Yes, we have Zika. Our little island has joined the rest of the West Indies and is now home to this nasty virus. How common is it? Not too common. How bad is it? Depends.
The most obvious thing that effects our community is that some people have contracted Zika. There have even been a few students at American University of the Caribbean who have had it. You hear a lot of horror stories about how awful it is, but honestly, it varies from person to person. Some people have hardly felt a thing and didn’t know they had it until they were tested. Others have had severe flu-like symptoms that put them behind in their studies for a week or so. Ben and I may have had it and not known it.
Zika is known to cause birth defects in unborn children. The World Health Organization has recommended that women carefully consider delaying pregnancy. This really stinks for the families in our community who were trying to have children. It’s been hard on a lot of people.
Zika is scaring some of our visitors away. Many of us had friends who planned to visit, and some of them cancelled their plans because of pregnancy or fear.
I’m not particularly worried about it. I did take a few pregnancy tests to make sure I’m not pregnant, and they were negative. So we’re just going about our business as usual and being sure to wear bug spray and keep the door closed after dark.
So just in case you were curious or worried, we’re OK. Like any other epidemic, Zika is a little scary, and the media makes it sound much scarier than it is! But life goes on here and we battle the mosquitoes the same way we always have to for more familiar viruses like dengue.
Cross-cultural transition can teach the expat many lessons. Last post, we heard from Emily Montgomery about what she has learned from the process. Today, Emily offers five more words of wisdom.
5. Get in your zone.
I define a comfort zone as a situation where I know what is expected and I am capable of succeeding. In my own culture, I subconsciously orchestrated my interactions so I spent most of my time in my comfort zone.
That handy little ability is not possible when you enter an unknown cultural context.
Right after I moved, I had an identity crisis that lasted several months. Because I was not operating from within my comfort zone, I wasn’t acting like myself.
I was often surprised by my responses. Experiences that used to excite me no longer did. The limits of what I could handle in certain situations were different than they had been in my own culture. It was so disorienting.
And then I started to develop a comfort zone in my new context.
As things became more familiar and I learned the cultural norms around me, some of my old traits began to reemerge. My confidence started to reappear slowly.
There will always be some parts of your comfort zone that cannot translate to the new culture. So, parts of your personality will only come out when you visit home. But, there are also new layers to yourself that you never saw before, that only exist in the new context.
Be brave and engage the new culture. It will be uncomfortable at first, but remember that you are expanding the zone where you can truly be yourself. It’s worth it!
6. Obey God today.
One time during the first wave of transition, I was crying and talking to God. I said between sobs, “My kids won’t even know their cousins!” Then it was like God told me to really think about what I was saying.
I was single with no prospects of marriage in view. Children were a far-off dream at that point. I was carrying the weight of a sacrifice God hadn’t even asked me to make.
In Luke 9:23, Jesus told his followers to pick up their crosses daily. I learned to apply that to my transition process.
Emotionally, I acknowledged and grieved what I was currently missing in the lives of my community at home because I was far away. But, I didn’t allow myself to grieve an event that hadn’t happened yet.
Only God can see for certain how your future will play out. You don’t know that you’ll miss your brother’s wedding, never see your grandpa again, or spend every holiday season away from home.
The only sacrifice Jesus is asking you to make is the one you are facing today. And, he promised that he will give you the right amount of grace to carry that sorrow (2 Corinthians 12:9).
7. Take on a posture of prayer.
About a year before I moved overseas, I heard about the idea of creating a personal prayer posture. The friend who told me about it said it helped her to focus on being present with Jesus.
The habit of getting into a certain physical position and opening up time with God with a certain phrase can be very stabilizing in times of insecurity and transition.
I was so grateful for this practice as I weathered the adjustment to a new culture.
There were times when God seemed very quiet and I felt very alone. It was comforting to pray the words of my prayer posture and then just sit in the sanctity and intimacy that had already been created by those same words hundreds of times before.
