A friend of mine had a hope. A dream.
She dreamed to be able to embark upon the red, miniature, London-inspired double-decker bus that loops around our local mall in Cairo. Intended to entertain children, this bus captured her young-adult heart as well.
I am proud to say that her dream has come true.
Our group of dream makers consisted of ten young adults—mostly, but not all, expats. We range from early 20s to mid-30s, and most of us work here in Egypt in some kind of servant-minded capacity. One helps direct a school for refugees. Another few teach at a local Christian international learning center. One facilitates music and drama therapy for individuals who have experienced trauma.
But on a weekend afternoon, our group climbed the stairs of this cartoon-esque vehicle like children whose parents finally gave us permission for some fun. (Some of us climbed with more hesitancy than others.)
And, oh boy, we collected all the stares from the mall patrons: a children’s bus whose exposed second level revealed a crowded group of adults laughing like we were sitting at a comedy show of our own making.
If I’m being honest, this experience sat outside of my comfort zone. It would have been out there if I was in the US, but I felt even more discomfort here in Egypt.
Because of the cross-cultural training I’ve taken and generally because of my daily life as a foreigner, I am often trying to find ways to blend in. As Paul says, become all things to all people, yeah? I’ve taken shorts out of my wardrobe, and I’ve been given an Egyptian name to tell coffee baristas. I don’t often wear shirts supporting my college or my favorite baseball team. The mantra I repeat to myself is to try to not disrupt the systems around me . . . even if I struggle knowing how those systems work.
The truth is, however, that I will never be Egyptian. I won’t stop standing out, and no matter how long I live here, I will hear “Welcome to Egypt!” following me on the streets.
So while I will choose to wear the culture here as much as possible, I will also choose to lean into my differences sometimes. When the situation permits, I will choose fun over blending in. I will choose whimsy over solemnity.
And then the real adventure starts when I see and accept that the hospitality of Egypt is more than big enough to welcome my differences. Mall staff waved back at us as our bus crossed in front of their windows. Shoppers looked up and chuckled.
Maybe it’s not that big of a deal for us to stand out.
If anything, this experience reminded me not to take myself too seriously. It’s already weird that we have chosen to move our lives to the other side of the world—what does it matter if we lean into the absurdity a little bit more?
Don’t get me wrong. Most of the time, I think it is good, right, and important to practice the humility required to live a cross-cultural life. To not draw attention as the loud American who always has an opinion. To respect local culture and adapt to its norms.
But I also think it’s fair (and necessary) to occasionally set down that daily weight that we carry. To be silly. To have a belly laugh with friends while doing something ridiculous. It doesn’t have to be as public as riding a double-decker bus at a mall, but a pressure release valve is needed in some way or another. Maybe it’s dancing in the kitchen. Maybe it’s a movie night with the film that makes you feel most at home. Maybe it’s simply laughing at yourself for doing something culturally stupid.
Let’s not let the expectations we have for ourselves keep us from the little joys that will happen when we let loose.
What is one way that you can choose a small joy this week?
