If you’ve ever left your home country, chances are that you may have experienced the confusion, fatigue and overall irritability that can accompany your encounter with a new culture. This ailment, commonly known as culture shock, has already afflicted me here in Uganda. In these moments, I stand there, having chosen to come here of my own free will, full of noble aspirations about loving the people here, and all I can think is, “What on earth is wrong with these people?!?”
In my travels across the years, I’ve noticed some common ‘triggers’ of these feelings of culture shock, at least for me:
1. Feeling like a child. In a new place, because there are so many things that are done differently, and because you don’t speak the language, you can feel like you’ve reverted to nursery school. This is actually what my host mom told me after I finished my first mat weaving lesson the other day. I felt pretty good about my first strip of woven material, but I noticed that hers was much wider. This was because she started me with a much simpler version, which involved fewer strands. Starting me at ‘nursery level’ mat weaving was probably wise of her, but it sure took some of the air out of my pride! Or the other morn
ing, I wanted to help out with some chores, and not be a lazybones, so she let me stir the millet porridge for breakfast. I stirred like a champ, but when she came in to check on me, instead of noticing the lack of lumps, she said, “This has become too thick, why didn’t you add water to it!” Um, maybe because I’ve never made millet porridge over a charcoal fire before?? Everyone likes to feel competent, but the fact is that in a new place, sometimes you just aren’t! (Pic - me weaving)
2. Lack of control over food. There are so many cultures, including this one, where it seems to me that anything less than a superhuman feat of consumption is a source of major disappointment to your host. Case in point, I consume a plateful of matooke (steamed, veeery dense plantain), half my weight in beans, and a heaping pile of rice, and still my host mother wonders what’s wrong that I didn’t take more. Being overweight is desirable here, and she’s determined to send me home twice my original size! Fully recognizing the good intentions behind this kind of hospitality, for me personally, this pressure, and the related pressure of not having much say over when, where, and what you can/have to eat tend to make me feel out of control and a little irritable.
3. Conflict within the host family. Sometimes when you don’t understand the language, all you have to go on is the tone of voice. Here in my host family, there are four small kids. I’ve noticed a lot of differences in the philosophy toward child-rearing. I hear both Jenipher and Justine using such a harsh tone with them at times, or hear the kids screaming and crying without really understanding what’s wrong with them. If this catches me at the wrong moment, it just makes me want to hide away in my room with my pillow over my head!
4. Subtle (or not so subtle) negative comments about my home country. I don’t mind a little cultural comparison, or even debate. Where I come from, and where I now live are very different places, each with their positives and negatives. However, there are certain people that always seem to insert a little dig into every comment. For example, the college-aged grandson of one of Jenipher’s friends was comparing family size in the U.S. and Uganda (the average number of kids here has got to be at least 6-7…). His take on it: “People have fewer children in the U.S. because they are greedy and want to keep all their money for themselves.” Even if these types of comments may have some grain of truth in them, they rub me the wrong way and put me on the defensive.
5. A language/culture lesson when I’m already sooo done for the day. I have a lot to learn, I get it. But there’s a proper time and place for every lesson. Today, after a long day already filled with many new experiences and lessons, I was walking home through the “gauntlet” that is Villa Road (it’s just lined with kids and boda boda drivers, the two main sources of ‘bye Muzungu’ comments). A young Ugandan man fell in step next to me and greeted me in complicated Luganda fashion (more on greetings later). That was fine, but he continued on walking with me for awhile, trying a little patronizingly to correct me and teach me new intricacies of the language. I’m thinking, “Okay buddy, I’m sooo not in the mood right now, my brain is done!” I just kept saying, “Uh huh”, with a polite smile plastered on my face until he went away.
A few bonus triggers:
- Too much down time.
- Not enough down time.
- Not being completely understood for who I am, due to language/cultural barriers.
- Being viewed as if I had a big $ on my forehead.
The bottom line on culture shock
I’m still working through it, but I think the key word is: Patience! I just have to be patient with others, understanding that they are behaving in a logical way given where they’re coming from, and understanding also that their intent is almost always to help me learn. I also have to be patient with myself, and be willing to heed the harbingers of culture shock by grabbing ten minutes of down time alone in my room, or by eating a Snickers bar!
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