazing time of being able to keep up with our friends and family from around the world even though we’re living thousands of miles, tens of thousands of kilometers, 8 or 9 time zones apart. What I wanted to know from people was not what had happened in the last year that was Facebook worthy. I wanted to know how these things that I already knew had affected them, how they had changed. Many of my friends have graduated from college in the last year, moved on to “big boy” and “big girl” jobs, gotten married or moved in with their partners, and just generally, well, adulted.
The strangest thing about being home, though, is that I don’t feel like I went at all. All the travel, four days there and four days back, all the time I spent with people, all the glorious hugs and even presents I received, it all feels like a dream. Time is a funny, funny thing. Just the same as I don’t feel like I’ve missed much of my American friends’ and family’s lives in the past year, I feel like in the three weeks I was gone, I missed every part of my Ugandan friends’ and family’ lives. I could not wait to come back to Uganda and hear what people had done for Christmas and New Year even though I knew the answer was “church, family, and food” for each of them.
I really think my sister hit the nail on the head with this. She told me that to her it feels like I’m just away at college like I was the two years before Peace Corps. Because she always knew I would come home, because she always knew what was happening in my life from my Facebook posts, because we’re probably in better contact with each other than we were when I was away at college, it just feels like another semester, another year of school. I feel much the same way. Sure, I have missed things that I wouldn’t have had to miss if I was indeed at college instead of halfway across the world, but see when a place becomes home, no matter how different it is, and when you’re able to keep up through social media, it doesn’t quite feel like you ever left your original home. Your new home just becomes an extension of your original home. They are both places that you’re so overjoyed to come back to, both places where you feel so loved, so comfortable, that you don’t want to leave.
Now please don’t think that I’m saying I’m not grateful to have been home. I really, truly am ecstatic to have seen all of the friends and family I saw (especially the ones who put up with me during the first week I was home), and I am so beyond grateful to my family for bringing me home. What I am saying, though, is that if it weren’t for the things I brought back with me, the pictures we all took, the reactions of my Ugandan friends and family when I came home, I’m not sure I would quite believe I had gone home. It all feels like a dream, but it’s the best dream of my life.
Uganda is completely different. I live on my own. My closest friends are my neighbors and colleagues, not necessarily those just down the hall. Although the social law of proximity still rules, even more so in such a foreign land, my friendships here are so different from the ones in the US. We rarely discuss politics, although it’s still more often than I did in the US, we talk a lot about the weather, a lot about the food we’re making. It doesn’t sound all that different, but I promise you it is. Hugs are less common, but somehow that’s okay. A smile means more than just “hello.”
This is my first time ever living alone. My ineptitude at this rears its head the hardest when I’m cooking, that’s one thing I really wish I had learned before leaving, but cooking, like every other part of living alone, has gotten remarkably easier through the last year. I have remarked several times on this blog, on Facebook, and in my own journal how Uganda feels like home, how it’s no longer this exotic place, how I feel more comfortable here than I would in the US. Over this past year, the thought of going home has become more an anxious one than an exciting one due to readjustment, reverse culture shock.
Cue Christmas. I’ve been so quiet because I’ve been in the US. I had all these plans of uploading pictures and videos to my blog and going through it, making it more cohesive, putting in hyperlinks, the works. Instead, I spent my time talking to people. People obviously wanted to hear all about Uganda, but personally, I cared more about what’s happening right now in their lives, how the past year has affected them. I almost didn’t even feel the need to “catch up” with people due to Facebook. We live in an amazing time of being able to keep up with our friends and family from around the world even though we’re living thousands of miles, tens of thousands of kilometers, 8 or 9 time zones apart. What I wanted to know from people was not what had happened in the last year that was Facebook worthy. I wanted to know how these things that I already knew had affected them, how they had changed. Many of my friends have graduated from college in the last year, moved on to “big boy” and “big girl” jobs, gotten married or moved in with their partners, and just generally, well, adulted.
The strangest thing about being home, though, is that I don’t feel like I went at all. All the travel, four days there and four days back, all the time I spent with people, all the glorious hugs and even presents I received, it all feels like a dream. Time is a funny, funny thing. Just the same as I don’t feel like I’ve missed much of my American friends’ and family’s lives in the past year, I feel like in the three weeks I was gone, I missed every part of my Ugandan friends’ and family’ lives. I could not wait to come back to Uganda and hear what people had done for Christmas and New Year even though I knew the answer was “church, family, and food” for each of them.
I really think my sister hit the nail on the head with this. She told me that to her it feels like I’m just away at college like I was the two years before Peace Corps. Because she always knew I would come home, because she always knew what was happening in my life from my Facebook posts, because we’re probably in better contact with each other than we were when I was away at college, it just feels like another semester, another year of school. I feel much the same way. Sure, I have missed things that I wouldn’t have had to miss if I was indeed at college instead of halfway across the world, but see when a place becomes home, no matter how different it is, and when you’re able to keep up through social media, it doesn’t quite feel like you ever left your original home. Your new home just becomes an extension of your original home. They are both places that you’re so overjoyed to come back to, both places where you feel so loved, so comfortable, that you don’t want to leave.
Now please don’t think that I’m saying I’m not grateful to have been home. I really, truly am ecstatic to have seen all of the friends and family I saw (especially the ones who put up with me during the first week I was home), and I am so beyond grateful to my family for bringing me home. What I am saying, though, is that if it weren’t for the things I brought back with me, the pictures we all took, the reactions of my Ugandan friends and family when I came home, I’m not sure I would quite believe I had gone home. It all feels like a dream, but it’s the best dream of my life.
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