The other day someone asked me if I was Nigerian. It wasn’t because my name implies the regional language called Yoruba, nor was it a lucky guess considering that Nigeria is Africa’s most populous country.

onight I happened upon my “reverse culture shock” manual. It’s my Xeroxed guide to reentering American life after a semester abroad in New Zealand. This little unstapled book is supposed to help me adjust to the isolation, disorientation, and bouts of rage (because, hey, Missouri is not New Zealand) that I’ll undoubtedly face now that I’m stateside.