Homesick

A letter home by a foreign exchange student.

Contest Prompt

A Dear Mom/Dad letter arrives home from a college exchange student visiting another country. At the end of the letter put in a P.S. and say ...Just kidding, Mom/Dad! I'll be home for the Holidays!

Hi Mom and Dad,

You did your best. I've led a sheltered life. Talk about homesick. I got lost out here in this big wide world. I landed in an Indian reservation school (when loosely translated) of the same name as the one we agreed I’d attend. What a cultural exchange this turned out to be. Ya-Te-Hay.

My hosts relieved me of my baggage (permanently) and I settled in to get used to the rustic charm. To fit in, I donned the loincloth offered to me and joined my new friends in the school room they call a sweat lodge.

An hour later and twenty pounds lighter they carried me out singing a healing song while slapping my face awake with branches of sagebrush. It was quite the initiation.

As you can imagine, I was more than a little confused about which fraternity I’d joined. I let that drop. It was on to the first basic class on the required curriculum, a survival course out in the wild. Alone. And I’d just started getting acquainted through sign language. I’m sorry, I just never could communicate solely in manly grunts.

It was touch and go but by the end of that week I got so lost I made a big circle and ended up surprising my tribe by tapping the medicine man on the shoulder while he was meeting with the institution's leader they call The Great Spirit. It was quite an elaborate affair.

Sadly, I never got to meet The Great Spirit. So I wouldn’t get lost again, I was tied to a stake, a fire was lit to keep me warm, and the braves (my fraternity I expect) began what I later found out was the first war dance they’d done in over a hundred years.

Things were just warming up, when a pretty young Indian maiden, tugged my wrists free from behind my back, and urged me to join her sorority party as a guest. How could I refuse? I hadn’t eaten anything but grubs and a long tailed field mouse in days, and hoped for better fare.

Come to find out, she was a real princess, the daughter of the chief. I’d caught her eye when she saw how many gifts (my possessions) I'd brought her father and wanted in on the game.

Through sign language that got quite excited when I thumbed my nose at marrying his daughter, the chief gave me one night to sleep on it and see if I wouldn’t dream up a new change of mind.

With nowhere planned to rest my weary bones, it was back to the sweat lodge. It didn’t matter that no-one else joined me or that it was no longer heated. I was sweating it out all on my own.

All was explained when the Indian Agent showed up the next morning to see what all the excitement was about. My new school was the smallest, most out of the way, Indian reservation lost in the wilds out west.

The transportation here in the states since the shutdown is deplorable. I got pushed and shoved from non flying airline, to bus, to Uber driver finally handed over to a pickup truck. The rest is history.

No, I wasn’t taken to the school you and I thought I’d attend. Something called ICE, armed masked men, got me on a fast overnight ride to Venezuela. I’m thinking the government wanted to make up for the mistake taking me to the reservation and was giving me a free vacation.

They have to lock up we party goers, we do so enjoy having a riot of a good time. My new friend Gonzales, escaped the worst of the din. We’re now exploring the mangrove forest winding its way towards the shore, where Gonzales thinks we can drug up a free ride to the states, as long as we carry a small package or two across the border.

It’s all quite exciting, a real eye opener education I’m privileged to get. I had no idea the wide world offered such a rich opportunity. With the money offered, I’ll be back on my feet. You won’t need to send money. In fact, I’ll be sending you some if all goes well.

Oops. Another change of plans. At the last instant, Gonsales lost his head (I hope not literally) when a rival group had their own foreign exchange plan for us. The last I saw of Gonsales, he was enjoying a riot of his own, yelling for me to join him, but I felt like a pill, was offered one to make me feel better, and dozed away without another thought.

It was back to sign language again. I awoke back deep in the jungle spirited away by the Warsoa, one of fifty indigenous tribes. I think I’ll ask the university you and I agreed upon for anthropology field credit when or if I ever get there.

I apologize for writing this letter on the back of my T-shirt. You’d be proud of me, I made my own ink out of native plants. They’re really quite tasty. You might try some by boiling my t-shirt into a nice broth. Be careful. The result may get you higher than a kite.

Anyway, the native plants are quite precious. The Warsoa trade them to the outside world for beads and homemade booze. I’m hoping this letter gets to you soon with that aid. I’ll be along when I dig enough roots for the cost of travel.

Guess what? I’m an honorary tribe member. I’m part of a war party going against the Yanomami. Wish me luck.

Love you,

Me

P.S. Just kidding, Mom/Dad! I'll be home for the Holidays!

Wc 964