Culture Shock

Stage 1: Honeymoon

We arrived all bright-eyed and firm-footed here on African soil and we started off in the full power of our energy and optimism.  We would not have culture shock! We were brave and experienced and perhaps a bit in denial. The colors and wonders of a new place filled our senses.  The heat wasn’t so bad, the grocery shopping was doable, the complexity of driving was manageable. We were doing this thing! Our kids were adjusting, we liked the people, we were doing “just fine.”  In my head, I knew I was in the honeymoon stage of culture shock, but I also figured that by virtue of my own hardiness, I could avoid the next season of culture shock.

Stage 2: Frustration.

But then, like footwear rubbing on bare skin, the chaffing has started.  The frustrations pile up and start to feel like the heavy load of the firewood-laden bicycle men.  It might not be so bad if it were a few things: power outages and water shortages and the like. Things like these are navigable.  Leaking pipes, falling trees, stomach illnesses, and dead car batteries are just short-lived crises that can be rectified. These are problems to be fixed, which come and go like the rainy season’s torrential downpours of rain. For those, you pop out an umbrella, hop undercover and wait it out.   

But this stage of culture shock is not about the storms, it’s about the endless dripping rain. Like the relentless Vancouver winter, the grey is here. I find myself suddenly aware of the ‘drip-drip’ of drizzly frustrations which are the normal realities of life here as a foreigner. The little things start to wear me thin like our well-worn socks. I start to feel it in my emotions and see it in my reactions.  I am surprised that I roll my eyes and give a heavy grunt when I am approached one more time by a group of vendors when I leave the house.  I am surprised that a dozen set of eyes following me, makes me look down and hide, and never look up.  I start noticing that I don’t want to engage in conversation with strangers or familiar faces even, because I just don’t want to try to make sense or be understood when I just want to go about my business.  I start dreaming of anonymity, and the comfort of blending in. When another conversation shuts me out, when my child is touched by another stranger, it all starts to feel like too much.  I want to hide. I want to stay in my house. I don’t want to try. And I am frustrated.

That’s what it is.  It just all takes so much effort and that’s what feels hard.  When did it feel hard to run to the store for milk? When did it feel hard to find a public toilet?  When did it feel hard to go for a walk, to go to the park, to get out of the house, to find convenience food that actually seems, convenient?

I look forward to the signs of spring, when the clouds part and the sun shines, and the grey lifts and my adjustment comes.  But for now, I am going to sit under my “seasonal depression lamp” (shout out to Vancouverites!) and moan a bit to the Lord about the grey season around me and cling to His reminder that there is indeed a season (and a stage) of everything. This too shall pass.

2 comments

  1. Hold on to God’s hand. He will hold you. Praying for you! Love to you all, Stuart and Elizabeth

  2. Praying for you, Jay and Shannon! I’m so thankful you are following God’s call to go. Remember why you are there and the faithful God who led you will always be by your side. I just read this tonight: “Have you not known? Have you not heard? The everlasting God, the Lord, the creator of the ends of the earth, neither faints nor is weary. His understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the weak, and to those who have no might He increases strength.” -Isaiah 40:28-29 (this whole chapter is amazing). Let God be your strength. Let Him be your confidence and the source of the true smile you can give to everyone around you – your new community and your new family! Again, I’m praying for you and your family!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *