How To Not Change Your Name

I fully advocate for winter weddings.

I realized there is a piece of my life that pertains to living overseas that I've never recorded here. So here is that story.

I got married December 2014. I always thought I'd marry someone other than an American. I pictured myself with someone from another continent, eventually earning duel citizenship, taking my children across multiple countries to visit their very different sets of grandparents. For someone with my life history, it seemed inevitable.

But I married someone from Pennsylvania. Turns out this is easier. And he's an amazing partner.

But I didn't change my name. Despite the convention. Despite the fact that the vast majority of Millennial women change their names. Despite a religious background avidly suggesting that women must change their names to observe interpretations of "submissiveness." I didn't change mine.

I started thinking about this in Cambodia. Around the same time I began experiencing gender discrimination and started to critically engage with issues of gender. I eventually embraced the term "feminist" because I believe in the equality of the sexes, I believe I should have equal opportunities, believe I should be paid the same, and I believe childcare should be affordable.

But that's not the whole reason I kept my name. I kept it because first, I love my name. It's a funny sounding Eastern European name. It's only two syllables and fits neatly on visa entry and exit forms. It has a good ring with my first name. Secondly, I've called 15 places home (upgraded to 16 since Liberia). You only have to read a few posts here to know that my story is complex. I don't have a place I call home. I'm a nomad. My life is full of change and uncertainty.

But I've always had my name. I have an amazing family who have shared that adventure and that name. And if everything else is changing around me and I myself seek change, well...I need the consistency of that Eastern-European name. My name gives me a comforting sense of grounding and home.

Besides. I didn't marry a "Smith." I would have upgraded to a three-syllable funny sounding Germanic name with a "z" in the middle. People occasionally ask how my partner feels about my decision. My partner decided his family name was important to him and I didn't ask him to change it. He extended the same courtesy to me.

This is one story of how being a nomad affects you in unexpected and surprising ways. This story deserves to be told because there's no shame in having an abnormal life abroad. There's no shame in choosing your name, or choosing not to change your name. There's no shame in naming your needs, or the fact that your needs are different from other global nomads. It's a process to learn to be comfortable with yourself, your name, and your calling. I'm on that journey everyday. And I'm happy to be on that journey with an funny Eastern European name. While my Germanic-named partner tags along.

How to Make Liberia Work: Six weeks

After six weeks in Liberia, I don’t have too many discoveries to share. I go to work, I return home to eat and sleep. There isn't much to do, therefore few pictures to share or posts to write. I don't have mastery of the culture yet, therefore few interesting things to share. 

I find myself reflecting constantly about this place in relation to other places I've lived. I haven’t lived in Africa since early 2009 (see those older Zim posts). I've never been to West Africa. I've never worked in Africa. So my most recent point of comparison was Cambodia. And Liberia doesn’t match up to Cambodia. I decided this yesterday. As an expect working in the development sector abroad, Cambodia is significantly superior.

Liberia (like Cambodia) is post-conflict. However, Liberia’s post-conflict is fresh from the late 1990s. The UN peacekeeping operation withdrew only June 2016 and there is anxiety about security and this transition from Liberian colleagues. Like so many countries, it was a beautiful developing country once, with strong connections to the United States. Liberia was created as a “homeland” for African Americans in the 1800s, one of Africa’s first democracies, later growing into a prosperous--if inequitable--country, an exporter of iron and rubber.

Now, there’s really nothing left. It hasn’t recovered. Everything is imported right down to tomatoes, making cost of living the highest in West Africa. Wealth is measured by how many meals you can eat per day; one or three. There is Monrovia, and nothing else. Even Monrovia is fairly small by national capital standards though we have at least 15 good restaurant options.

By and large, life isn’t hard for me as resident. But there are no motorbikes, it’s costs hundreds to thousands to travel to the nearest country or Europe, there isn’t vacation infrastructure (i.e. beaches and resorts), everything from frying pans, to dinner, to fruit is ridiculously expensive. While on a day-to-day basis, life isn't hard, it's also not particularly fun or easy. 

