The following are drawn and expanded from notes I scribbled on a small sheet of paper (writing as small as I possibly could) at the various airports and on the many planes that brought me back to the states. In the coming days I shall post some more reflections on my impressions of the world now that I am finally home.
The past few days leaving Tanzania have been some of the most traumatic of my life. On our stop in Arusha, I lost every single valuable object (monetarily speaking) I have ever owned in my life. It was stolen out of my backpack from inside a locked and guarded vehicle. Everyone keps insisting it wasn’t my fault, which strictly speaking is probably true, but I am ultimately responsible for my own actions that in retrospect were a bit foolish. I knew better that to let my bags out of my sight, but I was given false assurances of safety–it’s easy to get too relaxed when you’ve been living in a place for so long.
I have still been thinking about how and what I can learn from my time in Kenya and Tanzania, especially about what is most important in my life. I suppose in a way this was a rather extreme test of the relative value of my possessions. I cried for longer than maybe I should have about it (more out of frustration and disbelief, I hope, than sorrow over the loss of objects, although I admit that I am not completely free of love for material possessions), but ultimately I still have almost everything on my backup hard drive, so it really just comes down to money. A lot of money. I still feel panicked at the realization that I have just lost equivalently more money that I have ever made in my life and am likely to make in the near future. It brings up so many more frustrations–why and how can I own things that I could never have paid for on my own? Do I deserve to get them replaced (since it will obviously not be by my own hand that they can be) or is it really practical to do so? And of course, this brings up my dependency on my parents. After going abroad so far from home, I felt so responsible, independent, and adult, yet this incident brings it crashing back down and reminds me how entirely I am dependant, at the very least financially, on my parents. I love them so much, but the more I get a sense for money, the less I understand how they are able to support me. I think of all the things they have bought for me and the rest of my family over the years, and I suddenly feel overwhelmed by the enormity of the investment. It puts my choice of schools, life ambitions, and lifestyle into contemplation and up for scrutiny. This is especially so when I put the loss into perspective and consider that the value all of those objects were minuscule compared to the cost of the program, or compare them to the cost of a trip to China that my parents are paying so I can go with my family to my brother’s wedding there. It brings up the question: how on Earth do I ever repay them?
It is also brings up some confusion for me over why I was even able to own that sort of expensive equipment in the first place. The countries I was traveling in are some of the poorest in the world. The people who stole my bag may have had a heart attack at their good luck–It was worth more than the average Tanzanian makes in six years. How do I deal with that discrepancy? I am able to put it in perspective and say that I value the truly important things in life over such material objects because they are beyond the money required for me to eat and stay healthy and protected–I try to make everything okay based on how fulfilling my experiences have been in terms of human and emotional dimensions, but loosing that much valuable equipment for most people in the world would never be okay, because it would take them a lifetime to save up enough to buy it. I feel so grateful that I am able to own a computer and a camera (and many other things) and especially with the latter I think it gives me a connection to the world in a different sort of way, but I’m not sure how I do or how I should feel about losing them.
I have tried to make the best out of a bad situation, however. I think making it into a joke has been an easier way to deal with it. It’s becoming a running joke: “You need a flashlight? No problem, you can… oh wait, nevermind. I would lend you my flashlight, but it got stolen” or “I would show you this cool video on my computer…but it got stolen”, etc.
It has been a heart-wrenching last few days to slowly say baadaye, hapana kwa heri (see you later, not goodbye) to all the people who have been my family these past months. During this time, I think I am realizing even more as we reenter the rest of the world, my experiences have changed who I am and how I view the world, which is part of why it is so hard to return and see the world through new eyes. I feel the sense that nothing will ever be as it was before, and only those who went through this journey with me can fully understand how. That may be melodramatic, but only time will tell.
I do know that I love these people and know that they are some of the best I have met in my lifetime. It’s sad too because as close as we bonded, there are still some people whom I was only beginning to really connect with and I wish I could know even better. There were a few goodbyes when I locked eyes with someone and I think we both realized with a jolt how much we really, really cared about each other and hadn’t counted on how much that would hurt. So much of what I recorded in my blog was about the wildlife of the program, not because it was always the most important thing, but because the intricacies of social life are so hard to communicate and do it justice, at least for me.
