Friends in Foreign Lands

New Year's Eve I found myself, legs draped over a case of beer, in the back-back of a bullet-proof SUV with another American mom on our way to a party. Country music came from an iPhone of a Texan marine sitting in the middle with our husbands. Somehow the American-ness of the talk, the sense of humor, the music, the behavior was surprising. Why? It dawned on me that I hardly ever hang out with groups of Americans. [Granted, the crew we were with have big personalities. American Mom J is brilliant and boisterous. She and the Texan were first on the dance floor, and I promise you, I have never in my life seen a man dance the way he did to "I'm Sexy and I Know It." Must have practiced in front of a mirror for months. I just stood there frozen, peeking through my fingers and giggling.]

Living like we do, here and there, for a few years at a time, we make friends from different places - a lot of them expats, too. This has always been a perk of our transient life, the downside being that we have to say good-bye. It can, in some ways, hinder the development of a friendship (the end will come so why invest too much), but it can just as easily intensify it (no strings attached, no predetermined assumptions about each other to get around). Curiosity about each other is deep - not only is this a unique person like anyone - but they are literally foreign, a totally different upbringing in a totally different environment. What was that like? And amidst that weirdness, finding common interests seems all the more special.

David and I were thinking about the friends we've had since we started this life together. I'm talking about the ones we were close to, the ones we went out with on the weekends, had over for the afternoons into evenings and all nighters for the family. The ones we traveled with, listened to and comforted in hard times, and confided in. They are from England, Belgium, The Netherlands, Austria, Zimbabwe, Germany, Palestine, Jordan, Denmark, Canada, Portugal, Ireland, India, Serbia, Italy, France, South Africa and yes, America.

Some of them are here now, but most of them are far away in other countries, and it will take a lot of luck and money to see each other again. But it's not impossible - take Clem, for example, an Italian who worked with David in Kosovo and Afghanistan has overlapped with us in Jordan and Zimbabwe. Reunions, as always are special - I just spent time with Austrian friend from Zim, Bettina, who had relocated to South Africa. For my 40th, we saw English friends from Jordan, Ben and Caroline, in Oman. Good, special times!

With email, Facebook, blogs and Skype, it's actually possible to keep in touch. So this is to you, friends! We love and miss you, and feel very lucky to have gotten to know you. As always, hoping our paths cross again...xo

Here are some of you...

Holly in Sudan

Ben and Caroline with Emily, Oliver and Alex in Jordan

Bettina with Noah in Zim

Clem, Seb and Olivier in Zim

Chuck, Andrea, Olga and Jovan in Zim

David with Ammar in Jordan

Melissa and Mike in Zim at the traditional handing over of the BBQ/braai to our guests

Jim, Jesse and Maaike in Sierra Leone

Great going away party: me with Joanna, Falastin and Andrea in Jordan

Caroline with Jonathan in Zim

Sheryl in Zim

Katrien with Tarek in Sudan

Kariba

Newlyweds, Veena & Ken

Ken & Veena, friends of ours here, have moved on to work in South Sudan. To mark an end of that era, in November Olga planned a weekend in Kariba, a lake town about a 5-hour drive north of Harare. I wanted to go, but bringing the kids would have changed the dynamic. No one else from this group of friends has kids. So David, in a gesture of unselfishness that his wife won't soon forget, offered to stay home with the kids and let me go.

It was the first time I've traveled alone (child/husband-free) for fun (as opposed to for work) for eight years or so. The memories of my pre-family, traveling days came rushing back. Granted, my husband is "the boss" of more than half the group that went, and the other half are his golf buddies, so it wasn't exactly far removed from my real life. But there was so much time for myself, so little thinking-for-others. I was free to read, write, do-whatever-the-hell-I-wanted. I found it to be extremely therapeutic. Just two days, mothers and fathers out there, two days: I highly recommend it.

Biggest catch

The best part of Kariba is the fishing. Until that weekend, I had never caught a fish in my life, but tiger fishing is totally addictive. I caught one, a 2.5 pounder, and that was after hours of standing in the pouring rain.

