Tell me to shut up

I'll be home in two weeks. This is clearly exciting. But a small part of me is also a tad nervous about the repatriation process.

You see, I've heard quite a lot about 'reverse culture shock' - how difficult it can be to return to one's original society after spending time abroad under vastly different circumstances.

As early as my first week in Salone, colleagues who were much more experienced expats than me explained that no one would be interested in hearing much about my life here once I returned to Canada. I immediately recalled a pre-departure breakfast with my buddy Scott Sobering, in which he told me I was one of the few people that had wanted an in-depth rundown of his summer in Peru. His pre-depature training had warned of the likelihood his friends would show major excitement prior to his departure and minimal interest upon his return.

Just a couple weeks ago, JHR sent me a reintegration handbook explaining the common experience of reverse culture shock:

In an overseas culture, host nationals expect newcomers to make mistakes and be different. Most intuitively understand that foreigners will experience stress adapting to the new physical and social environment and will long for their family and friends back home. At home, on the other hand, everyone expects the returnee to fit in quickly. They are much less tolerant of mistakes and have little empathy for the difficulties of reverse culture shock - such problems are not expected or often accepted.

'Intolerant' and 'unempathetic' doesn't exactly sound like my friends and family. My gut reaction is to merely assume that the people who have a difficult time with re-immersion simply don't have as wicked cool a support base as I do.

But my Toronto boss, Carissa, confided over dinner a couple weeks ago that the relative ease with which I adapted into Sierra Leonean culture makes her think the return home will actually be the toughest part of the experience for me. Only time will tell, I suppose.

The supposed isolation that comes with stepping off that plane does make logical sense. We're talking about eight months of life developments for my friends that, despite my best efforts, I'm not fully up to speed on. Eight months of inside jokes I won't get. Eight months of incomprehensible yet somehow hilarious bar stories - except that for me they'll probably be more parts incomprehensible than hilarious.

Perhaps this very process of reverse culture shock accounts to some degree for the fact that people that live and work abroad tend to turn it into a lifestyle, spending major chunks of their adult life on far-flung shores.

One of the JHR handbook's suggestions is to find mentors that understand the difficulties of reverse culture shock. This is one area where I feel I have a leg up, having such a wealth of friends that are not only interested in the kind of work I was doing abroad, but have also done or are currently doing similar things internationally. While I'm sure most people won't have entire notebooks filled with questions for me, I will be legitimately surprised if a select few aren't reasonably inquisitive.

And as far as I'm concerned, either reaction is fine. The fact I'm trying to prepare myself to some degree for this allegedly wide-ranging reaction is by no means a commentary on the beloved people who have been reading this blog. You are all beautiful, wonderful folks, whether you want a three-sentence summary of my last eight months or a three-day one.

Rather, this is simply a note of warning. To say that, sometimes, I might start rambling about something Sierra Leonean and you might have to tell me to stuff it. And on those occasions, I'll indulge the urge by firing an email to one of the cool folks I've met here.

Eight months is by no means an eternity, but in a situation as disparate from my Canadian life as this one, it is long enough to redefine what comprises a familiar day. And it will likely take me a little time to get re-acclimatized and back into the swing of Canadian life. Your patience is appreciated.