Free Food!! :: Terrors of Re-entry and Culture-Shock-ish Things

Part TWO of {who knows how many}

So after my body recovered from the alleged Dengue demon, I jumped back on a plane and
flew to Costa Rica to meet my team for month 11 of 11. The month was great, God called me to move back there, final debrief came and went and the world kept spinning.

I said goodbye to my family of 60, knew I would never see a large portion of them again, hopped on another plane and headed home for good - sort of. God had called me to move back to Costa Rica, remember? During my layover I found a Chili's because, if you know me, that's what I do in airports. Every single one.

After thanking my server in Spanish for my water, I giggled and pretended like I did it on purpose.

The young couple sitting {very} close to me had walked straight out of the Hampton's - or so it appeared. With her perfect golden hair, designer carry-on, polished nails and 45 karat wedding rings, she sat there with her business-suited husband - neither of them older than 35 - enjoying a meal like normal, Americanized people would.

For whatever reason I couldn't eat all of my triple dipper. So with a honey-chipotle chicken strip and a full basket of chips on my table, I decided I should stop before I walked out of there looking pregnant. I leaned over to ask the power couple if either of them would like my leftovers. Praise the good Lord He stopped me before the words actually left my mouth. "Oh my gosh, Ashli! You seriously just did that? You almost just did that!!" I thought to myself.

See, on the World Race, resources are very limited. We had to eat on about $4 per day and, let's be honest, it doesn't go very far. So (a) we weren't used to having much food at meal time and (b) if by chance we did have some left over, one of the guys on our team would swoop it up like an owl snatching it's prey. Wasting food simply was not an option on the World Race. Especially after seeing and serving all the starving people we did.

The girls on my team and I found a Chili's in the Philippines!! 

So it was just instinct to look for someone to eat the rest of my food. They probably thought I was stalking them, waiting for a chance to grab her designer and run. But no ... I was just being a freak trying to give away free food. I can only imagine what their reactions may have been had I actually offered.

Again, you may be thinking, "That's so ridiculous. My mind would never go there." And again, it's okay. I laughed at the toothpaste girl and the white-out girl and all the people who said re-entry was just straight up hard.

I made it home and for three weeks I lived the life I had left behind 11 months prior. I visited with friends and family who I had missed so much. I had a really big, fun, welcome-home party where I told stories about the World Race.

The point is, I never really felt like I had missed much. Relationships seemed to pick up where they left off. My bedroom felt normal and my church was just like I left it. I even told lots of people, "Reentry hasn't been hard for me. It's been pretty smooth." I am not really sure why it was so easy then and much different than it is now, but for some reason, it was.

So ya see, culture shock isn't always breakdowns in grocery stores (yes, I did that and I will tell you about it in the next post). It isn't always big, dramatic, and obvious. Sometimes it is. But other times it is quiet, and subtle and if you aren't the one experiencing it, you'd never know it was happening.

I will talk more about this in the next post but if you know someone who may or may not be going through re-entry and culture shock type things, try to be very patient with them. Try to understand even though there is no way you will relate. Let them cry if they need to cry or let them laugh if they need to.

Until next time...

Sorry I Laughed at You :: Terrors of Re-entry and Culture-Shock-ish Things

Part ONE of {who knows how many}

She was an alumni racer so we hung on every word she said. She'd been where we'd been. She'd felt what we were feeling. She had processed through it all and was back on the mission field.

Sitting on the floor of our Ukrainian housing, she told us stories about her race ... her squad ... her re-entry. When she talked about her squad, we could relate. When she talked about the ministries she worked with in Africa, we reminisced about ours too. But when she talked about re-entry, we listened quietly, for we knew that we too would face the wonders of it in just 4 short months.

"... and when I turned down the toothpaste aisle I just began to cry. There were too many options, I couldn't handle it. I just broke down, right there in the middle of Wal-Mart ... on the toothpaste aisle. I mean, it was a whole aisle just for toothpaste."

