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It was a surprising invitation.
We were on vacation in the south of Spain, spending time as a family—having fun, relaxing, resting.
We knew some people living in the area who worked with refugees and immigrants. Vincent contacted them and asked if we could meet for coffee. They responded by inviting us to their New Year’s Eve dinner. A few refugee friends from foreign lands were joining them.
We arrived at their home out in the countryside, not really knowing what to expect.
“Hola” and “Bonjour“
Upon entering the house, we were greeted with a welcoming “hola” from the group of
We returned the joyful greeting, following by “bonjour.” Perhaps they spoke French.
Beaming smiles radiated on their faces.
“Bonjour!” they replied eagerly.
They could speak French and had few opportunities to do so. These immigrants were from Guinea, Mali, and Cameroon—all former French colonies.
We introduced ourselves and sat down in their circle. Together, we played games, discussed the meaning of Christmas, listened to them play the
The Same Story
We listened to their stories—all the same stories.
They had left everything—their countries, families, languages, and cultures. Giving up everything to cross the Mediterranean Sea in a tiny plastic raft boat, they had even risked their lives. They all had a dream and a hope of a better place, a better life.
Now, they lived in Spain and could never go back “home.”
Refugees in Spain
“Spain again broke its historic record of 54,065 asylum applications to become the fourth country in the entire EU for the first time. Moreover, it was the main country for seaborne arrivals at 58,569, accounting for 51% of all of them.”
CEAR
Taken care of by the Spanish government, these refugees were given a place to live, food, clothes, etc. They were also encouraged to attend Spanish classes in order to learn the local language and better integrate into their new world.
They had met our friends, who were Spanish teachers, at the local community center. These Sub-Saharan refugees had been their students.
“We got to know them and started inviting them to come home with us. Our family fed them, and we had
fun t ogether. We became family to each other,” our friends explained. “No one else was doing that for them.”
For nearly one year, our friends had developed deep relationships with these dear ones. Separated from their own family and friends back in their home countries, their refugee family and community meant everything to them.
Separated and Reunited
They were close and always together . . . until . . . they were separated.
Several months later, the Spanish government dispersed them to various cities throughout
“As a Christmas gift, we wanted to offer them a weekend reunion together,” our friend told us.
Somehow, we were invited to join them. What a joy and honor to be a part of their community for the New Year’s Eve celebration.
The dinner was a true feast—chicken wings, chicken enchiladas, and shrimp. There was no pork, as most of these refugees were Muslims.
“Make yourselves a plate,” our friend told Vincent and I. “Get the boys food too, because these guys will eat everything we put on the table!”
We chuckled and made ourselves plates. There was plenty of food to go around—much of which had been donated by local non-profit organizations and churches.
We ate, we talked, we laughed, we told stories.
Forget and Dream Again
They tried to forget, they tried to turn the page, they tried to start a new year, they tried to dream again.
After dinner, we gathered again in the living room for more music. They had fun playing the drums, singing, clapping rhythmically, dancing. We sang in Spanish, French, and English.
We were “Weaving Cultures”!
Sacrificial Giving
A non-profit organization had given new sweatshirts for everyone. They eagerly unwrapped the packages and tried on the various styles. Each tried to find something that fit.
One of the young men tried on a nice camouflage sweatshirt. He loved it and wore it with great pride.
I noticed that one of the men didn’t have a sweatshirt, so I asked him where his was.
“There are none that fit me,” he said. He was tall, strong, and muscular.
The young man with the camouflage sweatshirt said, “Here, try this one.”
Tears filled my eyes as I watched him sacrificially remove the sweatshirt that he loved and hand it to his fellow refugee friend.
The man from Mali tried on the sweatshirt, and it fit. The other young man put on a different one—much smaller. It fit too, although it was not the camouflage sweatshirt that he had loved.
What an example and testimony this was to me. Those who have nothing can be so generous.
We Have So Much to Learn
I can remember traveling in West Africa and living in North Africa. Our poor friends who had nothing gave us everything when we went over for a visit.
When I took down clothes to the Syrian refugees in France, they would go through the bag, only taking the few things that fit them. They never took it all. These refugees weren’t greedy. They knew how to give, how to share.
We have so much to learn from them.
The Final Countdown
As midnight was approaching, Pierre got out the glow sticks and the confetti. He passed them out to the others.
Our refugee friends had never seen glow sticks, so Pierre demonstrated how they had to bend them in half to get the fluorescent liquid flowing.
We turned out the lights and watched on television as the countdown began. It was similar to our celebrations in the U.S. growing up. We would watch the NYC glow ball drop on Dick Clark’s Rock’
This time, the program wasn’t in English. It was in Spanish. A nicely dressed Spanish man and woman commentated as the new year drew near.
Our First Spanish New Year
This was our first New Year’s celebration in Spain—for all of us.
No, we weren’t refugees, but we were immigrants. We were all separated from our home countries, cultures, languages, and families.
We didn’t have our own families and friends back in our home lands, but we had each other.
Together, we counted down in loud Spanish—with strong foreign accents . . . “10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1” . . . (We forgot to do the Spanish tradition of eating 12 grapes as the clock struck “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 10, 11, 12.”)
“Feliz Año Nuevo!” we all screamed out, waving our glow sticks in the dark.
We threw confetti, we danced, we went around the room to hug and kiss each other.
All of them decided to put glow sticks in their hair—African afros are the best for that kind of thing. Those glow sticks really stuck!
We sang and danced some more.
We were “Weaving Cultures” at midnight!
I can’t imagine a better way to spend our first New Year’s celebration in Spain!
—THE CULTURAL STORY-WEAVER
My Gift to You—GET Your Free Ebook, “THE 5-DAY JOURNEY TO CULTURAL AWARENESS”!
LET’S WEAVE CULTURES!
How did you ring in the New Year in your country? Would you have been willing to celebrate with a group of immigrants and refugees? Stop for a moment and imagine what it would have been like to “weave cultures” with them at midnight?
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.