It was like I had stirred up a current towards God that I could just float in on those days when I didn’t have the energy to swim.
There is no magical secret about this practice. Your prayers are not more effective if you take on a certain posture first. The whole goal is to honestly come into God’s presence and pay attention to him. If a prayer posture is no longer accomplishing that, ditch it!
8. It’s just life.
Leaving your home culture and building a life in a foreign country is an unusual thing. Even with our increasingly accessible world, expatriates are just a tiny percent of the global population. By relocating to a new culture, you are doing something dramatically out of the ordinary.
I was caught up in that drama at first, which made my already-heightened emotions even crazier. Every decision felt weighty. Every task felt urgent. Every prayer was desperate, and every success was a miracle.
When my body began to break down from the stress, I realized I wouldn’t be able to sustain such high intensity for much longer.
As I started to really look at my daily life, I realized it was just that—life.
I had to buy groceries and cook food. I had to pay bills and save for big purchases. I made friends, told stories, took trips, did laundry, and procrastinated the chores I wasn’t fond of.
Life was an adventure, and a challenge, and a thrill. It was also “like the morning fog—it’s here a little while, then it’s gone” (James 4:14 New Living Translation).
Continually remind yourself that this craziness is just life. See from God’s eternal perspective. Don’t make a bigger deal of these temporary things than they deserve.
9. Laugh at yourself.
I remember visiting a local friend’s home for the first time and meeting her elderly mother. The older woman gestured emphatically to her head when I greeted her, pulling my head down. I didn’t understand the language well enough to know what she was saying, so I very bewilderedly leaned down to tap my forehead against hers.
I learned later that it’s customary to greet elderly people with a kiss on the head. My friend’s mother got her head bopped instead because I was clueless!
There are so many funny things that happen when intelligent, capable adults suddenly find themselves bumbling around in a new culture. Don’t take yourself too seriously. If you can laugh about your mistakes, your local friends probably will, too.
I also learned the value of game nights, dance parties, karaoke, and anything else lighthearted and silly.
By moving to a new culture, you’ve introduced an immense amount of stress into your life. Temper that with occasional times to let your hair down and simply laugh as hard as you can. Trust me, those activities will do wonders for your spirit.
10. Wait it out.
In a recently released movie, a girl describes the transition to a new culture perfectly.
“You’ll feel so homesick that you’ll want to die, and there’s nothing you can do about it apart from endure it. But you will, and it won’t kill you. And one day the sun will come out – you might not even notice straight away, it’ll be that faint… And you’ll realize that this is where your life is.” (Brooklyn 2015)
Struggling to adjust to a new culture and dealing with homesickness are not signs of personal weakness or failure. They are not feelings to be ashamed of or minimized.
I often looked at other friends who had moved overseas and berated myself for struggling so much more than they seemed to. I put a huge amount of added pressure on myself to “snap out of it” and fix the problem of my culture shock as quickly as possible.
None of my desperate responses helped the situation, which only led to more disappointment and frustration. It was a vicious cycle.
Finally after many months of this downward spiral, I threw my hands up and just gave in to the fact that I was struggling. I admitted it to my friends at home and in the new culture.
It felt like settling in for a long, cold, winter hibernation. I said some difficult “no’s” and cut back on everything I could. And then, I waited for God to do his work in that season.
And he did.
Conclusion
I talk about the first “season” or “wave” of cultural transition because I don’t think it ends after the initial adjustment period is over. We will always be foreigners now—a little different, a little confusing—even when we are in our home culture again.
That identity can be challenging. But, it is also an honor.
We can take our place among the ranks of the people of faith mentioned in Hebrews 11. “They agreed that they were foreigners and nomads here on earth” (verse 13b New Living Translation). The chapter goes on to say that they were looking forward to their true homeland in heaven.
That is the hope for us, as well. There is only one place where we will ever really be at home, and Jesus is preparing it for us right now. Hope in that as you learn lessons of your own on this crazy adventure of cultural transition!
