The Culture We Call Home

My Cool Friend, Martha, Who's in Africa

I just finished Facebook chatting with one of my college friends, who is currently in Africa for WorldTeach. She has only been there two months, but has experienced so many wonderful, crazy, funny, strange things. She definitely has a great outlook on life and is sharing all of her wonderful stories on her blog. Her writing is humorous and honest. You should definitely check it out!

As we were talking, I realized how many similar things we are both experiencing. I know the European and African cultures are completely different, but they're both also different from the culture we're used to. The one we call home.

As Martha talked about missing her lack of independence, it made me realize that's exactly what I have been missing. I can't go anywhere without first consulting Chiara or Marco. I live in the country. There is nothing within walking distance. Well, at least not a distance I'm willing to walk. I do have my International Driver's License. While they have both graciously offered to let me drive their cars, I just can't for three reasons:

1. Italian country roads are different than what I'm used to in America. Roundabouts, instead of traffic lights, stop signs that people don't stop at, and roads so narrow I'm not sure how two cars manage to pass. 
2. Chiara drives a manual. (Never learned how to drive one of those.) 
3. Marco drives an Audi. (Wouldn't want to wreck one of those.)

A small thing that most people probably take for granted is being on your own schedule. Martha and I discussed how we would love to wander up and down the grocery store aisles for two hours. But we can't because we're on someone else's schedule. We must not keep our generous chauffeurs waiting because next time they might not be so generous. So as much as I love being independent and having my own freedom, I definitely don't have it here in Italy. I must rely on Chiara and Marco. Much the same as Martha must rely on scheduling other people to drive her into town for groceries or whatnot. 

Another commonality we both share is teaching people who don't have the same native language as us. Granted the people I'm teaching speak Italian, while the people Martha teaches speak Oshindonga. (I definitely just went to her blog and looked under "Glossary of Terms" to figure that out. Thanks for being so organized, Martha!) But we are both faced with similar challenges in trying to help them grasp the lessons we are teaching. It gets frustrating, especially when the four year old tells me "No! Italiano!" everytime I attempt to teach her something new in English. I'm sure Martha doesn't quite have that issue, but she is teaching much more complicated subjects that I couldn't even imagine attempting to teach.

Though the most important lesson we are both having to learn is how to live in a culture that is not our own. We must adapt to our new life or we will never be able to enjoy the experience. Learning to accept things the way they are in our new culture is difficult, but it opens our eyes to have a deeper appreciation for the culture we call home.