Christmas

There are some pretty awful Christmas songs out there.  My ears may start bleeding from the one playing very loudly over the airplane sound system right now.  Why can’t they just play some horrible elevator music like other dry public places?  This isn’t the kind of send off I was hoping for from Africa.  Actually, to be honest, at this point I wasn’t looking for a send off at all.  As in I don’t want to leave.  As in, if I were to stay in Africa, a send off would not be necessary. 

Today I’m reserved to the fact that I’m on an airplane and leaving Africa.  Maybe it’s my limited eleven or so hours of sleep I’ve had in the last three days, my remaining buzz from last night’s drunken adventures that led to fitting three people on a mototaxi (only one of which was sober.  Yes, the driver.), or that I have actually accepted my departure as an unavoidable reality, but today I’m more okay with it than yesterday. 

I’ll tell you about what I was feeling yesterday. 

Nostalgic.  As I straddled the back of a moto with the wind in my hair I realized that many of the things I originally disliked about East Africa I had come to at least appreciate.  I realized I would greatly miss the tangy body odor of the local people that is like a sharp cheese compared to the bland cheese of Americans, the non-chelant nose picking and street-side urinating (let me tell you that a mzungu peeing on the side of the road is something everyone likes to watch), the ability to people watch without hiding it (since they all stare at me why not stare back?), and the opportunity to practice my Swahili daily.  Yes, in the beginning I wanted none of that language stuff. 

And these are just the originally bad things.  I can’t even begin to describe how much I don’t want to return to the first world filled with mzungus.  Not to mention that everything in Africa is so much more affordable, but the scenery is breathtaking, the people are friendlier than probably any others on the planet, life is simpler, the night dancing is so much fun, the cultural traditions are amazing, the people are beautiful, and their loyalty to their family and friends is something immensely honorable. 

I’m afraid I’ll miss the small things most of all that I didn’t realize I loved so much, like always looking up to see brown eyes and brown faces in stark contrast with dazzling smiles.  Reveling at everyone either hustling and bustling, doing honest work and miraculously carrying large potato sacks on their heads, or lounging back on a porch, on a bridge, in the grass to watch the world pass by.  Filling my bus hours soaking in the detail of corn rowed heads.  People understanding the Swahili words that have made it into my regular English conversations.  Evoking pleasantly surprised glances on a daily basis for being a mzungu that can speak a little of the local language. 

I’m afraid I’ll lose track of who I’ve become, how Africa has changed me, and what I want to remember.  Already, Kenya and Tanzania are fading into that place in my memory that warps everything into a dream-like vision, bits of which are picked off and discarded to the hunger of time. 

But if it’s possible, I’m more confident in myself than ever.  I’m more aware of my surroundings and take greater care with my demeanor and how people view me.  Though I can still be the bluntest tool in the shed, I’ve also learned that I am very good at being sensitive to the more conservative customs.  I actually found myself cringing when observing other mzungu tourists acting inappropriately for local standards, even my hostel friends.  As far as clothes go, I don’t know how I’m going to react to seeing so many short skirts and bare shoulders.  I’ve actually very much enjoyed dressing modestly.  I feel that positive attention from the opposite sex has more value in it.

I hope I don’t lose the use of these new wings I’ve grown.  I hope I come back to this place.  I know I want to come back to this place.  Maybe next summer, maybe after finishing my undergrad, maybe both, but I will come back.  I’ve just got to hold on to the hope that I don’t lose my Swahili between now and then or else it’s back to ground zero for growing new wings.

Funny update:  Right now I’m in the Addis Ababa aiport in Ethiopia.  I’m surrounded by women in head scarves (this is a primarily Muslim nation) and we don’t have a single word between us.  We’ve just been talking with smiles and pointing fingers.  Our alphabets are completely different let alone having separate languages.  In awe, these women are just staring at my fingers typing this.  The world is a crazy place.

I just spent a far too large sum of money on a plastic ring I hope will pass as a wedding band.  Everything I’ve read discourages women, especially young women, from traveling alone in Saudi Arabia.  For those with enough courage, or lack of common sense, it is highly recommended they wear a wedding band.  I’ve replaced my practical judgment with a ring.