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June 27, 2009

Home is…

… where the heart is?
… where everybody knows your name? [Cheers]
… where you hang your head? [Marx]
… where they have to take you in? [Frost]
… not where you live but where they understand you? [Morgenstern]
… where the skies are not cloudy all day? [Higley]

I’ve been away from Canada for about four months. Some things are pretty much the same. (Like the mess in my livingroom.) Some things are new. (Like babies.) Some things are expected. (Like the miraculous disappearance of snow and the greening of landscapes.)

I’ve been back in Canada for a bit over two weeks. I know exactly what you mean when you ask, “So, is it good to be home?” I always answer yes. And I’m telling the truth. But I have to explain that Africa has become a bit like home too. Those people are also my friends, my coworkers, my (adopted) family. I am loved and valued and welcomed into their homes. We exchanged hopes and dreams and fears and longings.

But my beloved Africa seems so very far away. Waking up in the morning to donkeys, roosters and children on my thin foam mattress, brushing aside my mosquito net. Pulling on the nearest skirt and T-shirt. Sweeping my hair up. Reading the next section in my daily Bible. Walking down the sandy street to the shop to pick up tappa-lappa for breakfast. Boiling water for coffee. Making the slow hour-long progression via local transport to work. Teaching or sorting or planning or encouraging. Making the reverse trek home in 35 Celsius humidity. Sweat literally dripping down my back, bracing my feet in the 15-passenger van to keep that remaining sliver of my body on the seat, listening to the latest Youssof N’Dour tune from the speakers, smiling at the baby on her mother’s lap, ignoring yet another guy asking for either a phone number or my hand in marriage. A quick stop at La Parisienne for some combination of free wi-fi, good coffee and air conditioning. Picking up some fruit from my fruit lady; the one who always throws in a little extra after I’ve paid. Arriving home to the exuberant welcome of darling A, complete with a hug around the knees. Being amazed at what new word she decided to utter that day. Seeing V still hard at work and admiring her boundless joy. Looking forward to the refreshment only a cold shower on a hot African afternoon can bring. Dinner of yassa or domoda or benechin or beans. Preparing for the next day. A quick journal entry. Another washing of feet before hopping into bed, securing the bug-net, and falling asleep to unending reggae.

My beloved Africa seems so far away. I don’t remember how dirty my feet truly got. I don’t remember the smell of burning garbage mixed with exhaust fumes. I don’t remember how to move slowly. I don’t remember how to be constantly in community. I don’t remember how to be acutely aware of monitoring water levels, awaiting electricity to come back on, dealing with running out of propane for cooking, needing to shop everyday for groceries, washing clothes by hand, being content with just the essentials.

My beloved Africa seems so far away. I drive my well-maintained car on smooth and paved roads. I don’t plan my day anticipating power-outages. I have access to an endless water supply and countless grocery store shelves. I can count on meetings starting on time and a schedule being followed. I am utterly and completely confused by these daylight extending events called dawn and dusk.

My beloved Africa seems so far away. Being in Canada seems so very normal. Neither place is better than the other. It is simply that they are different. I can recognize the privilege it is to live in Canada and the sheer abundance this country has to offer. I can recognize how overwhelmingly difficult it is to live in Africa despite its endearing charm.

I know exactly what you mean when you ask, “So, is it good to be home?” I always answer yes. And I’m telling the truth. But I have to explain that Africa has become a bit like home too.

Coming home from very lonely places, all of us go a little mad: whether from great personal success, or just an all-night drive, we are the sole survivors of a world no one else has ever seen.
~John le Carre