Breastfeeding Blues

I absolutely love nursing. For hundreds of reasons from nutrition to bonding. I hold no judgment for moms who choose or need to give their babies formula; it's a very personal choice. But for me, I am 100% dedicated to breastfeeding the Bug for as long as I possibly can. This has been a long journey already, and I am not a quitter!

As with many of the hardships of pregnancy, birth and raising a newborn, many of the details are forgotten once the immediacy passes. It has been the same with breastfeeding for me. I can intellectually recall the ups and downs of the initial process, but the emotional and physical intensity of it all is quickly getting lost in a fog of sleep-deprivation. With so many friends getting pregnant now, I want to document the experience while I still remember!

During my pregnancy, I read numerous books and even took a breastfeeding class from an American nurse who works part time between our school and the embassy. Interjection: This woman is incredibly -- she was also our doula. Anyway, I was determined to breastfeed. Then in middle of labor, during transition no less, my doctor exclaims, "You didn't tell me you have flat nipples! Nursing is will be hard for you." So I am breathing through contractions and she begins plucking at said nipples. Way to keep it positive, Doctor.

Flat nipples? It's not like I've seen that many others to really know the difference. Nor did I get the immediate post-birth skin-to-skin opportunity that I'd dreamed of to even try and nurse. Labor ended in Cesarian, Bug was whisked away to the NICU for oxygen and antibiotics, and I was left alone, paralyzed in the recovery area trying not to freak out. So much for the drug-free, oxytocin-induced euphoric bond I had hoped for.

I didn't actually get to see Bug until the next day. I was going crazy. Finally, the nurse took him out of the oxygen tent, handed him to me, provided a plastic chair to sit in, and instructed me to nurse. Nothing happened. Of course nothing happened. My baby was dazed and full of drugs, we had been separated, and hello people, have you heard of colostrum? As predicted, Bug did have a hard time latching because my nipples did not draw out are far as they needed to. But I kept pumping to stimulate milk flow, and we kept trying.

I do not know how many people grabbed my breasts over the next two days with conflicting advice on how to hold him or position myself. At one point, Brian went to the pharmacy to purchase nipple guards so Bug could have a quasi-nipple. Thankfully a gentle night nurse came in and told me not to bother with those, and that we were doing fine. She gave me a huge boost when I needed it.

Bug and I had a big breakthrough on our second night together (his third alive). Late that evening, we were snuggling skin-to-skin in the dark and Bug's nursing instinct finally kicked in. Just like I had imagined our first feeding after birth would would have been. I was reclined with him on my tummy, and he began to squirm. He rooted his head side to side and used his little legs to inch up my chest. The journey culminated with him face-planting on my nipple and suckling ferociously. All I did was help him keep balanced and make sure he could breath while face down. Maintaining the latch was tricky (and would continue to be for a few more days), but we did it!

Throughout our time in the hospital, the pediatrician kept coming in to check if I had milk yet. Um, you work in a maternity ward, don't you know that is not immediate? Apparently the doctors and nurses were not up to date on the necessity for and small quantity of colostrum that can sustain a baby in the first few days. He was not even two days old and they were pressuring me to give him formula or sugar water. Sugar water? What decade do we live in? I kept resisting until the next day when I agreed to give him formula with a syringe. Everything I read said absolutely do not give the baby a bottle or nipple confusion will ensue. I had enough issues with latching to not even go down that road. I knew in my heart that Bug was just fine, but they had sent my into a downward worry spiral. So the nurse brought in a syringe with 20 mL of formula and shamed me when I returned it after he had eaten 7 mL. I knew, and confirmed with my doula, that 7 mL was more than enough for feeding a three day old.

There were other issues at the hospital, but in the end Bug latched and we were both well enough to go home. My milk came in and he was eating around the clock. Latching was still tricky, so I was doing a few things to draw out my nipples, such as using an empty syringe or pumping for a few minutes before feeding. This on top of his constant un- and re-latching made my nipples so chapped and sore. I cringed before each feed and used deep breathing to make it through the pain. It felt like Bug was rubbing sandpaper across my chest rather than lovingly suckling. On the plus side, I never cracked or bled.

Let's just say he ate his weight in lanolin those first few weeks! Ultimately, I discovered that my nipples don't really love lanolin, so I switched to coconut oil. Fine by me, I am kindda crazy about putting coconut oil on/in everything; however, it was a little too thin for this particular use, so I also used olive oil, which felt amazing. The key to happy nipples is keeping them smothered in oil.

Nipple pain stopped around week six, and Bug and I eventually got so good at nursing that we could do it anywhere. Cafes, grocery stores, walking down the street, even running through the airport. He and I are an awesome team. Well, actually, Bug, BRIAN and I are an awesome team. My husband was (and still is) always there to encourage me, hand me my phone, or make sure I am hydrated. He also still often takes Bug to burp him after feeds so I can have a break. Eventually I was producing enough milk to began my pumping regimen, and the freezer quickly filled up.

