I really appreciate what you say about class. It always makes me deeply uncomfortable and I do everything I can to communicate respect back -- not using first names unless invited to, saying please, thank you, and being gracious whenever anything is done for me. I know it's very little in the grand scheme of things and donating money and supporting people in ways you can are even more important.
Such a great read and there is not a single thing I can disagree with. I've found much of the same in my years abroad. In a place like Ukraine where I lived for 13 years, there was a clear divide between teachers who came to Ukraine because they really wanted to be there versus those who saw the job listing on the British Council website and were like 'okay, let's apply there...and also there...and there...'
Funnily enough, when I was applying for jobs in August 2010, it came down to three options: Baku, Kyiv and Cairo. My friends implored me to go to Cairo since I'd already lived in Ukraine (Lviv) and also Latvia, and they thought a change of scenery and being outside Europe was my best bet.
I opted for Kyiv and, well...the rest is history, as they say.
Thanks so much, Daniel! It sounds like you made the right choice for yourself in going back to Ukraine—it’s funny how certain places draw us in like that.
I agree on all points. The privilege stunned me when I fully grasped it. I come from a low income family, but in West Africa, even as a volunteer healthcare worker living off a sponsored allowance that I couldn't have survived on in Canada, I was far better off than any of the people in the village. The automatic perception that I, as a North American, must therefore have wealth and influence meant people immediately formed expectations of what I could do for them. I worked with national healthcare professionals, and made every effort to show I considered them equals, despite my apparently greater resources. My own health gave out, and even there I saw my privilege. I had seen people in West Africa die and suffer greatly from the same health condition, but my organization was able to evacuate me so I could survive and return home to Canada to rest and recover.
Oh wow, Holly--what a formative experience that must have been. I am so glad you were able to recover from your health crisis. That experience in particular really resonates with me...a few of my American friends got pregnant while we were in Egypt, and the U.S. embassy didn't allow employees or their families to give birth locally because the healthcare system wasn't deemed up to U.S. standards, so they had to go back to the States when they got close to their due dates. The policy came from a place of wanting American women and babies to have the best possible outcomes, and that makes sense, but like...Egyptian women don't have the same choice or privilege. Except for the very wealthy, they don't get to just fly somewhere "better" to have their baby. That was eye-opening.
I find myself nodding in agreement with almost everything you wrote, about happiness and community and friendship and privilege. I wish I could invite you over for dinner and talk! But I'll content myself with reading your essays. You do an amazing job in letting your readers come close.
Thank you, Isabel! And 😂 I love having the dart board in a separate room because otherwise it would live in the office, which would harsh the quiet, writerly vibe
There is much to love in this piece, thank you. The class thing is certainly an eyeopener, how different I was treated when living in Chiang Mai, compared to here in France, for example. It was the first time my skin colour made me stand out so much, and it taught me a lot, about the world and myself.
Samantha, this reflection is powerful and incredibly relatable for anyone who’s spent time abroad. Your takeaways—from choosing happiness and seeking cultural understanding to recognizing economic privilege—are such valuable insights.
The part about creating community and finding multigenerational friendships resonates deeply; it’s a reminder that real connection transcends borders and ages. I especially appreciate your honesty about the complexities of privilege and the importance of meeting those moments with humility. Thanks for sharing these nuanced reflections—can’t wait for the next adventure!
I became an expat in my early 20’s and returned home when I retired. Some places were much more challenging at first than others (such as needing government-assigned armed guards to go to town because of the constant threat of ambushes), trying to find goods and services in failing economies where common goods and services weren’t available. Surprisingly, those challenges did not define living in those places and eventually, life was no more challenging or annoying than being stuck in morning traffic on the DC Beltway.
Life, no matter where one lives, is filled with daily irritations and struggles, but the sun always rises and sets, and the people in our lives are what makes life worth living. Wherever we lived, we enjoyed our expat friends, but we cherished our friends from those countries where we lived, because when we spent time with them, we lived in that country, instead of being a visitor. Try to make a life outside the expat compound.
My advice to anyone thinking about moving abroad is to live in the country instead of staying there as a long term tourist. Use local products and markets. Minimize your passport privileges. Pursue your interests in local traditions, arts, literature and holidays, and try them on to see how they fit. You’ll discover that a little humility, the attitude of a student living to learn, and a determination to experience what it “feels like” to be local is a transforming experience.
Finally, if you are really adventurous and want to experience what life is like for most people in the world , consider choosing to live in the global south, where life (and death) is more unfiltered, uncushioned, and unadulterated, or as they say in Costa Rica, Pura Vida. Pure life.
(I went back and edited out a few typos. If I lived in Zimbabwe, I could afford a decent editor.)
