The first time someone hears my accent, they immediately start a guessing game. “Are you from England?” The next one often is,“Are you from Down Under?” “A Kiwi perhaps?”
No, I’m from South Africa.
“Oh?” Eyebrows shoot up and a pause always follows. “But you’re white!”
Yes. Over the years, I’ve gotten really good at smiling sarcastically.
What usually follows is a series of “interesting” questions. No, we don’t ride elephants to work. No, we don’t have chimpanzees as pets. Yes, we speak English. Do you?
I confess, sometimes I have fun with it. I did tell someone that all South Africans know how to climb lamp posts to avoid lions in the streets. I know. I’m sorry. Please don’t judge me.
People’s perceptions are interesting to me. Having been an international student, I know I have a unique perspective concerning the challenges they face. I attended both a community college and a four-year university.
South Africa has a population of 58 million people, almost the same size as United Kingdom (66 million). I’m from the town of Bloemfontein, a tight-knit community of 250,000 people located 250 miles south of Johannesburg. I like to think of Bloemfontein as a “large” small town since it seems like it is impossible not to run into someone you know while out and about.
The South African school system is quite different from America’s. It is based on your home language of either English or Afrikaans, and whether or not your parents want you to be in a co-ed school or not. I chose an English-based, all-girls school. Regardless of which school you attended, school fees are relatively expensive and school uniforms are a must.
Friday nights are spent hanging out at the mall with your friends or going over to their house for a braai (what Americans call a barbecue). Early Saturday mornings are typically reserved for the “boere” (farmers) market to purchase local produce and enjoy the most delicious pancakes (known elsewhere as crepes), followed by a couple of afternoon beers with your friends and family while watching a rugby or cricket match. Nights usually end with a braai or by venturing out to our only block that has three or four bars to choose from. Sundays almost always start with attending church service, followed by going to our favorite coffee shops for a cup and a tasty pastry or slice of cake.
After graduating high school at the age of 17, I chose to forego the “straight to university” route and work as an intern. After a couple of months, I rudely realized hospitality management wasn’t for me. Knowing my career uncertainty, my aunt suggested I move to the United States and stay with her in Kansas. Of course, after seeing American movies portraying college life, I eagerly anticipated joining a sorority, participating in American football-filled weekends, and hailing a taxi to bustling places I needed to go. I applied for a visa and to attend Johnson County Community College, located in the Kansas City suburb of Overland Park, Kansas. I got accepted, and a couple of months later, I packed my bags and boarded my first airplane.
I imagined America in full “Hollywood” view; big tall buildings, expansive city parks like Central Park, brick façade apartments with fire escapes like the ones in the sitcom “Friends,” and a Starbucks on every corner (at least that part was true). I was excited to shop at Whole Foods, walk down the busy streets with my Starbucks in hand, and catch the subway to somewhere new.
I opened the window shade on the airplane and reality shone in the cabin. I saw…cornfields. Lots and lots of cornfields.
I arrived in the middle of summer (July 2nd to be exact) and culture shock hit me hard as I stepped off the airplane. Thick humidity snatched my breath away. Then, on the way to my aunt and uncle’s house from the airport, they took me to my first American store—Cabela’s. It was far from what I had pictured in my mind, but my excitement to be in America was still at an all-time high.
Days later, culture shock really sat in. There were times where I struggled to understand the Midwestern accent. I also had to remind myself which side of the road to drive on, (I still do).
Portion sizes of food and movie popcorn baffle me to this day, as well as the endless soda refills. For comparison, in South Africa, a large popcorn is the equivalent to a medium in the United States. And, eating out was more of a weekend activity before moving to the United States. Also, the taste of food was very different than what I was used to.
Even something as simple as greeting one another in the States took some getting used to. For example, Americans say, “Hey! How are you?” as a greeting. In South Africa, if you ask someone how they are, you opened the door to a quick conversation about someone’s physical well-being. Having access to Wi-Fi 24/7 was another strange concept. In South Africa, the only time you are connected to Wi-Fi is either at home or at work.
Additionally, going to a coffee shop and having a beverage with friends has a different meaning in the States. There are multiple unique coffee shops to choose from in South Africa, not a handful of massive chain stores. Grabbing a drink after work to watch the sunset on a patio at a bar happens more often than not. We even have a name for it: “sundowners.” In the United States, happy hours are reserved for a Friday night if we get off of work early enough, otherwise working on the weekends has become all too familiar. There are still times where I catch myself explaining to others what I mean when I say a certain phrase or when an American needs to explain to me that the Super Bowl is more than just a concert that centers around a football game.
But one of the biggest cultural shock moments happened when I first used the American healthcare system. In this experience I learned how a careless healthcare selection could change my life from good, to bad, to real ugly…then back to good!