Everything was going fantastically until we went to visit family and began experimenting with bottles. Brian had been successfully bottle-feeding him before bed each night using freshly pumped milk. However, while in the US, I needed to build up a stock so multiple people could experience feeding him...and I could actually have a beer or two :-) I accumulated several bottles of milk over a few days and tasted one to make sure it was still fresh. YUCK! Others agreed it tasted off, but I was confused because breast milk should last a lot longer than three days. I got on the internet and discovered that my milk might have a higher amount of an enzyme called lipase. This enzyme breaks down fats in the milk to help the baby digest it, and over time it may lead to a metallic taste. Unfortunately, refrigerating or freezing does not stop the process. Once we returned home, I defrosted and tasted milk of various dates from my three month stockpile, and they were all gross. The milk technically isn't spoiled and thus is safe to give to the baby if he'll drink it. Sadly, Bug's tastebuds are too discerning. He said, "No thank you."

The only way to stop the lipase from doing it's job so quickly is to scald the milk immediately after pumping (or as soon after as possible). Since there is no milk bank (which will still take the milk, I've read) here in Mozambique, I am going to have to throw it out. I tried mixing old milk with fresh milk, but Bug wasn't having it. So now I have to develop a new plan since I go back to work in four weeks. Bug will take milk that is one or two days old, so I will need to stay a few days ahead of schedule. Additionally, I  need to start over with my frozen stock by scalding before I freeze. The catch? Bug is growing like crazy and drink every drop that I currently produce. So time to chug fenugreek tea, eat oats with almonds every day, and sneak in pumping sessions where I can to convince my body to produce more milk. Is it ideal? Not at all. But I am committed to exclusive breastfeeding, so I accept this latest twist in the journey.

Fast Forward

Welcome table at our stateside reception

Yoo hoo. It's me again! Two years down the road, Brian and I had a fabulous wedding fiesta in December 2013 and a stateside celebration in July 2014. We've been nesting in Maputo since August 2013. Lots of African adventures under our belt -- to name a few: camping in Kruger, wild animal encounters, daily off-roading in our 4x4, rustic beach getaways, moving out of the burbs and into the city...and HAVING A BABY!

Ellies at Kruger Park.

Yes, Brian and I are officially parents. Our little guy, nicknamed Bug, was born in May 2015. After lots of wishy-washing we decided to deliver him here in Mozambique rather than crossing the border and dealing with passport and visa bureaucracies at embassies in South Africa. Many expats said we were "brave" (polite for "crazy"?), but really I felt safe and any negative aspects of the experience were not surprises. Oh, except for the cesarian after 16 hours of unmedicated natural labor. Or Bug's overnight NICU stay for oxygen and antibiotics. But those things could have happened anywhere, and it's all in the past now. I'm mending. Bug is healthy and happy. Brian is, as always, our calm eye in any storm.

Maputo cityscape

Life is not only good...it's amazing. I'm so happy that I'm actually afraid to admit it. So I've uncovered my Achilles heel -- not feeling worthy of such happiness. Thanks to Brian, I've already tackled the hurdle of not feeling worthy enough for genuine love and am working on uncovering my authentic self. As if having a baby wasn't enough of a growth experience (literally and spiritually!), now I'm signing up for a little more self-love bootcamp. Parenting and self-improvement...this could be an interesting combo!

Jumping In

Apologies for the long absence after my promise to be a dedicated blogger. In the last three weeks: (a) my boyfriend Brian almost died of heatstroke in a rural Vietnamese hospital after running in a 10k where the race company ran out of water halfway through, (b) we interviewed and accepted jobs at a school in Maputo, Mozambique, and (c) we got engaged and are planning a wedding for this December!

If you're gonna jump in, jump in ALL the way :-)

Lots of updates and recipes to come on delicious smoothies I've invented. But for for now I will give you the engagement story.

I am definitely not a morning person. Capitalizing on that, Brian decided it would be a fabulous idea to wake me up and propose to me on Monday morning. From what I remember, it was very special. Apparently, my answer was, "What??? Brian?!?!" He continued, "Is that a yes?" And I finally responded, "Of course!" Then I proceeded to administer two shots to his leg as part of his medical recovery. And here we are.

He used a pearl ring that my grandfather gave my grandmother in the 1940s when they lived in Japan. While I absolutely love this ring and it means the world to me, we will most likely switch it when we return to the US in July for a diamond ring from the same time period that belonged to his great aunt.

My family was already planning a Christmas trip to Puerto Vallarta, so we are thinking of piggy backing on that, inviting his family to join us, and whipping together an intimate ceremony. Yes, I recognize this is crazy to plan in seven months. BUT we are not going to be able to plan anything that is not a destination wedding while living in Africa. The beauty of this situation is that everything is planned via emails with wedding planners who are experienced in not having brides on site, and we show up to a fantastic party. I know it will be more work than that, but it seems like the easiest way to have a lovely experience with our families with minimal stress. I will certainly keep everyone posted as to how this evolves.

