Hey guys!
So at this point in my life I've been an exchange student seven times in six different countries. Three of those experiences have been homestays, in which I've been hosted by local families. In addition, I've become a proud volunteer and member of alumni communities of multiple programs I've participated in.
As a result, I've gotten to know a great many people who have been exchange students, who have hosted exchange students, volunteered for exchange programs and worked closely with hosted students, or have been closely involved with the exchange world in some way.
Many people that I've gotten to know over the years have had difficulties with their host families, which have at times extended as far as them having to switch host families. At times, it's a simple matter, something which takes place for simple logistical or timing issues which are out of everyone's hands, greatly lamented, and they stay in touch with the original host family in a completely peaceful manner. Sometimes their departures are fraught, dramatic, and at worst even scarring experiences. Sometimes they move down the road or just a few minutes away, and the rest of the exchange life continues relatively undisturbed as usual. Sometimes they end up moving halfway across the host country, and the host family change winds up being a defining and life-changing moment within the exchange itself, spelling a completely new chapter within it where they have to start all over again in a new town, new school, and maybe even a wholly different province or region.
Back in 2017, I participated in a program in Baku, Azerbaijan with the Critical Language Scholarship, a US State Department-sponsored scholarship whose job it is to send American university students abroad on two-month summer programs to learn critical or less-commonly taught languages, to study Turkish. I mentioned while I was there that about ten days into the program, I wound up switching host families. It was the first time that it had happened to me in three homestay programs and four exchanges total that I had completed at the time. But I only described it in vague and evasive terminology, as at the time it was quite recent and fresh, and I had been pretty shaken up by the whole experience.
Now, I want to tell my story in its entirety, so that it can be helpful and provide context to current or future exchange students on the reality of such occurrences.
When I first arrived in Azerbaijan, I was one of a few students that were hosted in families that consisted of one single, ostensibly widowed woman, whose children were grown and lived on their own. Initially, things seemed quite promising. I was worried that being hosted in a family consisting of only one person would be awkward. But she was extra nice. She treated me in a manner that was welcoming and friendly. She was unbelievably generous, always brewing scaldingly hot Azerbaijani tea and cooking me heaps of tasty food that would give a trucker a run for his money. She had a lot of very interesting perspectives, having been born and raised in Yerevan, Armenia, back when Armenia and Azerbaijan had never been to war, and each hosted large communities of each others' ethnic groups, and would talk a lot about her childhood in Yerevan and Armenian friends and neighbors she used to have when she lived in Baku. I had a lot of space in her house, and felt comfortable and at ease.
But after a few days, strange things started happening.
It became clear to me that the second room upper level of her house, where I was staying, was being essentially rented out. In the first week of my stay, several people came and went, including some that were clearly making use of the space as a sort of love motel.
Then she dropped a bombshell: She was leaving for Turkey for three weeks (almost half the program, mind you) because her daughter lived there and was getting married. She assured me that she would have relatives coming in regularly to check on me, and that she would leave loads of food ready in the fridge for me to heat up. She also advised me not to tell anyone from the program or the Azerbaijan University of Languages where I was taking my Turkish classes, so that she didn't get in trouble.
After my knee-jerk reaction of "am I a cat or something??" I decided to do exactly what she had told me not to. I called my residential director and told her about the situation. As I was taking advantage of a long weekend we had off classes for Bayram (Turkish for Eid, the end of Ramadan) and traveling to a city called Sheki up in the Caucasus Mountains in northern Azerbaijan, she advised me to relax, and that this was actually a big help, so that I could be far away while the problem was dealt with, and wouldn't have to confront her directly.
Although I enjoyed Sheki, the drama of what was going on back in Baku hung over the weekend like a dark shadow. As she was contacted, my host mother changed her story several times, namely changing to length of her trip from three weeks, as she'd originally told me, to ten days, to two weeks, over the course of several times she was contacted. She messaged me on WhatsApp, seeming crazed and frantic in her wording. The gorgeous mountain views and lush forests distracted me, but it was hard to focus.
By the time we were heading back to Baku, I'd already been given the choice between several backup host families, and picked which one I wanted to stay with. I was very open about how stressed I was about having to go back and get my things from my host mother's house, as after everything that had happened and how unpredictable she'd revealed herself to be, I wasn't sure what she was capable of anymore. The whole CLS group that year was very tight-knit and close, and people were very good about checking in, helping me with anything I needed, and assuring me that they would be there for me if I needed any further help. I felt uncertain, I felt afraid, but thanks to both the support of my program-mates and the prompt, swift, professional, and tireless response on the part of my RD and the other American Councils staff in Baku, I never felt like I was fighting that fight alone.
