Place
Right now I'm listening to "The House That Built Me" by Miranda Lambert. If you're any kind of fan of country music, or even if you're not and can appreciate a slow ballad now and again, you should listen to it. In it she sings about re-visiting the house she grew up in. It made me think of my little house on Eastwood... the house I was raised in from birth to just a few months ago. I said goodbye to that little house this summer, but it wasn't a goodbye forever. I've seen its endearingly simple, sunny face a few times since... and every time it's made me pause and appreciate my childhood.
Listening to this song also makes me think of how connected human beings are to places. Even those of us who spend much of our lives moving around, whether because careers, families, or other circumstances call us to do so, or those of us who just like to be on the go have some connection to the places where we spend significant periods of time. And thinking about that just gets me thinking about Botswana.
I've been here for nearly 2 and 1/2 months, and honestly I feel quite settled. I know who my friends are here (though I'm refreshed when I get to make new ones, like I did today on my walk to Riverwalk), I have my favorite places around town, I'm used to my classes, and I think I can safely say that I have been officially synced with "Africa time." And while part of me feels somewhat guilty about that, another part of me is so grateful. I think back to my first 24 hours here, when all I wanted was to be connected to something familiar: to see my mother and father who had been so supportive to me during the hellish flight changes I had to make before I got here; to feel the softness of my bed beneath me and the coolness of the air blowing on my skin from my bedroom ceiling fan; to be woken up with a fresh pot of French press coffee sitting on my kitchen counter; to be sitting and talking comfortably with my Hendrix friends, for I hadn't made any here yet. I think about how in 2 1/2 short months, I've learned so much about what it means to be an expatriate of sorts, a person totally immersing oneself in a new place and culture. I've learned that college is college, even in Africa--which means that stress, anxiety about the future, and miscommunication (mostly that involving relationships with the opposite sex...) will happen wherever I go. But I've also learned what it means to let go of those things, to fully embrace the moment--whether it was through staring mesmerized at Victoria Falls or at a herd of elephants swimming in front of me, befriending a total stranger and traveling with him for a week, engaging in conversation about cultural differences with a Zambian or a Motswana, dancing with all my might at a Gaborone club or a Zambian restaurant, or chatting with American friends over dinner and drinks. This is Botswana. This is my little world, at least for this semester.
And as Miranda's soft chords play from my computer speakers, as she sings about the house that she was so linked to as a child, I think about how hard it will be to leave this place. I know it's still seven weeks away, but I also know that those seven weeks will fly by more quickly than I can imagine. So for now, I feel that something within me is telling me to soak up this place... every ounce of it. To enjoy hanging out at the Las Vegas pavilion late into the night with Dominique, Kevin, and Dean; watching movies and conversing with Stephen; to cherish every bit of laughter and reflection about life with Maggie; to laugh so hard that my stomach aches with Dominique; to make a visual memory of every acacia tree, insect, fat cake, taxi driver, and other distinctly African things that I see from now until then; to soak up the sounds of "Dumela!" and "Wa reng?", of combis honking obnoxiously or taxi drivers yelling "Let's go!" as much as I possibly can.
It's incredible how much we become a part of the places we are in... how much a part of us they become.
Listening to this song also makes me think of how connected human beings are to places. Even those of us who spend much of our lives moving around, whether because careers, families, or other circumstances call us to do so, or those of us who just like to be on the go have some connection to the places where we spend significant periods of time. And thinking about that just gets me thinking about Botswana.
I've been here for nearly 2 and 1/2 months, and honestly I feel quite settled. I know who my friends are here (though I'm refreshed when I get to make new ones, like I did today on my walk to Riverwalk), I have my favorite places around town, I'm used to my classes, and I think I can safely say that I have been officially synced with "Africa time." And while part of me feels somewhat guilty about that, another part of me is so grateful. I think back to my first 24 hours here, when all I wanted was to be connected to something familiar: to see my mother and father who had been so supportive to me during the hellish flight changes I had to make before I got here; to feel the softness of my bed beneath me and the coolness of the air blowing on my skin from my bedroom ceiling fan; to be woken up with a fresh pot of French press coffee sitting on my kitchen counter; to be sitting and talking comfortably with my Hendrix friends, for I hadn't made any here yet. I think about how in 2 1/2 short months, I've learned so much about what it means to be an expatriate of sorts, a person totally immersing oneself in a new place and culture. I've learned that college is college, even in Africa--which means that stress, anxiety about the future, and miscommunication (mostly that involving relationships with the opposite sex...) will happen wherever I go. But I've also learned what it means to let go of those things, to fully embrace the moment--whether it was through staring mesmerized at Victoria Falls or at a herd of elephants swimming in front of me, befriending a total stranger and traveling with him for a week, engaging in conversation about cultural differences with a Zambian or a Motswana, dancing with all my might at a Gaborone club or a Zambian restaurant, or chatting with American friends over dinner and drinks. This is Botswana. This is my little world, at least for this semester.
And as Miranda's soft chords play from my computer speakers, as she sings about the house that she was so linked to as a child, I think about how hard it will be to leave this place. I know it's still seven weeks away, but I also know that those seven weeks will fly by more quickly than I can imagine. So for now, I feel that something within me is telling me to soak up this place... every ounce of it. To enjoy hanging out at the Las Vegas pavilion late into the night with Dominique, Kevin, and Dean; watching movies and conversing with Stephen; to cherish every bit of laughter and reflection about life with Maggie; to laugh so hard that my stomach aches with Dominique; to make a visual memory of every acacia tree, insect, fat cake, taxi driver, and other distinctly African things that I see from now until then; to soak up the sounds of "Dumela!" and "Wa reng?", of combis honking obnoxiously or taxi drivers yelling "Let's go!" as much as I possibly can.
It's incredible how much we become a part of the places we are in... how much a part of us they become.
Comments
Post a Comment