For now...I am tingling with excitement about being engaged and embarking on this new, African adventure with the best partner on the planet. <3 br="">

Blender Bender

That's right, I'm on a bender! It's smoothies, smoothies, smoothies. I can't get enough. I'm throwing all kinds of weird stuff in there: spinach, cucumbers, mint, apples, mangoes, papaya, bananas, celery, lime juice, green tea, almond milk. I've got ginger, fennel, parsley and green beans just waiting for me to get even crazier. Slowly letting go of sweet fruit comforts and gearing up to try some savory concoctions.

I want to share recipes and pictures of my experiments, but will mostly share pre-blended ingredients rather than resulting drinks...because...well, the colors are not too appealing. Maybe I'll get better at appearances once I get the hang of the flavors, but I can assure you that they are delicious and give such a vitamin buzz when imbibed. And since I'm not doing a total deprivation detox here--just a slight lifestyle adjustment--I will be revealing a guilt-free watermelon martini recipe.

Before I get into ingredient combos, however, I will give some basic tips.

*Blending versus juicing. There are camps that advocate for one over the other. I am blending because I am not prepared to buy a juicer right now. I'm not to concerned about which is better nutritionally because they both are better than not having any fresh food at all.

*Best blender. Dedicated green smoothie bloggers swear by either the Blendtec or Vitamix brands of blenders. I wish either were available in Vietnam, but alas, I will have to wait until this summer to purchase one in the U.S. Future update to come on which I decide to buy and how deeply I fall in love with it. I'm currently using my Phillips blender, and it's working fine. I have only had problems with the motor when making cashew butter or almond milk, but it's still alive and spinning.

*Order of ingredients. For best preservation of the motor, it's best to blend liquid and softest ingredients first and then add firmer fruit and veggies one at a time. If the blades aren't catching, just jiggle the machine or add more liquid.

Don't be afraid to experiment! If the result is not so tasty, just hold your nose and rejoice in all the healthy things you are putting into your body

Apple, Celery, Cucumber, Watermelon, Aloe and Lime

1/2 C water
1 apple sliced
2 stalks celery
1 cucumber in chunks
watermelon (2 servings?)
juice of 2 limes
1-2 TBS aloe gel

 Aloe is a bit of a bitter taste, but it can be masked by sweet fruit. I don't mind it, but my boyfriend hates it. I keep a whole aloe leaf in the fridge and cut two inch chunks for smoothies. If you've never worked with the leaf before, just cut away the outside green part (never eat this or your intestines will be very unhappy!), then toss the clear gel into your blender. I keep the green scraps in refrigerated for a few days and rub the gooey side on acne spots, bug bites, and sunburns. Individual aloe leaves are super cheap and widely available in SE Asia, and I used to have a huge aloe plant in Virginia.

I've spent enough time fiddling with html as I try to make this blog pretty, so it's time for bed. But stay tuned for several more smoothie recipes tomorrow.

Spring Healing

I love that my birthday falls in the spring. April is such a refreshing month of new beginnings. This year there was a full "pink" moon and a partial eclipse on the night of my birth, and I was definitely feeling all that intense energy. I dabble in New Age-y stuff and was directed to some interesting celestial commentary by beautifully tuned in yogi, Michelle Lloyd. I've been feeling stagnant lately and carrying some heavy emotions, so I was interested to read on Depali Desai's site: "The issues, emotions and things arising around the time of the Full Moon/Lunar Eclipse in Scorpio at 5° 46′ on April 25th, 2013 may feel highly “cause and effect” oriented. Deep, intense, powerful rush of emotions and swelling up of a core issue that requires healing is very likely."

And from Molly Hall: "Eclipses can sometimes be destabilizing in some way. But breaking apart could be the very thing that leads to true healing, inner treasure or solid footing."

Healing. Yes please!

But healing is not passive. It's spiritual, psychological, emotional, and physical. I'm approaching it from all angles. And I've got a plan. Detox, meditation, journaling, yoga, and exercise.

First step - Detox. Whole food, fresh juices to replace breakfast, lunch, and snacks.Well-balanced dinners without meat but maybe a little seafood. Wheat-free, as usual. And dairy-free as much as possible. Motivation and juice recipes from Food Matters  Green Juice Challenge. There's tons of stuff out there about how to make green juices. More on that later :-)

 Second step - Meditation and journaling. Since I took some kundalini classes from the amazing Sharon Cassius at Atmanjai Detox Center in Thailand in February, I've been very interested in the power of pranayama and mantra. I just finished reading Healing Mantras by the late Thomas Ashley-Farrand and chose a specific mantra to begin my healing journey. More details to come, but I will say that after reciting it for even a few minutes, I am compelled to journal all kinds of issues and emotions that arise.