Moving overseas is a difficult experience. But it doesn’t have to be horrible. Last year, my friend Emily Montgomery moved from the United States to the Arab world. Along the way, she has learned a lot about herself, God, and the world. Here is her advice to you.
Brace yourself.
Put into words what you imagine about the new culture. Be specific! Write the story of your life in this new place. Where do you see yourself living? What will your work be like? Who will be your friends? What will you struggle with most?
Now go one step below the surface to identify your expectations. For example, as I imagined life overseas before I moved, I foresaw lots of busyness and little time to rest.
Expectation: My life will be as full and varied as it was at home.
Reality: The pace of life in the new culture, the size of my social group, and my role at work was entirely different than in my home culture. This was a missed expectation!
If you’re a starry-eyed optimist like me, take a careful look at what is going on in your imagination. It’s not wrong to hope for amazing things—be excited about the possibilities! But, don’t set yourself up for disappointment by going into a cultural transition blind to what you’re really expecting.
You’re not dying.
Before I moved, I asked for advice from anyone who had lived overseas before. Several times I was told, “It’s like you die and are reborn into the new culture. Grieve that death and let go of who you used to be.”
I’m sure they meant well, but that advice was detrimental for my transition.
Instead of being excited and grateful about the biggest adventure of my life, I was mourning. I cried every day in the weeks before I moved. When I finally got to my new home overseas, I was not happy to be there. I was emotionally wrung out!
Looking back, I’d tell my pre-expat self to expect a lot of change. Relationships look different long-distance, I took on new roles, even my personality shifted.
But, my old self isn’t dead. In my overseas home, I’ve discovered new sides of who I’ve always been that are only visible in this context. What a gift!
Who you are does not change because of where you live. You’re not dying—you’re growing.
Tell the true story.
At the darkest point of my transition, everyone told me how normal it is to struggle. At the time, that didn’t make me feel much better.
What did help was when a friend, listening to my meltdown, asked, “What’s actually happening here?”
That stopped me in my tracks.
It forced me to look at the reality of the situation instead of just repeating the dramatic story I had been telling myself. When I looked closely, I could identify core issues and spot areas of spiritual warfare. I was empowered to fight back.
When you’re in the thick of transition, emotions are heightened. The highs are exuberating and the lows are debilitating. Find friends who will listen well, but then ask you to tell the true story.
Hint: If you hear yourself using generalizations, you might be telling a version of reality that’s clouded with a lot of amped-up emotions. Take a deep breath and rephrase it.
“Men here never treat me with respect” becomes “In this culture, men don’t show women respect in ways that are familiar to me”. This reveals a major area of cultural tension that you can explore. When do you feel respected? Ask a local girlfriend the same question. You’ll probably find that in reality, just your perspective needs to change.
Don’t listen to doubts.
I questioned my decision to move overseas at least once a day during my first season of culture shock. I was sure I had misheard God’s instructions, acted impulsively, or simply needed to “get it out of my system” and I should go home now.
I heard a quote somewhere that became my mantra for the battles against doubts. “Never question in the dark what was shown to you in the light.”
God invited me into a different culture after a specific time of seeking direction. The decision was confirmed and supported by my spiritual leaders. I had completed trainings and preparation courses. All of that happened in the “light” before the transition.
It wasn’t until I fully resigned myself to being overseas for the full length of my assignment that I found peace. I stopped imagining what would happen if I gave up and moved home. My heart finally settled into making the best of what I had.
If you’ve committed to being overseas for a specific length of time, just assume that is still what God is asking you to do, even when it gets hard. Don’t consider doing anything else. If God wants you to break your commitment early, he is capable of getting your attention to tell you.
Get in your zone.
I define a comfort zone as a situation where I know what is expected and I am capable of succeeding. In my own culture, I subconsciously orchestrated my interactions so I spent most of my time in my comfort zone.
That handy little ability is not possible when you enter an unknown cultural context.
