Sleepless in Arusha: Uprooting, Replanting, and Renesting

It’s 12:09 am (August 1, 2018) here in East Africa, but I’m awake.  I’m feeling simultaneously depressed yet victorious.  Let me explain.

As we speak, the last of my worldly belongings still located in the US are being boxed, palletized, and prepared for shipment to my new home.  At some point in the next few days, those last few items that I own will be on a freighter bound for Africa.  The pecuniary value of these items is very low (almost nothing in terms of yard sale prices) yet the sentimental value is very high:  A beautiful hope chest my father made me when I was a child; boxes of treasured books, photos, and other personal memorabilia; my beloved Trek 1000WSD bicycle, which I’ve ridden damned near to hell and back, including many soggy commutes back and forth on the ferry to and from work in downtown Seattle; my L.L. Bean forest green sleeping bag, which I camped so many times in; and my dirndl that I used to wear for the Oktoberfest concerts with The Hometown Band in Kitsap County.

Folks, this was all that was left in my storage unit when I cleaned it out in May–almost all that was left from my 3,300 square foot house.

Once the ship leaves port, there will be nothing left on American soil that belongs to the Honey Badger (at least not enough to furnish even a studio apartment with).  As far as I’m concerned, I’m homeless there.  I don’t have an address that is mine.  My house is gone.  It’s an eerie feeling.

I’ve completely uprooted and pulled stakes.  And for this reason, I can’t help but feel sad.  I was born in the USA.  I miss my friends and family there.  I miss my pets.

I miss the Pacific Northwest–both the green Seattle west side and the high desert east side where I grew up.  I miss hot summers, crisp autumns, snowy winters, and warm springs.  I especially miss spring in Eastern Washington, when the weather would warm up and the sagebrush hills would be covered in green until summer temps scorched them dirt brown.  I miss summers in Seattle (which promptly started on July 5 to ensure that the weather sucked for Independence Day!).  I miss the annual Bainbridge Island Fire Department pancake feed, held every October.  I miss fresh salmon.  I miss cherries and peaches, which I can’t seem to find in Africa.  I miss the earthy smoky smell that used to envelop Bainbridge when people started firing up their wood stoves when the weather got cold. I miss sledding on the farm when the snow got deep.  I miss White Christmases.

But I don’t miss the stress and the rat race.  Thank you very much.

The seeds that were planted on Mt. Kilimanjaro in 2016 “took” and are growing quickly; the roots are firmly in place, and the plants are bearing fruit.  That fruit will continue to multiply as I continue to flourish, in my new home.  I notice with some amusement that I have already been “nesting” for some time, but I was feeling incomplete with these last few items taking up a tiny storage unit on Bainbridge Island, for a king’s ransom of a monthly rent.  It was time to finally let go and bring the last of it here.

Africa is solidly in my heart and soul now–its land, its language, its food, its people, its culture.  My husband was born on Mt. Kilimanjaro, and I am anchored to him now, as well as his precious Chagga family–all 12 of them!  And that’s just the immediate family.  It would be nearly impossible to count all of the extended clan.

Inasmuch as I miss things from the US, I am more than happy with those things that have supplanted them here:  almost constant sunshine except for the monsoon seasons, where I thrill in huge rainstorms and thunderstorms; the rolling farmland, covered with corn and other lush crops; sharing my daily constitutionals with cows, donkeys, goats, sheep, dogs, cats, children, and Masai herdsmen; eating inexpensive, abundant fresh food, with no end of mango, pineapple, papaya, banana, passion fruit, and avocado in sight; those crazy dudes that hitch a ride on buses and trucks while riding on rollerblades (freaking dangerous but cool nonetheless); waking up whenever I damned well feel like it; and being ever amazed by Mounts Kilimanjaro and Meru, which I am privileged to see on a daily basis.

But most of all, I am blessed to have found a soulmate who will continue to lead me on life’s safari. May God bless us and our families.

Now, mimi ni MTanzania. Mimi ni MChagga.  Mimi ni Mwafrika.  Na mimi ni Marekani.

So:  Now I will go back to bed and try to get some sleep as the safari of the last of my stuff begins.  I can’t wait for it to get here so I can close the final chapter of the old, stressed-out Badger life story and continue on with the new.

By the way, please say a prayer to the travel gods that my stuff gets here safely.  Sheesh.

-Badger OUT.