What I didn’t convey in my goodbye post before I left
Tanzania was how angry I was. Our break up was messy and hateful and hurtful and
completely mutual. We needed to be out of sight and out of mind of one another.
I was in a bad place emotionally, mentally and physically and knew this was a
relationship I had to step away from. I was filled with anger on that final
flight; looking down at the land I had called home for four years, overflowing
with joy to say I would never be back. It couldn’t get hurt me again as long as
I was 30,000 feet up or 7,000 miles away from the toxicity that I was drowning
in. Before I left I was telling my friends that I’d be boarding that plane at
Kilimanjaro International Airport with two fingers in the air and eyes focused
forward. I didn’t even want a final glance and/or goodbye. Kitty Kat out and
Kitty Kat angry and Kitty Kat DONE. I wanted to come back to the US and be a
Katherine who never even went to Tanzania. But, none of that would have been conducive
to anyone to put in my goodbye because regardless, I would have been asked
about Arusha, how I left things, what happened, and if I was happy to be home.
Yes, I was angry when I left Tanzania but no, I was not happy to be home. I’m
still not sure if I’m happy to be home. But no matter what I feel or how I
felt, Tanzania is now part of who I am. When someone asks where I’m from, my
initial response is “Africa” – for all intents and purposes, it’s just the
truth. That’s where I grew up, it’s where I learned lessons, it’s where all of
my favorite memories were created, and it’s where I made most of my lifelong
friends. I’m from Africa. There’s no shaking that.
I’ve been back in the US for seven months and I’m still trying
to figure out who I am here; Kat out of Africa. It’s still so strange being
surrounded by people who have no idea what my day to day used to be. Not
just that, so many will never be able to understand it! I accidentally left a
bottle of white wine in my freezer overnight, so when I opened my freezer to a
mess and missing cork, my first thought was “this wouldn't have happened if we had a power cut last night”. How
can a sunny day make me nostalgic for an afternoon hand washing my clothes? What
do I mean when I say I miss having a guard? Why does wearing shorts and showing
my knees still make me so uncomfortable? And most importantly, where are
the motorcycle taxis? If it’s nice out,
I’d
like to be on the back of a motorcycle. (linked to two previous blogs about
how much I love motorcycle days in TZ)
So this is just my little update on being half way through my
year long break up with Africa. I still think I’m there sometimes. I love
always having a hot shower. My hair lacks serious volume, and by volume I mean dirt. I use my hands too much when I eat. Livestock here
smells different than livestock in Arusha. I’m not in love with my life here,
but I know it’s best that I’m State side. I’ll never have my old life in Arusha
back. Pictures with Elizabeth and Gratitude still make my heart hurt. I can’t
really read back on my blog. More days than not, I hate when Facebook notifies
me of my “memories”. But I’m finally at a point where I can accept that my work
life was not my entire life. There were so many other pieces and people that
made Arusha home and will make Arusha the best vacation spot. Going back will
mean hugging Remy and Nadia, dancing at Via Via, smoking hookah at Zest, having
a shot with Aly, laying on the beaches of Zanzibar, talking about Land Rovers
with Hans, Savannah, ugali maharage, pili pili, and seeing friends. I know how lucky
I am to have such incredible memories to look back on and such amazing vacations
to look forward to. When I finally get to vacation in Tanzania, I’ll actually
just be going home. Tanzania will always be home.
