Mental health experts have identified a cycle of emotions undergone by ex-patriots – those who spend the first part of their lives in one part of the world, and, for whatever reason, decide to reside in a different part of the world for an extended period of time. This cycle, somewhat dramatically, goes by the name “culture shock.”
Literature on the infamous cycle lists some trendy subtitles to organize the phases of the cycle. According to their taxonomy, during the first few weeks, ex-patriots experience a Honeymoon phase, during which most aspects of the new culture are met with feelings of romanticism and exoticism. There is a sense of fascination and a desire to please all locals encountered, as well as daily discoveries that bring great excitement. After some time has passed, usually 3-6 months, the individual will begin to regard the new culture with increasing anxiety, frustration, even offense. The language barrier becomes more formidable, and excitement turns to disappointment. This stage is known as Culture Shock, or Negotiation. But, after some time, between 6 and 12 months, Reintegration or Adjustment occurs, as one grows accustomed to the new culture and develops routines, conditioning oneself to know what to expect in situations. The new culture is neither romanticized nor dreaded; things feel more “normal”.
The experts have done a knock-out job with their nomenclature, so much so that you’ll hear ambitious young international volunteers walk around their new environments in the first few months proclaiming, “I really am honeymooning!” And on a bad day, you’ll hear murmurs of, “This is definitely culture shock.” But claiming culture shock on a difficult day in a new environment is like claiming clinical depression anytime you feel the slightest hint of sadness.
In addition to their classifications, the experts have created a cozy recipe of distinct time frames for all ex-patriots to follow, promising the desired product, reintegration, in the end. Are you honeymooning? Well, enjoy it while it lasts, because it’s already Month Two, and give it thirty more days until you’ll be knocked down a few rungs. Experiencing culture shock? No worries, you’re in month 7! In 5 months or less, you’ll be home free! Hang in there!
I know my cynicism is somewhat misdirected, and my close friends with psychology degrees may have some words for me upon reading this. The creators of culture shock are only trying to help folks who undergo an abundance of emotions when thrown into a new environment. But I do wonder if these types of analyses go misinterpreted by those to whom they most aptly apply, as in the aforementioned examples.
So what is culture shock? Do you know if you’re in it? Will we only realize it years from now, when our hindsight is 20/20?
In my experience thus far, to use the experts’ taxonomy, “culture shock” can happen on Monday, and you can go back to “honeymooning” on Tuesday. On Wednesday, “reintegration” occurs, but on Thursday, you’re “honeymooning” again. Then on Friday, lo and behold, “culture shock” sets in again. My point? Time frames are irrelevant.
As for how it feels, I’m not sure I agree with the use of “anxiety” in most of the literature. It’s more numbing than the images conjured up by the word “anxiety”. It’s a weariness. All the ways in which you were previously enamored with this new culture, this new people, this new language, have become jaded. It’s the feeling of no longer wanting to make an effort – of wanting your interactions with the people around you to be seamless, uncomplicated, and, if it’s not so much to ask, not so emotionally and intellectually arduous. If it were a physical manifestation, it would be on the verge of tears, or even screaming at the top of one’s lungs. It’s a frustration, an exhaustion, the source of which you can’t quite determine, but it’s there, hovering like a cloud blocking the sun.
It’s the little things.
It’s the belittlement you feel when spoken to in the local language by someone you know is fully capable of speaking English. When you give a helpless look, they laugh without translating what they have said, and you feel as though they’re making a less-than-gentle joke of your inability to speak their language.
It’s the exasperation you feel when you pass by someone you know, by face at least, someone who would normally smile in that charming way people here used to do, but today they give a hurried glance before looking away. Though this happens every day where you’re originally from, it is especially hurtful here, and you wonder if all the smiles before were ever genuine at all.
It’s the fatigue you feel when, out of guilt and obligation, you take on another project somewhere in your life, not because you want to but simply because no one else volunteers, and the heroic pride you used to have in your ability to multitask is replaced with feelings of betrayal – don’t they know how much you have on your plate? Can’t someone else do this one thing?