Expats sometimes have a certain cultural blindness. Once, on a trip to Bolivia with my wife, our local office was asked to host a trip with USAID and embassy staff to some of our rural development projects in the Altiplano. As our convoy of black embassy Suburbans and our white NGO Toyotas entered one of the villages, my wife noticed a little welcome booth set up along the dirt track. The black Suburbans blew by it in a cloud of dust, but when my wife saw it, she commanded our driver to stop. My wife never commands, but she did that time. We got out and the women at the booth surrounded us and warmly greeted us. They felt genuinely honored by our visit and the booth was part of the preparations they made to make us feel welcome.
Back in the white Toyota, my gentle wife spewed at the rudeness and lack of respect shown to the local people who were “being helped.” Later, she even mentioned it in a conversation with one of my USAID friends, who actually took it to heart and felt a little chagrined.
Over the years, I’ve wondered if my dearly beloved missed her calling as a special kind of diplomat. She always saw and sympathized with the little people. When we first moved to Africa, we had a night watchman named Jelli, who sat at a little campfire between his rounds, and she would often share food with him, knew the names of his wife and children, and after he tripped, fell into his fire, and was badly burned, she took me with her to regularly visit him at the hospital, a task not for the faint hearted. She has a gift for seeing and loving people, not natives, locals, or whatever arms length term used to describe actual humans beings who are “not one of us.”
A good read. I've never been to Egypt but we did visit Jordan a few years ago and had a great time and met many lovely people. Whether as a visitor or an immigrant to any other culture, openness and understanding make a great difference both to how you're received and the quality of your own experience.
That is so interesting—I would never expect someone to say that Cairo is easier than Rome, but having never lived in Rome, maybe I underestimate it! Makes sense about the Jubilee, too…that must be super chaotic.
Thanks so much for the mention, Sam. And your reflections resonate deeply. Also, I teared up seeing the picture of the Nile from downtown. Cairo is such an intense place to live, but part of my heart longs to return.
I loved this. Your perspectives and observations are so refreshing.
❤️❤️❤️ thanks Erin!
I really appreciate what you say about class. It always makes me deeply uncomfortable and I do everything I can to communicate respect back -- not using first names unless invited to, saying please, thank you, and being gracious whenever anything is done for me. I know it's very little in the grand scheme of things and donating money and supporting people in ways you can are even more important.
It does seem like the least we can do. But people remember how others make them feel, so hopefully it makes a small difference!
Such a great read and there is not a single thing I can disagree with. I've found much of the same in my years abroad. In a place like Ukraine where I lived for 13 years, there was a clear divide between teachers who came to Ukraine because they really wanted to be there versus those who saw the job listing on the British Council website and were like 'okay, let's apply there...and also there...and there...'
Funnily enough, when I was applying for jobs in August 2010, it came down to three options: Baku, Kyiv and Cairo. My friends implored me to go to Cairo since I'd already lived in Ukraine (Lviv) and also Latvia, and they thought a change of scenery and being outside Europe was my best bet.
I opted for Kyiv and, well...the rest is history, as they say.
Thanks so much, Daniel! It sounds like you made the right choice for yourself in going back to Ukraine—it’s funny how certain places draw us in like that.
I agree on all points. The privilege stunned me when I fully grasped it. I come from a low income family, but in West Africa, even as a volunteer healthcare worker living off a sponsored allowance that I couldn't have survived on in Canada, I was far better off than any of the people in the village. The automatic perception that I, as a North American, must therefore have wealth and influence meant people immediately formed expectations of what I could do for them. I worked with national healthcare professionals, and made every effort to show I considered them equals, despite my apparently greater resources. My own health gave out, and even there I saw my privilege. I had seen people in West Africa die and suffer greatly from the same health condition, but my organization was able to evacuate me so I could survive and return home to Canada to rest and recover.
Oh wow, Holly--what a formative experience that must have been. I am so glad you were able to recover from your health crisis. That experience in particular really resonates with me...a few of my American friends got pregnant while we were in Egypt, and the U.S. embassy didn't allow employees or their families to give birth locally because the healthcare system wasn't deemed up to U.S. standards, so they had to go back to the States when they got close to their due dates. The policy came from a place of wanting American women and babies to have the best possible outcomes, and that makes sense, but like...Egyptian women don't have the same choice or privilege. Except for the very wealthy, they don't get to just fly somewhere "better" to have their baby. That was eye-opening.
I find myself nodding in agreement with almost everything you wrote, about happiness and community and friendship and privilege. I wish I could invite you over for dinner and talk! But I'll content myself with reading your essays. You do an amazing job in letting your readers come close.
Thank you so much, Claire! Sometime we’ll find ourselves in the same part of the world, and we’ll make that dinner happen. ❤️
These photos are stunning. Also I can't explain it, but I'm just in love with the idea of a dedicated room for a dart board.
