I have multiple friends who have lived abroad, from months, to years, to staying permanently. During my own longer periods of travel I began to understand how they felt an increase of tension as they tried to straddle the two (or more) countries and cultures. You miss things and dislike things in both, you can start to not feel really settled or at home in either. Do you leave your feelings and experiences in separate, compartmentalized boxes? Sometimes parts go together easily and then there are some that do not. You almost smash them together, like forcing the pieces of a puzzle. Or like trying to glue two parts of broken smooth plastic; they look like they meet, but as soon as you stop holding them together, they fall apart.
My first trip to the grocery store after we returned was hard. I almost had a panic attack, I almost started crying and hyperventilating. I had to stop and talk myself through it. I didn't want to see anyone or talk to anyone. It was Christmastime and I didn't even want to make any holiday cookies or treats or engage in many of our family traditions. It seemed like a complete waste of food. The third time I went to the grocery store was my first night in my new house and I didn't understand how to get whole bean coffee and stood staring at the choices for 3 minutes. It was confusing because I normally am social and enjoy grocery shopping.
I hadn't realized that I had been on various stages of alert for so long. After about a week back, I was driving through Portland while looking for a rental house, and I saw a backpack on a corner. With in the distance of a block I thought: "Why is that there? How odd someone left it, it might be a bomb." Some part of me wondered if someone should be alerted, then I realized it was a folded piece of tar paper. That reaction was from being in Kampala specifically. That was a bit of a reality check for me. It gave me the smallest sliver of insight into how those coming back from war and conflict must feel.
I know how I feel, I know how I react and what I see that I have missed or what now bothers me more than ever about the US. I wonder what the boys have felt in themselves that has changed. They say things now and then. When we first moved up to the city I needed to go clothes shopping for one of them, they both intensely dislike shopping. I was going to go alone to get things for him and was reviewing what to look for and avoid in a t-shirt, to be sure I still had it "right." He said "I don't care what my shirts are like. I have seen people wearing shirts made from scraps of old pants." He is the same child who responded with something along the lines of, "I can't be sad about where I live because I have seen what other people live in and know it can be worse," during a conversation the three of us were having about missing our old farm and house. One day, on the morning ride to school, traffic was backed up and they both said they wished we were in Africa on a bota bota because we could just hop up over the curb and zip through traffic. They have talked a little about their trip at their new school. Yesterday, one told me his classmates didn't believe him that he'd been to Dubai and Taiwan.
When we first arrived in Africa, I had a hard time. I shared with Paul about it and he said, "if you think this is hard, just wait, this is Africa 'lite'." He was right. Moshi was a good starter place, compared to Kampala. Of course, if I went back now it would be so much easier. I know what to expect. The first day, dragging the boys back and forth the main road in the noisy, dusty, broken down sidewalks, exhaust blowing in our faces, not yet knowing the meaning of the different stares or people approaching us (selling, practicing English or trying to take advantage?) was so much to handle. I wanted to just cry by the end of the day. It was so much, so different and so in-your-face. Even once I got the hang of navigating our days, teaching the boys new things; cultural awareness; finding new enrichment; getting us to and from places (on foot or arranging rides); making new friends, it still could feel like wading through water that was waist deep. In Kampala we really couldn't walk to very many places. Getting to and from took such time due to traffic and was an expense because I had to take a car not the fast and cheap bota bota (too dangerous).
A big part of the time, I felt very alone. I had written to a few of my friends, hoping the ones who had lived internationally could help me understand my feelings. I told them that Africa was leaving me feeling like I had been sandblasted, turned inside out and left to dangle in the wind. I had realized a large part of how I defined who I was, was by my hobbies and daily actives. When those were gone and the material belongings that reflected those parts of me were gone, I felt lost. I didn't like that part of me defined myself with material good, not one tiny part of me liked that at all. One friend wrote back an email which I found so incredibly soothing and helpful.
This is a part:
"Sandblasted. Yes, I totally get it. Great visual I am getting - not quite a deer in headlights look, but similar. I have so had it. Being an expatriate for a while is such an odd occupation, but it really is in itself. So much turn of century literature alludes to it and you will see it in all sort of cultural and art movies...that you may have not seen prior to this. You'll get such a new clarity when you read/see some. I think it is just getting used it being OK that this is what you are doing. Not so easy for those of us who accomplish stuff and produce stuff and process our lives by speaking to friends. It seems a bit aimless - but I think you have to really allow the bombardment of visual, audio and cultural input and it sort of metabolizes in you. The intensity is exhausting and I understand most of Africa makes even 2nd world Europe seem easy. My Albania time so formed this underused part of my brain and I think whenever I read about any thing happening over the ponds I can see it better and really feel it. I really miss that 'difference' that things are new and require a 2nd look."
She hit it all right on the head. Now, I appreciate what she wrote even more so.
You have to feel alone if you are to forge any new relationships or connections. By being without, you seek the help and comfort of others. We had so many incredibly kind and caring people cross our paths. You can feel a deep, sweet connection with a stranger when neither of you speak the same language and you can also feel very, very alone within a sea of people. You appreciate these connections even more because of the work they take to make or because it's like someone throwing you a lifeline at sea.
When I don't speak the language and I hear people all around talking, they seem to be conversing about important things. To my ears, other languages sound musical, beautiful and like important thoughts are being shared. It's exhausting to try to navigate your way through things at times, looking for something you can translate, looking for a clue to be sure you are doing or understanding correctly. Believe me I have made PLENTY of errors, some worse than others. When I come home, at first, I am surprised at how easy it is and you can hear all the trivial things people actually talk about. It doesn't take long for you to forget that feeling of ease. The boys commented on it too.
When we first returned, I went to a coffee shop here in Portland and they asked me what kind of milk I wanted for my coffee. I responded, "cow, what are the other choices?" There was hemp, cashew, soy or cow. I felt bemused and annoyed, but at the same time thought how nice it is for those who like or need those choices to have them. It's hard not to feel like people should feel more gratitude for how easily they can get things and not feel so entitled when things aren't exactly how they want them and exactly when they want them. Or not to feel impatient when people freak out just because the power goes out for a window of more than a few hours and now they have missed a TV show. But people here are friendly and helpful, it is a beautiful country we live in.
I miss the rustic nature of Europe and the way that foods are found closer to the ground they come from. They have processed foods, but are easy to avoid. I miss the warmth of Africa and how the people there appreciate everything. I miss the seamless organization of Taiwan. Of course, I miss our friends.
All of that isn't to say I don't appreciate it here. We have now left our beautiful farm, and I miss the tranquility there. Living in the city, things can be so easy that you become complacent. I can easily get all of the things I had to make myself if I wanted them. I appreciate all my amazing friends I have here. I have made it a point now to show appreciation to those I come across daily, even strangers who I will never see again. While traveling, those who showed me kindness will never know the impact they had. Maybe I can be fortunate enough to alter the path of a stranger, just as my path was altered by the kindness of a stranger.
