Finding Common Ground

By Shalene Jha

The soft clinking of dishware and stirring of coffee were among the sounds filling the backroom of El Maple hostel in Quito, Ecuador. The sun was streaming through the windows as we sat clutching our program’s cultural immersion folders. Though the moment may have seemed tranquil, a whirlwind of anxiety and expectation was twisting inside each of us. That night would be our first away from the group, away from speaking English, and away from all things American.

Shalene shares a moment with her host brother.

As the coffee cups emptied and the afternoon sun settled into evening, we waited while our host families gathered one by one on the patio. We watched, peering out of the windows, hoping to glimpse our future families. Groups of women arrived carrying their small children. A man marched forward holding a guitar to play a song for his host son or daughter. Another family carried ribbons to throw in celebration of their new guest. As we watched them chatting with one another, we began talking nervously ourselves, trying to review our manners, hoping to let go of some of our American ways and accept with great openness and love the experience we were about to embark on.

The truth of the matter, however, was that each of us was terrified, not of our future families, but of ourselves. My strongest personal fear was that I would be unable to communicate or, worse yet, offend my hosts. What if I was too frightened to share my feelings with them? What if my inhibitions prevented me from understanding them? What if, buried in my fear and narrow perspective, I failed to assimilate?

The host families entered one by one, slowly filling the far side of the room. The chatter among the students softened to a nervous buzz. We sat still, watching with wide eyes, waiting like puppies to be chosen and carried away to our respective homes. Suddenly the noise level in the room rose as our host parents called our names. The confusion grew as some families began yelling over the crowd. We all stood to make our way toward our families. Ribbons were flying and people were embracing. The two separate groups of students and families merged into a noisy blend of colors and voices.

My host mother spotted me first and called out my name hesitantly, unsure of whether my face fit the name she had been given. She was a small woman with large, brown eyes, a timid smile, and short, dark brown hair. She smiled and called my name again. I smiled nervously back at her, nodding my head as I began squirming through the crowd of moving people. Amid the mob of reaching arms, I felt her clutch my hand. My heart was pattering nervously like the hundreds of feet around me as I attempted to move closer to her. When I had finally pushed through the crowd, it was as if my host mother and I were standing alone; we looked at one another and then embraced with the force of all of the anxiety that had been building since we had first learned of each other.

Late that night, after I met the rest of the family and finished unpacking, my host mother came up to my room and sat next to me on my bed. My heart raced as I saw the onset of our first true conversation. Would she share with me as much as I was hoping to give to her?

We began talking slowly, and I stumbled along, at first struggling with even the most basic statements. But when my words failed me, or when my host mother’s words surpassed my understanding, she would laugh softly, her timid smile patiently persisting, while she repeated herself in her simplest Spanish. Two hours passed like two minutes, and I suddenly found myself engaged in our conversation about her family, passions, and commitments.

Every subsequent moment I spent with my host family was a humbling experience. Never had I dropped so many of my inhibitions and insecurities as in the attempts I made to relate to my family. For the first time, I felt completely moved by the culture and the people around me. Suddenly, understanding the perspective of others, realizing their motives, and hearing their stories that explained their emotions, and feeling their daily and lifelong story was all that interested me. My experience provided me with the knowledge that relationships are universal and all boundaries between people are nonexistent in the light of love and sincerity.

Shalene Jha majored in Biology at Rice University. She studied in Ecuador with the School for International Training’s Comparative Ecology program. Her experience with Spanish culture and tropical ecosystems led her to graduate school at the University of Michigan.