Now, normally, standing in a downpour to fish is not something I would have ever imagined enjoying, but once you've lost a big one that twisted and flipped through the air on your line, fighting for its life as you used all your strength to reel it in, you just can't stop casting again in the hope that you'll get it or it's larger cousin next time. With this type of fishing, you cast out far, then quickly reel it in, so it's also satisfying to be active, casting over and over to get it just right, hearing the line unwind, sailing through the air, then plop in the water.

The hippo and crocodile population on the lake has exploded in recent years due to hunting restrictions and the croc farmers releasing a certain percentage into the lake. These also are some of the most dangerous animals in the country. At one point we had to pass through a narrow set of sand bars that probably had 20 hippos, mostly submerged except for their eyes, ears and backs, just 50 feet away. The crocodiles with gorgeous yellow and black patterns on their tails seem almost harmless on the banks until they pop up on their fat legs and slither speedily towards us, disappearing under the water by our boat. Needless to say, there is no swimming in Lake Kariba, but all the wildlife certainly adds to the overall excitement of a simple fishing trip.

Yes, those are hippos.

...for more from that trip:

Christmas is Coming, then Went

(Here's what I started writing Dec. 9)

For years we've lived in Muslim countries where Christmas was a tiny fraction of what we'd experience in the U.S. Here in Zimbabwe, I found tall cut cedar trees for sale at several places just in our neighborhood. There are billboards advertising Christmas hams and caroling events. Every little shop has a gift basket conveniently on offer. Stores are staying open later for the shopping frenzy, and everyone is making plans to travel, to host and/or to party. Everyone will be on holiday. All schools will be out. OK, there's no snow, but at least the evening rains have gotten it chilly enough to light a fire at night.

When we all got excited about putting up the tree, I tried to remember when we'd had a tree before. It was 2006 after Eliza was born and Miles was just 2. ...which also explains why we have ZERO Christmas decorations. We have always either been traveling to be with family or fresh off the plane in a new country.

It's a been a year since we first arrived here. We had just moved into an empty, unfurnished house. Christmas Eve after the kids were asleep, I threw some old party decorations on a potted plant (ant-infested we realized the next morning) and placed the few toys we'd been able to bring with us and keep secret from the kids while living in the hotel for three weeks. We were lucky to have our friend Clementina still in Harare who had us over for a nice party.

(Continuation...January 5, 2011)

So like last year, we haven't travelled. We have had a quiet month at home. But the difference is striking. Last year, there was so much to do to settle in, but the holidays were an impediment to getting anything done since the real-estate agents were on holiday, etc. I couldn't drive yet and didn't know my way around. This year, we have our house and our tree, and it has just been a pleasure to RELAX!

We had Christmas dinner with friends, attended Christmas parties, had play-dates and day trips, hosted a baby shower, but mainly just relaxed at home. Finally, it was nice to attend a big New Year's party that we'd gone to last year. This time instead of barely knowing anyone, we knew quite a few people. It's starting to feel like we're more settled here.

Writing Christmas cards to teachers.

Spending time with friends: Bettina...

and Clemens: Janalou, Aljosha & Noah's parents

at their house where they have a new tree house...Here E hauls the message trolley up to the other kids.

Baby Shower:

Andrea & Chuck

Veena - transfering to South Sudan soon :(

Chuck...dad-to-be

Veena, Olga & Andrea (all Mercy Corps)

Andrea, mom-to-be

David plays tennis with his golf-buddy

...Jovan

Thanksgiving in Amman

Since Tday was my last DAY of work, I opted for a low-maintenance celebration...and on Friday. Full meal delivery service. No, it wasn't expensive. Yes, it is weird that my local bakery/restaurant would have a full tday meal delivery service in Amman since it's an American holiday. It was another American who tipped me off, and her blatant utilization of this service over the last few years absolved me of guilt...somehow. Plus, with all non-American guests, I felt I could kind of get away with it. The turkey was perfect. The rest was edible. Add to that my mom's recipe for sweet potato casserole, and all colors were nicely represented on the plate.

Ben with Emily and Eliza in their Gymboree jumpers from the States.

Andrea (vintage fur) with Jacob in actual lederhosen (leather pants).

