During my first week of formal orientation in Madrid, our Georgetown on-site coordinator Ani delivered a series of workshops to explore different themes we may come across in the next five months: cultural differences, Spanish colloquialisms, individualistic versus collectivistic nations and their values, etc. It seemed that many of the people in our program had lost some interest by the time Ani presented the third and final workshop, titled “Intercultural Competencies II,” seeing as the number of doodle drawings had exponentially increased by that Friday afternoon. I, on the other hand, was prepared and ready to attack intercultural differences by the bullhorn (pun intended). Ani presented the topic by showing us a slide on pre and post-journey culture shock with the following chart:
The “Culture Shock W” graphic, as displayed on the Study Away Programs website by Missouri State University.
It was obvious that Step 1 was set in motion, as my first week had been filled with museum trips, tall apartment buildings, and pictures along the way. Although I recognized the other steps were important and probably pertained to some students studying abroad, my invincible “It Won’t Happen To Me” judgment clouded comprehension of the remaining steps, and I immediately jumped to Step 9 as my personal trajectory of this so-called “culture shock” process.
It’s fair to say that Invincible Me didn’t last very long in Madrid, as I spent that weekend at home and couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that I missed my friends and family back home. I Facebooked, Skyped, and FaceTimed more than was probably healthy for the time being, mainly because reconnecting with who and what I am in DC made me the most comfortable. Saturday night, I talked to my best friend at Georgetown and proceeded to call it a night at a whopping 11:30pm. I couldn’t even out-do my 14-year-old host brothers, who were only in the early stages of making their homemade water bottle rifle by the time I was out cold, not even having yet prepared their planned target for the evening–Mr. Potato: a round little fellow with two red thumbtacks for eyes.
The next week started off worse. Classes were a mess (Note to friends at Georgetown: thank your lucky stars for MyAccess), zero Spanish friends had been made, and the awful cafeteria food at school cleaned me out of cash sooner than I expected, leaving me both poor and hungry in “a foreign land where I don’t even speak the language” (this also became my catch phrase when something remotely went wrong). My breaking point came about that Thursday though, with an unwelcoming encounter from the teller where I opened a Spanish bank account. A third of the way through our conversation where I desperately tried to explain in awful Spanish that I needed to transfer money, she decided it would be a better use of her time to make weekend plans and proceeded to call up a friend to charlar con, literally meaning “chat with” in Spanish. Tid bits of me “eavesdropping” in on her conversation have been provided below, although I don’t necessarily think I had any other choice after being shushed twice.
“Well I think the blue skirt will be too fancy for just drinks.”
Her friend disagrees.
“Uf, don’t even mention that tio (dude) from last weekend–¡Que horror!”
The friend doesn’t think he is horrifically unattractive, although she knows he was a bit aggressive in getting the teller’s attention at the bar, which reminds me that I would love some of her attention at the moment…
“Let’s make sure we hit up Antonio, too. But maybe forget to invite his girlfriend. Could make for a more interesting night, ya know…”
The friend hesitantly laughs, suddenly remembers she is also at work and has customers she really wants to attend to–or that aliens have just attacked her–and promises to call back in a few. Thank God for the aliens.
It wasn’t the blue skirt, the dude from last weekend, or Antonio’s girlfriend that bothered me, but rather the fact that I was entrusting my entire semester’s worth of hard-earned money to a woman who had no interest in serving me with anything more than a begrudging look. Was this normal here? As soon as I left, the graffiti-covered buildings explaining that “Anarchy is the government of the future” could no longer receive the same touristy- oh-that’s-an-interesting-perspective-look it had the first time I walked by it. Lo and behold, gray clouds above my head gave Madrid’s weather gods the signal to rain on the Newbie, reminding me to never forget my umbrella on a day it was forecasted to chispar (drizzle), because school was no longer a 7-minute walk, but rather a 45-minute walk, metro, and bus journey now.
Step 2 had officially been set into motion. Step 3 was only minutes away, as I spent the second weekend attempting to help my friend with her pending college trials and tribulations, wishing the entire time I could be 2,000 miles closer and take her for some frozen yogurt on M Street, a window shopping-spree at Buffalo Exchange, or some good ‘ole girl talk at the Waterfront instead of just saying, “You do what feels right, and I’ll love you either way!” Everything just sucked for a little while, and I was losing too much precious time to just let it for a little while this time. PSA for all those who have wondered: pictures of the glorious study abroad adventures immediately upon arrival are somewhat deceiving, and although I had mastered the art of deception at that point, I felt as though it needed to become time to really enjoy the activities I endeavored in.
Before arriving here, I had thankfully been in contact with a woman who belonged to the same religious community as myself in Madrid. Growing up in Atlanta, I was surrounded by a community of approximately 2,000 people that practiced the same Shia sect of Islam called Ismailism. Known collectively as Ismailis, I had thankfully found a smaller community in DC of about 450 people, seven of whom also shared the Georgetown campus with me and made the transition that much smoother my freshman year. Religion had subconsciously been extremely important in my life, and I figured maybe that was the personal connection to Madrid I needed. That Friday night, I decided to attend prayer services in Madrid, convincing myself that if this couldn’t make me feel better, I would call it quits and accept my doom to loneliness until June without complaints (dramatic, I know, just stick with me here).
Stepping into the Madrid Jamatkhana (name for the place of worship), I immediately felt like I was at home–literally and figuratively. Comprised of about twelve members, services were held at the home of the eldest members in the room. The woman with whom I had previously spoken was one of the leaders of the services, as well as the daughter of the elderly couple, along with her sons and their cousins that attended. After the services ended, I spoke with the older of her two sons, a senior at the same University I am attending. Both him and his younger brother had studied abroad in Bulgaria and spoke fluent English, for which I was extremely thankful and could finally spare making a fool of myself for once.
Going home that night, I felt the safest I had ever felt in the past three weeks, and it was then I realized the power of religious and community in my life. Why was it that the people in my program, with whom I have been going to school for three years and spent so much time, couldn’t give me the security I instantly felt by sitting with this family for a mere two hours? It was a strange occurrence, couldn’t be explained by anyone, and yet was just what I needed to feel like I could make Madrid my home, rather than just letting it host me for some months. Later that night, I spoke with my mother about my insights, hoping she could provide some explanation. Although her so-called logic didn’t make any sense, negating her theories helped me create my own, which I attempt to explain below:
To me, Ismailism as a religious tradition believes in Allah as an Eternal, Supreme Being that contains the Nur (light) within Him. Ismailis (followers of this sect) each have a piece of that Nur within them, making them hold a piece of Allah’s light in their souls, which they will one day return to Allah when they pass away and are reunited with Him. Because it is a belief that each Ismaili has the Nur of Allah within him, meeting this group of Ismailis connected me with Allah’s light once again. It gave me the security, stability, and compassion of Allah and His Kindness, reminding me that He is indeed everywhere and always watching over me. I saw the Nur of Allah in this family like I had never seen anything before, and I can honestly say they helped me not only become closer to the city, but also reconnect with my faith.
It was at that moment that I felt like I could indeed conquer Madrid now. Step 4 had been finally set in motion, and I was ready to finally make this experience worthwhile for me, and not just my Facebook friends.
