Written on my last flight back from Zambia to the UK
My year in Africa is over. I am 2 hrs away from Heathrow- Zambia is 8 hours behind me. I’m not sure I will ever return to Zambia- but there is more of Africa to see… I’m just not sure if I want to see it.
Africa hurt. The moments of joy were few and far between- its hard for someone who treasures joy to live in a place where there is so little of it. Yvonne cried this morning, begged me to stay, and cried for the loss of her salary and the school fees- her eyes begging me to give her more money. It was awful. There was no joy in that.
It’s over now- all of it- the ex-pat life, the poverty, the constant demands, the racial tensions, the exploitation, the coldness, and the lack of substance. Its over for me at least but it continues on there. How can such a place be so superficial? How can such a place harbor nothing but drinking, promiscuity, gossip and material wealth? Not even NYC came close to that. It probably all boils down to the type of people who go to Africa and why they are there. I am so happy to have left- that country held nothing for me. It was empty.
My year in Africa. It sounds so momentous, so life changing, so adventurous- but it was actually pretty boring. Maybe I am tired of my life changing. Besides, the adventures in to be had in Lusaka were hard to come by. I wish it had been different but it was the best I could make it. I just seemed to be warring against everything and everyone. No contentment was to be found. But to be content and happy in Zambia seems a ridiculous concept when you are surrounded by poverty and sickness- to be happy is to be guilty.There was nothing more I could do. And even when I had done so much for Yvonne and Kay- they still asked for more.
I am happy to not call Zambia my home any longer. It never was, though. It never felt like home even when I surrounded myself with my things and decorated- it never felt like home. London has always felt like home. The UK has always been comfortable to me. And now I am returning there- returning home- and returning to Paul.
Ah! 20 minutes to landing. Almost home. Almost in Paul’s arms. Almost complete. Almost at the beginning- it’s all so very exciting. Just all the minutes between now and then. 20 minutes to landing, more time to taxi and disembark. Add on minutes for customs, queues and waiting for the baggage- then those last minutes of loading it onto the trolley and walking through customs out into the arrivals lounge. Then the seconds before we see each other and the last final seconds until we are touching. Those are the sweetest and hardest moments to endure.
The landing gear just went down. How exciting. I am so close to home, now. But I wonder if home will bring me that peace or if home can still over me the adventure and excitement I crave. I can only hope that my desire for the subversive and risky stays alive. That I will continue to love people who are weird and non-conformist and those who embrace themselves for who they are- those people who fulfill their needs and aren’t afraid to do so. I love skinny-dipping and feeling the wind against my body. I love to feel free and boundless- full of joy. Emotions- I love those too- and drama and romance and a good story with a happy ending. I don’t want these things to disappear from my life as I find peace and contentment. How does it all fit together?
Touch down. Here we go! The next chapter of my life is about to begin. Wish me luck!
