The aircraft landed and soon all the passengers were gathered at the baggage-claim center. I stood there with mixed emotions. Questions flooded my mind as I waited for my baggage: Am I really prepared to live in this strange land? Will I have any friends? I stood there in the noisy crowd of people, but I felt alone.

It was my first time out of my own country.  While in Kenya I thought I was fully prepared to live in another country.  After all, who would feel uncomfortable in a place like the U.S.A.?  But the frustrations and loneliness in the busy airport were enough to make me want to return home.

I picked up my baggage and started in the direction most people were heading.  I had expected someone from the college to meet me.  But how could I identify the student even if I saw him?  That uncertainty, plus the strange faces of people all around me, almost drove me crazy.

All of a sudden, a tall man in a T-shirt and some old blue jeans stopped to greet me.  His face was not familiar, but he spoke with the tone of a friend.  “Are you Mr. J. Kaleli from Kenya?”  I nodded in acknowledgment.  He then introduced himself as Bruce and said he had come from the college to pick me up.  Together we walked to the parking lot.  In about a quarter of an hour we were at the college campus.

Diagnosis:  Culture Shock

The next day was registration.  I had never registered in this way before; so the day was both busy and embarrassing.  I felt like a fool.  The numbers beside the course descriptions confused me, and I couldn’t identify what I wanted to take.  The students were busy and no one seemed to care.  They all seemed to know their way around.  I didn’t.  At the end of the day I reflected on my first school-day experiences and found nothing good.

My first week of school was the hardest week of my stay in the United States.  I realized the uncomfortable moments in the airport were only the beginning.  Everything looked strange.  Inwardly I was struggling; outwardly my face reflected embarrassment.  I did not know I was going through the pains of culture shock.  It took me time to discover that I was no longer the respected professional schoolteacher I had been in my country; I had been made a student again too quickly.

The students at the college looked indifferent.  The professors seemed too busy to have time for an international student.  “Will anyone understand me?” I wondered.

One day in the dean’s office I struggled for an hour to pour out my burdens to him.  I could not tell why or how, but to be in the dean’s office scared me to death.  He had never had to undergo a cross-cultural experience; so it was hard for him to put on my shoes.

I left the dean’s office with my problems, not knowing whom to turn to for help.  I headed for the student center to relax.  It was crowded with students.  Wanting a quiet place to sit, I found a vacant seat at the rear.

Friendly Persuasion

I had at least an hour before I had to start the two-mile walk to the place where I lived.  I tried to relax but I couldn’t; many things were going through my mind.  Suddenly, from behind my chair I heard, “Jambo!  Bwana Jones!”  Immediately I turned and saw a young man who seemed to be concerned with no one else but me.  He introduced himself as Tim Kelty.  I had never seen him before but he told me he had lived in my own country.

Words fail to explain my feelings as Tim put his arms around my shoulders and said, “Brother, I have been looking for you.”  With these words I felt as if a heavy burden lifted from me.  Tim, a junior, had lived in Kenya for two years.  He had known some Kenyans from my own particular area.  He had even learned our own language!  What a pleasure to talk with someone who seemed to understand me.

After talking about an hour, I knew I had better leave for it was getting late.  I had begun to think about how cold it was outdoors and Tim noticed my apprehension.  When he discovered I was planning to walk the two miles to my apartment on Frost Avenue, he offered to give me a ride.  “Tim,” I said, “I am determined to walk home.”  But he was determined to provide whatever help he could.  “Ndugu tuende! (Brother, let us go),” he said.

I could not understand why Tim should be all that concerned with me.  My view of the students, whom I thought were indifferent, began to change.  Soon we were in Tim’s car.  While driving past the college gate, Tim said to me, “Jones, I want to tell you that the Kenyans accepted me and loved me as one with them.  In fact, I came to know Christ through one of my Kenyan friends, and I want to be of help to you whenever I can.”

Tim’s words were rays of love.  Yes, love to a stranger.  Even though my first two weeks in college gave me nothing to admire, yet meeting Tim changed the scene.  It did not take long for him to communicate his love to me.  Though a foreigner, I felt someone understood me.

Tim reached me and touched me with his love.  Through his help I began to adjust not only to study in a new educational system but also to the complicated and sometimes confusing U.S. culture.  I was a stranger, and Tim gladly took me in.

JONES KALELI is a doctorial student at Fuller Theological Seminary.  One of the things he likes about the U.S. is apple pie.

Copyright Information:
Reprinted from HIS magazine, January 1982 issue.