After I got back to Baku, my RD and another staffwoman from American Councils met me at the bus station, accompanied me to my host mother's house, and came with me to help me get my things. I'd been quite nervous the whole trip leading up to that point, and my anxiety skyrocketed once we got close, and was at a wild high when I saw her, and she was acting in a manner I'd never seen her before, as if there was a storm brewing underneath that she was barely able to hold back.
At this point, I didn't even try to maintain any semblance of order or consistency in my packing job. I threw clothes, books, everything that was mine haphazardly into my suitcase with trembling hands, wanting only to expedite the process of getting the heck out of there. The whole time I was frantically packing, she was frantically talking, trying to highlight reasons that I should be allowed to stay with her ("...look at all this space he has, where is he going to get that anywhere else?" "...he hasn't met my daughter yet, she's so amazing, he can talk to her in Turkish, Russian, English, German..."). She did seem genuinely distraught that I was leaving, and seemed to direct most of her anger at the staff for removing me, rather than me for blowing her cover, at least as far as I could tell. Though I tried to remember the logical elements of the situation - she had lied, she had tried to cover her ass, she had violated her contract, which stated that we're supposed to have at least one adult host family member staying there and breakfast and dinner everyday, she had probably only taken an exchange student to benefit from the stipend, which was not a sum to sneeze at when converted into manat, and so on. But it was still hard to think of all that seeing how distraught and desperate she seemed.
The rest was a blur. I waited with my RD in the taxi outside. My host mother was allowed to come out and say goodbye to me, and when she did, she also threw a whole lot of shade at my RD and the American Councils staffwoman. And so we drove off, and I was checked into the same hotel where we'd stayed right after arrival for the night, to then move in with my new family the next day. In spite of still knowing that I was in the right, that I hadn't done anything wrong, that I'd made the right decision by letting people know what was going on and pursuing a host family change, I still felt deeply shaken up sitting in the backseat of that taxi, staring out at the winding streets. This was uncharted territory for me, as I'd been incredibly lucky in my high school homestays and placed in kind and welcoming families that I'd never had any issues with, and I felt even more grateful in that moment that I was dealing with this sort of thing as a 21-year-old with far more experience, knowledge, and far thicker skin, rather than as a teenager far away from home in a wildly different culture for the first time. But it still shook me more deeply than I imagined it would.
My second host family made overcoming all of those difficulties wholly worth it. I stayed with a 75-year-old woman named Valide, an easygoing and kind lady with henna-red hair who cooked buttery kurabiye cookies that were crunchy, but would melt in your mouth after a bite or two, and were absolutely to die for, and her niece Subiye, a warm 25-year old with a warm smile and short, curly brown hair, who had moved in with her aunt to study to become an Azerbaijani teacher, but spoke to me in impressive Turkish. Their apartment was much smaller, but it was so much more homey. I felt welcome, and comfortable, and able to breathe metaphorically in their home, in a way I was never able to in my first Baku residence. The host family change impacted the homestay element of my experience almost universally for the better, and even besides the shadiness of everything that had happened, I felt so much happier and comfortable with them.
The reason that I'm telling this story is because I'm absolutely sure of the fact that there are exchange students out there that need to hear one like this right now, who may be struggling in their experiences, perhaps not feeling so comfortable or at ease in their host families' homes, unsure of how to proceed, and feeling like they've done something wrong. Like their experience is somehow affected or tarnished by not getting along with the family, or made less valid by this struggle. Like they've failed as an exchange student, and can no longer consider themselves wholly at home within that label.
And to let anyone out there feeling that way, that they're wrong.
Switching families is not something which diminishes your experience in any way. To anyone who is thinking of switching, in the midst of switching, or has already switched and feels negatively affected by it, know that you are valid. Rest, self care, and take time to process your feelings in healthy and restorative ways. But remember at all times that if you were reasonable, if you were willing to communicate and make compromises and grow, and it still didn't work for whatever reason, or especially if you were treated badly, it's not your fault.
If anything, you are brave and admirable to speak up for yourself, and demand the positive and welcoming homestay experience that you deserve like any other exchange student. Don't let this experience fill you with remorse or self-doubt. You are doing the right thing. This will allow you to see other sides of your host community and its environments, ones that will hopefully be far more soothing, welcoming, and supportive for you. Things will work out. This, too, shall pass.
And especially if you feel poorly treated, unsafe, if your host family is not conforming to basic elements of what's expected of them, or expecting you to hide stuff from the program, as happened with me, tell someone. Tell your RD, your counselor, a volunteer you trust, anyone who you feel comfortable telling that will be able to enact real and immediate change and get you into a better living situation as soon as possible.
And if at any point you feel truly down and out, or with no idea of what to do, know that you can always contact me. My comment sections and DM's are always open, and I am ready to listen with an open heart and without judgement.