Thank you, Isabel! And 😂 I love having the dart board in a separate room because otherwise it would live in the office, which would harsh the quiet, writerly vibe
There is much to love in this piece, thank you. The class thing is certainly an eyeopener, how different I was treated when living in Chiang Mai, compared to here in France, for example. It was the first time my skin colour made me stand out so much, and it taught me a lot, about the world and myself.
Thanks again for this post.
Thanks, Alexander—I’m glad this post resonated with you!
Samantha, this reflection is powerful and incredibly relatable for anyone who’s spent time abroad. Your takeaways—from choosing happiness and seeking cultural understanding to recognizing economic privilege—are such valuable insights.
The part about creating community and finding multigenerational friendships resonates deeply; it’s a reminder that real connection transcends borders and ages. I especially appreciate your honesty about the complexities of privilege and the importance of meeting those moments with humility. Thanks for sharing these nuanced reflections—can’t wait for the next adventure!
Thank you so much, Freda! I’m so happy this resonated!
I became an expat in my early 20’s and returned home when I retired. Some places were much more challenging at first than others (such as needing government-assigned armed guards to go to town because of the constant threat of ambushes), trying to find goods and services in failing economies where common goods and services weren’t available. Surprisingly, those challenges did not define living in those places and eventually, life was no more challenging or annoying than being stuck in morning traffic on the DC Beltway.
Life, no matter where one lives, is filled with daily irritations and struggles, but the sun always rises and sets, and the people in our lives are what makes life worth living. Wherever we lived, we enjoyed our expat friends, but we cherished our friends from those countries where we lived, because when we spent time with them, we lived in that country, instead of being a visitor. Try to make a life outside the expat compound.
My advice to anyone thinking about moving abroad is to live in the country instead of staying there as a long term tourist. Use local products and markets. Minimize your passport privileges. Pursue your interests in local traditions, arts, literature and holidays, and try them on to see how they fit. You’ll discover that a little humility, the attitude of a student living to learn, and a determination to experience what it “feels like” to be local is a transforming experience.
Finally, if you are really adventurous and want to experience what life is like for most people in the world , consider choosing to live in the global south, where life (and death) is more unfiltered, uncushioned, and unadulterated, or as they say in Costa Rica, Pura Vida. Pure life.
Love this perspective!
(I went back and edited out a few typos. If I lived in Zimbabwe, I could afford a decent editor.)
Expats sometimes have a certain cultural blindness. Once, on a trip to Bolivia with my wife, our local office was asked to host a trip with USAID and embassy staff to some of our rural development projects in the Altiplano. As our convoy of black embassy Suburbans and our white NGO Toyotas entered one of the villages, my wife noticed a little welcome booth set up along the dirt track. The black Suburbans blew by it in a cloud of dust, but when my wife saw it, she commanded our driver to stop. My wife never commands, but she did that time. We got out and the women at the booth surrounded us and warmly greeted us. They felt genuinely honored by our visit and the booth was part of the preparations they made to make us feel welcome.
Back in the white Toyota, my gentle wife spewed at the rudeness and lack of respect shown to the local people who were “being helped.” Later, she even mentioned it in a conversation with one of my USAID friends, who actually took it to heart and felt a little chagrined.
Over the years, I’ve wondered if my dearly beloved missed her calling as a special kind of diplomat. She always saw and sympathized with the little people. When we first moved to Africa, we had a night watchman named Jelli, who sat at a little campfire between his rounds, and she would often share food with him, knew the names of his wife and children, and after he tripped, fell into his fire, and was badly burned, she took me with her to regularly visit him at the hospital, a task not for the faint hearted. She has a gift for seeing and loving people, not natives, locals, or whatever arms length term used to describe actual humans beings who are “not one of us.”
A good read. I've never been to Egypt but we did visit Jordan a few years ago and had a great time and met many lovely people. Whether as a visitor or an immigrant to any other culture, openness and understanding make a great difference both to how you're received and the quality of your own experience.
Thank you, Jon—and hear hear!
I have a pal who has decided to split her time in Cairo & Rome. She says Cairo is so much chicer
in many ways easier! (Rome is particularly miserable right now with Jubilee construction &
too many visitors)
That is so interesting—I would never expect someone to say that Cairo is easier than Rome, but having never lived in Rome, maybe I underestimate it! Makes sense about the Jubilee, too…that must be super chaotic.
. . .if you think Cairo traffic is bad, every driver in Rome believes he is a Grand Prix racer in his Fiat 500.
Thanks so much for the mention, Sam. And your reflections resonate deeply. Also, I teared up seeing the picture of the Nile from downtown. Cairo is such an intense place to live, but part of my heart longs to return.
❤️ Cairo really has a way of taking up residence in your soul, doesn’t it?
Yes!