life at home

The first blogpost you write on any blog is always a bit intimidating, well in my opinion anyway. There's always the struggle of not knowing where to start. And it's even more overwhelming to pick a starting point when you have a month's worth (if not more) of thoughts to catch up on.

When you've been gone for a month, coming home is strange.. and when you've been overseas (in Africa) it's even more bizarre. I was only in Africa for 1 month, which really is not that long. But for 10 months, it's what my life revolved around. Whether it was packing for Africa, shopping for skirts, writing emails to my team, or struggling with fear.. life was all about going to Africa. Now I'm home, I've gone to Africa and come back. And there's this empty nothingness that I really can't describe.

It feels like I've been home a lot longer than 2 days. Bugiri seems like forever ago, almost like a dream. I've found myself walking around the house simply not knowing what to do with myself. I'm hooked to my email because I keep talking with my teammates (were we really, just one week ago, talking in person? That seems unreal). I'm editing picture after picture of Uganda, the children there, my team, the animals, the people, the houses.. everything. Editing the pictures gives me something to do, and I don't know what I'm going to do with my time once my pictures are all photoshopped.

Every waking moment, Africa is on my mind. What would I be doing in Africa right now? It's cliche, but it's true: you can take the girl out of Africa, but you can't take Africa out of the girl. I didn't intend to fall in love with Africa, I didn't mean to get so attached to the kids there, or love our host family and friends so much. But somehow it happened.

You put on a pair of pants in the morning, but jeans feel too uncomfortable to wear (you've been dreaming of wearing a tank top with jeans for a month, but now that you're home, you find yourself pulling out your Africa skirts from the bottom of your drawer). The idea of American food isn't as appealing as it was a week ago, eating in general doesn't sound too good. You go to sleep, tears rolling down your face as you pray for Henry, that he stays safe and healthy and happy. And when you wake up, you cry again, thinking of him, wondering what he is doing, thinking, feeling.

You breathe in, you breathe out. You're still thinking of Africa. It doesn't always necessarily bring you to tears thinking about it. Some moments it does, you miss it so much. Other moments, thinking of Africa makes you so incredibly happy. Usually when you think about Africa (which is almost every second) you sit in a daze, not sure what to do. You don't feel anger all that much, maybe frustration over some things. Overall, you feel more on the depressed side. And at times, a bit -for lack of a better word- numb. Everything about your life in America seems a slight bit pointless.

Sleep hasn't come easily the past 2 nights, because every time you close your eyes, you see those kiddos. You see their torn shirts, their dirty feet, their bright smiles. You hear their laughs, imagine them screaming, "Muzungu!" at you from across the road. You wish you could feel their fingers pulling on your hair, their little bodies sitting on your lap. But a huge ocean separates you from them. No more holding their hands, smiling at them, singing songs, cuddling them in you lap. Now all you can do is pray for them, and (although you know it's important) it doesn't seem like enough.

Basically life at home is just... extremely weird. Physically you're home, among your family and friends and house and church. But mentally, your mind is in Africa. Along with your heart.