A Family Dinner

Nikos and I received an invitation from an old family friend of his, a woman named Jocye that knew him as a boy. As I have been living on Nikos’s couch, I was given the invite to come as his friend. They would be having a dinner with their family, and that of a neighbor’s. Arriving to Joyce’s home, I was welcomed first by the scent of flowers from the garden, then by the cooking of several curries. We chatted together for a bit, and were informed that the site of the party had been moved to another house a few doors down.

I’m an American in New Zealand. I only know one person here, and a sense of nervousness pervades as we walk to the house. What I was greeted with was a combined gathering of around fourteen people from two different families, talking and cooking, all with warm smiles. It seemed to be taken as a given by everyone that I belonged there. They treated me warmly, as if I was an old friend, and not the stranger I was. Here lies a key facet of Kiwi culture; in speaking with people, they were open and honest in a way that shook me. Friendship did not have to be earned; they trusted me openly and without reservation.

I had not realized how much I am used to expecting duplicity in others. Realizing that I am conditioned to know that most of the people I am talking to have a hidden agenda of some kind, dealing with people that I could detect no such lie in was disturbing to me. I began to feel as though I am detoxifying from poisons I did not know I was taking. The old New Zealand culture is an impressive thing; this is a kind and open land.

I received numerous invitations to other gatherings, and even an offer to come stay at a house in Melbourne, Australia. It made me realize that I am only an outsider here is my own perception; everyone else knows I belong.