Third step - Yoga. I've been attending a wonderfully grounding yin practice with the incredibly intuitive Daphne Chua every Monday. What a way to start my week!

Fourth step - Exercise. This has been the hardest part for me. Working out was my life ever since I was a kid. Gymnastics and cheerleading took up all my free time and there was nothing else I would rather do. As an adult, I find the gym so boring. And without a competition to prepare for or a team relying on me, I struggle to stay committed. On top of that, lingering lower back, hip, and leg injuries always seem to get in the way. I met with a physical therapist and learned how to better stabilize my lower core and back muscles, but I'm on my own for rehab. I've been swimming, taking Zumba, and attempting some slow jogs, but not consistently. plus, I'm really missing the strength training element. I have an appointment today with a new boutique gym in my neighborhood, so hopefully something will come of that.

Meaningful Makeover

Rather than tell the novel that has evolved over the last year and a half, I will simply say that Saigon has been quite the adventure. While I still don't love it, there are many things about it that I definitely enjoy and many people within it who mean the world to me. Last year taught me a great deal about the strength of my heart, my endurance for challenge, and how to find the greatest gifts in the hardest times. There are still some bumps, as I now accept is to be expected, but they are much more manageable and in better perspective now that I have am feeling strong and supported.

The meaningful makeover I'd like to accomplish for this blog parallels that which I'd like to give myself. I want (it) to be more inviting. I want (it) to be more authentic. I want (it) to be more thoughtful. I want (it) to be more entertaining. I want (it) to be more well-rounded. I want (it) to be more attractive. And I want (it) to be easier to maintain.

So welcome back to my blog. I'd love for you to follow me and provide feedback as I give myself and my blog a meaningful makeover!

Moving Forward

In order to get a grasp on my new life, I set some short term goals: setting up my classroom, moving to my new place, finally unpacking my bags, attending yoga classes, and socializing with new friends. 

Well, I accomplished all my goals and then some.

My classroom is organized and decorated.  I also set a schedule and finally began working with students.  Connecting with the kids energizes me, and they are the reason I love my job! If I can love my job, then the rest should fall into place, right?  Although my role as an ESL specialist is still undergoing revision, I am now finding more opportunities to contribute my expertise and feel validated professionally.  School is thankfully on an upswing.

The new flat feels good and meets my needs for now.  I have finally unpacked my suitcases, organized my things, and established daily routines.  Although a bit lacking in windows (I have one), the space is quiet and provides a needed respite from the chaos outside.  I am calling it "cocoon-y."  If I can't control the big things in my life, at least I can create a bit of normalcy and feel safe in my little home.

After a long hiatus, I have come back to yoga.  This is significant on many levels.  Physically, I am rebuilding muscles and flexibility.  Mentally, I am focused on caring for my body inside and out.  Emotionally, I am acknowledging the correlations among poses, feelings they release, and challenges they symbolize in life.  Spiritually, my heart is open and connected to a higher power. And socially, I am spending time with supportive and likeminded people.

The greatest gift of living abroad is the friendships that are built in the absence of family.  Amazingly, I have already found caring, generous and well-grounded people with whom to share my life.  I am slowly filling the empty spaces caused by leaving behind people and places.  However, filling is not replacing, and those people are truly cherished and places deeply missed.  It just means that my heart is a little bigger and the world a little smaller.

The homesickness, the urge to go back to Jordan, and the shock of, “What in the world have I just done with my life?” all come and go in waves. The inverses are moments of amazement that this is truly my life, the thought that I must move forward and never backward, and that my experience in Vietnam is a journey with an end that I cannot anticipate (and will be a better person for regardless of the outcome).

Homebase & Homesick

So I went to bed feeling resolved. When I awoke, I called my real estate agent to confirm that I would take the small serviced apartment I saw in District 1 that was walking distance to school, my good friend, and a nice yoga studio. The clincher was that it only required a one-month deposit and was a three-month lease. I was trading size and my amazing view for proximity and flexibility. The extra bedroom had meant that I’d finally “made it” and eagerly awaited visitors. But in truth, it would only be occupied for 1% of my time in Saigon and I don’t need to prove myself to anyone.  Furthermore, the indoor space I wanted for hosting dinners and house parties is not needed (evidenced by the lack of ovens in all kitchens and abundance of free food delivery).  Restaurants, takeaway, bars and nights on the town prevail.  And the outdoor space that I thought would need to counteract the traffic, noise and crowds of the downtown is still available anytime I want to hop on a xe om (motorbike taxi) and visit my friends in D7.  I need more time to let go of the life I loved in Jordan and reframe my thinking to enjoy how things happen here.
  