Right after I moved, I had an identity crisis that lasted several months. Because I was not operating from within my comfort zone, I wasn’t acting like myself.
I was often surprised by my responses. Experiences that used to excite me no longer did. The limits of what I could handle in certain situations were different than they had been in my own culture. It was so disorienting.
And then I started to develop a comfort zone in my new context.
As things became more familiar and I learned the cultural norms around me, some of my old traits began to reemerge. My confidence started to reappear slowly.
There will always be some parts of your comfort zone that cannot translate to the new culture. So, parts of your personality will only come out when you visit home. But, there are also new layers to yourself that you never saw before, that only exist in the new context.
Be brave and engage the new culture. It will be uncomfortable at first, but remember that you are expanding the zone where you can truly be yourself. It’s worth it!
In Sint Maarten, there a lot of airy little restaurants on the water. Today’s destination for the American University of the Caribbean spouse’s crew was Buccaneer Beach Bar. Despite its name, this is actually a great place to take kids. It’s right on the beach, and the water is shallow. It’s also a calm area, even on days when other areas of the island have big waves.
They also have a delicious assortment of non-alcoholic drinks in addition to their bar menu, and classic beachy food.
If you make it to SXM, make sure you visit one of our on-the-beach restaurants! Who doesn’t want to lounge on a beach chair with a plate of fries and a glass of something cool and sweet?
We saw this tiny stingray lazily drift around the bay
Moving overseas is a momentous operation. But it does not need to be a miserable one! There are many things that you can do to make your big move easier and happier. Before I made my first big overseas move, I worked for a company that operated internationally. As part of my job, I briefed and trained interns who were heading overseas for a few months or years. I learned a lot in the process and soaked up insight from my husband, who has made five major international moves in his life. And when I finally had my chance to go, I learned for myself what it’s like to transition cultures and countries.
Here are some of the things I’ve learned along the way. Everyone has different experiences, and I’d love to hear your stories and insights in the comments, too.
Expectations. This is the single most important thing to consider when you’re moving overseas, especially if you’ve never visited that place before. The truth is, your expectations define your experiences. They are the biggest culprit in relationship breakdown and disappointment in general. Before you go, write down your expectations so that you know what they are. Read them over and remind yourself that you have a 99% chance of every one of those things being different than you think! For example, I was totally convinced that I would get fresh mangoes off the tree every day in Sint Maarten. Not so– everything is imported. Try to prepare yourself for this sort of thing. Have as few expectations as possible. Be open to new and surprising things, and make it fun.
The big fights. One side effect of leaving is that you will find yourself experiencing tension with the ones you love most. Don’t worry; you’re not losing your mind. This is normal– and knowing that makes big blow-ups avoidable. The inclination to fight is your subconscious’ way to make leaving people easier. Obviously, it has the opposite effect. Remember that the people you are leaving are experiencing loss, too, as they say goodbye. Have grace for others, and ask them to have grace for you.
Saying goodbye. Saying goodbye is hard, but closure is important. Let people know you’re going. Meet with friends and make plans to keep in contact.
What you need to pack. What you need to bring? Probably nothing more than yourself and your passport. Of course, your clothes and books are nice to bring, too. As you prepare to go, redefine “need” and “want” in your mind so you can judge what will be helpful to you and what will be cumbersome. Be sure to bring a few things that will remind you of home– maybe some photographs. Don’t spend a ridiculous amount of money toting the entire contents of your home across the ocean when you can replace it for cheaper when you get there.
Your first day. The last thing you should do when you land is go to your new home and surround yourself with American (or Canadian, or whatever) things and people. Even if you’ve been on a plane for fourteen hours, try to spend your first couple hours on the ground immersing yourself in the culture. Go shopping. Take a walk downtown. Ride the bus. And remember that the faster you force yourself to adapt to a new time zone, the faster the jet-lag will wear off.
