The Only American in the Room

Outside of our small church planting team, I have only seen one other American in my time here. She was a New Yorker that I ran into on the street, and I think I scared her away with how excited I was to meet her. 

Because of the European travel ban for Americans, it sincerely feels like we're the only Americans in this country and even continent. This is usually the ideal situation I dream about when I'm in the states. I love being the only American in the room because it's that richer of an opportunity to learn about other cultures. I love hanging out with international students, trying new foods, and listening to music in other languages. It's literally my hobby. 

But I have to admit that I now crave the presence and companionship of people from my home country. I never understood this before coming here. I was always a proponent of diversity and having all people groups, nationalities, and ethnicities together in the same place. While I most definitely still am for this, I now understand the other side: being surrounding by people that are from your home country. It's a comfort. It's a matter of being understood on a level that others can't. Most of my friends in this country haven't even set foot in the US, so when I meet someone who has even traveled to the states, that's even exciting to me. They understand my context. They know where I'm coming from, and therefore, they know me a little better. 

I've recently started my new Spanish class, and just like my last class, I'm the only American in the room. I have to represent my whole massive nation and carry it on my shoulders whenever America comes up in class. Whenever Donald Trump or anything even related to North and South America is mentioned in class, everyone looks to me. It's a lot of pressure, and I've started to like this privilege less and less as time goes on.

On the first day of class, I was hopeful when I saw a girl that looked and sounded American (when she spoke Spanish at least). I found myself analyzing everything this girl did, so excited at having a possible American companion in my class. When she introduced herself, I was disappointed to find out she was British. This discovery was disappointing but not totally disheartening, and I found myself still wanting to talk to her more than anyone else in the class. Even the simple existence of our countries' connected history and language was enough of a common denominator for me to want to connect. 

This week, I intentionally dwindled after class with the goal of talking to her and another Irish girl. We ended up walking out together, and it wasn't long before this English friend exclaimed "I have been thinking 'I've got to talk to Hannah because she's an English speaker!'" in her heavy English accent.

I was ecstatic. We both felt the same way.

This simple reminder of "home" was a beautiful, beautiful thing to me. We literally have nothing in common except our heart languages, and honestly, that was enough for me. 

I've discovered in this year away from home that I do crave to be around people like me. And that's okay.

However, right now in the Protestant church in Spain, the opposite is happening: there are not enough Spaniards for them even to connect with each other. There are plenty of Americans, Latinos, and other internationals, but there are so few Spanish Protestants in Spanish churches that they literally can't even have that person to relate to within their own country. 

And that's not okay.