Readjustment

After spending almost three weeks away from Umphumulo, I returned feeling distinctly out of place.  Ok, maybe out of place isn’t the phrase I’m searching for, but I couldn’t help but feel like I didn’t fit here as well as I remembered. 

It first hit me while I was standing on a street corner in Kwadukuza watching a little red car drive away to the airport.  As I walked a couple blocks up the street to catch a kombi (minibus taxi) back to Umphumulo, I couldn’t keep from imagining flying back to the U.S., starting life as a student again, seeing friends and family, and being free to act unashamedly North American.

As soon as I got into the taxi, my American bubble burst.  I became conscious of my accent, my mannerisms, my dress, and my daily schedule.  I started to enunciate more, resigned myself to not wearing chacos and shorts every day, and started mentally preparing myself for unpredictable work schedule of Umphumulo.  Some of my walls went back up: my camera and ipod went back into storage, and I began to polish answers about what I’d been doing for the last three weeks to deflect attention from the fact that I went on a glorified holiday of the type many of my friends cannot afford.  I even caved into the temptation to lose myself in one of the new books I borrowed from other volunteers, and spent Saturday evening reading by myself.  On Sunday morning, I felt dazed by the overwhelming amount of Zulu during church, and day-dreamed my way through a youth league meeting afterwards.  

In other words, I got homesick.  Maybe more than I ever have before. 

And once again, my hosts in Umphumulo effortlessly reminded me that I am home.  The day after the bubble burst, I went to church, met several people I’d never spoken to before, and had great conversations with them.  I shot baskets with my neighbors, and helped herd some cows out of the church center.  The cows proceeded to go straight into the bishop’s yard, so we chased them out of there too.  I made home-made potato wedges with fresh guacamole for dinner, and then spent an hour and a half helping my friend prepare for his math exam the next day.  The next morning, I woke up at 5 to go running with another friend from church, whom I learned was running the same marathon as me the next weekend.  We even ran a route that was almost completely new to me, which was something I didn’t think was possible in Umphumulo. 

It was the perfect combination of activity, conversations, and invitations.  I felt re-energized, and not just because of the coffee I drank to stay awake after my early run.  Returning to Umphumulo helped me realize that not only do I have family in the US, but I also have family in here.  The amount of people who gave me grief for disappearing for three weeks was more than enough proof of that.  Coming home to Umphumulo helped me to see that even though many of the factors that define who I am mark me as an American who should be wildly out of place in rural KwaZulu-Natal, there are just as many that label me as a member of this community.  Six months ago, I would have had trouble believing it, but I thank God for the people and experiences that have shown me this part of myself.