Don't get me wrong, I've totally been living in the moment, enjoying and appreciating every inch and minute of this experience. But sometimes, I get so entrenched, so comfortable (or at least so busy) that the novelty of the statement "I live in Africa and will for many months yet" doesn't compute. In fact, it doesn't even occur to me organically. I find myself sitting somewhere, or walking somewhere, or doing something that has become some kind of familiar and ordinary -- looking out at Mt. Kilimanjaro as I read a book on the front porch, for instance, or strolling into a coffee shop and ordering a chai in Swahili -- and I have to actively remind myself, "You are in Africa, Sarah. You live in Tanzania.""No. Seriously. Rwanda is your next door neighbor."
It's truly an exciting (and odd) revelation every time... and it actually happens more often than you would think. I have wanted to come to Africa for as long as I can remember. Now, I'm actually here. Maybe that's part of it; it's always felt like a distant, possibly unreachable pipe-dream. But it's December 2010, I'm 24-years-old, and I'm living in East Africa... unreal... and it's largely due to all of you.
Truthfully, the other large part of it is that I'm just... living my life. I've made a home here. I have a schedule, I work, and I occasionally go on a weekend holiday (to the Serengeti, granted, but whatever). I had a lunch date scheduled for that afternoon (with some Tanzanian schoolboys) and I dropped off some Christmas pastries I bought at the bread shop for local friends (Athumani the Taxi Driver and Teacher Olivari's family in Njoro) before that. I have a cell phone here, for goodness sake. It may be the original Nokia, but I have Tanzanian phone numbers in it. I LIVE here. All of this occurred to me (for the hundredth time) as I walked down that footpath, sweltering under the 9AM summer sun.
The hardest part to reconcile is that while I may feel some sort of at home here, half of me (a big, weighty half) is still my old self -- I am a Western mzungu. I think about things like "which color kanga would look best with my hair color," and "I would love to go to Uganda for a weekend, because its right here, and wouldn't that be amazing? I could visit a school, maybe see the start of the Nile...." But I cannot afford/justify the plane ticket, and I'm actually frustrated by this on a regular basis. I've only been here eight weeks, and I've gone the couple of hours east to witness the Ngorongoro Crater at sunrise. Meanwhile, some of the people who have lived here their entire lives haven't even been close. Also, I carry around an embarrassingly nice water bottle.
I am spoiled rotten.
Granted, I wouldn't be here if I hadn't worked and fundraised for every cent. And granted, what little spending money I do have, I've largely been spending on school supplies and paint for my school. And granted, I am here as a volunteer, with nearly all of my waking hours devoted to planning lessons, hugging babies, and teaching 3-4-year-olds their 1-2-3s... and generally living my dream. But living here for as long (and as short) as I have, seeing what I've seen -- the poverty, the illness, the general struggle as well as the will -- and knowing what I know about all of it, I find it harder and harder to justify some of my "Western" worries and/or wants.
It would be a lie if I said something dramatic like "this is huge character-changer for me." I've always struggled with distractions silly, vane, and vile at home to some degree. I never bought an iPhone, for instance, because I knew that I didn't need to stare at it all day long (and I absolutely would). The dribble of reality TV always made me feel wildly irritated. And nearly every time I bought Starbucks, I thought about how many school pencils I could purchase with that money instead (the picture at the top of my blog being a constant reminder of my kids in the D.R. Congo). Somehow, though... I found ways to excuse it. (Pumpkin Spice Lattes are really, really good... and seasonal, don't you know?) But now? Umm. It's exceptionally more difficult to cut myself some slack. And yet here I am, still wishing I could go to Uganda. Or Rwanda. Or trek to the top of Mt. Kili. Sigh.
These are the musings and plights of a girl out of her comfort zone; of a Westerner with the blinders off. I've been blessed with many things... this opportunity, for one, and a superb support system and excellent education, to name a few others. I have library cards in three different cities and the ability to push a few buttons and have clean laundry within the hour when I'm back in the States. I'm going to get to try South African wine IN South Africa. But I still want. That's the trouble with being human. I know, but I want.
I'm not perfect, friends and family. But I'm learning, and I'm growing, and as I plopped my kanga-clad backside down on that African curb to wait for my Christmas Eve lunch dates... I was all kinds of grateful. That's me, and it's enough for now.
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