Those of us who flew to Nairobi stayed the night at the Nairobi Bush Camp (NBC). It ave a sense of closure (and was a little bit of torture, as Connor pointed out) to get in one last game drive with the hatches open to get to the camp which reminded us all of KBC. We drove past herds of zebra and wildebeest with the sunset and cityscape in the background where the edge of Nairobi simply ends abruptly and bizarrely. It was so beautiful I nearly started crying again when I tried to reach for my nonexistent camera. I had forgotten yet again how different Kenya and Tanzania were, and driving along brought back so many memories of dry safaris and incredible animals in a slightly different ecosystem and feel from the one in which we had most recently been working. The road suddenly sloped down into a ravine, at the bottom of which was the camp; it was revealed at a breathtaking turn, tucked away like a hidden treasure. It felt painfully as though we were returning to KBC, however, and even the crying ibises overhead gave a pang of reminiscence. That camp was similar enough to our very first home in Africa that spending the night there was liking saying goodbye to the first part of our journey as well as our last. We packed a bunch of us into one room and had a sleepover together, ensuring are last moments were spent (literally) as close together as possible. The overnight stop gave a sense of closure. However, I think it also frustrated us that the program doesn’t utilize the NBC more–it may be the most beautiful of all three camps, and certainly located in the most wild setting. In the morning as we left, giraffes joined the farewell as in the background smokestacks merged their smog with the clouds of the massive sky stretching impossibly above us as the sun just barely broke through, shining down brightly as we bumped our way out to the airport.
I felt vaguely honored and annoyed at the airport when all the workers were so appreciative and impressed with my terrible swahili. It seemed painfully clear to me that most foreigners don’t even try to use Jambo (hello) or Asante (thank you). I had a good laugh when they would try to feel out just how much I knew by proceeding to try to talk to me in much more difficult swahili, but it made me sad to leave when I remembered how unfriendly most airports are in the US. It also reminded me that I feel a bit as if I have left things somewhat unfinished in Kenya and Tanzania, I feel as though I do my experience a disservice if I don’t work hard to perfecting my language skills and return one day to speak fluently with everyone I meet. I have no idea if that will ever happen (both because of the feasibility of returning, as well as my own language skills), but I feel motivated to try.
Now there are only ten of us left in the London airport, and I already feel overwhelmed by the crowds of not-smiling, strange smelling white people. We walked through a shopping section of the airport in search of a bathroom, and I felt assaulted by the smell of perfumes, bright lights, and the push of unfriendly people in a hurry. We bought food and I was shocked at the outrageous prices and wad of paper napkins handed out with all the food (after three months with no napkins at all, it seems a little insane). We are all going to have to be very good at keeping in touch, I’m realizing, at the very least to help council each other through the terrible reentry culture shock. Even on the plane we all kept saying Asante and Pole. It’s so hard to break the habit, and I feel a bit stubbornly that I don’t want to.
As we were landing in London, our Virgin Atlantic flight showed a video about their efforts to build schools and drill wells for water in Kenya. The things they said about the people and their needs rang true (although now I know more of the sort of questions I would ask about to find out just how effective their programs might be), but I suddenly remembered how I felt about it when we were shown the same video on our way to Kenya. My reaction had been something along the lines of “yeah, whatever ‘everyone there is so friendly,’ what does that even mean? You’re just after my money” when in fact they really are the most friendly people, because they have a different set of values that seems to recognize even when you’re just going about your business that you are still dealing with real people (it can sometimes translate into being a little nosey, but it’s a sign that they really care about the people around them). But it hit me that the way I saw the video the first time is how people will perceive what I tell them now. People are not going to be able to see through my eyes just because I describe to them how I feel–there is always something different about being there (as well as differences in interpretation and experience among those who have gone, in addition to pre-set ideas and worldviews) that makes it all but impossible to fully communicate. I will try to transmit the essence, but as Erica and other travelers have tried to caution us, it isn’t always possible with everyone.