Andrea's Kathi in traditional German dress

Caroline being coy.

Eliza and Oliver painting

Saif, Ghaith's brother, made it out for a second Thanksgiving with us. We'll miss the Al-Omari brothers!

Cloud 9

David's old friend from high school - an exchange student from England named Stewart - was coming to Lebanon for a holiday, and we convinced him to pop over to Jordan for a couple of days with his wife Raina. Both of them make films for a living, and Stewart works full time now as a film producer for Save the Children UK. Their visit just happened to coincide with the first day of the youth training for documentary film-making, so Stu and Raina came. Stu showed some of his work and answered questions from the participants. Stu and Raina were really inspirational, and they were impressed with Mohammad Hushki, the director/trainer. I was on cloud 9 seeing everything come together. These 20-somethings are all Iraqi refugees, a few years into their life-on-hold here in Jordan where they can't really work. They can't go back home, and many are waiting to be re-located to a third country. So here they are learning from pros about film-making: producing, sound, lighting, camera use... Yesterday they were already putting up sets around the office and practice interviewing people. Next week, we're heading out to capture the story of a friend of one of the kids, a 16-year-old who lives and works at a plastics factory and supports his family who are stuck in Syria.

Having an idea, finding support, coordinating with various people, and then being there to actually see it happen...all within a few months...it's so much more exciting than sitting behind a desk writing reports :)

Trip to Nazareth

It was my third time to Israel, first time alone. I took a nice comfortable greyhound-like mammoth thing. It was cheap and quick and easy. I settled in and watched the hills and valleys of northern Jordan roll by as I listened to my weekly podcasts (New Yorker fiction, Savage Love, and This American Life).

The plan was to not mention my Palestinian friend at the border but to say I was meeting my German friend (which was also true). But I didn't think through the whole 2-passport arrangement beforehand. I bought a second passport in Jordan just for traveling into Israel because if you get an Israeli stamp in your passport you can't get into countries like Syria or Lebanon, not easily anyway.

The first time I used the blank passport, I had no problem with the Israelis, but the Jordanians were miffed... Why didn't I have a visa from their country since I was in it? So this time I brought them both, just in case. And when the 20-year-old Israeli soldier behind the glass started asking me about where I'm from and what I do and why I'm in Jordan and why I'm going to Israel and if I've ever traveled to another Muslim country and if I have a second passport, and if she could see it...well, I just wasn't prepared to lie. I showed her my 10-year-old, packed full with additional pages passport, and it was another 30 minutes of questions and flipping through the passport and more questions.

The bus was kind enough to wait a very long time for me. The hall was empty except for me and another couple of unfortunates. From across the room, the driver gave me the twisty-wrist Arabic gesture for what's the deal? I gave him the open raised hands for what can a person do?

There was this other odd twist to the story. I had a bottle of Chivas Regal that I'd agreed to carry through customs for an old man who'd been sitting with his wife in front of me on the bus. I didn't understand but went with it. I imagined he was probably some regular closet-drinking Muslim fearing the questions they'd lay on him about the alcohol, and I'd watched him buy it right in front of me at the duty free shop...so what the hey.

The bus had to leave me after all since the Israelis decided your truly looked suspicious enough to warrant a few hours of running me through the security check. (What is your father's full name? What is your father's father's full name? What is your friend's phone number? What is your address and phone number in the USA? What's your email address? What kinds of children does Save the Children help? Arabic children?)

It would make a much better story if I got that big bottle of booze for my trouble, but alas. I gave the bus driver my friend's phone number to give to the old man so he could look me up once I got there (which he promptly did).

Destination: Nazareth, the most important city in Israel for Arabs who make up the majority of its population. My friend Falastin was born and raised there, and she was spending some time there before relocating to Copenhagen. It's also where Mary is believed to have gotten knocked up by the Holy Spirit, and thus where Jesus grew up. So it was cool to see my friend's roots, as well as this very old little city nestled in a small valley.

Ah, going to bed without managing my children's night-time routine, uninterrupted sleep all night, and rolling out of bed at 10 a.m.

