The US of A. Post Africa.

The last I wrote or posted was mid November, which means I stayed in Africa for another five weeks sans update and returned to the US without any final thoughts. Whoopsies.

In complete sincerity, part of me felt connected to the anonymity of travel and adventure – understanding that rarely are there ever really neat endings. I felt a wee wary of trying to 'conclude' anything. The other part of me realized that all my writings (all my thoughts really) were too muddled to aptly convey anything, in an indistinguishable instant I wasn't writing about a trip but myself, in my life and that felt strange.

Also I was going mostly crazy all over Southern Africa.

I lived constantly hot, dirty, bug addled, sans water and very well.  

I am certain I have more scars from my last three weeks in Africa than the previous 22 years of life prior, but I wasn't going to not climb that rad tree or not try to catch that genet (look it up-it's rad) or not break into the swimming pool.

A brief aside with the swimming pool. The Swedes, Rachel and I attempted to break into the the University of Botswana swimming pool circa 12 am one night. Mind you this is the swimming pool you must wear a cap in, you must show photo i.d. to enter, it is the largest most prized swimming pool in the whole nation, it is surrounded in barbed wire and high walls- still we opt to go for it. As expected, with Rachel ducking under wire, straddling the barricade-esque wall, me standing on a chair we brought from my dorm room hoisting her over, security intervenes. Rachel says she lost her shoe and we are trying to get it. Not only did the security guards accept this, they encourage us to get back to our efforts and retrieve the shoe. Outrageous.

On the whole my final adventures were as bright and audacious as ever and per usual brought me to better understand my mortality more often than was probably necessary. 

Pursuing a lonely and fleeing hippopotamus through a delta in a small motor boat among them.

Saying good-bye was the most notable.

First to the Linga-Longa staff. 

Then Millie. She wrote me a poem complete with Winnie the Pooh-sparkly-glow-in-the-dark-stickers, she also asked to borrow my lighters so she could burn the edges of the notebook paper to give it that worldly feel.(1)  

Rachel, Adam, Axel and I spent our farewell evening in Johannesburg in a hostel drinking black label and playing pool. Most appropriately ended with a final sunrise and questionable cab ride.

Our airport departure from one another was chaotic and kind and perfectly right.

I sat alone on my suitcase incapable of moving for a while, 5 hours to spare until boarding.

Eventually I felt snackie(4) and went to the food court, ordered a schwarma and fries then was grief stricken again as I understood it would be my last endeavor with the strange African ketchup. I sat crying alone at a table in the Otambo International Airport until a large group of South African Missionaries headed to Malawi insisted that I join their table and tell them about America. They liked my accent a lot so that was a plus.

8:25 pm Boarding the plane, was my final farewell to the continent.

It is very curious to say good bye to things not knowing when or how you'll find them again, like when someone gives you a nice hug but it somehow makes you more sad- sort of lonely I think.

Home felt great in every way. My welcome was an indescribable kind of thing.

Unpacking, I came across a note reading "I won't tell you if they're clean or dirty, you'll have to find out- Kram(1) Axel" wrapped around a pair of long coveted stripey boxer shorts! Long distance communication has proven second rate, but adequate.

I threw away most of my clothes that were stained and ruined and thorn-torn, but the things I kept are still the same red as Botswana. The earth doesn't(?) can't(?) won't(?) wash out. 

I think leaving Africa you're absolutely convinced you've made contact with something significant, but can't be totally sure what that something is/was. It was especially difficult to sort my self out in the unabashed cold of Seattle. Mostly I found comfort in the rain but it was really dark too. Going from summer in the Sub-Sahara to winter in the Pacific Northwest was brutal to say the least.

Being social was great and also odd. Surely, it is the most trite statement but it is nutz to return to the same things that are very different after your absent.

Things that I feel warrant stress have felt different to me, I was scared me feeling calm/mellow was too oft mistaken for being apathetic.

I couldn't find any books that suited my mood and I couldn't be outside.

I lived a slightly nomadically for a while. Which made me feel a little bonkers.

My first week back I was bit by a brown recluse in the bed of a beloved friend and former roommate. Though frustratingly ironic I like that I have in my life only been attacked by a poisonous creature in my old apartment. Not the jungle. Though my feet look weird still.
 
I felt a dissonance between myself in Seattle and myself in Botswana and it caused some grief and anxiety that I didn't really get a handle on at first. The two things that have shaped you most don't ever meet- it is weird. (5)

 I had some sadness and confusion sort of lingering behind me. It felt like when you go swimming and your hair trails behind you in the water, kind of mermaid-like, it is definitely your hair and still attached, but as long as you are moving it might as well be gone because it won't touch you. And you're having fun so you don't want to stop, but it's when you do stop swimming, pop out of the water and take a breath that it globs on to your neck and face- making it hard to breathe.

In Africa I constantly found the small interstices of everyday life, cul-de-sacs of reality, synchronicitious moments, its affirming and magical and perfect. It was suggested to me that this meant I was in tune. It took a long time to re-find that at home.

It has taken even more time to sort through those thoughts and things that needed/need sorting. Surely there are many many tremendously more thoughts and things to come.

I liked always thinking of myself, the tiny dot on this huge map, so far from seattle, in this great continent and really felt at the edge of the world, and I feel glad to be at home but "still, [I understand] you have to go there- to the edge of the world again and again. There's something you can't do unless you get there. [I also sense/feel/realize], there are things you can only do alone, and things you can only do with somebody else. And it's important to combine the two in just the right amount." (6) I'm ready for some pals to adventure with, to have all the most significant parts of my life meet.

Both my families of origin and choice mended me much, along with lots of dancing (soul and otherwise), movie watching, macaron eating, beach visiting, and a special christmas goose.

It turns out that the pals and I are a bit grown up now and I continually struggle with that fact that the world recognizes us as adults, that I am working a 9 to 5 to "pay the bills" (as they say) and that we're allowed to do most anything. Possibility is overwhelming; so is paying for toilet paper. This is seemingly the most up and coming adventure (not the t.p. but the impoverished crazed post college shenanigans.) -- Just generally, stateside and abroad, toilet paper has been a hot commodity. (3)

I still struggle with time, the weird stately urgency of things here stands out severely against the African pace and I find myself floundering between the two realities. And I miss phaleche and heat and elephants crossing the street but (for maybe the first time) I feel in tune here.

Home is great.

Over drinks last week, I caught myself explaining about something in Africa and when I plan to return , then proceeding to say "I have to know when I am going back." I feel good and comfortable saying that, it feels a necessary part of my reality now.

This is racked with cliches, so apologies up front, but honestly most important things are cliche- so I feel minimal guilt. Sorry, again, for the long delay.

Maybe more slices of humble pie to come- we'll see. 

love love love


Jackie


(1) I still read it when I have a bad Seattle day.
(2) Swedish for hugs = to xoxo
(3) Never did I imagine that in America in a home I have spent countless hours would I be crumpling notebook paper to soften it as an alternative to toilet paper.
(4) First reference to snackie in all of snackiestravels.
(5) seeing Nick Whipple in Washington state was most excellent though. Albeit brief.
(6) Murakami- I found some books.