That also goes for my partner, colleagues and dear friends in Jordan, all of whom I miss immensely.  Knowing that they have regrouped and are having great fun (as they should) makes me feel as if I’m missing out.  As I go through the challenges of adjusting to a new country, I keep wishing I could call them or curl up on their couches to talk.  Leaving my partner has been especially difficult.  I am intensely homesickness; however, home for me is not the US, home is where I have flourished for the last two years.  I am fighting the fantasy of returning to Jordan.  What would I return to? I was ready to move on from my job.  Many friends have or will soon move away, and those who stay will adjust to my absence.  The barriers in my romantic relationship will still be there.  I always knew that leaving that life behind would be hard, but that realization hasn’t helped much in midst of the emotional aftermath.  The expat life has provided so many blessings that I would not change for the world, but it has also been filled with tough choices and painful farewells.

From Jordan to Vietnam

The last two weeks have been a rollercoaster of contradictions. Excitement and dread. Relief and regret. Sheer ambivalence at every turn. The three foundational needs for re-establishing my life include: my job, where I will live and who I will spend time with. In each of these, I have had extreme highs and lows since I arrived in Vietnam.

Let’s start with my job. Well, this is the driving force that brought me literally to the other side of the world. I have taught in various capacities on and off for several years. After completing my Master’s degree in International Education and teaching elementary school language arts in Jordan for the last two years, I know I have found the best career for myself. I left Amman feeling confident in my abilities and eager to grow as an educator. Arriving in Vietnam, I feel as if I am a first year teacher all over again. And in fact I almost was when my position was changed last minute from ESOL to Grade 3 classroom. Gulp. Be with the kids all day? Plan for all content areas? I’ve always flirted with the idea of making this switch, but when it was thrust at my unexpectedly, I hadn’t had time to mentally prepare and was freaking out internally. As is my way, I jumped right in setting up the classroom, meeting with the other third grade teachers, and planning as much as I could. But I still felt like I was spinning wheels.


This is also when my housing anxiety kicked in. The school financed my stay in a very clean yet windowless hotel room downtown for just one week. The whole lot of new teachers was scrambling to find accommodations at the same time and it seemed I was one step behind. Half of them decided on one building walking distance to the school but further from Western familiarities, and the other half chose a highrise complex in a leafy suburb about 20 minutes by motorbike from school. I wavered on both locations because my mind was still stuck on my charming, spacious apartment in Jordan for half the price. These were box-like with tacky and/or low quality furniture. The bathrooms in most were blah and I couldn’t imagine snuggling up to watch a movie on any of the couches. So I went online and found some listings I liked in a building in the same district as my school. I fell in love with the apartment as soon as I walked in the door. Simple and high quality furniture, neutral tones, two bedrooms and two bathrooms, and high up with an amazing view. After losing out on other apartments, I jumped on this one. No one was going to beat me to it!

I handed over millions of Vietnamese Dong and moved in the next day. As soon as I signed the lease and the landlady and real estate agent left, the tears poured out. What had I just done? I was all alone in middle of District 5. Yes, it was in the same district as my school, but still a ten minute ride on the back of a motorbike. Certainly not walkable. And I learned very quickly that I was the only expat in the twenty block radius of Chinatown. I have absolutely nothing against Chinese people—and actually one of the reasons I felt at ease signing this lease was because the landlady was so unbelievably nice—but the isolation was intense. I had to haggle hard with motorbike taxis and then get jostled around in dense traffic for twenty minutes anytime I wanted to go somewhere expat-friendly, and when I wanted to come back, no one knew where it was. The route quickly became familiar, but I soon began dreading it. Inside the apartment, I loved the peacefulness, amazing view and super-comfortable bed, but as soon as I stepped outside, the chaos swept over me.

At the End of the Rainbow

Adaptation

Acceptance of legitimacy of another reality. Satisfying personal relationships with host nationals. Language competence. Thorough understanding and enjoyment and adoption of some of its ways. Ability to cope with stress.
The insane bureaucracy. The treatment of women. The lack of consideration for others in public spaces. Sleazy teenage boys. Scheming taxi drivers. I have a ways to go before I can fully accept these as a valid reality. Maybe I never will. Coping with stress is a case-by-case situation. I handle it better now than I ever did in the U.S. I hardly drink alcohol anymore and opt for yoga as a coping mechanism instead. Monthly trips to the spa and salon alongside more care in my wardrobe have made me feel better about myself and allowed me to blend in a bit more with the Jordanian women (who never leave the house without a fully accessorized outfit, blown out hair and full make-up). I have positive relationships with my coworkers (expats and locals) and stop to say hi to people on the street. I don't know if it is linguistically possible for me to become fluent in Arabic, but my English is now seasoned with Arabic slang and conversation fillers (yalla, yani, bas, halas, habibti)

Things I enjoy and have adapted in terms of Jordanian/Palestinian culture center primarily around food (no surprise there!). I prefer labneh and falafel for breakfast, I eat my biggest meal in the afternoon, I drink tea at least three times a day (with heaps of sugar), I feel like a sinner if I don't serve tea to anyone who enters my house, and I smoke argileh like it's going out of style. The only non-food custom that I can think of is that I kiss everyone I know hello and good-bye (once on the left, two on the right).Living as an expat is total-body experience. My weight, my emotions and my mindset all fluctuate regularly as I move through these stages of culture shock in jolts and out of order. But as long as I keep sight of the bigger picture and don't get too stuck in the moment, the highs and lows seem to balance each other out. The challenges, life lessons, daily routines, simple joys and amazing relationships I have found along the way make it all worthwhile.

