Brewster for a Bit

Home on Cape Cod from April 26th to May 26th. It’s grey, rainy and cold – a typical Cape Spring and as I sit here listening to NPR, my bone-chewing dog at feet, I am struck by the seeming lack of distance between myself and Africa; as if it’s perched on my shoulder and whispering warm colorful memories into my ear.

But Africa is tricky, don’t get me wrong. There are often times when I yearn for the comforts and profound familiarities of ‘my’ country. I want a washing machine, a bowl of ice cream, the scent of fall, the ability to walk down the street in peace…Yet when this happens, I feel light years from the United States. Unlike my steady stream of African daydreams when home, the US feels distant – almost strangely so – when I am abroad. You would perhaps expect the opposite?

My departure from CAR was abrupt. Leaving Africa is always jarring. The shift in culture, climate and mindset is not to be taken lightly. But this time I know I’m going back, and this time to a job in Rwanda which thrills me. It’s finally an opportunity to explore a more business-oriented approach to life in Africa with a focus on crafts! I am excited by the job, enticed by the country. But being home so fleetingly is hard.

I’ve recognized a fragmentation of my relationships, particularly over the past year. It seems I am developing pockets of friends somewhat strewn across a continent where the culture of instant communication has yet to take hold. I can’t easily call, email, skype, text, blog, gchat or even write to many of these people who have become such a profound part of my life. And my friends at home seem to have experienced a kind of departure fatigue; I’m always coming and going. The intense need to ‘keep in touch’ has been exhausted in many cases, and I can’t blame people for this. We all have our own lives.

But this question of ‘keeping in touch’ becomes ever more fraught as I feel less and less like I have a particular place to call my own. There’s no obvious base on which I can ground my life (or, more practically, store my belongings). What to do about that? Decide, somewhat arbitrarily, to settle in some location? Perhaps if only to cut down on the logistical complications of life? (How many times have I bought a hairdryer? Books? Beds? Kitchen utensils?) What will that voice perched on my shoulder start saying if I do?

I suppose it’s not abnormal to feel somewhat adrift in one’s mid-twenties. It’s kind of an awkward place between college and traditional adult-hood. Still trying to get used to the independence and responsibility yet not yet letting go of certain frivolities, eccentricities, far-fetched travel plans and dreams of greatness. I’m certainly not ready to give way to settled life, and yet it brings up questions of how much one is willing to sacrifice for one’s gallivanting.

For today, I will be enjoying a cup of tea with a side of NPR. Tomorrow I’ll be somewhere in Central/Eastern Africa. Hope you’ll keep in touch.