After six weeks, I'm beginning to see why people don't particularly love it here. I don't think I particularly love it here either. But I have several things going for me that I hope will sustain some of the challenges while I learn and grow both personally and professionally; access to my Virginia library's ebooks, my podcasts and coloring books, a few board games, and knowing this is a nine-month contract. I can make anything work for a year.

How I moved to Liberia

The easiest way to move to Liberia, is simply to get a job.

And I did!! After over 120 job applications, being a final candidate on multiple occasions, after six months telling myself to be patient without being patient, I did get a job. In Liberia. (FYI this is common story in my field. We find employment. It just takes forever and we occasionally experience self-loathing.)

I work with an international nonprofit specializing in good governance and post-conflict reconstruction. I'm a project manager on a nine-month grant extension. Much of my job entails pieces of previous work; partners, evaluation, proposal/grant writing, being the timely one. I've wanted to work with this group for years. They were literally number two on my list. I could honestly not be luckier. And frankly, I'm really happy not to be in South Sudan or Somalia.

The appeal of Liberia was that my family lived here. Or rather they did. My mom and brothers returned to the States six weeks before I moved here. My dad left seven days before I arrived. This didn't really bother me until I arrived, which is when it truly sank in how tantalizingly close this opportunity came to fruition. However, I'm hugely proud of their new chapter in life and will wait a few more years for us to share cities again.

This new chapter also entails bringing a partner. I've never brought a partner before! Six years together, I'm finally living abroad with my partner. He was warned prior to our union he might live in some uncomfortable places, and warned again prior to departure. He hasn't had a meltdown yet. I'm crossing my fingers.

After 2.5 years in the States, I wondered how I'd feel after going abroad again. I truly did adapt into my roles and home in Virginia. It felt natural and effortless even. I wondered if perhaps I had lost "it;" that misunderstood yet unmistakable part of myself that lives a normal life in abnormal places. It was a strange feeling. But I don't think I did. Almost as soon as I arrived, it all felt familiar. The place is different, but the struggles, the background, they are all the same. It felt like returning home. It's a lifestyle I know and feel comfortable navigating. It's a place I'll call home for now, and I'll learn to love the skies I'm under.

This Post is for Virginia (Part 2)

Virginia or West Virginia? Amazing regardless.

This space already documented one farewell from Virginia. Now it will document a second.

Virginia Part 2 was a great 2.5 years. I love the Shenandoah Valley. I hope to call the area home again. There are mountains, friendly faces, wide open spaces, family close by and excellent food. I think a part of me will always value this place. It's comforting to know that I can make my home in North America and there are communities of people empathetic to my narrative.

During these 2.5 years, a lot of life happened. I finished my graduate degree. I finally got a real drivers licence. I cultivated professional skills and solidified my professional ambitions. I worked a lot of retail; first as a cashier at a grocery store, then later adding sorting clothes at a local thrift shop to my skill set. I made friends. I joined an excellent congregation. We married off my sister, and later a brother-in-law. I watched as my family transitioned back to the States after 18 years abroad. I road tripped to Ohio (never moving there), and North Carolina (much better). I visited a great friend in Michigan. My partner and I cemented our relationship through engagement, marriage and even celebrated our first anniversary. We watched the USWNT dominate, though still struggling to dominate the equal pay game. I cried after the last Hunger Games film. We road a lot of bike. We discussed what we wanted next and what professional opportunities we should pursue...over and over again.

During the last few months I found myself wondering if I was a lifer, like I've written here before. There are so many things I love about the United States. It's so easy to slide into routines. These are my people by birth. Whatever cultural heritage and ethnic background I hold is tied to the States. This is the place where I have roots and the privilege of working without a visa. Is this where I want to belong?

All our anguished pondering came down to what professional opportunities opened up. And right now, that doesn't include the Shenandoah Valley. For me, it's the opportunity to call a 10th country home (which means resurrecting the blog). For my partner, it's a whole new world.

So again, farewell Virginia. We leave ever so grateful. We leave perhaps regretfully. But like everything else, it's just for now.