Back to Africa Movement

This is approximately hour nine of sitting in the Heathrow airport.  Hour six of being fairly awake and coherent and about hour three of being supremely caffeinated.  This is also hour one of attempting to write again after leaving Africa.  I suppose some of  this lack of words is due to tremendous amount of school work.  They get you in year three of your undergrad degree; college got hard. (Part of that could be due to the fact that my major was Finance once again and no longer Contemporary African Dance.)   

But, other than being busy, my fingers didn’t feel like typing.  They didn’t feel like telling or explaining or being insightful.  Mostly, my brain felt confused and unsettled at what had happened in Africa, how it had changed me as a person, how I was different now than I was before I came, where my life was taking me knowing what I now know and seeing what I had seen.   I guess I didn’t really process my experiences the way that I needed to.

I realized pretty recently that I had a choice to make.  I could take what I had felt and experienced and tasted and breathed in Cape Town and call it all a neat portion of my life.  A cool adventure that I escaped from unscathed, and keep a few photos to show the grandkids.  I could tell them about how I used to live in Africa and how I rode an elephant or had to lock the car doors so baboons wouldn’t get in.  The kids would love that stuff.  And there would be nothing wrong with allowing that to be the extent of my African journey.  But I wouldn’t have been true to myself if that is all the influence I allowed Africa to have over me.

So then, there was the second option.  I go back.  All Marcus Garvey style, back to the Motherland, 3 different flights, 14 hours of layovers, and a 3 day solo journey.  Sort of my own personal Mecca: I go back to Cape Town and try and gain a better understanding of what I am doing in this life.  Why I feel such a pull here and what I am supposed to learn, do, grow from. 

Those who know me a little or know me a lot would realize I chose the latter of these two options.  I am returning to Cape Town for a few weeks.  To do some soul wandering, and then some soul searching, and maybe, ultimately, some soul understanding.  If I come out of here more confused than ever, than well, that’s ok.  Because I would rather know I tried to understand than dismissing what seemed silly at the time.  I guess we will all always live with what ifs in our lives, but I don’t want this to be one of those what ifs.

My rash decision making has undoubtedly given my loved ones back home a headache over this whole thing.  No one wants someone they care about 9000 miles away.  And if I could incorporate an apology for the stress and a thank you for the understanding into one phrase it would be a “thankology” and I would seal it on the heart of everyone who loves me.

I will be home soon, and I will be home stronger.  But when Mama Africa calls, you answer.