Falastin, her girls and I walked down from her parent's house where she grew up (mother's domain: freshly clean and spare) to her late grandmother's house where her father holds court under his pomelo trees all day and night for "the gentlemen of Nazareth." The house is actually under massive renovations in the style of the region: straight up a few floors to accommodate the next generation of families (for Falastin and her brothers). The back yard was chocked full of fruit trees and rows of veggies. Her father had a shack set up with his mini bar and tools. It all reminded me very much of my late grandfather's domain in Florida. We ate cherry tomatoes and cumbers off the vine and still warm baked flatbread rubbed with thyme and olive oil from the bakery around the corner.

Late that afternoon I had a few hours to just stroll around the city - its old market is like a mini version of Jerusalem's old city market. I sat in a hip cafe with its ancient vaulted ceilings, drank a completely drinkable gimlet (gamely attempted by the bartender for the first time), and I wrote in my journal. I was, if only for a day, that reflective, roaming young woman of my 20s.

Falastin and her mother

Andrea with Kathi and Jacob (talk about heroic traveling!)

The Cafe

Scenes from Mary's Church of the Annunciation. This is Mary reeling from the news that a) she's pregnant and b) that her explanation for not being a virgin on her wedding night is that it was all God's doing.

What Mary and Jesus look like to Asians:

China

Korea

India

Indonesia

The Farewell Party

Aid work requires moving around a lot, as do other international jobs. For family-type positions, it's usually a 2-5 year post. I suppose fresh blood is needed: avoiding complacency or "burn-out." Expats are expected to need a break to return home.  

But we don't usually go home for long, like a lot of other families who find themselves choosing to stay in the expat world. It's a way of life, a sub-culture between cultures. And it's those vagabonds, the mixed-up misfits from all over who make up this expat community, that are the draw for me as much as the work or the stimulation of a new country and its people. For the socialite in me, I can't get enough of hearing about their varied lives, and lucky me when I find myself becoming friends with some of them.

Like any group of outsiders, we gravitate towards each other. We need each other, and we know where to find each other. From a family perspective, it's about housing, schools, shopping, doctors...we don't have much time to figure it all out. It's a networking frenzy, and out of it some key contacts develop into friendships. No one is there long enough to forget the early months of being so alone and unknowing and overwhelmed. We introduce ourselves to the newbies, invite them along, and start explaining everything we think could possibly be helpful.

And this is a long introduction to get to the farewell party for Falastin and Adam, which was, if I may say so, a very nice party. Falastin was my Arabic teacher, my pilates coach, my car-pooling buddy, and my friend. Her daughters are the same age as my kids. She grew up in Nazarath, a Palestinian community controlled by the Israeli government. She used to work for an NGO that specialized in capturing and producing the Palestinian side of news stories. She risked her life for her work. She stood in front of loaded rifles pointed to her chest and told the man pointing it where he could put it. She also is extremely fashionable and has a most impressive collection of spike-heeled boots. Her husband is a Danish correspondent to the Middle East. After a year and a half of seeing them several times a week and talking to her nearly every day, they are moving to Copenhagen. 

That's the downside to this odd expat life. You jump feet first into friendships, and then suddenly someone has to move on. And as wonderfully appealing as the invites to visit friends around the world are, you know it's not going to be easy. Still, you have to be open to the possibility, to hope you have the chance to make it happen. You mark the leaving with a celebration, and you feel lucky to have known them at all. 

Bye for now, Falastin! 

Falastin's shot of me as I take the one above.

Falastin with Andrea (amazing cook, architect, founder of an NGO working 10+ years in Iraq, mother of two under 3, connoisseur of the finer things, from the forests of Bavaria--my well-organized, generous co-host & friend) 

Rikke (Danish), Johanna (Irish), Falastin (Palestinian), Mette (Danish), me (Chattanoogan)

   

Releasing our breath after sucking in for the show-your-pilates-belly body-by-Falastin shot.

Sharon (Sierra Leonian), Miriam (German), Kathryn (Texan)

David with Amar (in foreground), brother of Ghaith who is D's sister Bradley's husband. (whew! all that to say - we have the pleasure of having family in Amman!)