Homestay Life

I will put up more from Egypt, for reals. But now I'll do a little profile of my family here for people I haven't spoken with already. The people I live with are Baba age 74, Mama age 48, A1 age 15, A2 age 13 (both boys), and S age 6 (girl). Can we all say holy wow, a 74 year old with a 6 year old daughter?! And Sarah is the Filipina maid, she lives at the house and feels almost like part of the family, you know, in the unwanted stepsister kind of way...

At first it was horrendously awkward. The family agreed to host me less than a week before I moved in, and they had been getting asked by my program for years to host a student, but had always said no. Naturally I realized that I had to make sure I make a wonderful impression, and when I am nervous about doing that I get...well, you all know how I get...

I tried so hard to make good conversation when I was picked up Thursday evening, but as the father, I, and occasionally the mother sat on the terrace drinking tea, the conversation was rather stilted after a half hour or so. But we kept sitting there. And sitting. And drinking tea. And eating grapes. I was completely overwhelmed by the feeling that I was totally unwanted. But they were nice, the kids and the mom just stared at me a lot. We had dinner, watched a Jackie Chan movie, went to bed... It's possible I hated the world that night and felt like I made such a massive mistake. Then I met some friends at a cafe the next day and found out how nice all the apartments for people who had opted out of homestays were, and I really felt like I'd made the wrong choice.

On Saturday, the eldest son of my host dad (from his first wife) came over with his kids from his previous marriage, his terrifying new wife, and her parents and brother. Now this was by far my the worst afternoon of my year. The wife had this ballistic hatred of cats, and every time the family's charming kitty would come close to the windows she would look away like it was causing her physical pain and the expression on her face was way too ridiculously dramatic to not react to. Well, her brother caught me trying to hold back a smile, told her, and then she just hated me. There is something unquantifiably miserable about having the individuals sitting on each side of you talking shit about you to each other in a language you don't understand but know enough of to know they're talking about you, and it isn't nice things. Everyone pointing at me during all the conversations going on between everyone throughout the whole afternoon didn't help either. A, my 15 year old brother, kept giving me these pitying, I'm sorry you have to be here for this looks.

But finally it ended. Later when I was playing with Katrine, the cat, and my host dad brought up and laughed about how his daughter-in-law hates cats. It felt good to know I wasn't the only who thought it was entertaining. And by the way, the cat acts like how cats are supposed to!! Meaning, she will actually sit in my lap when I place her there, unlike some cats I know.

Sunday was infinitely better. It seems I just needed to start class to feel like I was doing something with myself. Every day I feel more and more happy at the house, and comfortable with interacting with everyone. The kids are so much fun to be around. They aren't terribly noisy or rowdy, they are just very sweet, and I feel like they like having me around, which of course makes me happy.

The house itself is incredible. The dad built it before the city had expanded this far, and so it is on a pretty big lot with gardens and assorted fruit trees. The outside looks like an Italian villa, vines decorating the walls, terraces and patios galore. The inside is comprised of two large floors; the main one is where my room, the boys' room, master bedroom, office/library, living room with big comfy couches and the tv, huge kitchen where we eat when there aren't guests over, plus the massive elaborately decorated sitting room with the main dining area. It is so much bigger than I was expecting!! On this floor there are also three full bathrooms! And downstairs are the maid's room, the laundry room, a spare room, another enormous sitting room, yet another full bathroom, plus the gargantuan bedroom-sized shower I use due to its location next to the big sauna, which is identical in every way to the sauna at my Gold's Gym in Richmond. I was really weirded out. I feel like I am a rich high schooler; I like it.

My room is pretty big, though a lot of it is taken up by my HUGE bed. I think it is probably more than a king, it feels like the largest bed I've ever slept in, sometimes I wonder if I'll be able to find my way off. It doesn't quite feel like it's "my" room though, as I'm expected to make the bed every day and keep it very clean.

The problem I am discovering is that I am expected to sit with the parents when they have guests. But I have no idea how long I am supposed to stay! Someone will arrive, soon after one of the children will summon me to join them, I go, I shake hands, I sit quietly and try to understand what words I can pick up from the conversation, usually not many. Then I nibble some fruit, say how god I think it is, then sit quietly some more. I expect that it would be fine it if I didn't stay long, but I never know what to do, so I just sit, smiling away silently.

Last night a nice couple was there, and they didn't want any of the fruit or cookies piled high upon the table, but in that delightful forced hospitality dance they ended up finally taking some. The woman, on my right, sliced a baby cucumber in half and offered a piece to me. I did the hand wavy thing and said "la shukran" (no thank you). She just stared me in the eyes, and I was sure I could feel her saying to me, "These people are forcing me to eat this food I don't want, and you better believe you're going to help me." I am so sick of eating.