Much love.
So at this point in my life I've been an exchange student seven times in six different countries. Three of those experiences have been homestays, in which I've been hosted by local families. In addition, I've become a proud volunteer and member of alumni communities of multiple programs I've participated in.
As a result, I've gotten to know a great many people who have been exchange students, who have hosted exchange students, volunteered for exchange programs and worked closely with hosted students, or have been closely involved with the exchange world in some way.
Many people that I've gotten to know over the years have had difficulties with their host families, which have at times extended as far as them having to switch host families. At times, it's a simple matter, something which takes place for simple logistical or timing issues which are out of everyone's hands, greatly lamented, and they stay in touch with the original host family in a completely peaceful manner. Sometimes their departures are fraught, dramatic, and at worst even scarring experiences. Sometimes they move down the road or just a few minutes away, and the rest of the exchange life continues relatively undisturbed as usual. Sometimes they end up moving halfway across the host country, and the host family change winds up being a defining and life-changing moment within the exchange itself, spelling a completely new chapter within it where they have to start all over again in a new town, new school, and maybe even a wholly different province or region.
Back in 2017, I participated in a program in Baku, Azerbaijan with the Critical Language Scholarship, a US State Department-sponsored scholarship whose job it is to send American university students abroad on two-month summer programs to learn critical or less-commonly taught languages, to study Turkish. I mentioned while I was there that about ten days into the program, I wound up switching host families. It was the first time that it had happened to me in three homestay programs and four exchanges total that I had completed at the time. But I only described it in vague and evasive terminology, as at the time it was quite recent and fresh, and I had been pretty shaken up by the whole experience.
Now, I want to tell my story in its entirety, so that it can be helpful and provide context to current or future exchange students on the reality of such occurrences.
When I first arrived in Azerbaijan, I was one of a few students that were hosted in families that consisted of one single, ostensibly widowed woman, whose children were grown and lived on their own. Initially, things seemed quite promising. I was worried that being hosted in a family consisting of only one person would be awkward. But she was extra nice. She treated me in a manner that was welcoming and friendly. She was unbelievably generous, always brewing scaldingly hot Azerbaijani tea and cooking me heaps of tasty food that would give a trucker a run for his money. She had a lot of very interesting perspectives, having been born and raised in Yerevan, Armenia, back when Armenia and Azerbaijan had never been to war, and each hosted large communities of each others' ethnic groups, and would talk a lot about her childhood in Yerevan and Armenian friends and neighbors she used to have when she lived in Baku. I had a lot of space in her house, and felt comfortable and at ease.
But after a few days, strange things started happening.
It became clear to me that the second room upper level of her house, where I was staying, was being essentially rented out. In the first week of my stay, several people came and went, including some that were clearly making use of the space as a sort of love motel.
Then she dropped a bombshell: She was leaving for Turkey for three weeks (almost half the program, mind you) because her daughter lived there and was getting married. She assured me that she would have relatives coming in regularly to check on me, and that she would leave loads of food ready in the fridge for me to heat up. She also advised me not to tell anyone from the program or the Azerbaijan University of Languages where I was taking my Turkish classes, so that she didn't get in trouble.
After my knee-jerk reaction of "am I a cat or something??" I decided to do exactly what she had told me not to. I called my residential director and told her about the situation. As I was taking advantage of a long weekend we had off classes for Bayram (Turkish for Eid, the end of Ramadan) and traveling to a city called Sheki up in the Caucasus Mountains in northern Azerbaijan, she advised me to relax, and that this was actually a big help, so that I could be far away while the problem was dealt with, and wouldn't have to confront her directly.
Although I enjoyed Sheki, the drama of what was going on back in Baku hung over the weekend like a dark shadow. As she was contacted, my host mother changed her story several times, namely changing to length of her trip from three weeks, as she'd originally told me, to ten days, to two weeks, over the course of several times she was contacted. She messaged me on WhatsApp, seeming crazed and frantic in her wording. The gorgeous mountain views and lush forests distracted me, but it was hard to focus.
By the time we were heading back to Baku, I'd already been given the choice between several backup host families, and picked which one I wanted to stay with. I was very open about how stressed I was about having to go back and get my things from my host mother's house, as after everything that had happened and how unpredictable she'd revealed herself to be, I wasn't sure what she was capable of anymore. The whole CLS group that year was very tight-knit and close, and people were very good about checking in, helping me with anything I needed, and assuring me that they would be there for me if I needed any further help. I felt uncertain, I felt afraid, but thanks to both the support of my program-mates and the prompt, swift, professional, and tireless response on the part of my RD and the other American Councils staff in Baku, I never felt like I was fighting that fight alone.
