Little by little

I arrived in Abengourou on September 23, and today is October 23, which means I've been here for one month! And I can honestly say that Ivory Coast is beginning to feel like home--for now.

Between moving on campus, my parents' move to Cambodia, and now my temporary move here, the concept of "home" has been a bit confusing over the past few years, so I use the term fairly loosely. But as I spend more time here, I find many of my surroundings becoming familiar and comfortable, rather than confusing and foreign, like they were at first.

For me, building relationships is a key to feeling "at home" in a new place. It's nice to know people and, in turn, to be known and recognized, isn't it? To walk into a place and have someone familiar come up and greet you and ask how you have been? As I get into my regular routine, there are a few key people who I am fortunate to spend time with each week and experience such familiarity with--like my French tutors, my language partners, and many of the clinic staff members.

The women in the social services office are some of my favorites. On Monday afternoons, I usually go to their office for a couple of hours, help with small tasks like filing, and practice my French. This past Monday, it was a pretty slow afternoon, so I got some time to talk to Fatou. She asked me if, after my nine months are up and I leave, I am going to come back here to Ivory Coast. I told her I don't know, and that it is sad [to think about not knowing whether I will return here again]. And I really meant it. Ivory Coast is becoming so special to me, and I know that it will be sad to leave in June. Fatou agreed, and simply reminded me, "Dieu est grand" (God is great). And that simple, yet faithful statement stuck in my head as I walked home.

Later that evening I wrote in my journal, "I can feel this place slowly starting to creep into my heart, little by little." Every little moment like the one I had with Fatou, I feel just a little bit more connected and a little bit more at home.

Small Victories at the Bread Store

I stopped at the bread store on the way home from my French lesson yesterday. My request for one baguette was met with a shake of the head from the man behind the counter, and a string of French that I could not understand. I think he was saying they were out of baguettes, and was pointing out my other options—but I’m not positive. Feeling a little helpless, I used my broken French to say, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” He asked (in French) if I speak English (yes), and then asked his co-workers if they speak English (nope). I still really wanted to buy some bread, so I pointed to something that looked fairly basic, called “Saint Thomas,” and was asked “un ou deux?” (“One or two?”) Despite all the confusion, I came away with these two delicious loaves for less than a dollar, and was even complimented on my French (LOL—thanks for being nice to the clueless American).

Even though my trip to the bread store didn’t go exactly as planned, I still see it as a success in some ways. It was a chance to practice my French, interact with the locals, and make a purchase, all on my own.

Living in a new culture (or in any big transition), I think it is so important to celebrate the small victories, because honestly, sometimes they are all you can really cling to.

Here are a couple other small victories I have experienced in the last week:

Walking from the house to the clinic (and back), without anyone telling me which way to go, and even without street signs (yes, I am now living “where the streets have no name”). It’s not a particularly far or difficult walk, but given my bad sense of direction, this is definitely an accomplishment.

The map that Stephanie drew me of the walk between the house and the clinic :)

Being able to greet people, and express basic information (my name, how I am doing, where I am going…) in French.

Sometimes I get frustrated by the little things that I am not able to do here. But I am also trying to thank God for everything that goes right, no matter how small.