One Day at a Time

Gradual Adjustment

Crisis passes and the visitor begins to understand more of the customs and subtle cultural clues. Language skills increase. Humor returns. The culture seems more familiar and the visitor feels more comfortable and less isolated in it.

There are glimmers of hope. Culture shock absolutely correlates to emotional stress in daily life. On good days, I love Amman. On bad days, I hate it. I don't see myself as a "visitor" anymore. I live here. I don't really have a home to go back to, and I've invested a lot of time and money into my newest (third) flat. I have found supportive female spaces and look to all the strong women (expat AND local) for inspiration. I appreciate all the men in my life that show me how wrong stereotypes can be. My Arabic skills are slowly improving. I walk around my neighborhood and try to imagine how it will look through the wide eyes of my family members who are coming in a week and have never been to the Middle East. I have my grocer, my tailor, my hairdresser, my shuwarma guy, my regular server at my regular restaurant. I have my favorite street cat, my favorite building, my favorite flowers, my favorite city views.

Bring on the Drama…

Culture Shock

Focus shifts to differences that suddenly seem to be everywhere and are blown out of proportion. Sense of humor replaced by irritations, hostility, anxiety, disorientation, and vulnerability. Symptoms of culture shock may include the following: excessive amounts of sleep, compulsive eating and/or drinking, exaggerated cleanliness, physical ailments, marital/familial problems, stereotyping, chauvinism, fits of weeping, homesickness, boredom.


Culture shock bashed me over the head, threw me against a wall and left me for dead the moment I returned from Christmas vacation. After being in the U.S. for ten days, I had missed my friends and life in Amman and was looking forward to returning for a New Year's Eve celebration. Flight complications, lost luggage, arriving to an empty house, a fizzled party and a detached significant other all sent me into a tailspin. A small disagreement between my boyfriend and I escalated into an break-up, I became confrontational at school about the fact that I had yet to receive my residency and work permit, and I felt extremely homesick for everything American.

My friends supported me fantastically through the break-up by listening to my relentless psycho-analysis as I sucked on argileh hoses and stared at my coffee. My jetlag became torture and I barely slept for two weeks. I was never hungry. I got three ear infections in two months. I stayed in my room unless my friends dragged me out to go to a party or a bar. And when I did venture out, I realized how awful the lurid stares from the men on the streets really were. The thought of abandoning ship that had flashed in my mind when I first arrived in Amman was flickering again.

This stage comes and goes and correlates strongly to the emotional effects of other events in my life. The support of my friends during the break-up gave me a strong sense of kinship and belonging that I have treasured ever since. And I realized that my job was fulfilling, despite the bureaucratic nightmares and lack of organization, and that with or without a boyfriend, I wanted to stay. Since hearts know no logic, he and I soon reunited and I am continuously overwhelmed by the support and stability that exist now between us.

Yet despite deep friendships and a wonderful partner, I have become a royal brat in many ways. The hassling, whistles, lewd comments and lack of respect from so many men on a regular basis have pushed me over the edge. I yell back, I refuse to step aside and I gripe about it to anyone who will listen. This is the one place I am just so stuck. Well, actually, two other negativity-traps include the something-for-nothing mentality and the let-me-see-how-much-I-can-screw-the-foreigner game, which also have twisted me into an obstinate, finger-wagging, very angry bitch.

I've always considered myself open-minded and easy-going, and for the first five months I honestly was. But I have developed a very stubborn and angry alter-ego. Sometimes it's good and sometimes it's bad. In the U.S. I never used to complain about customer service or demand respect when people were taking advantage of me. Now this is a regular occurrence. Good for me. But I also expect the worse from men I don't know and yell aggressively when I feel someone has wronged me. Shame on me. I am stuck in stereotypes and it's intellectually and personally maddening. That is the antithesis of who I strive to be.

The Highs and Lows of Living Abroad

I've read from several sources, including my graduate school textbooks, about the stages of culture shock that someone living abroad will pass through. Yet no matter how much you read up on something, when you're entirely in the moment, textbooks don't mean diddly. Having lived in Amman for over ten months now (wow!), let me explain what this "culture shock" means in my daily life.

I've listed the stages below and will pace out my commentary since I have a lot to say!

Stages of Culture Shock
Initial Euphoria
Culture Shock
Gradual Adjustment
Adaptation


Initial Euphoria...yippeeee

Excitement, high (perhaps too high) expectations and energy, positive mindset. Everything new is intriguing. Focus is on similarities between home culture and new culture.

