Je Suis Arrivee
I arrived in Marseille yesterday morning, a little tired, and very nervous. Since then it has been relatively smooth sailing. My host family is very cool and my French is getting me by. I don’t understand everything that’s said, particularly when spoken fast, but I can understand enough and convey enough to have a decent conversation and to contribute to the dinner table discussion. My host mom’s name is Leila. She is a second generation immigrant from Egypt with an Algerian background. She is a non-practicing Muslim. My host father is also a second generation Arab immigrant from Palestine. He is Greek-Orthodix, but from what I understand, he only practices when his mother is around. I also have a host-brother and -sister. The brother is my age and my sister is 13. She really likes Narnia, Twilight, and Harry Potter, but she also watches One Tree Hill and Grey’s Anatomy- in French of course. I think this is the perfect family for me to live with while I am studying here. I will be taking classes on Middle East politics, history, Islam, and Muslim immigration. I hope to write my thesis on the socio-economic status of Muslim Immigrants to France when I return to GW and this homestay will provide me with ample first-hand research.
This morning (Sunday the 25th) I attended my first French Mass. The Cathedral (I think it is St. Michael’s) is just 4 blocks from our flat and they have a 10:30 Sunday Mass. The Cathedral is old, probably built in the 1700’s. It is the type you often see in WWII era movies- grand columns, high ceilings, but bare, smooth, walls and interior, constructed entirely in a grayish cement material. The church seemed far too big for the small congregation, which was also very old. Not a single person at Mass was younger than I was, and there were maybe 10 people under the age of 60. Maybe. Despite this being the only Mass on Sunday and the age of the parishonners, the service itself was very casual. The priest stopped and chatted with a fw people during the opening procession and the choir director is a young Black woman who danced around a bit and clapped her hands to keep the congregation on beat. There was also a tambarine, but I couldn’t quite determine who was playing it nor where they were sitting. The church is sparsely decorated with extremely basic shrines lining the alcoves around the walls of the cathedral. I didn’t understand much of the homily but was able to follow the Mass with help from my English Sunday Missal that I brought along from home.
In it, was the translation of the opening prayer used this morning that I thought related to the feelings I have being stranded in a new culture and language that perhaps others studying abroad can relate to:
Let us pray: Pleading that our vision may overcome our weakness, Almighty Father, the love you offer always exceeds the furthest expression of our human longing, for you are greater than the human heart. Direct each thought, each effort of our life… to the peace you have promised.