Start of the Semester

I can’t believe it is already March, which means I’ve been here for a month now! Things are starting to feel relatively normal about living here. I define normal as being able to wake up in the morning and remember where I am.

The college is in full swing now. The students are back and classes have officially started. The campus seemed to transform overnight from a desolate quiet place to an organism alive with student bustling about. I was informed of this transformation promptly at 6:00 am (*please note that the sun doesn’t rise here until almost 9:00 am) when a loud speaker with cheesy commercial music and incoherent voices echoed boisterously throughout the university. I have no idea what they were saying but they seemed to be ushering in the new semester.

The new semester means new neighbors, who happen to be a hall full of teenage boys from a neighboring country. They are here with an exchange program between the college and their school back home. Why they have an exchange program for junior high and high school boys to come to college is beyond me. I have had limited interaction with them, but have been able to discover a few things about them. Their favorite past times include: smoking, singing in falsetto, slamming doors, “stomping the yard”, and spitting in the hallway. From speaking with some of the locals they are often considered rambunctious and rude. From my perspective, they are a source of humor with their ridiculous behavior (i.e. blaring Christina Aguilera songs) and they serve as a sort of antonym to my presence. We are both foreigners here and they create a wide distinction between myself and other guests of this country.  I hope to do my best to understand the people and the culture, to respect them, and be gracious and loving.

It’s not easy to forget you’re a foreigner here. The way most foreigners are treated appears to be an oxymoron. In some ways the people seem closed off and ambiguous, and in other ways they are generously inviting and curious. There are days where a storekeeper, after a frustrating attempt of asking a question, will shake her head and say, “Foreigners, they never understand!” And there are other days, when van-taxi drivers will offer me the front seat, smile at me kindly and go out of his way to assist me when the van eventually broke down. Sometimes these things happen within the span of the same day.

Two common occurrences of my day are: prolonged stares in my direction and mockingly being shouted “hello!” at from strangers. I have narrowed the local’s reaction to my presence here into 4 basic facial expressions.

1.     Disbelief: this is the expression of shock and awe and at times makes me feel like I’m a costumed character at Disneyland. It is often accompanied with a dropped jaw and whispering amongst a group. I mostly receive this look from small children and junior highers.

2.     Disdain: this expression is the typically a prolonged evil eye. This look is generally only given to me by the elderly in the community and is usually accompanied with a gesture of crossing to the opposite side of the street.

3.     Snickering: a self-explanatory expression usually given by groups of people.  This expression often makes me wonder if I have something on my face, my zippers down or something else of embarrassing nature.

4.     Discreet: the most rare, yet the expression I cherish the most. This is when people pretend not to stare at me until I pass them, but if I glance back I’ll find them staring. I think this has only happened twice.

*Please note these are just generalizations from my limited perspective. Obviously I can’t fully read what their faces mean and typically their expressions are a mixture of several of the ones listed above.

In the beginning the stares and whispers bothered me and resulted in me walking quickly through town with my head down. Now I’ve grown quite accustom to it and simply ignore it. Since I’ve been here my reactions to the culture have been as mixed as people’s expressions toward me. On days when its difficult to be here or I don’t understand something about the culture I enjoy thinking that my Father is the Father of these people. He knows them fully—language, quirks, emotions, and all.

Below are just a few pictures of the place I call home here:

My Living Room

My Bedroom

My Wall of Encouragement: letters and pictures from home