Well, my airport debacle upon arrival quickly squashed any initial euphoria and I was pretty cranky and skeptical the first few days. As I began making friends and venturing out into the city on my own, however, I did notice that I was a much friendlier and more outgoing version of myself than I had been in DC. I had a great attitude about my new school and kept thinking how much better it was than teaching in the U.S. Less students, more freedom with the curriculum and tons of planning time. I even thought two hour staff meetings entirely in Arabic were a good way to force me to learn the language.

I moved flats and entered a new social circle in the fall, so I think my euphoria was prolonged. Also, I began a romantic relationship that made each day an exciting adventure and distracted me from the more challenging parts of my life. Heck, Ramadan even seemed romantic at the time!

Whirlwind September

Semptember was a crazy month filled with school commitments, meeting new friends, and getting to know the ins and outs of Amman and beyond.

First, thoughts on previous posts, and then a brief update of what's been going on.

Reflections on Previous Posts
Now that I've gotten used to the sensory overload that is Amman, some things that really stood out in the beginning have become ordinary parts of my day. I want to start by adding/augmenting my post on beauty. I said, "It is incredibly taboo for women to show their hair in public according to Islam." Ok, this is technically true, but many Muslim women do show their hair in public. Hijab is normal and no hijab is normal. Although the vast majority of Muslim women in the traditional neighborhood where I live do cover (e.g., long overcoat, head scarf, sometime even burkas and gloves), once you pass into west Amman, or "the other side of the wadi (valley)" as I like to say, who chooses to cover and how she chooses to do so is much more individual. Additionally, while outsiders cannot see into salons for females, they are everywhere and easily identified by the fashion posters plastered across the windows. I go all the time! This is probably a shock to those of you used to my slacker beauty ways in the U.S., but I've discovered that a little personal pampering can do wonders for self-confidence, the bonding with girl friends is so fun, and I think it's great that many of the Arab women I've met take such good care of themselves (and manage families and jobs simultaneously).

The status of Pacific Islanders in Amman is still something I struggle with. This controversy is quite similar to the one in the U.S. about the status of lower class Latino immigrants. On one hand, these workers make small wages for demanding work and are not always treated well (and sometimes quite terribly). But on the other hand, they have chosen to come here and perform this work because it earns more money than they can make in their home countries. So transnationalism and the global economy prevail--the money these workers earn barely makes ends meet in an expensive city, what little they can save is sent directly to their home countries, their home country economy now depends on this money, and the host country economy now depends on their labor. So the cycle continues. I think creating safeguards for fair wages and human rights should be a huge priority of the 21st century as we attempt to comprehend and regulate the forces of a completely globalized economy. The compromise many people (including myself) make here are to tip service workers well (e.g., the women who do such an awesome job at the salon) and treat those who work in our homes with kindness and respect (e.g., the woman who cleans my house, when I can afford her!).

What's Been Going On
In brief, I love my school. My coworkers are so warm, dedicated and supportive. Our principal maintains an careful balance for meeting the needs of students, parents and teachers. This is not easy to do, but it's so integral to a successful school. And my students are just lovely. For both personal and academic reasons, I am finding a great deal of value in separated schooling for girls and boys. I will expand on this in a later post, because it is certainly a controversial topic.

I have met wonderful locals and expats. The family from whom I rent my flat is incredibly gracious and always helps when I have questions or need assistance. I am becoming a regular at my corner ducan (store)--the owners are so patient with my elementary Arabic! And I've discovered an unspoken expat code of ethics in Amman. We welcome newcomers warmly, extend any assistance we can provide, and maintain open invitations to meet for coffee or a bite to eat. I've also met locals who have studied abroad or work for international companies that travel in our circles and adhere to the same code. Several acquaintances have grown into true friendships and my social life is quite fruitful.

Mid-Spetember marked the end of Ramadan and lengthy Eid vacation. My school generously provided a full week off, so I was able to explore Jordan extensively and have time to relax. I will post pictures shortly!

Beauty Schooled

I had to move flats unexpectedly last week and am still waiting for the landlady to set up internet in my new flat. Consequently, the blog has moved to the back burner and my addiction to this form of technology overall has been severely tested. Also, when I am able to pick up a slow internet connection at school, I need to be doing things like getting ready for students to come on Monday, rather than updating my blog or chatting online. But now I have so much to share! Let’s see if it is physically possible for me to write concisely (unlikely).