After I got back to Baku, my RD and another staffwoman from American Councils met me at the bus station, accompanied me to my host mother's house, and came with me to help me get my things. I'd been quite nervous the whole trip leading up to that point, and my anxiety skyrocketed once we got close, and was at a wild high when I saw her, and she was acting in a manner I'd never seen her before, as if there was a storm brewing underneath that she was barely able to hold back.
At this point, I didn't even try to maintain any semblance of order or consistency in my packing job. I threw clothes, books, everything that was mine haphazardly into my suitcase with trembling hands, wanting only to expedite the process of getting the heck out of there. The whole time I was frantically packing, she was frantically talking, trying to highlight reasons that I should be allowed to stay with her ("...look at all this space he has, where is he going to get that anywhere else?" "...he hasn't met my daughter yet, she's so amazing, he can talk to her in Turkish, Russian, English, German..."). She did seem genuinely distraught that I was leaving, and seemed to direct most of her anger at the staff for removing me, rather than me for blowing her cover, at least as far as I could tell. Though I tried to remember the logical elements of the situation - she had lied, she had tried to cover her ass, she had violated her contract, which stated that we're supposed to have at least one adult host family member staying there and breakfast and dinner everyday, she had probably only taken an exchange student to benefit from the stipend, which was not a sum to sneeze at when converted into manat, and so on. But it was still hard to think of all that seeing how distraught and desperate she seemed.
The rest was a blur. I waited with my RD in the taxi outside. My host mother was allowed to come out and say goodbye to me, and when she did, she also threw a whole lot of shade at my RD and the American Councils staffwoman. And so we drove off, and I was checked into the same hotel where we'd stayed right after arrival for the night, to then move in with my new family the next day. In spite of still knowing that I was in the right, that I hadn't done anything wrong, that I'd made the right decision by letting people know what was going on and pursuing a host family change, I still felt deeply shaken up sitting in the backseat of that taxi, staring out at the winding streets. This was uncharted territory for me, as I'd been incredibly lucky in my high school homestays and placed in kind and welcoming families that I'd never had any issues with, and I felt even more grateful in that moment that I was dealing with this sort of thing as a 21-year-old with far more experience, knowledge, and far thicker skin, rather than as a teenager far away from home in a wildly different culture for the first time. But it still shook me more deeply than I imagined it would.
My second host family made overcoming all of those difficulties wholly worth it. I stayed with a 75-year-old woman named Valide, an easygoing and kind lady with henna-red hair who cooked buttery kurabiye cookies that were crunchy, but would melt in your mouth after a bite or two, and were absolutely to die for, and her niece Subiye, a warm 25-year old with a warm smile and short, curly brown hair, who had moved in with her aunt to study to become an Azerbaijani teacher, but spoke to me in impressive Turkish. Their apartment was much smaller, but it was so much more homey. I felt welcome, and comfortable, and able to breathe metaphorically in their home, in a way I was never able to in my first Baku residence. The host family change impacted the homestay element of my experience almost universally for the better, and even besides the shadiness of everything that had happened, I felt so much happier and comfortable with them.
The reason that I'm telling this story is because I'm absolutely sure of the fact that there are exchange students out there that need to hear one like this right now, who may be struggling in their experiences, perhaps not feeling so comfortable or at ease in their host families' homes, unsure of how to proceed, and feeling like they've done something wrong. Like their experience is somehow affected or tarnished by not getting along with the family, or made less valid by this struggle. Like they've failed as an exchange student, and can no longer consider themselves wholly at home within that label.
And to let anyone out there feeling that way, that they're wrong.
Switching families is not something which diminishes your experience in any way. To anyone who is thinking of switching, in the midst of switching, or has already switched and feels negatively affected by it, know that you are valid. Rest, self care, and take time to process your feelings in healthy and restorative ways. But remember at all times that if you were reasonable, if you were willing to communicate and make compromises and grow, and it still didn't work for whatever reason, or especially if you were treated badly, it's not your fault.
If anything, you are brave and admirable to speak up for yourself, and demand the positive and welcoming homestay experience that you deserve like any other exchange student. Don't let this experience fill you with remorse or self-doubt. You are doing the right thing. This will allow you to see other sides of your host community and its environments, ones that will hopefully be far more soothing, welcoming, and supportive for you. Things will work out. This, too, shall pass.
And especially if you feel poorly treated, unsafe, if your host family is not conforming to basic elements of what's expected of them, or expecting you to hide stuff from the program, as happened with me, tell someone. Tell your RD, your counselor, a volunteer you trust, anyone who you feel comfortable telling that will be able to enact real and immediate change and get you into a better living situation as soon as possible.
And if at any point you feel truly down and out, or with no idea of what to do, know that you can always contact me. My comment sections and DM's are always open, and I am ready to listen with an open heart and without judgement.
Much love.
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