What? Seriously? I laughed every time I told other people about that. Crazy. Ridiculous. Dramatic.

I had heard similar stories from other racers about trying to buy White-Out or choosing a toilet paper brand. When they gave us re-entry talks, we were warned about more 'important' things like relationships and church matters. Our worlds, as we knew them, had continued without us for 11 months and we were going to be diving right back in at full speed.

Well, I'd like to share a little bit of my own story and how re-entry (over and over) has been for me.

I'm a verbal processor so being able to talk about these type things are important to me. But for whatever reason, I've internalized much of it - keeping it inside under this assumption that no one understands and because of that, they don't care to listen. So in attempt to iron out much of what is inside, I'll write about it here.

As most of you know, I came home sick with [alleged] Dengue Fever during month 10 of the race. I was home for 2 weeks and 3 days before joining my squad for month 11 in Costa Rica. So let's start here and call it my first reentry experience.

A little background information: My team was in Nicaragua during month 10. Dengue, in all its glory, was attacking our squad, one racer at a time. Some were worse, needing to be hospitalized, while others were bedridden, missing days and weeks of ministry with their team. If you have ever experienced Dengue Fever, you're probably sweating just reading this because you know how awful it is. Your bones feel like they're breaking inside of you. Rashes, fevers, cold sweats, ungodly amounts of pain behind your eyes and at the base of your head where it meets your spine. The sickness is terrible enough, in and of itself. But apart from that, we were in small-town Nica. I can't speak for the rest of my squad but for me, there was no reliable healthcare around. I was 3 hours (by public bus) to the capitol city where *maybe* I could be treated.

So I bit the bullet and decided to go to the local doctor. It was miserably hot in our quaint little town, I hardly had enough strength to walk to the bathroom, and I had no appetite. I was sleeping on the ground in my tent, right near the road where large, loud trucks and very loud motorcycles drove by all hours of the night. If you Google 'Dengue Fever' you will find that there is so cure for it. It just has to run its course through your body and you have to wait it out. There are things 'they' tell you to do that should help ... drink water, take meds for the pain, and the main thing is to get rest. Now, we all know rest was NOT happening in those living conditions. Did I mention that every time but one that I needed to go to the doctor (4 different times) I had to walk?

I'll save you the gory details of what happened each time at the doctor, and nights in between, and just tell you that when I gave a urine sample in a baby food jar and stool sample in a smoothie cup, I decided it was time to fly home. I prayed hardcore over that needle she drew my blood with - "My God PLEASE let that needle be clean!"

My first night home, I was too weak to walk up the stairs so I crashed in Mama's room. The next morning, I just could not bring myself to go up to my room. Something about it scared me and I'm still not sure what it was. It was 10am when my mom said, "Ashli you have to go upstairs and get ready. We can't take you to the doctor if you don't."

"Can you go with me? I'm scared."
"Ha, okay. Let's go"

She sat with me up there for about 20 minutes before leaving me to myself. Now, you may be thinking this sounds real dramatic and you just don't understand how it is that big of a deal. I don't blame you - I laughed at the toothpaste girl, remember? But if you think what I've said before now is just 'way too ridiculous' for you, stop reading now. It gets worse. Almost silly, when I look back on it.

Once she left and I eased into my walk-in closet, I was so overwhelmed. Disconnected from the very articles of clothing I used to love to put on. I couldn't find anything. I was looking for some leggings to wear to the doctor and I couldn't remember where I kept them. That 'little' thing was so heavy to me, that I wore WR clothes for my first 3 days home. After all, for the 10 months prior to this, I'd lived and dressed myself out of a backpack.

Once I began to regain strength I tried to visit with family and people I had missed. After the closet episode, I never struggled with culture shock again.

At least not until a month later when the race ended for good and I tried to give some strangers in the airport my leftover Chilis.

Needless to say, I learned really quick that the girl on the toothpaste aisle wasn't as absurd as I thought. So to you, I apologize.

Sorry I laughed at you.

We'll pick up there in the next post .... stay tuned! ;)