Staying sane. Culture stress is a real thing. Some people feel it quickly, others don’t. Generally, most people experience the “honeymoon stage” for about three months and then go downhill from there. Rock bottom is at two years, and then things start to look up. However, charts and graphs can’t define your experience. This journey is what you make it, and somehow you’ll have to survive the bad days and the homesickness. Go exploring, try out restaurants, shop where the locals shop. Journal regularly, and start a blog so your friends back home can follow your adventures. Skype friends and family regularly. Write lists of what you love about this place. Write lists of what you hate and turn them into positives.
Take care of yourself. Unfortunately, people take advantage of foreigners. We see this in our home countries, and it’s just as true anywhere else. Being taken advantage of can range from being quoted the “white price” on buses to date rape and muggings. Learn what the safe and dangerous places are, get to know local prices, and don’t take unnecessary risks.
Feel what you feel. Not what you think you’re supposed to feel, not what your boyfriend thinks you should feel, not what a “strong” person would feel. Adjustment is hard. And that’s OK.
Have Fun! With all of these points on how to survive an international move, it might sound like I think moving overseas is a drag. But transitioning to a new place can be a lot of fun! Enjoy yourself. Take a thousand and two photos. Try things you’ve never done before.
Community. Without community, you will have a tough time feeling at home. Build community with other expats in your area. Make friends with locals, too. Both are essential for being truly integrated in your new home. Find a church, find a club, invite people over.
Get involved. Becoming part of the community and culture around you will bring you joy and save you from many days of loneliness and wishes of a return ticket home. Some of my friends and I volunteer a few days a week to tutor kids with a local program. This really was the best thing we’ve done on this island– we were all feeling a little lost and isolated until we started focusing on something other than our own lonely selves. A sense of purpose brightens life anywhere you are.
Understand the culture. The best gift you can give to yourself is the ability to understand the place you are living in. Learn the basics– how to properly greet people, what is decent apparel, and how to get around. New cultures can be frustrating at first, but remember that just because things are different it doesn’t mean that they are wrong. In the end, you’ll have fun as you achieve little cultural victories and begin to be able to understand and use the new language or dialect around you.
If you take a stroll down the Rue de la Republique of Marigot on the island of Saint Martin, you will find a tall, 200-year-old building with red gingerbread doors and shutters. On most days, the doors and windows are flung open to allow passersby to admire vibrant artwork within. This is the art gallery of Sir Roland Richardson.
It’s a Thursday, the day when the gallery is most interesting. On Thursdays, Roland paints portraits. Today, my friend Stacey is the chosen model, and I have come to watch.
Roland welcomes us inside his gallery and begins to show us around. The first thing that catches our attention is the bright reds and oranges of the flamboyant trees in Roland’s paintings. As he opens the gingerbread shutters, sunlight floods the gallery and illuminates the artwork– a scattering of flowers on this canvas, a still-life print on the shelf, a field of sunflowers on that canvas. Roland tells us that every single painting in his gallery was done from life. “If I’m not looking at it, I don’t paint it,” he says. For Roland, a painting is a historical object. He doesn’t want to invent something that doesn’t exist; he doesn’t want to extrapolate on a photograph. He wants to capture a moment in time.
We can see that he captures moments in the most beautiful way.
Roland continues to set up shop, and we wander into the garden. The back wall of the garden is perfectly picturesque; it is one of the island’s oldest buildings, a French barracks that housed the army while they built Fort Louis. The garden itself is charming. We admire the voluptuous tropical flowers and chat with some of the other gallery guests.
It is late in the morning, and the tourists begin to trickle in. Roland welcomes them with his usual zeal and immediately begins to instruct on art and light. He sets a prism on the sidewalk outside and snatches up a blank canvas to capture the rainbow it throws into the room. Light is everything to us, he explains, because it defines everything we can see. Except for the things within our reach, the only reason we can know anything exists is because of light.
