Arkansas River Town (Chapter 1)

Leaving Beijing for the small town of Helena, Arkansas located on the banks of the Mississippi river felt cathartic. While I loved Beijing and the people of China, it was going to be a relief not to deal with crowded and smelly buses and subway trains each day. I was not going to miss the 2 hour ordeals that a simple bank visit could turn into due to communist red tape. Stares on the streets, beggars chasing me for money, and dirty alleyways were all going to be a thing of the past.

And then I arrived in Helena. I had no idea that my experience here would be that of an outsider looking in, a foreigner in my own country. Truth be told, I am more of a foreigner here than in China. Despite the language barrier of Beijing, I never really felt like I was in a foreign place. Communication was always achieved; the most uneducated Chinese person could always understand my broken Chinese. Most of Beijing could easily be mistaken for any large American city, albeit with a large Asian population.

The first realization that I was an outsider came when I first visited church in Helena. I had high hopes for church here; it was supposed to be a young and growing congregation. My mother had helped me move in that weekend and we were both a little nervous to be going to a church where we knew no one, but I might as well start now because I was going to be living with these people for at least the next school year.

Upon arrival at the church, we could not find the appropriate door. Later we did and proceeded to walk down the long, dimly lit hallway to the sanctuary. Seven people walked past us and avoided us. This was the complete opposite of the stares on crowded Beijing streets. We seemed invisible- lepers that only Jesus would dare to touch. Upon taking seats, one lady managed a brusque "Hello." I commented to my mother that I felt weird in here as if I wasn't supposed to there. We immediately headed back out the door and downtown to the local Episcopal parish to worship in what for me would be more comfortable surroundings. It was ironic that the Father that day preached on how to make people feel at home in the churches of the city- something that obviously is not a strong point here in Helena.

I gave the church a second try the next week. This week the pastor was there and he spoke as well as one elder. Later in the service the congregation was instructed to meet and greet those around them. I thought "Aha, now people will have to speak to me." They didn't. The people in front of and behind me reached their hands right past me to speak to others in front of and behind me. It was as if to say "No foreigners welcome here!" After service I grudgingly accepted an offer to eat lunch at a local restaurant with church members. I noticed most of the crowd would be about my age- great chance to meet some other young people. Again at lunch, the pastor spoke. The young people at the table disappeared into their social groups not willing to accept into their circle an outsider.

Acceptance would slowly come here but many experiences would mark my path along that road before it happened and I became a part of the community here. For now, I would have to continue to exist as an outsider- a drifter on the outskirts of the local culture.