What it means to be a foreigner

Just two months into my time in France and a wave of loneliness hit me like never before. Winter was in full swing and even though I had watched Western Christmas movies with snowy scenes, I found myself unprepared for the intense cold.  

The sun barely made an appearance and even if it did, it was plastic, just for aesthetics and not warmth. Daylight didn’t arrive until around 8 a.m. and it faded away as early as 5 p.m. 

We woke up to rain showers most days, and we were lucky if they didn’t last all day. The streets felt empty and quiet because almost everyone had a car there. The few people I did encounter on the road were bundled up, each focused on keeping warm. 

With hardly any friends aside from my colleagues, it felt so sad to return to my lonely apartment. I didn’t even know the name of the neighbour next door let alone see them. 

Every day, I had to keep reminding myself that the reason I got up for work every morning was because of the kids I was teaching English. Sure, they could be tiresome at times, as kids often are, but they generally brightened my day. 

When I arrived in class, they were always so excited to see me. The younger ones would run up, shouting my name from afar, and wrap me in their tiny yet warm hugs. Some gave me bisous (french word for pecks) and others just wanted to hug me forever.  

I felt valued, seen, and loved—even if it was just kids being kids. 

We played games both in and out of the classroom, and I read them stories, making funny faces and mimicking voices. We sang along to music videos, and I found so much joy in being carefree with them. Maybe it was because my inner child was just as happy to come out and play. 

They would tell me stories and ask innocent questions like, “Why don’t you have a car?” or “Do you have a boyfriend?” 

One day, as I was leaving school, a lady I had seen around but never spoken to approached me. She said, “My son, Ethan, asked me to invite you for Christmas because you’re here alone, and your family is back in Kenya.” 

To say I almost shed a tear would be the absolute truth. Out of all the million things any kid would think of during Christmas, this six-year-old boy thought about me. He saw through the loneliness I was trying to hide and became a messenger of good news.

But even before this sweet invitation, I had met some amazing people during those first two months. My colleagues at school were incredibly accommodating. 

When I arrived in France, one of them hosted me for a week. This gesture was really nice and soothing, especially given how foreign everything felt. They later on showered me with gifts, and bundles of stuff to help me feel comfortable as I settled in my apartment. 

They invited me to dine with them, go out with them, and even during the vacations, they would always check up on me. 

All this made me realize that good people exist all around the world. 

I expressed my gratitude to them, but sometimes I felt I didn’t show it well enough because there was always this overwhelming wave of sadness, lingering over me. Even when I was in their company, I often found it hard to join their discussions unless someone asked me a direct question.

At my place of residence, we often had activities like dinners together, hiking, and painting. But even while doing these things, I joined in mainly because I didn’t want to seem snobby and because, honestly, I had no other friends in that town. Them and my colleagues were the closest people I could lean to. 

It became clear that during these months of settling in, I was really struggling with cultural integration. With every meeting, I would leave, sighing in relief, thanking God that I had made it through yet another one.  

All of this weighed on me because I felt guilty for feeling sad and lonely in the company of people who had been nothing but good to me.  

Talking to my family always made me feel less alone, but it felt tiresome and boring to tell them or my friends the same problems every day. Sometimes I felt, they might not fully comprehend my struggles, and that was okay. Even when they encouraged me, I’d be okay for a day or two, and reality hit again.

Plus, given that everyone back home knows you’re abroad and expects you to be happy, it’s understandable that there might be a disconnect. We’re living different lives, with me as an adapting foreigner.

Amidst all this, the kids became a significant source of relief for my loneliness. They weren’t trying to be nice to me; they were simply being themselves, and that provided me with a genuine sense of comfort.  

Kids are angels, that’s a fact we can debate later! 

And not to forget, I had a wonderful Christmas holiday. This time round, I left with a heart of contentment and I guess that marked the beginning of better days. God bless Ethan, his mom, and their family. 

My advice to my past self would be: settling into a foreign country doesn’t happen overnight. Don’t be hard on yourself if, after three months, you still feel out of place. It takes more time than that.  

Be patient with yourself; you’re in the process of shifting from your familiar life back home to your new environment. Your mind, body, and heart are still adjusting to these changes, and until they align, it’s completely okay to feel sad and lonely.