L'Exchange with France

Taking part in an international exchange changed my life in ways that would be impossible to capture in such a small piece of writing. Therefore, I won’t try, instead, I will try to give you a taste of the experience so you will try it and know for yourself.

We shall not cease from exploration

and the end of all our exploring

will be to arrive where we started

and know the place for the first time. - T.S. Elliot

I agree. A good journey is completed when one returns to the point at which one started. The starting point doesn’t change, but it seems different to the traveler. I experienced this when I went to Europe last summer.

First, let me tell you a little bit about myself. I have several neurological disabilities that made it difficult to learn to read and write. I had to repeat the first grade. I also had trouble with coordination. I couldn’t balance on one leg, let alone ride a bike. I couldn't catch, and really didn’t do well in sports of any kind. Once I learned to read, I was able to eventually succeed in school. I discovered that I could do well in any setting if I simply tried to “over-learn.” I went to an excellent summer camp, Camp Winnarainbow. There, I didn’t just learn to catch, I learned to juggle. They didn’t teach bike riding, but I was able to leave camp riding a unicycle. Camp Winnarainbow teaches kids to live life with grace and joy. It teaches taking risks in a safe environment. It teaches listening, being compassionate and trying to understand the perspectives of others. 

By the time I got to high school, most of my teachers didn’t even know I had any learning issues. The one who did was Katherine, mon prof de français. I had so much trouble learning French. I was easily at the bottom of the class. Even though I was struggling, I was able to pass the class the first year and move on to the next level. By the second year, I was slowly getting better in the classroom. But, it was like learning a code, not like learning a language.

In December, my parents told me that they read in a parent newsletter that a French student was looking for an exchange that summer. The post was made by Sylvie, a young woman in her 20’s. She had stayed with the French family, when she was 16. She spent a semester in their home in Nîmes. Now they were asking her to find a host family for their daughter, Anne-Sophie. She would stay with a U.S. family for a few weeks and then the host sibling could go stay with her family for a few weeks in France. I was skeptical. No one likes being put in situations clouded with activities they are bad at. That is what I thought I would experience if I went to France. Even though it seemed like a risk I didn’t want to take, I remembered the lessons I had learned at Camp Winnarainbow. I remembered that it was important to take risks, to leave my comfort zone, and to stay engaged. We had dinner with Sylvie and she conveyed to the French family that we were nice and we prepared to host Anne-Sophie.

A few months passed before Anne-Sophie arrived. In those months, we tossed a few emails back and forth. She tried to write in English, and I tried in French. All I learned about her is that she was “keen on sports.” Not my favorite activity. She probably learned even less about me.

Then she arrived. She stayed with Sylvie for the first weekend. Then we went to pick her up. The first day was hard. We met at Sylvie’s apartment. Sylvie had to go back to work, so Anne-Sophie, my dad and I all went out to lunch. Communicating anything was very tricky. We had to ask my dad for help in everything we said (my dad speaks French well). Afterwards, my dad had to go back to work. The plan was that I would give Anne-Sophie a tour of Berkeley. We walked around for two and a half hours. We communicated that she had two cats. They had names. She had a sister and a brother. Either her cats or her siblings had Russian names. I wasn’t sure.

Over the next few weeks, things got easier. I took her to a rock concert. We spent a lot of time getting around on bikes. We saw many tourist sites, went to a baseball game, went to many of my favorite spots, and hung out with my friends.

There were some funny interactions. One time when we were on BART, our bay area subway system, I saw a free seat and wanted to tell Anne-Sophie she could “sit down over there” I knew how to say, “you can,” « tu peux, » I knew how to say “there,” « là, » I just didn’t know the verb “to sit.” It was time to guess. I knew the word for “chair,” « chaise.» So, I tried to turn it into a verb by saying, « Tu peux chier là. » « Chier » is a verb though. It means to s•it, not to sit.

Her three weeks in California went by at what seemed like lightening speed. Before I knew it, we were on a plane headed for Spain (her family stayed in a small village there on some vacations). At some point over the Atlantic Ocean I started to be a little nervous. The idea that I really had to rely on my limited knowledge of the French language to communicate was frightening.

After landing, getting the bags, meeting Anne-Sophie’s parents, and taking the two hour drive to the village, I was exhausted and sweaty. All I wanted to do was take a shower and sleep. Unfortunately, it was noon. Her entire extended family seemed to be there. There were one sibling, two grandparents, three cousins, and an aunt. They were all very excited that we were there. Only her aunt Corinne spoke any English. I don’t remember much more of that day. I do remember being very excited to sleep.

The time in Spain went well in general. Even though I caught a cold on the second day, I was making great progress in French. Having Anne-Sophie’s aunt there was great because most of my interactions had to be in French but I could have a break or some help sometimes.

After a week it was time to take the train to France. We went to Perpignan to meet Anne-Sophie’s parents who had left Spain earlier. Then, we drove to Les Landes, All the way across France by the Atlantic Ocean. They had friends there. We stayed there for a few days then went all the way back to Nîmes, where we stayed for the rest of the visit.

Every day felt like a great challenge. The way I had learned to be was not correct in France. After I was sick, I got a sinus infection. I was always sniffling, and the French find that rude. I had to re-learn to eat, drink, breathe, swim, and live in France. I even assumed a new name. The French can’t really say, “Zeke,” so I went by my middle name, Alexander, or Alexandre in French.

With the new name, I started to take on a new identity. When we were in the US, I told Anne-Sophie that I wouldn’t play sports in France, or dance, or really swim much. I was bad at all those things, so I was afraid to do them. Zeke never did do them. But, Alexandre could do things Zeke would never think of.

In France, I picked up a new moyen d’être. A new way of being. Even through all the discomfort, there was a joy that I didn’t understand until I was sitting in the airplane flying back across the Atlantic.

From an early age, I got used to being an outsider. Most of the time, I learned that it hurt. I think that a lot of the pain in the world comes from people not understanding that we’re all outsiders. For me, the exchange was the first time being an outsider was rewarded. My differences weren’t just tolerated, they were explored. Cultural exchanges bring out a common humanity in everyone. For me, the trip taught me to accept parts of myself that I’d been trying to hide for far too long.

This article was solicited and edited by the NCDE, and a version of it to be published in the National Youth Leadership Network online newsletter.