Trouble Ahead (?)
From 23 Aug
Re-entry is going to be a bit** . . . ummm . . . difficult (?).
-For the sake of tact I’ll go with that sentence, though I’m guessing astute readers will easily be able to fill in the blanks and guess the real not-so-polite yet oh-so-accurate sentiment-
I realize it is best not to not being in Africa anymore while I’m still here but for some reason I can’t help myself today.
Already I’m feeling ripped out of this context. I blame the overweight merry-makers from Germany and their ill-fitting and awkwardly coloured speedos and bikinis at Mtoni Marine beach. I couldn’t deal with being surrounded by them - a wazungu tidal wave that surrounded me. The ‘sharing cars,’ ‘authentic’ Swahili meals at overpriced tourist restaurants, and guided tour groups were all too much.
I feel at home in the dalladalla, feasting at the nyama choma stand, and sitting with then men at Jaws Corner. I’ve gone local.
And yet I sit here writing this in Iringa, upstairs at the Neema Shop Café, completely satisfied -having eaten a delicious bacon and avocado panini. I’ve had hot water for most of the last month, with no complaints I might add. I not-so-secretly want to return to the clear waters and sugar white sands of Paje where I can sip dawas on the beach.
The reality of the situation is that I’m neither quite here or there. Almost at home in either. I’m somewhere in the in-between.
Welcome to life in the gap.
Re-entry is going to be a bit** . . . ummm . . . difficult (?).
-For the sake of tact I’ll go with that sentence, though I’m guessing astute readers will easily be able to fill in the blanks and guess the real not-so-polite yet oh-so-accurate sentiment-
I realize it is best not to not being in Africa anymore while I’m still here but for some reason I can’t help myself today.
Already I’m feeling ripped out of this context. I blame the overweight merry-makers from Germany and their ill-fitting and awkwardly coloured speedos and bikinis at Mtoni Marine beach. I couldn’t deal with being surrounded by them - a wazungu tidal wave that surrounded me. The ‘sharing cars,’ ‘authentic’ Swahili meals at overpriced tourist restaurants, and guided tour groups were all too much.
I feel at home in the dalladalla, feasting at the nyama choma stand, and sitting with then men at Jaws Corner. I’ve gone local.
And yet I sit here writing this in Iringa, upstairs at the Neema Shop Café, completely satisfied -having eaten a delicious bacon and avocado panini. I’ve had hot water for most of the last month, with no complaints I might add. I not-so-secretly want to return to the clear waters and sugar white sands of Paje where I can sip dawas on the beach.
The reality of the situation is that I’m neither quite here or there. Almost at home in either. I’m somewhere in the in-between.
Welcome to life in the gap.
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