I can still remember the day. It was about a year ago. As I walked out of the gym to my car, I heard it—finally. I heard foreign languages and foreign accents. It was music to my ears!
It was music to my ears in this mono-cultural, mono-lingual, rural town in America.
The sound of the music was interesting and intriguing—the dancing words and expressions of a language that I clearly recognized. The language was Spanish. However, one of the accents was an intricate and unique Nordic blend. This was an accent that I was somewhat familiar with, although I couldn’t quite place its exact origin in my mind.
The language and country dots didn’t quite connect.
The Parking Lot Meeting
My excitement and curiosity quickly took over, and I turned around to greet the two women walking behind me in the parking lot. One woman was a very tall, 6-foot-plus blonde, with long, flowing hair and a fair complexion. The other woman was a very petite, 5-foot-minus brunette, with short, wispy hair and a dark complexion.
The physical contrast was stark. These women were clearly from different lands, from places “worlds apart.” Yet, the cultural connection between the women was evident and strong. It was a shared bond that was much greater than their differences.
While greeting each other, I discovered that Gunn was from Norway and Andrea was from Colombia. Their husbands worked together in the same medical practice at the local hospital. That is what brought them both here—to this rural town in the middle of Pennsylvania.
What else, besides love, could possibly bring these women here from their faraway homelands, cultures, families, and friends on opposite sides of the world?
Gunn went on to tell me that she had grown up in Spain, and therefore, spoke Spanish fluently. Her husband was from Guatemala, and Andrea’s husband was from Colombia. So much connected these women—their husband’s work, the Spanish language.
Even more than that, their “international” bond connected them. They both knew what it was like to be “displaced,” to be a foreigner in a foreign land.
A “Well” of Internationals?
Wow! I thought to myself. There’s a whole “world of internationals” right here in our little town!
It suddenly occurred to me that the local hospital was full of doctors from around the world. I could vividly recall seeing the signs on the wall when we had recently gone to the hospital with our boys for some medical appointments. Many of the doctors’ names had a foreign, international flare. If all of those doctors were from foreign lands, then perhaps their spouses were too!
Had we just tapped into a “well” of internationals right here in rural Pennsylvania?
That divine meeting in the parking lot that day was truly like living water to my soul.
I was dry and longing for something—longing for some excitement, longing for some diversity, longing for people who could understand me—truly understand me.
Feeling “Displaced”
My family had just arrived a few months before from France, our home. We had left our country, our language, our culture, our family, our friends, our work, our schools, our life. We had left everything behind—even the majority of our personal belongings were left behind in France. They were securely stored away in a “home box” until we could return to retrieve them one day.
We had met some wonderful people at our local community church here. Our relationships were just beginning to grow, and we were so grateful to have these new “friends.”
Even so, it just wasn’t the same.
I somehow felt “displaced” in my own country.
One would think that as an American I would feel at “home” in the United States, able to easily adapt to living again in my own country. It just wasn’t the case. I was in culture shock, that is, “reverse culture shock.” (More articles to come on this topic.)
Spending more than half of my life in foreign countries and living in a bi-cultural, bi-lingual home and marriage, I am no longer a “typical” American. I am an “international.”
Our international life and way of seeing the world is drastically different from those who have grown up in rural America. Many of our new acquaintances here, we find, have never left this area. It is the life that they have always known, and many are perfectly content with that.
Being from “worlds apart” seemed to separate us, to be a barrier in our relationships.
Finding People Like Me
The void of international connection in our lives and hearts was very real. We were lonely, longing for more—longing for those who could truly understand us.
When I shared my story with Gunn and Andrea that day, they immediately understood me. I didn’t even have to share all the details of my journey—my culture shock, my disillusionment, my displacement, my loneliness. They understood. They felt it too.
I knew that day that I had found my “Oasis of Cultures,” that wellspring of life that would begin to water my dry soul.
Still standing in the freezing cold and snowy parking lot, we quickly made plans to meet for coffee that next week. I didn’t know the town well, but someone had told me about a new community coffeehouse on the main street.
Our first gathering in that place was refreshing. It stimulated my mind, it touched my emotions, it nourished my soul.
Over a cup of coffee, Gunn, Andrea, and I shared stories—stories about our homelands “back there,” stories about the cultures and languages that we knew and loved, stories about our families that we missed, stories about our culture shock in our “new world.”
The International Bridge
The three of us were all so different—from different countries, different cultures, with different languages. We were so different. Yet, we were so much alike.
Our “international” bond would be the bridge that would quickly lead us into a deep friendship. It was a shared bond that was much greater than our differences.
That day, I asked them if we could meet together regularly. Perhaps there were other “internationals” in our town who shared our same experience, our same feelings, our same emptiness.
Were there other “internationals” out there who were dry and thirsty too? Were there other “internationals” out there who would want to come and drink the refreshing water from this newly discovered “Oasis of Cultures?” Perhaps there were Americans out there, too, who would want to meet “internationals.” Maybe there were others out there who would want to join us—to gather at the oasis—to “taste and see.”
Follow the journey of our “Oasis of Cultures” in future stories to come!
Look, too, for an upcoming resource guide on how to start your own “Oasis of Cultures.”
—The Cultural Story-Weaver
Let’s Weave Cultures!
What about you? Are you an “international” feeling lonely, like a fish out of water? Do you feel “displaced”? Or have you felt like this at some point in your life when you have traveled or lived in a foreign land?
Perhaps you are one who desires to meet “internationals.” You are curious and long for some cultural diversity in your town, but you don’t exactly know where to start.
How could you find an “Oasis of Cultures?” Where could you begin to find “internationals” around you? How could you reach out to foreigners who are arriving in your town and who may be lonely—separated from their homelands, their cultures, their families?
We invite you to tell us your own cultural stories and global adventures . . . as you engage with the world, breaking down barriers, building bridges, and “weaving cultures”! Write about them in the comment box below.
Liisa shared your blog entry from today, January 11, 2019, with me. I enjoyed reading it, as I share these same cultural struggles. Very well written!
It is truly a joy to get to know you and other bi-cultural, bi-lingual couples in the “Oasis of Cultures.” We have so much in common. It is comforting to know that we are not alone!