home sweet home

So, I'm back in the U.S.

That's a sentence filled with a lot of conflicting emotions. I hesitate to say I'm back home because home has become such a loaded word for me. Why is it that I never really felt homesick for the U.S. while I was away, but now that I'm here, I'm homesick for South Africa? The only explanation is: South Africa is my home. There's no denying it.

When Anna and I left Namibia, we took an overnight bus from Windhoek to Cape Town. We were giddy as we crossed the border back into South Africa at 4 in the morning. I have never so closely resembled a crazy person before. Our original plan was to spend a week in Cape Town, the city that we both love so much. But as we got closer, we thought, let's just spend two days in Cape Town, because we want to get back to Grahamstown to see our friends. Well, when it came down to it, we ended up spending approximately three hours in Cape Town - just long enough to visit our favorite haunt on Long Street for a drink and a shwarma. We were just too excited to be back in South Africa and wanted to see our friends as soon as possible. We thought, Cape Town will always be here. (I know I'll be back someday.) Our friends won't always be in Grahamstown. So we hopped on yet another overnight bus. Of course, being my last bus in Africa, it had to break down. Twice. Though the seats were cushoined rather than flat, hard plastic and I did have the whole seat to myself without having to share it with any big mammas or chickens, so I was happy.

It must be weird to hear such love for such a random little town. What is so special about Grahamstown? I can't even recommend it to fellow travelers. It's really just a small college town without a lot going on. I don' t know why I love it so much. Maybe it's more about the people you're with rather than the place you're in. I don't know. I just know that it's home. Three weeks was not enough time to spend with everyone there. Leaving was completely heartbreaking.

Everyone warned me that I was going to have a hard time adjusting back to American culture, but I didn't believe it until I came back. Everything here is so big and loud and fast and desperate. Everything looks so new and fresh and immaculate. Why does the water come out of the tap so fast? Why are houses so big? Why are people so impatient? Why do we waste so much?

I spent a year drinking bottled water, dreaming of the day I would return to the U.S. and could drink out of the tap. I actually remember a moment when I was swimming in the ocean off the coast of Kenya and I had a vision in my head of me standing at the sink in my mom's kitchen downing glass after glass of water, refilling the glass from the tap as I drank. (I realize this sounds a bit crazy. I might have been suffering from heat exhaustion at the time.) But water was the one thing, at least, that would be good about being back. Is it ironic or is it a sign that I came back right at the moment when the entire city of Boston was under a "boil advisory" after a pipe burst, making the entire city's water supply undrinkable? I spent my first three days back drinking bottled water and listening to obnoxious Bostonians complain about not having any water. Excuse me, you do have water, you just have to boil it for a minute before you can drink it. Sorry to inconvenience you. Why don't you try walking 8 miles to get water - undrinkable water, at that - and then carry it on your head 8 miles back home just so you can cook dinner for your family.

My mom insists that I'm not only going through the post-Africa transition, but I'm also going through the post-college transition at the same time. Which makes sense. I did take off last year a mere two weeks after graduation, when all of my friends were still clueless and floundering as much as me. Now I'm back and they're all pretty settled down. They all have 9 to 5 jobs, apartments, boyfriends. They don't drink like they're still college students. They don't spend each day wondering where they're going to be sleeping that night. Their possessions don't fit inside a backpack.

I know that some of the things I went through this past year were not specific to Africa. Everyone experiences certain things the year after they graduate from college. Like paying rent. And learning how to cook. And seriously thinking about your future for the first time. But I'm pretty sure that my year after graduation was a little different than most. Like chasing donkeys off my front porch. And having break-ins be a constant possibility. And gulping down guilt every day as you pass starving beggars while you walk home from work.

I'm surprised at the extent of culture shock that I've experienced since coming home. I really thought I remembered what this country was like. My jaw dropped the first time I ordered a large Coke and needed to use both hands to accept it. And the first time I went out to a restaurant and could only eat half my meal (a travesty, if you knew my family). And buying clothes two sizes smaller because everyone else is so huge. And why is our scenery so bland? I am perfectly content just staring out the window on a 12-hour bus ride from Nairobi to Kampala because there is so much to see - so much activity, so much color. I had to sit in a car for a mere four hours to New York to see family and I couldn't believe how bored I became, and how quickly. The scenery is so bland. There are trees. There are houses. That's about it. There's nothing to watch; nothing that captivates my attention like a bus ride in Africa. There are no women draped in bright colored patterns walking home with barrels of water on their heads. There are no men bicycling bundles of wood or pineapples or gasoline. There is no animal slaughter that would cause our bus to stop so the passengers can buy some meat. There are no people clambering to sell you goods - whether it be chicken, nuts, water, or sunglasses - through your open window. (God, how I miss being able to buy dinner and furnish my house through an open bus window.) It was just a boring, monotonous four hours.

It's also taken me a long time - longer than I expected - to readjust to Eastern Standard Time. I used to be a really light sleeper. I used to wake up to the slightest Boston noise - police sirens, ambulances, cars pumping reggaeton rolling down my street, my deaf neighbors' TV on loud and them screaming to each other - but now I never notice. I guess after a year of sleeping through screaming kids on recess break (there was an elementary school across the street from my house in South Africa) and loudspeaker calls to prayer at 5am (cheap accommodation in Tanzania, Zanzibar, Kenya, etc. is always next to a mosque), Boston noises are no contest.

The longer I'm back, the more adjusted I become. I have finally stopped crying (for the most part). I have stopped tearfully looking up flights back on expedia.com. I have enjoyed seeing my family and friends, especially nephews and nieces for whom year is a really long time. I am getting used to my feet always being cold, to the point of numbness. I am getting used to no longer being tan (though I do still get asked if I am Hispanic/Indian/Italian/etc.). I am getting used to hearing people talk really loudly. (Seriously, why are Americans so loud??) I am getting used to hearing people complain about the most mundane things while I hold my tongue and think about how ungrateful they are. But as much as I'm gettnig used to living in America again, I can't help but feel like I was made to live in Africa. I am so comfortable there. I feel at home there. I was meant to live there.

That being said, I am entering the Peace Corps pretty soon. In a few months, I'll be back in Africa somewhere, teaching English and starting my next Big Adventure.

I'll be sure to keep you posted.