Well, I indulged in a girly spa day last week, which provided a fascinating peek into the culture of beauty in Jordan. Appointments are not needed due to the gazillion beauty salons throughout the city. However, you have to look for them carefully because they are often hidden down side alleys and windows are always covered. Learning to read Arabic always helps, too ;-)

It is incredibly taboo for women to show their hair in public according to Islam, so slipping into the salon with my girl friend was even more intimate than in the U.S. Filipinos comprise the vast majority of the service employees in Jordan, so I was not surprised that my nail technician was Filipina. It was a mixed sentiment for me, considering I have very close to Filipino friends in the U.S. In one sense I felt incredibly guilty, but in another sense I was relieved to interact with someone who felt familiar to me. The woman doing my nails, who I will call Mary, loved my extremely limited Tagalog vocabulary and ability to discuss which region of the country she is from (turned out to be Mindanao in the south). Perhaps it is the anthropologist in me, but we were soon divulging about our families, relationships, and experiences as outsiders in the country. She was so friendly and practically invited me to her house for dinner when I inquired about Filipino restaurants and where to buy pork in Amman. My friend and I eagerly noted her tips and decided we would explore Little Manila later that evening. In the meantime, I sipped Arabic coffee, observed me surrounding, and chatted with Mary and the other nail technicians.

While observing the goings-on around me, I noticed that many of the women (and teenagers) entering the salon were accompanied by female friends and/or family and almost all wore hijab (hair coverings) of high quality fabric, loose designer coats, and oversized sunglasses. I feel so disconnected from these women when I see them on the streets or bump into them in crowded stores, so watching them peel off their barriers and reveal their fashionable clothes and styled hair reminded me how similar we really are. It was also nice to feel as though I finally fit in and didn’t stand out as a half-naked sinner (due to loose-fitting short sleeved shirts and exposed hair). I had a conversation with a female American teacher at my school married to a fairly traditional Arab who explained that the beauty salon is one of the few places some women can go without being escorted by a male family member. And although she can go by herself, she is questioned incessantly by her mother-in-law about where she is going and when she will be back. I mention this not in condescension, because I do not believe it is my right to judge the way things are simply done within some families (although certainly not all), but I am baffled when I meet intellectually engaging women who live with this one aspect in their lives that I cannot relate to.

Unfortunately, the intimacy among the nail technicians and women getting their nails done was broken when I went downstairs to get my hair cut by male hair stylists. Having been in the country for two weeks, I have already built a wall of apprehension between myself and men, so it really was awkward to have two of them touching me. Moreover, I felt annoyed that they had to be the revered people in the salon. I’m sure the language barrier also added to the disconnect. I accept full blame for that since I am in an Arab country and can hardly speak the language (working on that!). And also in their defense, the male stylists were professional, appropriately friendly, and provided me with a quick yet precise trim and thorough blow dry for 20JD ($28USD). My highlights are in major need of touching-up, so I may be back for that soon. And although their hair is often covered, I have discovered that many women here are sporting the same blonde highlights as me, so I will be in good hands :-)

Also, I learned that there is a tiny salon in my neighborhood (that I fondly call the “barrio”) where I can get a blowout (which involves getting your hair washed and blow dried super-straight, for those of you not in the know) for 4JD (usually $20+USD in the U.S.), so I may be indulging in that regularly since the hard water and dry air is turning my tresses into a giant mess of stringy frizz. And my one last beauty confession is that I now apply ample black eyeliner and mascara every morning. I have yet to meet a woman that does not do this….so I am jumping on the bandwagon!

What Does it Mean?

I probably would have started this blog ages ago if I hadn't been stuck on picking a name. Actually, I've also held back beause I can't entirely wrap my brain around public narcissism. But I'm motivated to finally start blogging so that I can share my latest adventures abroad with my family and friends. So in true Lena fasion, the name materialized when push came to shove.

But I don't want the blog to only be about my recent move to Amman, Jordan. (We're all narcissists deep down, I think.) And without the opportunity to divulge in person, online is my only option! Moreover, what if I actually stick to blogging after I have completed my 1 year contract? Or what if I want to write about something that does not relate specifically to Amman or my teaching experiences here?

So the title "My Meaningful Meandering" stems from several things. First, I have always strived for a meaningful life. I want to learn and grow from each person I meet and each experience I have. I want my education, formal and informal, to create a solid foundation that helps me reach my ultimate goals.

But herein exists the contradiction. What goals? Each time I set a specific personal, educational, or occupational goal, I change it or doubt myself. Moreover, I can rarely focus on accomplishing just one tiny goal. I am an explosion of intentions. And I move at a very slow pace--unless I am pushed or cornered, in which case I am driven and focused on nothing but that goal. In a nutshell, I am an adult with ADD, and coping with it is a neverending process. But I've outgrown my adolescent angst and mid-twenties tribuations. I am happy and assured. My faults are meant to be faced and tackled.

So the word meandering here has many meanings. It is physical, in that I really do meander in the way that I move and get things done throughout the day. It is psychological, in that my feelings constantly ebb and flow--and I generally let them carry me through life, for better or worse. And it is concrete, in that I am meandering throughout the Middle East. Assuredly, I will not just be strolling the streets of Amman for the year; I will be working in my chosen field as an international educator. But this year abroad is also a detour, or strange twist, to my life.

I never saw myself here, yet here I am. When you meander, you find yourself in unexpected places. And my ultimate goal is to find meaning in those places. Hence the meaningful meander.