It’s the bewilderment you feel when you treat yourself to one of the only restaurants on this island, where you spend an hour and a half waiting for your food, and finally threaten to leave, only to be given, instead of an apology, the suggestion that you should still pay for your meal. What happened to “the customer is always right”? Can I speak to your customer service representative?
It’s the exasperation you feel when you spend every minute of your free time one day calling three different numbers and being put on hold eight times before finally reaching a representative of the bank. Read that again - I said the bank, as in the institution with hundreds of thousands of dollars entrusted in its hands. You think to yourself, this would never happen at home.
Such petty problems! But not for you. You have been socialized differently, with grand notions of common courtesy, customer service, professionalism, manners, competitive spirit, and specific social norms. And here you are, at age 22, being asked to relearn every bit of it. To witness. To be affected objectively, superficially, when you can’t imagine anything more personal.
So what is culture shock? It’s all these emotions, all these questions, and so much more, and simply nowhere to put them all – no one to talk with who you feel would adequately understand your position; no flat-rate box in which to pack them and ship them back home; no shelf upon which to place them until your contract here is up. They’re here, right now, and they’ve nowhere to go. And so, they reside exactly where they originated – in your spirit – and that spirit comes to feel heavier and heavier.
Forget about them for a few days, sure, maybe even a week, and call it honeymooning. But they’ll return. And you won’t be “shocked”, not in the least. You’ll have come to expect them, and perhaps have set up elaborate defense systems against them. But they’ll work their way in, and you’ll just have to learn to cope. And when you figure out how, I supposed you could call it reintegration.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Sunday, January 3, 2010
On Nahlap
We spent the weekend following Christmas on retreat on Nahlap, just off of the main island of Pohnpei, cooked over a fire, slept in a local nahs and hammocks, and got some much needed rest and relaxation. I wrote this in my journal, the first part during our first few hours there, and the second part the next morning. I figured there would be no better way to share the experience than by this:
12.26.09, 4:00pm - Away from the roosters, dogs, pigs, children, neighbors, and cars of Mabusi, I realize the peace of the islands that I've been missing - the soft sound of my own footsteps, the gentle fingertips of wind on my face and its roar in my ears, the sun's warm hands on my back, the soft waves I'd forgotten my hair can take when not overcome by humidity. I've just spent the last two hours doing absolutely nothing: first, sitting in 5-inch deep water watching all sizes and colors of fish swim around and under my legs; then, reclining in a ripped hammock barely big enough for my whole body, allowing the sun and wind to take turns washing over me. I sang softly to myself, knowing no one else is anywhere close to being in earshot, dozed for a few minutes at atime, and finally settled on writing - something I've failed to do for a while now (my college roommates who bought me the journal I'm writing in will not be happy to read this). To be honest, I have forgotten at times in the past five months where I am. Kolonia, especially Mabusi (our neighborhood), can feel so similar to the States - that is, until we're interrupted by a sudden island power outage, or don't see eggs or vegetables for weeks at a time, or catch sight of a six year old with a machete. But here on Nahlap, I remember very clearly where I am, and I'm not sure how to feel other than extremely blessed.
12.27.09, 6:00 am - I don't think I've ever known a peace like what I'm feeling this morning. For the first time since I've had this terrible sinus infection, I am thankful for it - because, as it has every morning for the past week and a half, the congestion woke me before dawn, demanding to be worked out of my chest and nasal passages. This morning, however, as I left our nahs for fear of waking the others with my cough, and settled into a hammock instead, I said a prayer of gratitude for the beautiful, full sun rising over the Pacific that my congestion had woken me to see. The dim grey light was just beginning to wash over the island as I settled in, and soon, I was able to begin to make out the gentle waves bashing against the shores that matched the sounds they had been making. I saw the main island looming powerfully in the distance. The fish began to pop their heads above the water's glassy surface, and the hungry birds began planning for breakfast. Small ripples of waves, still dark in the dim light of dawn, made their way ominously toward me, and larger waves crashed at the reef further out, ever elusive as to where exactly they begin and end. As the sun peeked its head over the horizon - first his eyes, then a hint of nose, and finally his mouth and chin - the clouds blew in on both sides to cover him completely, erasing any trace of his short visit. I looked around and saw no one else, and knew, without a doubt, I was the only person in the world to have seen that sun at that exact moment. My face smiling and my chest cleared, I laymy head back in the hammock's sweet cradle and allowed the wind to rock me back to sleep.
