Going home

Imagine, for a moment, that you have just lived for over a year in an African village. You have survived reasonably well without running water, electricity, toilet paper, regular English. You have co-existed quite peacefully with rodents, bugs, and reptiles of all kinds (except for the part last month when the rat peed on your leg when you were asleep, that part sucked). You have “integrated” pretty well. You eat peanut water on millet daily and find it comforting. You have looked forward to this one trip home to America for literally 10 months. You have spent hours in the last 100 or so days making lists: things to eat in America, things to buy in America, things to do in America.

Now, imagine that you are finally, fiiinally (FINALLY!) stepping off the plane onto American soil. What’s your first move? Is it:

A)   Kiss the ground of the airport; make a scene,

B)   Skip to the nearest coffee shop, order a latte, cry tears of joy,

C)   Become emotionally overwhelmed in the cereal aisle of a grocery store, or

D)   Walk calmly towards baggage claim; you’re not actually hungry... those are some interesting new art installations right there… haven’t I seen that somewhere before? Hmm. There won’t be traffic at midnight on a Wednesday, right? I’m tired.

What do you think I did? Well, yes, I did cry a bit when I saw my parents, but come on – I missed them. And you KNOW you can’t not cry if your mother is crying. Try it. Anyway.

I went home, ate some leftover chili and half a beer, took a shower, and went to bed. The beer and the chili were delicious, of course, and the water was hot and came out of a showerhead, but it wasn’t exactly the emotional experience I had been expecting. I MAY have had more of a “moment” when eating fresh strawberries with Greek yogurt and honey the next morning, but even that was pretty minor compared to stories I’ve heard. Why wasn’t I crying in Trader Joe’s and bemoaning the irresponsibility and cluelessness of American over-consumers and refusing to buy bread for more than 40 cents? Why wasn’t I looking around, thinking “Who ARE you people?”

Obviously, I didn’t experience much reverse-culture shock. Sure, I am more aware of how much we have in America, and how little so many people have in other parts of the world – how could I not be? And don’t get me wrong – I fully enjoyed the foods and luxuries and climates of America. I kept thinking, “Well, this is awesome!” But I felt right at home almost instantly. I was a little disappointed, and worried. I was looking forward to reverse culture shock! And what does this say about me? Maybe I didn’t really integrate at all. Maybe I haven’t been experiencing and living la vie Africaine as I should have been. Maybe I’ve really just been living in my head, in America, for the past 14 months, just waiting to get back to my natural habitat!

I thought a little more about this, and I’m coming to a different conclusion. I know what I’ve experienced over the past year and a bit, and while the first part was certainly very hard, in the last 5 or 6 months I’ve really started to “get it” and truly enjoy life here. Truly! I love my friends, and my host family, and sleeping outside (for the most part), and the lack of electricity or running water is not something that really ever occurs to me as a problem. Even the heat is something that I don’t actively curse. Sitting in a pool of sweat is no longer noteworthy. Evidently, I am not “living in America” in my head, or whatever I feared I was doing. So here is my new theory: perhaps I just adjust really well. Maybe I’m just really even-keeled? Coming back to Senegal the other day after a month of American luxury was just the same: it felt normal. The offer of marriage while waiting to go through customs in the Dakar airport was not only unsurprising; it was almost pleasantly familiar. I welcomed the sound of French and other languages I don’t understand. The less than desirable odors of Dakar I welcomed less, but still - it felt like home. Therefore: since my second theory makes me feel like a better person than my first theory, that’s the one I’m going with. But I’m always open to your theories, if mine don’t make sense.

America was awesome, though. Almost everything about it is awesome. The food is awesome, the cars are awesome, and the grocery stores are awesome. There aren’t enough synonyms for “awesome” to describe more articulately how awesome America is. I traveled a lot during my time at home, but even that was splendid (see, I’m trying!) I loved seeing my brother graduate from Whitman, and even the three-day drive back to the Bay Area. I loved hanging out at home, and going to Hawaii for a long-awaited family vacation, and even a daytrip to Orange County to visit my grandparents. Side note: while in Hawaii, I developed an incredible urge to eat seaweed salad and raw tuna, which I did in large quantities. Why the sudden urge? Was it because I was in the land of amazing seaweed salad and fish, or was it my body’s attempt to combat vitamin and protein deficiencies that I may have racked up over the past year? Scientists, weigh in.

Seeing my family and friends was definitely the most memorable and worthwhile part of my trip, though. Peace Corps absolutely makes me more thankful for my family, who I know will always love and support me, and my old friends, who I can have very little communication with over a long period of time, and find them just as I remember – insightful and funny and one of the best parts of my life. Even in the moments when I feel like life is passing me by back in America, I know that some things, like the best relationships, won’t have changed when I get back. So thank you, family and friends, for being – you guessed it – awesome.

I’m spending a few days in Dakar for my mid-service medical appointments, then heading back down to beloved Tambacounda. Can’t wait to see how big Aileen has gotten in my absence!