And what about the kids? Or reality check/challenging cultural assumptions 101

I had the good fortune to skype with my stepchildren today.  With the 9-hour time difference between California and Niger, and power outages/intermittent internet there, it is very difficult to make this happen.  But when I get to see them I am heartened to know that they are still glad to see me despite long stretches of time between sessions.  They are lovely children, ages 12, 10 and 8.  But I also feel an almost constant sense of guilt that I am not a more consistent presence in their lives and won't be until they are suddenly plucked out of everything they know and put on a plane to the USA.  And that, between now and that time, they will have to live with my husband's mother and sisters when he precedes them to the US. 

This guilt is exacerbated by the many well-intentioned questions:  wait, the kids aren't coming with him?  What's going to happen to them? What does his ex-wife think about all of this?  Of course these questions are reasonable to ask, but nonetheless they are not easy to hear over and over again.  Because when I attempt to respond to them, I realize that I am not only trying to provide a reasonable response, but am also put in the position of both translating an experience that most people in the US haven't been through and explaining a culture that most people are not familiar with.  And on top of it, I am managing their cultural assumptions.  That's a lot of work.

I am so incredibly grateful for the fleeting moments when I am talking to someone who either has an immigrant spouse, is an immigrant themselves, or has worked with immigrants.  Because I don't have to do all of this work.  I can just say, he's coming first and then we'll petition for the kids after and their response is, oh, of course.  This experience has helped me understand why it will be so critical for my husband to connect to a community of other West African immigrants when he gets here.  Because, between all of the hard, hard work of improving his English and finding a job and getting acclimated in the US, he will need those precious moments where he doesn't have to work so hard. 

So, here is the deal with the kids.  My husband has full custody of them (he has a fourth child, age 3, who is with his ex-wife).  This is the way things are in Niger:  in a divorce, customarily the man gets the kids.  This is because a) fewer women work outside of the home and therefore they do not necessarily have the financial means to support the children and b) it is much harder for a woman to get remarried if she has children with her.  Say what you want about this situation; that it's sexist and inconsiderate of women.  But also take a look at your own beliefs and understand that you're projecting them onto a culture that you most likely aren't familiar with.  And also know that, there are many aspects of our particular situation (me, my husband, his children, his ex-wife) that lead me to feel certain that the best thing for them is to be with him, and ultimately, us.

And here is the deal part 2.  My husband is already in the immigration pipeline:  this is a three-step process that, as I mentioned, takes an average of 9 months and costs anywhere from $800 to many thousands of dollars depending on which visa you choose and whether you go through the process with or without a lawyer.   So he is coming first and then when he gets here we will start the petition process for the kids.  All you have to do is multiply, say $1500 times three, and then think about the cost of three plane tickets from Niger (about $1500 a pop), and consider the cost of living in the Bay Area for a 5-person family and you'll get why they aren't coming with him.  But also know this:  it is very, very common for adults to precede children during the immigration process.  My husband and I are in absolute agreement that, given the huge rupture in their lives that moving to the US will represent, we want to be sure that they have the softest landing that we can muster.  Which means that we are both gainfully employed, that we have a house for them to live in, a school for them to go to, and support systems in place to help them learn English and acclimate, and that their father has begun to acclimate himself and can share his understanding of this country with them.  Anything less is a huge disservice.  

So, in the grand scheme of things, the year that they will spend "en famille" is a drop in the bucket.  And it's also important to know that in Niger, as in many other countries, children are raised and cared for by extended family.  The idea of a two-parent nuclear family having sole responsibility for raising children is simply not the way they do it.  And, seeing how exhausted my American friends and relatives are raising their children in a nuclear family, I would say that their system, in this case anyway, is probably healthier.  So the children will live with their grandmother and aunts, and they will be fine.  Then they will become part of an American nuclear family; I fear that this shift may be the hardest of all for them.  For all of us. 

Hopefully this post is helpful in providing a bit of cultural translation, as well as providing a bit of urging to remember that we all carry assumptions based on our cultural backgrounds, and that it's not a bad idea to question them once in a while.  Our way is not necessarily the "way it is".  And that's why our ability, in this information age, to learn more about the vast, rich diversity of the human race, is so very precious.  As complicated as it is, I am grateful to have been handed this opportunity.

Why isn't he here? Or, US Immigration 101

This is the question that I have been asked, in so many different ways, and so many different times, since my husband and I got married this past summer.  Is he here yet?  Are you bringing him to the party/picnic/event/whatever? And the answer is no.  And then I explain that petitioning for a foreign spouse is a process that can take anywhere from 7 months to several years, with an average of 9 months.  And people are shocked.

"You mean he can't just come over?  But you're married!"

I try very hard to put myself in their shoes; after all, three years ago that very probably would have been my response.  But the thing is, if you have any experience at all with the immigration process or are informed about what it entails, you understand that foreign spouses don't "just come over".  In fact, nobody (except foreign entrepreneurs with a huge wad of cash, it seems) can "just come over".  So again, I try to be empathic, but we're talking about my life here.  I'm the one who has to wait this long and explain, again and again and again and again, why my husband isn't here.   It's a reminder of how emotionally trying this process is and how frustrating it is to have to wait so long...

So one of the aims of this blog will be to explain, from my personal perspective, the immigration process.  I think it's important for those of us who have had the dumb luck to be born in the United States (and, as messed up as you may think this country is, we US citizens are still incredibly lucky--that's another topic that will get some airtime here) understand what it takes for those of us who weren't born here to "just get here".

New Year, new blog

First of all, I want to thank someone that I literally just met, Erica Pallo (The Eatable Life), for inspiring this blog.  We were talking about starting travel blogs and how hard it is to find something to write about once we get home.  And then it hit me...I definitely have something to write about:  my marriage and all of the logistical and cross-cultural twists that it has entailed and will continue to entail. 

For those of you who followed my blog during my first two trips to West Africa, I have imported those posts to this blog.  They represent my first experiences in that part of the world as well as the first two times that I spent with my future husband.

More to follow...