12.26.09, 4:00pm - Away from the roosters, dogs, pigs, children, neighbors, and cars of Mabusi, I realize the peace of the islands that I've been missing - the soft sound of my own footsteps, the gentle fingertips of wind on my face and its roar in my ears, the sun's warm hands on my back, the soft waves I'd forgotten my hair can take when not overcome by humidity. I've just spent the last two hours doing absolutely nothing: first, sitting in 5-inch deep water watching all sizes and colors of fish swim around and under my legs; then, reclining in a ripped hammock barely big enough for my whole body, allowing the sun and wind to take turns washing over me. I sang softly to myself, knowing no one else is anywhere close to being in earshot, dozed for a few minutes at atime, and finally settled on writing - something I've failed to do for a while now (my college roommates who bought me the journal I'm writing in will not be happy to read this). To be honest, I have forgotten at times in the past five months where I am. Kolonia, especially Mabusi (our neighborhood), can feel so similar to the States - that is, until we're interrupted by a sudden island power outage, or don't see eggs or vegetables for weeks at a time, or catch sight of a six year old with a machete. But here on Nahlap, I remember very clearly where I am, and I'm not sure how to feel other than extremely blessed.
12.27.09, 6:00 am - I don't think I've ever known a peace like what I'm feeling this morning. For the first time since I've had this terrible sinus infection, I am thankful for it - because, as it has every morning for the past week and a half, the congestion woke me before dawn, demanding to be worked out of my chest and nasal passages. This morning, however, as I left our nahs for fear of waking the others with my cough, and settled into a hammock instead, I said a prayer of gratitude for the beautiful, full sun rising over the Pacific that my congestion had woken me to see. The dim grey light was just beginning to wash over the island as I settled in, and soon, I was able to begin to make out the gentle waves bashing against the shores that matched the sounds they had been making. I saw the main island looming powerfully in the distance. The fish began to pop their heads above the water's glassy surface, and the hungry birds began planning for breakfast. Small ripples of waves, still dark in the dim light of dawn, made their way ominously toward me, and larger waves crashed at the reef further out, ever elusive as to where exactly they begin and end. As the sun peeked its head over the horizon - first his eyes, then a hint of nose, and finally his mouth and chin - the clouds blew in on both sides to cover him completely, erasing any trace of his short visit. I looked around and saw no one else, and knew, without a doubt, I was the only person in the world to have seen that sun at that exact moment. My face smiling and my chest cleared, I laymy head back in the hammock's sweet cradle and allowed the wind to rock me back to sleep.
Trying to pose elegantly for Philip, but I sort of ended up looking like a beached whale.
Photo courtesy of Philip Michael Prouhet
I'll be boil-free for Christmas.. you can count on me..
You read that title right - for the first time since the end of September, I am boil-free! I am neither recovering from a boil, nor watching a new one grow, nor wondering if it's time to start antibiotics. I'm also recovered from the sinus infection I had for the past two weeks. I'm aware that I may have just placed a terrible curse on myself, and will wake up tomorrow morning on my death bed, but, hey - it's the holidays, and it's a time to celebrate. My right leg is a sight (where all six boils were). My fellow teacher, Russell, jokes that I'm creating a map of Micronesia with my boil scars.. we're still waiting for Palau to form.
So much has happened since I last wrote, I'm not sure where to begin. I'll say one thing about the last five weeks - Pohnpeians know how to do holidays. Let me start with the end of our first semester at OLM.
Classes wrapped up in a whirlwind, accented for me by daily dance practice with the sophomore girls in preparation for our Christmas program. When I first agreed to learn the dance with them and they squealed with delight, I thought for sure I'd be learning a beautiful hula-inspired, traditional Pohnpeian dance, complete with grass skirts and mwarmwars.
Turns out, it was more of a hip-hop step dance to some sort of strange country song. Either way, we had a blast running into one another, and the girls had fun yelling directions in Pohnpeian, then realizing the American teacher didn't understand, and switching to English.
