This Place is Not My Home

     "How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard." -Winnie the Pooh

     How is it that a bear of very little brain can sum up in one sentence my thoughts the past few weeks? Never underestimate stuffed animals and the wisdom they possess. 
     And it's true, this quote has been on my mind lately. I've had a fairly... Unusual... Summer. We had two deaths in the family, I experienced hiking a mountain on a broken hip, and all this while spending two months away from my Papa. Having to leave your home suddenly is just the cherry on top. 
     For those of you wondering, no we are NOT SKIPPING OUR RETURN TRIP TO AVOID EBOLA. That is the farthest thing from my mind right now, because if there was any way I was fit to travel, I'd be back home right now. And that's what it is to me– Home. I've lived there ten years, I grew up there, some of the most important things to me and important people are there. I can understand the people who ask if I'm 'glad to be back home in America,' but it's not the truth. I am a third-culture-kid. I'm an American, so says my passport, who was brought up in West Africa, where my strange mesh of European, African, and Western cultures created a lifestyle for me unfathomable by any who haven't been privy to it. That is what I'm used to. I don't know what an android is. I still talk to waitresses in French and for Pete's sake I STILL don't have confidence in electrical appliances, and put on flip flops so the computer won't shock me. Never trust technology. When I come to what other people consider my 'home,' I see a place where I don't know that many people. I can't keep up with the customs and excuse me if I do something seemingly impolite but in Togo we don't, and I quote, 'hold the door open for you like it's the last plane out of Afghanistan.' I see people who all look and sound like me, but who I know nothing about. I see people who spend on photos with Santa what an entire family could eat for a meal. And above all else, I look around and see a world of people who won't understand why I'm still crying for Massan, or why I can't come tonight because I'm skyping with my 'cook' and 'housekeeper.' They have likely never had a friend who died of AIDS. They probably don't know the feeling of video taping a girl's goodbye to the people who tried to save her life, and they probably never will. 
     You simply cannot know what it is like to have your own side of the world that the people around you don't understand. For other expats who have moved back from overseas, just think of the first time someone asked you where you're from. Here's the general answer: "Uuuuuuuhhhhhhmmmmm..." It's hard. And it's hard enough without not being able to say goodbye. Have any of you ever had your house burn down? You go somewhere, you hear that it just went up in flames with all your sentimental, precious things and that there's nothing left but ashes now. I'm assuming not many of you have. Well equate that feeling to my family. With one little mis-hap of a skateboard, all of a sudden my life is changed. I went to see the Giver the other day, and with one split-second, montage flash of tiny African hands reaching out to the camera, I simply burst into tears. Yes, I'll get to visit Togo again, but it will be as a visitor. I will never get to go back to my home. The moment the doctor said 'surgery,' it was decided and all of a sudden this place I'm in, this foreign, confusing place is where I am and where I'll stay. Nevermind the fact that I didn't get to say my goodbyes. Nevermind that I have to leave my best friend, and Essowe, and Jermaine, and Antoinette, who have shaped me as a person more than they could ever know. 
     If I sound mad, perchance, I'm not mad. It is pure and simple, it is sadness. I am sad to leave my home. And yet, I can't help but feel a certain joy inside me. I couldn't figure out at first why I just wasn't sobbing on the floor about leaving. Then I came across this quote by my old familiar friend, Pooh Bear. "How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard." So here I am, writing this with the sadness sitting like a rock in my heart, but at the same time so thankful and so happy about the unique gift I've been given, and how I would never ever change a moment of it. Would it be cheesy of me right now to say 'I love you, Togo'? Yes, it would. I'll do it anyway. 
     I love you, Togo. 

Comments

  1. Becky ReevesSeptember 16, 2014 at 6:17 PM

    Beautifully said, Maddie! I love you and agree with everything you've written!

    ReplyDelete

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