Halfway There...

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It’s been about two months since I’ve slept under a mosquito net; since our summit to Mt. Kilimanjaro; since I’ve stepped on a pleasantly dusty and bumpy road – and I’ve never missed anything more in life.

I’ve lived away from ‘home’ twice before; in London, England and in Hawai’i -- and as amazing and beautiful as these places are in their own right, once I left, I LEFT. My leaving them wasn’t accompanied with a longing, with a wanderlust-ic heartache.

Maybe it’s because it’s still kind of cold here and my injured toe can’t bear to wear anything BUT flip flops. Maybe it’s because I haven’t heard a word of Swahili in two months and hearing someone say "elfu kumi na tano” on TV made my heart skip a beat. Maybe it’s because I’m going back and August is taking forever to get here.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to be home with family and friends, but there’s just something that changes you after you’ve lived in Tanzania.

If you have the chance to go to Tanzania, you should go. If you have the chance to live there, LIVE THERE.

Deciding to move to Africa in the middle of the Ebola, Boko Haram and Isis crises – I was reminded of just how much I/we don’t know about Africa, and just how many people think that it is one giant homogenous country. (edit: added 5/28) Isn't there Ebola? What if you get it? How close are you to the kidnappings? Yes, I probably won't, and very far. The north, south, east and west of Africa, while all parts of the same landmass, are very different from each other. To think ALL of Africa was the same throughout would be like thinking ALL of North America is the same throughout -- Are the Northwest Territories, Arizona, California and Maine the same? But they're all part of North America right? Africa is home to Egypt, Lesotho, Central African Republic and Tanzania (amongst many others) -- places that are all very different from each other. To assume the whole of Africa is exactly like the western narrative we are shown on screen is just like assuming all Canadians live in igloos; that all Americans are gun-toting 300-pound humans; that everyone in Asia is good at math (lol). It ignores and diminishes the cultural and historical wealth that is contained there. Yes there is danger, there is racism, there is disease -- but show me a place free from these and I'll tell you to look again.

Tanzania is in East Africa and is one of the safest countries on the continent; home to Mt. Kilimanjaro, the Serengeti and Tanzanite (a gem RARER than diamonds). Everyone in Ontario was closer to Ebola when it was in New York, than I ever was living in Tanzania.

Within the last 3 years I took a 180-degree turn from working in the corporate world in downtown Toronto to community development in East Africa – My daily life went from 1 hour commutes to sit at a desk for 8 hours a day, to a 15 minute walk to work in flip flops and riding in a van meant for 9 people with 12 other people into the rural areas of the Kilimanjaro region. There's something fulfilling about going back to basics, about working to help others, to do something for someone who can't give you anything in return. I haven’t looked back since.

There’s something about shattering stereotypes that makes you rethink everything you’ve ever thought about anything. Living in Tanzania did that for me.

Moments in Moshi:

A) That feeling of "lostness":

Visiting with a family: a mom, grandma, aunt, neighbor, two youth and your coworker (the only other person who can speak English). Sitting under banana trees by a small house listening to a conversation spoken fully and only in Swahili after being in Tanzania for less than a month. I don't think I've ever been that quiet in my life.

B) MacGuyver Situations:

(MINE) Busting through my first (of 4) pairs of flip-flops within 1 minute of leaving the office. I had 10 more minutes to go and I wasn’t going to walk home barefoot. An eyeglass screwdriver and a bobby pin will do wonders.

(MILLY’S) When you don’t have gauze to put over your cut, you cut a square from an old t-shirt and you use that.

C) Patience, sweet, sweet patience – You learn your lesson the first time: Bring cards and a fully charged cell-phone to the restaurant just in case your dinner takes 3 hours to come – AGAIN.

D) The ironic race-card pull: After deflecting advances from a dude at a bar, he says to me, “Is it because you don’t like black people?” Ummmmm….what? Would I live HERE if that were true? There's ONLY black people here.

Having been back home in Canada for two months now, the reverse culture shock is here and in full effect.

I don’t feel like I fully “live” here; that I’m just a visitor. Not because I don’t feel at home with friends and family, but more like my brain, heart and emotions are still in Tanzania. I say, “Pole”, “Asante” and “Karibu” so much that my family’s gotten used to it and sometimes even say it themselves. I still have “Sura Yako” and “Togola” on repeat on my itunes. I rode an elevator for the first time in 7 months a couple of weeks ago and I was straight up tripping out like a 5 year old. There are no elevators in Moshi (edit: There is one, I haven't found it yet though).

Knowing that I’m going back in two months doesn’t help with the “unsettled” feeling either.

One day at a time, I guess.

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