Category: Re-Entry to America Page 5 of 6

How We Are Adjusting

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On December 5, 2020

In Re-Entry to America, Third Culture Kids

People ask me quite often, “How are you all adjusting?” and I kind of want to say, “As best as can be expected. How are you adjusting?” Because really, we all are adjusting right now, aren’t we? 

An article at A Life Overseas talked about how adjusting to this pandemic feels a lot like culture shock, because we all are trying to learn new ways of living. So I guess you could say that our family is experiencing a double whammy of regular culture shock on top of pandemic culture shock, and it’s hard to separate the two. But all things considered, we are doing okay.

My two younger kids have been able to attend school in person since the beginning of the school year, and the two older kids started entirely online. However, they have had the option of being on campus (socially distanced in the gym or library) to do their distance learning, and we jumped at that opportunity. This was partly for sanity’s sake, since August was not a pretty month in our house and we seriously needed some space from each other, but mainly because it would be the only way for our kids to start making friends. 

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Brokenhearted Joy

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On November 26, 2020

In Living Like a Missionary, Re-Entry to America

Johnny’s pretty confused, I think. He brought home all of his Thanksgiving paraphernalia from third grade–the placemat, the turkey hat, the turkey cookie. A worksheet asked, What is your favorite Thanksgiving food? “Pizza” was Johnny’s response. 

We celebrated Thanksgiving in Tanzania, of course. But it was never on a Thursday and there were no fall leaves or parades on television or feasts at school. Thanksgiving was just a normal school day and our mission team would celebrate it on Saturday or Sunday. We would eat traditional Thanksgiving foods, but I don’t know if Johnny picked up on that. After all, we met monthly with our mission team, so eating chicken and mashed potatoes in November probably didn’t stand out to him.

For several years, our team chipped in to buy a turkey, which cost over $100. We eventually gave up and in recent years, roasted a bunch of chickens instead. I would dutifully buy a giant Tanzanian pumpkin which had to be hacked open with a machete. Cooking down the pumpkin and making the crust from scratch was an all-day affair. 

This year, my eyes bugged out of my face when I saw turkeys on sale for $7.00. I resisted the temptation to announce it to the strangers around me, Did you see these turkey prices? This is incredible! I had to remind myself that this is normal for everyone, and I am working hard to avoid being weird. I am not hosting Thanksgiving this year so I didn’t need to buy a turkey, but I bought one anyway, just because I could. 

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I Never Thought I Would Miss the Spiders

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On November 16, 2020

In A Life Overseas, Leaving Tanzania, Re-Entry to America

Earlier this year, my kids and I were still in Tanzania, and while driving home, we stopped at a roadside fruit stand. 

I asked for a huge bunch of bananas, handed the seller my money, and she passed the bananas through the window to my pre-teen son, sitting in the passenger seat. This was routine; we did it several times a week.

I pulled back onto the street and had driven just a few yards when I heard my son give a horrified yell. Alarmed, I looked over and saw an enormous spider, about the size of a silver dollar, crawling on top of the bananas in his lap. The yell turned into a guttural yelping, as my son stood up, dropped the bananas on the seat and proceeded to clamber over all of the seats and into the trunk of our minivan. 

Meanwhile, I was still driving, and meanwhile, the spider was also running for his life in my direction, so I joined in with the cacophony of noise in the car. The spider then decided that hiding underneath my seat was a safe place to get away from all the screaming. 

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I Don’t Want to Waste This Emptiness

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On November 7, 2020

In Book Recommendations, Leaving Tanzania, Re-Entry to America

Every morning I would step out under the East African sun onto the piece of heaven called Haven of Peace Academy. I could look out past the palm trees onto the expanse of the Indian Ocean, enveloped in that beauty. Everywhere I walked I was surrounded by children; everywhere I turned there was someone to talk to, a parent, a teacher, a bouncing, dancing first grader. I ate lunch with a Brit and a Dane and a Zimbabwean; every conversation was alive with culture and rich diversity and perspective. My days were full of problems to solve and noise and laughter and light.

Now every day I wake up in my small apartment and take the kids to school. I sit on my couch and am bombarded by the silence. I face the computer all day and my only interactions with other people are through that screen. I fix myself lunch and eat with a magazine. I go to the grocery store and never recognize anyone. I go to church and few know my name. I am alone, and I am unknown. And inside is a yawning emptiness. 

The deaths in my life this year line up like tombstones. The death of my self-respect; being forced to leave Tanzania early engulfed my head in shame. The death of feeling competent, knowledgeable, relevant; starting a new job is like becoming a toddler again. The death of being known; the wealth of my relationships in Tanzania took twenty years to build. I lift my weary eyes to climbing that mountain over again and it feels insurmountable.

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Leaving Early Has Complicated All the Complicated Emotions of Re-Entry

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On October 10, 2020

In Leaving Tanzania, Re-Entry to America

My youngest has been fascinated with finding places on Google Earth. He recently brought me the iPad and said, “Mommy, help me find HOPAC.” 

My son is in third grade, and Haven of Peace Academy is where he went to school for kindergarten through second grade. But even before that, HOPAC was always a part of his life. It’s where my husband and I ministered for sixteen years. The last three years, it was where I was the elementary school principal. 

I showed him how to type in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. “Here’s downtown, right?” I pointed out. I traced the main road that led to the north of the city. “This is Shoppers Plaza; that’s where we would buy chicken on Saturday nights; this is the White Sands roundabout. Then you turn right here, and see? There’s HOPAC!” 

Together we then traced the road down a little further until we could pick out the house where we had lived for ten years. We zoomed in on it, and a hundred memories rushed out. My eyes grew misty. My finger stopped, hovering there, suspended above our home. Ten thousand miles away, yet so close I could almost touch it.

“I like my new school,” Johnny tells me. “But I like Tanzania better.” Me too, Buddy.

***

I knew there would be grief in leaving. We had planned our departure a year in advance; we knew it was coming. We knew it would be hard. Tanzania had been our home for sixteen years.

But what I can’t figure out is what part of my grief is because we left, and what part of my grief is because we left the way we did. 

***

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