So many emotions come over me even as I begin to write. It has been five days since we were together, and still I can see their eyes, feel their touch, wait in the balance of moments and unknowns and swirling reactions that overwhelmed me often. And somehow, I honestly know I will never be the same.
I went to Kenya crazy stoked to finally be realizing my dream of visiting the continent of Africa--the continent that I had spent a long six years dreaming about going to. I went expecting some sort of magical, movie-like, high to occur on this huge piece of foreign land. I now understand how ridiculous this train of thought was.
Not that I didn't have some pretty magical moments, i totally did. I fended off pickpockets. Laughed during tribal dances. Stared down rhinos and gazed in awe at lions. Took care of orphans who had either been abandoned at birth or parents died of aids. Taught kindergarten to the most well-behaved, impoverished kids ever. Hand-fed giraffes. Dined at a five-star hotel and ate goat in a shack. Fought through malaria and a severe bacteria infection. Saw death in it's most raw form and heard about babies being born.In between these things, I wandered. Sometimes with friends, sometimes alone, sometimes safe, sometimes not.
I just don't think I was prepared to see so much hurt, destruction, injustice, poverty, sadness, and hopelessness. Kenya is a beautiful country. The people are beautiful, the land is beautiful, they have some beautiful animals. There definitely isn't a lack of beauty.
Being home is weird to say the least. I had the normal first few days of culture shock(where's all the matatu's? i just spent $10 putting petrol in my car; that's more dough than I would spend in a week in Kenya!) But even after those first initial days, this still doesn't feel like home. Nothing is as it was before I left. Correction: Nothing here has really changed. But I have. I have changed. I find no fulfillment, no joy in anything that I am doing here. I get up, and the whole day I just do what I want to do. That is so foreign to me in one way.
In Kenya, I got up and I served people all day long. That was about it. I lost my identity there, I became just another one of the volunteers. And I don't think I realized how much I was going to miss that. I miss doing things that matter. I miss having a purpose everyday. I realize that I can have purpose here, I just want my purpose to be what it was in Kenya. (Taking care of orphans, and teaching young kids.)
I saw this idea written somewhere, and I don't think it could ring any more true for me: If one has tasted the waters of Africa once, you will thirst until you taste them again. Step foot there once, and a chunk of your heart's flesh is inexorably torn out and left on the continent--with the people.
What little of my faith that was left before I left for Kenya is now even more shattered and ironically, a little rebuilt at the same time. My mind will keep spinning. I will keep questioning. The tears have stopped falling, but the deep sorrow remains. The images are grossly ingrained on my heart, and I can see them clearly in my head. I haven't had a nightmare in a few days. Nothing will ever appear the same again.
For now, I have no other choice but to be back in Stuarts Draft, Virginia, in the United States of America. So i might as well be all here. I will try to assimilate back into my life, but I know things will never be the same. Ever. And I won't apologize for being a different person.
**Sorry if this appears scattered and comes across as rambling. Good chances are that it is.
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