I am finally back on American soil, and onto the leg of my journey where I am traveling alone. I left the others after customs, and called my mother to check in and explain why I no longer owned a laptop, computer, ipod, spare glasses, etc. (I managed to do so without crying again, which I felt was an accomplishment after all the worry of parental disappointment). I then traveled to the other side of the airport and found out I had two hours until check in opened, so I finally sat down in the middle of the deserted airport at nearly 2 a.m. and realized that for the first time in three months, I was completely alone. Looking at the huge airport hallway, with its eerie florescent lighting and space that would usually be bustling but was now so devoid of people, my loneliness and smallness felt magnified. I had been so constantly surrounded by people for so long (even from within the bandas, you were never truly alone, since you never knew when someone would pop in, and you could always hear people talking outside), it was almost too much to handle not having anyone to talk to or just simply be around. I didn’t think I would enjoy being around so many people, since I sometimes feel as though people annoy me more than they should, or just simply antisocial, but I find a lot of comfort being surrounded by people. It can be a bit overwhelming at times, but it makes life more interesting and engaging (provided you are surrounded with nice people to be around), and it will be one of the things I miss the most from the program, although I did not realize at the time that it would be.
Finally, getting to the gate was a bit of an experience. Waiting for one of the trains to take me across the airport, I felt tired and vaguely sad, so I leaned my head against my pack and stared up at the ceiling. A bright smiley-face balloon stared back down at me from above, lost perhaps by some child the previous day. It felt a little surreal and out of place in the lonely terminal, with inhuman lighting and nothing else cheery except its shiny plastic face. Walking to my gate, I was thrown off by the moving sidewalks down the middle of the huge hallway. I wasn’t sure what it was at first that seemed so strange (beyond the strangeness inherent in the very concept of moving sidewalks themselves, I mean), until I realized that I had grown so used to the direction of forward travel being on the left, not the right. It also seemed strange how big the airport was. We take up so much more space in America, everything from airports to cities are spread out, coated in plastic or concrete, and then connected mechanically by cars, escalators, moving sidewalks, etc. Maybe that’s why the spaces seem so lonely.
I had a bit of culture shock on my first domestic flight. I walked on board the plane and suddenly felt like I was in a sci-fi movie–every single person was plugged into something: ipods, computers, TVs, etc. I searched, suddenly desperate for a non-robotic person, and had to settle on those who were napping; a little further back in the plane and some were reading books and I felt I could relax a bit. I’m not usually a techno-phobe, and usually think those who are overlook many of the benefits of technology–in fact, had all my electronic distractions not been stolen, I might have been plugged in just like the rest of them–but something about the sight disturbed and annoyed me for some reason. The flight was packed, but unlike the flights from the past 48 hours, the people on it were almost certainly not traveling for as long (most looked as though they were probably on a business trip), and yet all the bags seemed bigger, and there was certainly less space in the overhead compartments stuffed with laptop cases and suit jackets. It seemed too as though the favorite color for everyone was black or grey–I had forgotten how boring the American color scheme is. The TVs in the seats were all on already, automatically tuned to football, trying to suck you in before you even sat down. Welcome to America. It’s going to be a difficult re-entry.
That flight was not so pleasant, especially after the kindly British airways where they offered so many free goodies and snacks that I felt especially ripped off at the fact that during the course of a six hour flight they did not bring us so much as a pretzel (nothing in America is free or comfortable it seems). However, the San Fransisco airport was a familiar and welcome sight for me. I have flown through it enough times to know my way around well and enough and to be comforted by it. I passed one of the art displays in yet another long airport hallway (I decided not to aggravate myself with the moving sidewalk and instead took the time to walk and enjoy it) and saw that it was displaying art made from recycled objects. I got up to one of the cases, and stopped short, laughing a little. Inside were tire sandals, like (but not as cool as) the ones I was actually wearing. They are very popular in Kenya (and Tanzania too), since the tread makes a good grip, and can also be beaded in the Maasai style. They are used as an available, cheap material, but I guess they’re catching on in the rest of the world. It made me feel rather trendy, but it also seemed so strange to see an everyday object from Africa turned into city chic. But food removes all worries, and the San Fransisco airport meal court is no stranger to me. I wolfed down a bowl of split pea soup in a bread bowl– my first meal in nearly half a day, and my first back in the US. Just when I had been feeling depressed by the last flight, the airport cheered me up. A flight attendant was eating next to me at the food court, and she was very interested to hear about where I’d been (even though she didn’t know where Tanzania was). It felt good to have someone, a stranger even, care about what I’d done (“I think it’s so good there are people like you out there working to save the environment” is higher praise than I deserve, at least at this point, but it was pretty cool). Now I finally feel ready to return home, not so long from now. Finally, after an incredible emotional roller coaster, I think I’m finally ready.
woahsimba 