The date is February 22nd 2011, I’m standing in queue at Auckland International Airport. I remember feeling a mixture of exhaustion and relief that my journey was nearly over. I clutched the pieces of paper in my hand, making sure they were arranged in the correct order that I would need to present them in. The atmosphere was bustling with people and the sound of luggage wheels rolling on the floor. It felt as if the entire world had converged in one place.
As I handed an assortment of documents to an older gentleman behind the plexiglass booth, he exclaimed, "Malawi! I don't think I've ever seen one of these passports before." At least, that's what I thought the immigration officer said as he spoke a little bit too fast for me to understand. I glanced around the terminal and quickly realised the speed with which he spoke was not a unique quirk but a part of the kiwi accent! I tuned back to the officer as he excitedly stated something before handing me back my passport. I still couldn’t understand the accent so I just gave a big silent smile and nodded. He smiled back.
A year prior to arriving in New Zealand, I made the decision to leave my place of birth, Malawi, in search of independence, and a place to stand on my own. My only prerequisites were that this new place had to be English-speaking and as far away from home as possible. New Zealand emerged as the perfect suitor.
My ticket to the Land of the Long White Cloud would come in the form of a scholarship to attend Lincoln University in Canterbury. Whilst I was vaguely familiar with the concept of culture shock, I did not appreciate that a language in common (English) was barely halfway to bridging the gap in my cultural understanding of my new home. Actually even the language proved to be a challenge.
The first job I worked in New Zealand was unloading freight containers at Mainfreight. Everyday after a couple of hours unloading bags of horse food, my supervisor would turn off his forklift and declare it was time for us all to take a 10min smoke break. My co-workers would then make their way to the staffroom. I always stayed behind when they went off because, well I wasn’t a smoker. After I’d had a couple of weeks on the job my supervisor asked me why I never took breaks like everyone else? I didn’t want to offend Sam or come off judgemental so I bashfully responded that I’m just not a smoker is all sir. “Oh no, no, no, no” Sam sputtered in a half giggle. “Smoko, is just a break, you don’t have to be a smoker to take a break. You should take breaks!”. This was just one of the many many misunderstandings. I’m not sure if I can even call it lost in translation as I was almost certain I was speaking the same language.
It even took me a while to get my head around acknowledging and greeting people. When working at a freight depot you’re floating in the middle of a steady flow of forklifts, vans and trucks coming and going. Like synchronised swimmers everyone’s weaving past one another sharing pleasantries like a rehearsed musical. I remember the first time I walked past a truck driver named Bruce during his morning pickups and he said “how’s it going?”. This stopped me in my tracks to gather my thoughts before I could share what was going on in my life at the time. Before I could begin sharing with Bruce what had been on my mind I noticed he was gone. He wasn’t really asking a question he was just saying hi.
The next time I saw Bruce walking in for his morning pickup. I zeroed in on him and slowly drove my forklift his way. Like clockwork he looked over to me and hollered “how’s it going mate”. The moment I had been anticipating had come. In slow motion I could feel my head flicking up to exhale “living the dream mate…living the dream”. Bruce responded with a wink as I my electric forklift zipped around the corner. I cracked the code and I felt smug about it all day.
I came to New Zealand to find my independence, which I did, but I found more than that. I found that the grass wasn’t greener but it was different. I found that I can celebrate and embrace that difference. I found growth. I found out that aioli on chips is just as terrible as it sounds. I found another home.