And it's strange. I am experiencing what some call reverse culture shock. And, okay, it's true. I'm a bit shocked. But mostly I'm feeling out of place. I'm feeling like I was dropped from a spaceship back into this place where I used to live. And everything is just how I left it, except for a few more dust bunnies gathered around the bookshelf. The old magazines -- the ones I don't care about anymore -- are next to the couch. The empty wine bottles are one top of the fridge. The mismatched stack of papers from last semester -- notes on storytelling, hip hop feminism and Chinese immigration -- are still teetering dangerously on the heater. My friends are here (except for a few of my babes who are galavanting across the country and/or world), talking about parties and work.
I don't want to talk about parties and work. I want to talk about Rwanda. I'm still there.
I feel like I time-traveled. I went forward and now I'm back.
So, how can I stay there but be here?
I have a friend, Emily, who inspires me every time I see her. She was the first person I saw when I landed back in Columbia after my boyfriend picked me up from the airport with flowers in his hand.
This is Emily.
I was so happy to see her, because seeing her meant I could be honest. I told her how I felt and immediately felt at home. This is what she wrote me in a letter decorated with an original watercolor of a vegetable-themed bicycle:
"Although I didn't make that trip to our beloved Africa with you, I've been thinking of you for weeks now, trying to remember what it was like to transition back into the States. You say you feel 'out of place' and 'a little off.' I've got to share with you, Yan, that I still feel off. But off is good. Off means that you're thinking, feeling, noticing, reflecting. If we weren't 'off,' we'd just be numbly living."
She's right. And now that I've integrated myself into another world -- Rwanda -- I can bring part of Rwanda and myself back into this place. I can share Rwanda's stories with people in my community, and I will. If I need to shout, I will. If I need to repeat myself, I will. I won't ever deny how I feel right now -- a little alien, a little shaky like newborn impala legs. A little out of place, but full now, full with inspirations and plans.
So, let's start.
This is my friend Emmanuel. He lives in Rwanda. But I brought a little bit of him with me to the U.S.
Emmanuel picked me up from the airport at midnight whenever it was I landed -- June 1, I believe. He was tall, I remember, but my glasses kept sliding down my nose and I was tired and confused from all the layovers and plane rides. But I know I liked him right away. He was comforting. Welcoming.
He scooped up my awkward luggage and said, "Here, let me." From that moment until now, he was my guide, my translator, my storyteller, my teacher and my friend.
This post and the rest of my blogging is dedicated to Emmanuel. And to every Rwandan who welcomed me into his or her life and trusted me, a stranger, with their stories. I'm keeping them with me and passing them on.
The stories start now.
I hope you are ready to listen.
Yanna
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