Settling In

I've been home for a little over a week now and it's been a whirlwind. I attended Libby and Chad's wedding on Saturday, visited my sister for a few days, caught up with a bunch of friends in the area, caught a cold, and even had a job interview. The first four or five days was complete bliss. All I kept thinking was how beautiful America is. Landing in Rochester I was looking over the perfect suburbs from the plane. The pretty schools, someone making a splash in their backyard pool, and sidewalks! Remember those? What a wonderful concept!

My house is so beautiful! My sister is so beautiful! These trees are so beautiful! This cheese is so beautiful. I felt like this world was immaculate and I wasn't worthy to touch anything. A fear perhaps justified, considering even after two showers my sister exclaimed, "You smell like Africa!"

And then it started to hit me. Not all at once, but gradually. That job interview. Boy, was I unprepared. The real world is going to be tough. I don't think I can do the office thing. Going through boxes of old clothes, I heard Shaka's voice in my head. "Why do white people need so many clothes?" And these stupid sidewalks. What a waste! Do you know how many wells we could build with this amount of cement?

I went to the public market with my mom today. Saturday morning market! It was fun. In a way it reminded me of back in village, but in a way, not so much. No bargaining. No greeting for heaven's sake. My mom just goes up to the guy and yells, "How much are the onions?" How rude! She could have at least said good morning and asked how his wife and children were doing, and given even just one blessing! And nobody in this country has figured out how much easier it is to carry heavy items on your head. (It is a LITTLE bit harder without a head wrap. Maybe next week). We also stopped at the Pittsford Wegmans, and I put on my horse blinders so as not to freak out too much. I've heard about many returned Peace Corps Volunteers having emotional breakdowns in the cereal aisle.

Donni Donni, I still need to remember.

Tomorrow is a thank you picnic. Everyone is invited. It's a chance for me and my family to thank you and give you thanks on behalf of the people of Dombila, for all the support you have given in the past two years. Whether you donated, sent me a letter, or even just clicked on this blog every once in a while, you are part of this. So please join us at 3:30 on.

I'll write one more entry after the picnic, and that'll be it.

The New World

A thought from JFK... (aug 26)

"I'm here at the airport at New York and I feel very unsettled. I just treated myself to a Tall Skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latte at Starbucks. $4.64. There was the Cinnamon Dolce Latte or the Skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latte. I got the one with "Skinny" in the name figuring it would have less calories or something like that.

Who am I? I'm trying to find a reflection of me, a piece of me somewhere in this airport. I can't. So I feel as if I need to redefine myself to fit in here. I browse the bookstore. All those magazines- beautiful women, dieting schemes, how to get the moisture back in your hair. Do I need this stuff? I fear. I'm going to be living in this world now, but how? I don't really know who I am here, but I figured I'd do the best I could to take a step in the right direction. I take refuge in the bathroom. Those big scary mirrors. I throw on some makeup and brush my hair. It's a start. I walk out trying to exude confidence and poise. Like I belong here.

I sit for a while, just people watching. They are not so talkative, these travellers, most so serious, exhausted. I'm feeling invisible. No one is staring at me or greeting me. Even all the security workers seemed a bit taken aback when I smiled at them. The people pass and I wonder about them, who they are. I wonder who they think I am. I college kid? A worldly traveller? A confused, odd, mousy girl? Who am I kidding, no one has even glanced at me. They don't care. Refreshing in a way, up until now everyone I come across pesters me until they find out everything about me. But also unsettling. I'm so alone.

Or am I? A man in a faded pastel golf shirt and a baseball cap wheels his luggage by. From the back I swear he could have been my father. Suddenly my stale emotion subsides and I'm choked up. Moments later I'm jubilant. Dad. What a great guy. See you soon."