I love the relationship I'm forming with all of my students, but especially my sophomore girls, who I have for homeroom, two classes, and after school cleaning duty. Even those who wanted little to nothing to do with me at first, I have figured out how to work a smile out of. The language barrier is our biggest struggle, no doubt. I know some of the students really struggle. But we're working on it... every day.
Our Christmas program was highlighted by a number of great performances by the students and my debut as Sam-ta Claus. I was decked out in full Santa attire - suit, belt, hat, and beard - and was officially the hottest I have ever been in Pohnpei. I may have actually suffered heat stroke. After the program, the teachers, staff, principal, and friends gathered for our Christmas lunch feast, which was wonderful. All of the tensions of the past semester eased for the afternoon, and we simply laughed, enjoyed one another's company, and stuffed ourselves with delicious local and non-local foods.
With our Christmas vacation officially begun, the four of us at the JV house discussed how it didn't really feel like Christmas - with the tropical weather, lack of powdery white stuff on the ground, being away from home, not having a Christmas tree. And then, as though she heard us, the island produced a number of factors that put a little Christmas cheer in our hearts. One of the roadside drive-up stores (called 'containers') that sell beer, Ramen, Spam, and soda, somehow got their hands on a bunch of Santa hats and sold them for 25 cents. Before we could buy any, they were sold out, and people began sporting them everywhere - even on 90 degree days! There's nothing that screams 'Christmas in Pohnpei' than a pick-up truck rolling by you blasting an island version of a Christmas tune, the back filled with a handful of shirtless men wearing Santa hats and yelling 'Merry Christmas, serepein (girl)!'
On the main road (there's only one), many of the businesses gradually put up Christmas lights, and some of them really didn't look half-bad. Our landlord even surprised us that week with blue icicle lights on our front gate. And every once in a while, between Chris Brown, the Mamma Mia soundtrack, and the Dixie Chicks, our Chuukese neighbors put on a Christmas CD that blasts through our windows beginning around 7:00 in the morning.
And alas, in an act of sheer boredom when I was home alone on Friday afternoon, I made a Christmas tree out of wire hangers, electrical tape, and green construction paper. It doesn't look half bad! I found everything else in our house that is Christmas-themed (much of it sent out by one Allyson Holsinger), or just red for that matter, placed it strategically under and around the tree, and taped all of our Christmas cards on the wall, constructing a bit of a Christmas shrine next to our bookshelf. When Philip got home, we made a star and placed it on top. My community mates were a little disturbed at how much time I put into the whole undertaking, but I like to think they're also delighted. With all that - who needs snow?
On Christmas morning, we made a big breakfast of eggs, briefly caroled over to our landlords' to exchange gifts, and had our own gift exchange at our house in our pajamas. We got dressed, and headed to church for a beautiful Christmas Day Mass, the church adorned with palm leaves and flowers, and every pew packed with familiar faces. After church, we headed off the Joab home, where we were invited to celebrate the day with a fellow teacher, Aurelia, and her family. An interesting part of the day was the gender division that occurred - although, I suppose it wasn't that unlike my own family. The women were in the kitchen and the nahs at the back of the house preparing the taro, fruits, and salads for the meal, and the men... well, the men were busy slaughtering six pigs. I guess that part is somewhat unlike my own family; I've never seen my uncles and cousins kill six pigs, remove their organs, and cook them on an uhmw, or local outdoor oven. Though I shielded my eyes from actually seeing any of the slaughtering, the noise made by the pigs was enough to send me running to the bathroom. Not surprisingly, I was a vegetarian for the rest of the day. The men also had the role of pounding sakau on two separate stones. I could sit around and watch men pound sakau forever, I decided. I wish I could adequately describe the process and atmosphere, but it's honestly an experience that is beyond words.
Though being away from my family this holiday season was difficult for many reasons, I feel truly blessed to have been able to experience Christmas en Pohnpei.
So much has happened since I last wrote, I'm not sure where to begin. I'll say one thing about the last five weeks - Pohnpeians know how to do holidays. Let me start with the end of our first semester at OLM.
Classes wrapped up in a whirlwind, accented for me by daily dance practice with the sophomore girls in preparation for our Christmas program. When I first agreed to learn the dance with them and they squealed with delight, I thought for sure I'd be learning a beautiful hula-inspired, traditional Pohnpeian dance, complete with grass skirts and mwarmwars.
