Now I know a little more about making jumps and taking hard landings.

“It’s definitely overwhelming” — assurances come from many of the people I meet. They’re consistently impressed that I’m so new to the African continent. Expats and locals are the same. They’re excited for my stay here, and equally sympathetic about the culture shock.

I landed after a 24 hour itinerary carrying my 50L backpack. I said no to a border official asking for a tip. I couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a bribe and he didn’t even fill in my form correctly. I rushed into an Uber because the driver was yelling “faster, faster!” He laughed as we sped away. He said that a policeman was walking over and looking for trouble.

While I unpack at my new home I realize I’ve caught a cold. The jet lag didn’t help.

I’d like to think I’ve had it rough but it hasn’t been too bad, just unexpected.

Culture shock is real, and things are very different around here. There are power outages. There’s a drought, which means water outages. The faces I see everywhere are what not what I’m used to. Private property is always gated and every mall enforces security checks. Doctors have been on a nation-wide strike for over a month now. These things reminded me that I was traveling and I took them in stride. Because I like traveling.

The small things tired me out. Things like being out of breath at the top of a staircase because it’s 1,600m above sea level. Wondering if the way I say “mambo” or “asante” sound empty. Supressing my feelings of concern every time a soldier walks by with a rifle. These things made me anxious for the next day. It was a fun kind of anxiety but this was yet another step up from the places I’ve been to before. This wasn’t a weekend getaway and this new world would be home for four months.

More than usual, I wanted to spend some weekend days at home, doing nothing.

It felt like waiting for the day you finally feel better after being sick. Of course, I fought my instincts and pushed myself to make plans. I would adapt eventually. I also knew that it could take a very long time to get over, or that I might never adjust completely.

So I did stuff. I hiked, climbed rocks, and did yoga. I went to events, had dinners, and met people. I hung around the kitchen to make small talk with my roomates. I had beers and struck up awkward conversations.

Immersing myself in everything really pushed things along. As I saw more of the city and heard the stories of more people, I became comfortable. It also helped to realize that the expats I met have had similar experiences.

We’re not the only ones. Immigrating as a child, I’ve never given much thought to the feelings my family had to cope with and the courage they built. The small taste I’ve gotten still can’t begin to compare to their challenges. Knowing this, my admiration continues to grow for the millions of people going through this process right now. They’re in a gamble to write personal legends and some have bet their lives on it. Stakes are high and enduring the shock of a new world is only a small part of the challenge.