Real Life

Home. I was there for two weeks and then I came back home.

 

My time in Seattle, LaConner, Edmonds, Kirkland, and Pullman was perfect. All of it. I had the most wonderful vacation I could have ever imagined and was shown how spoiled I really am by my amazing friends and family. I was scared, leaving Kenya, that Home would be strange to me, that I would feel overwhelmed or anxious, but I just felt comfortable. It was oddly as if I had never left in the first place. Like the last 11 months were the exciting and trying dream of a really long night and I was now back to real life (but that I had pictures to show about and people who were interested in hearing stories of). Yes, shopping malls were a bit much, and I couldn’t help but spend many minutes starting at the vast selection of foods and snacks on the shelf in the stores, but it wasn’t the shock I imagined. I guess Peace Corps really does teach you flexibility… go with the flow. That’s what I did for my two weeks at home and I couldn’t have had more fun or made better use of my time if I had tried. So, to all my friends and family: thank you for my most amazing vacation and welcome/send off part two a girl could ever ask or hope for. I love you and miss you already!

 

Leaving Home and returning home, was not what I expected either. It was neither overwhelming nor strange after being away. It was like I had never left. Like the previous two weeks were just a crazy, food, friends, and family-filled dream, and I was back to real life. The chaos on the roads, the crowded buses, the smell of garbage from the piles on the streets… it was all familiar and comforting in its own way.  Coming home was not quite the transition I imagined it would be, I fell back into my routine with the added bonus of having a renewed wind. It feels like I’ve returned with a charged battery and a fresh state of mind. I’m back to my usual comforts (Somali eish – my favorite meal, a familiar and warm culture, a warm climate, and an improved diet – at least from a health perspective). I’ll admit that having to share my seat on the bus back to Garissa with a vomiting 8-year old and the women crowding the isle was a bit of a rough welcome back, but mostly it was all good.

 

Home and home; I’m lucky to have two. Not many people I would guess can leave Home, to come home. I suppose the question now is: which life is real? I don’t think I know the answer.