Laughing and sweating trying to learn the steps.
Trying to keep up with the girls. Note the tongue sticking out in concentration!
I love the relationship I'm forming with all of my students, but especially my sophomore girls, who I have for homeroom, two classes, and after school cleaning duty. Even those who wanted little to nothing to do with me at first, I have figured out how to work a smile out of. The language barrier is our biggest struggle, no doubt. I know some of the students really struggle. But we're working on it... every day.
Showing off our style.
Our Christmas program was highlighted by a number of great performances by the students and my debut as Sam-ta Claus. I was decked out in full Santa attire - suit, belt, hat, and beard - and was officially the hottest I have ever been in Pohnpei. I may have actually suffered heat stroke. After the program, the teachers, staff, principal, and friends gathered for our Christmas lunch feast, which was wonderful. All of the tensions of the past semester eased for the afternoon, and we simply laughed, enjoyed one another's company, and stuffed ourselves with delicious local and non-local foods.
With our Christmas vacation officially begun, the four of us at the JV house discussed how it didn't really feel like Christmas - with the tropical weather, lack of powdery white stuff on the ground, being away from home, not having a Christmas tree. And then, as though she heard us, the island produced a number of factors that put a little Christmas cheer in our hearts. One of the roadside drive-up stores (called 'containers') that sell beer, Ramen, Spam, and soda, somehow got their hands on a bunch of Santa hats and sold them for 25 cents. Before we could buy any, they were sold out, and people began sporting them everywhere - even on 90 degree days! There's nothing that screams 'Christmas in Pohnpei' than a pick-up truck rolling by you blasting an island version of a Christmas tune, the back filled with a handful of shirtless men wearing Santa hats and yelling 'Merry Christmas, serepein (girl)!'
On the main road (there's only one), many of the businesses gradually put up Christmas lights, and some of them really didn't look half-bad. Our landlord even surprised us that week with blue icicle lights on our front gate. And every once in a while, between Chris Brown, the Mamma Mia soundtrack, and the Dixie Chicks, our Chuukese neighbors put on a Christmas CD that blasts through our windows beginning around 7:00 in the morning.
And alas, in an act of sheer boredom when I was home alone on Friday afternoon, I made a Christmas tree out of wire hangers, electrical tape, and green construction paper. It doesn't look half bad! I found everything else in our house that is Christmas-themed (much of it sent out by one Allyson Holsinger), or just red for that matter, placed it strategically under and around the tree, and taped all of our Christmas cards on the wall, constructing a bit of a Christmas shrine next to our bookshelf. When Philip got home, we made a star and placed it on top. My community mates were a little disturbed at how much time I put into the whole undertaking, but I like to think they're also delighted. With all that - who needs snow?
On Christmas morning, we made a big breakfast of eggs, briefly caroled over to our landlords' to exchange gifts, and had our own gift exchange at our house in our pajamas. We got dressed, and headed to church for a beautiful Christmas Day Mass, the church adorned with palm leaves and flowers, and every pew packed with familiar faces. After church, we headed off the Joab home, where we were invited to celebrate the day with a fellow teacher, Aurelia, and her family. An interesting part of the day was the gender division that occurred - although, I suppose it wasn't that unlike my own family. The women were in the kitchen and the nahs at the back of the house preparing the taro, fruits, and salads for the meal, and the men... well, the men were busy slaughtering six pigs. I guess that part is somewhat unlike my own family; I've never seen my uncles and cousins kill six pigs, remove their organs, and cook them on an uhmw, or local outdoor oven. Though I shielded my eyes from actually seeing any of the slaughtering, the noise made by the pigs was enough to send me running to the bathroom. Not surprisingly, I was a vegetarian for the rest of the day. The men also had the role of pounding sakau on two separate stones. I could sit around and watch men pound sakau forever, I decided. I wish I could adequately describe the process and atmosphere, but it's honestly an experience that is beyond words.
Though being away from my family this holiday season was difficult for many reasons, I feel truly blessed to have been able to experience Christmas en Pohnpei.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