He gestures to the rainbow on his canvas. While our minds think we see seven colors, he says, there are really only three: red, yellow and blue. In religion, there is the Trinity, and in the physical world, there are three dimensions. In the world of light and color, there are the primary colors. Light goes back, it goes forward, and it goes outward in a glow. Three dimensions, and three elements to light.
Roland’s wife, Laura, arrives to manage the gallery, and Roland takes leave of his visitors. Up the stairs we go. On the second floor, There is still more art– mostly portraits. Roland sets up his canvas and tries every combination of shadow in the room to find the perfect light in which to paint Stacey. We open and close all the windows and all the doors until he is satisfied with a soft, sunlit glow from one side of the room. He focuses for a moment on his subject and then on his canvas, tracing invisible shapes on its surface with his hands. “The first gestures to me are the most important, because it is the way the subject wants to appear in the space you have,” he explains. The canvas, he tells us, is a unique space. in order to create art on the canvas, you cannot simply determine what you want to put there. Part of the art of painting is the art of discovery. You must discover how the subject wants to fit within the space of the canvas; you must draw it out of the canvas. “A painting is not a picture of something. A painting is a thing in itself.”
The first strokes of the master are light, but strong; purposeful, but free. I watch in fascination as the image appears on the canvas. Roland talks as he works, explaining what he does and why. He works on all the pieces of the painting simultaneously so that it can grow naturally. That’s how babies grow, he says– the whole foot doesn’t develop first and then a leg and so on. A painting can’t develop that way, either.
To Roland, painting is not just an art. It is not simply a form of self-expression. “Self expression is not art,” he states. No, art is something more than that. Art is something spiritual. “I believe that paintings are an essential aspect of humankind that is really unique and that an awareness of the importance of art…is intended to nourish our beings. Our spirits.”
My mind ruminates on this thought as Roland continues his work. Art really does nourish our spirits. Supposing that the universe is random and has no meaning, then what is the purpose of beauty, and why are we drawn to beautiful things? We inherently love sunsets and recoil from spiders. God placed something within our souls that craves beauty. And He created beauty all around us. Beauty in our lives is the thumbprint of God on the world; it is His signature. Every flitting butterfly and every turquoise hummingbird whispers to us that God loves us and that there is a meaning to life.
My thoughts are interrupted as a group of students from nearby school enter the studio. They are part of an art class, and they are here to interview Roland for a school project.
“Why did you decide to become an artist?” asks one student. Roland turns from his work, fistful of brushes in hand. “You don’t decide to become an artist,” he says. It is not a decision. It is a calling. Being an artist is more than simply a job, he says. It is the purpose that the Creator made him for. He tells the story of how he became the first St. Martin-born professional painter, from the seventeen-year-old painting his very first piece to the successful artist he is today.
The students finish their questions, say goodbye, and file down the stairs. The painting is becoming more and more lifelike. With every stroke, it becomes more Stacey. As he paints, Roland tells us the difference between painting a person and painting anything else. With an object, you can decide what you are looking at. With a person, you must discover what you are looking at. Painting through discovery brings respect to the human subject, he admonishes. This strikes me as profound, and I wonder if biographers and photographers also think this way. Perhaps if we all approached one another in this way– not just in painting, but in everyday life– we would have more grace and respect for one another.
It is now mid-afternoon, and the shafts of light angle differently through the windows than they did when the canvas was still white. The room is airy, and I can smell the sweet fragrance of the garden flowers. Outside, the bells break through the sound of downtown traffic to chime three o’clock. Roland puts the finishing touches on Stacey’s blue eyes. He invites her to come see. A smile lights up her face as she sees herself in fine art on the canvas. It really is beautiful.
We take in a few more quick lessons on art and color from the artist, bid him goodbye, and emerge from the cool of the studio to the warm sunlight of the West Indies. Time ticks on, the bustle of town swallows up the moments. The ferry pulls out of port, someone is born, and someone dies. But upstairs in the studio, a moment of time is forever captured and will never be forgotten.
