An American in Belgium

There’s nothing worse than waking up in a freezing house. I was warm and cozy in my bed today, bundled up and buried in my pillows, but it was cold beyond my bed. When I finally convinced myself to get up, I tucked the purple afghan around me and looked out the window only to see the hovering fog. The weather in Belgium is not unlike the British countryside or northern California: cold, gray, and rainy. But it’s so unbelievably breathtaking that I can’t imagine being anywhere else.

It’s raining now too. The steady drizzle lazily drips from the sky as if it’s not quite sure it wants to fall. My host father has turned the radiator on, and my host mum has just handed me a mug of steamy hot chocolate. In Belgium, it is a common belief that chocolate makes everything better. After being here for a month, I’m beginning to agree.

The unfamiliar sounds of Arabic are drifting from the television. My host father is Tunisian and enjoys watching television in his first language. I can say exactly three words in Arabic, and when I murmured a soft “Insha’Allah” one night during dinner, he beamed at me and offered some French words of praise I didn’t understand. At least, not yet.

My host mother is Spanish, and for the first few days, Spanish was my only means of communicating. Needless to say, I was thanking God for my high school Spanish teacher. Even now, when I don’t know how to say a word in French, I ask my host mum, “Como se dice esto en francés …” (“How do you say this in French?”) There is something about learning one foreign language while using another that is exhilarating.

Belgium seems to be a very diverse place. Not only am I exposed to French, Spanish, and Arabic daily, but my “godparents” are Italian. A few students at my school and I are taking Italian classes. For native English speakers, Italian is a hard language to grasp because it is chock-full of intonations and insane rules, but I am beginning to understand.

Something about gray, dreary days makes you reflect on life. I am remembering the last rainy day I had in Belgium. I walked down a cobblestone street under an umbrella with a friend. We had just finished a day of shopping and were bundled in coats and scarves, with cappuccinos warming our hands. We reached the train station and parted with a kiss on the cheek, saying, “A tout alors.”

Something I have learned about languages and cultures is that you absolutely cannot be shy. It doesn’t matter if you aren’t sure of your grammar; ask the question or make the comment anyway. People appreciate it when you make an attempt to speak their language and they are happy to correct you when you make mistakes.

I’ve been here for a month, learning languages, living a different sort of life, and loving … well, everything. I’ve made friends, become part of a family, and have become integrated into a culture so different from my own. I may not understand everything or be able to speak French as well as I would like, but I question and I observe and I have a desire to understand.

The program director told us before we left, “You are the secret weapon to world peace.” I didn’t understand that then, but now I am beginning to. And I can’t help but wonder, if the whole world tried to understand each other, tried to learn each others’ languages and cultures … then maybe the world would know peace.