McDonald's

When I decided to study abroad, it was with the same sort of vigor that I decide most big things in my life: it was made with very little foresight and without any real knowledge of what the process might entail. The decision to study in South Africa was made by my recurring mental image of holding emaciated children in a small village, filling them with the promise of life I'd gained after 20 years; inevitably, I'd help encourage one of them to go to college or to follow his dreams. I'd uncover truths about class struggles -- oh! racism does exist, but I'd help the entire continent overcome that in a five-month span by facilitating discussion among community leaders, all without a poli sci degree -- and try all sorts of South African cuisine, including boerwors, and enjoy it. Yes, I was going to be the greatest thing to happen to South Africa. Duh. And so when I told everyone where I was studying and they scratched their heads and asked politely why the hell I wanted to study there, I had a great answer to give them.

None of these fantasies included the possibility of homesickness.

I arrived in Stellenbosch on Monday, Jan. 19, after a grueling 11-hour flight from London. Immediately, we were split up into groups and assigned to find roommates among the group of strangers. Naturally, not knowing anyone, I was paired with another unwanted girl. One suite. I pulled my suitcase and duffel bag into the un-air conditioned dorm under the hot sun of this unfamiliar country and had an hour to unpack everything before we walked in droves to our initial orientation. Maybe it was the long flight and basically pulling an all-nighter, maybe it was the stress of traveling, maybe it just wasn't a good day. All I know is, I pulled all my stuff into my 4-foot-by-5-foot room that was going to be my home for the next five months and broke down. Where was Nick? Where was my mom? My sisters? Lily? Anyone?

The truth, of course, was that it was going to be quite a while before I saw any of them again -- one of those facts that had conveniently not made it into my dreams about saving the African continent. All my fantasies focused on uplifting stuff and smiles always seemed abundant -- or at least, self-fulfillment seemed a must. Alone in my beige-colored dorm room with questionable window dressing, feeling uplifted seemed as far away as my home in Fort Worth.

In the days before I left, my mom had hinted to me that, since I'd never traveled this far outside of the country, homesickness was a natural part of it. "You're going to be homesick," she had warned. "But you'll get over it." And, as with most of the times in my life where I've lacked the foresight to predict these things, I thought to myself, she's right.

My roommate was easy to get along with; she was from Rhode Island and very talkative, offsetting my quietness those first few days as we strolled around the town. While I'd initially been scornful of rooming with another American (what is this? This is study abroad, not America abroad), it was strangely comforting to talk to someone else who knew the beauty of apple pie a la mode and who remembered the Clinton-Monica Lewinsky scandals. Because, though our director had brought this up in jest, I was about ready to board the plane back to DFW because the people here said Ja and seemed to have a ridiculous fascination with meat.

That first day, as we were pulling into town, Mike (the program director who had picked us up at the airport) had pointed out the McDonalds. "That's where you go if you're looking for a little slice of home, guys," he said as he motioned to the golden arches. The other passengers laughed, as did I. Homesickness? Please. This is Africa! And McDonalds? So American! So disgusting!

Yet by day two, though I'd slept off the nightmare that was Day 1, I still felt terrible. I missed everyone, I couldn't get internet reliably to get in touch with people from Texas. We also had no food in the apartment, as our orientation didn't leave us much time to shop (it was over by mid-afternoon, at which point most of the shops in town were closing), so we were pretty much SOL as far as stuff for dinner. So when my roommate asked me if I wanted to go out to dinner, I overwhelmingly agreed. And the topic of McDonalds came up.

So here's the thing. I am the biggest opponent of McDonalds. I've seen Supersize Me, I've read Fast Food Nation and know about how corrupt the industry is from every angle: how the farmers get little profit, how slaughterhouses hire illegal immigrants and make them work even after they lose limbs in the machines and mess with the numbers so the government doesn't look too hard at their records, how the food is completely artificial and terrible for you, etc. etc. etc. But at that moment, nothing sounded better to me.

The problem was, we didn't know how to get there. It was our second day in town and we realized we had no idea where the place was. We set out going down Merriman (the main street in town) and ran into a couple of South African girls from the university. They asked the requisite questions -- which states we were from, how long we were there, who we voted for in the last election (say Obama, lest you get shot) -- and then asked where we were headed.

"Um... Pick 'N Pay," I said quickly, as it's right next to McDonalds.
"Oh? That's closed by now," the blonde said, looking puzzled.
"Oh, is it? Well, erm, it'd be nice to see where it is," I said, grappling for the words.
"Look, we just need to find the McDonalds," Alyssa said quickly.
I looked nervously at both of them as recognition spread across their faces. They didn't laugh, though, they just pointed straight down the street.
"Sure. The McDonalds. Just go straight down, past the gas station -- about four blocks -- and you'll be there," the brunette said.

I thought it must have been absurd to meet two American girls in a foreign city who were headed to, of all places, McDonalds. How typical! In a land of boerwors, of the Zulu and Xhosa, what cuisine were we adventurously trying, knowing it was pretty unlikely we'd return to Africa anytime soon? McDonalds!

But as soon as we stepped inside the restaurant, as cheesy as it sounds, I felt like a weight was lifted from my shoulders. Yes, the menu was exactly like the ones in Fort Worth. And Dallas. And Boston. And everywhere you'd ever find a McDonalds. (Though, honestly, the prices were much better; my meal cost R25, a far cry from the $5 I might otherwise spend.)

I ordered a Big Mac with cheese, a small order of fries and an ice cream cone. They even had tomato ketchup! In South Africa, they're more into this sweet pink sauce and NEVER have ketchup as an option in restaurants or grocery stores. And like the menu had seemed exactly the same as I could find anywhere, so the sandwich tasted exactly the same. Perhaps I should find it disgusting that they can manufacture the same tastes the world around, or that the hamburger patties, without fail, are perfectly circular, but at that moment it was completely delicious. I forgot that I was so far from home and without friends, without my family for the next several months; I closed my eyes and felt like I was eating a burger in Houston, or taking a lunch break from the Amon Carter in Fort Worth. I could have been anywhere other than Africa, and at that moment, that's exactly what I needed. Because, for all my talk about loving to travel, it's a scary thing to leave everything you know and set up a new life somewhere on the other side of the world.

So, though gourmands may hate me, that was one of the best meals I ever had. And yes, though I've always hated how McDonalds stamps out individuality from countless towns across the world, in this case it was beautiful. Though I didn't yet know how to say anything in Afrikaans besides "dankie," it was okay once I entered the house of the golden arches. Because Big Macs are universal. As is "could I supersize that, please?"