Welcome to meditations on migration, a blog about my experiences since returning home to Zimbabwe 3 years ago, after over 10 years away. Who knew 3 years later I would still be acclimatizing. Here is how this week has been:
The first time on an Aeroplane
I found myself getting giddy when I spotted the South African airways plane landing at the Zimbabwean airport half an hour or so before my scheduled departure time. “That’s surely my flight,” my gut said, because it was the only SA Airways plane at the airport and my itinerary mentioned flying with SA Airways to South Africa then switching to Delta. Indeed it was my flight and not too long after it landed I found myself boarding my first plane ever, that was 2011, August. I was fortunate enough to sit next to a well dressed Zimbabwean man who looked like he knew what he was doing. Across the aisle from us was a boy of about 12, flying alone. The hostess came to check on him a couple of times and we heard this was his umpteenth flight and he was on his way to the UK. For me, it was my first flight ever, and not only was I telling everyone but I was planning on enjoying tremendously. I mentioned my plan to make this first flight memorable to to my well dressed sit mate who had been trying to act experienced. He confessed too that this was his first flight and what ensued was comedic excellence. We had half of the plane roaring with laughter with our “First flight” antiques before the flight took off. We asked the hostesses questions about drink orders, and even quizzed the boy flying alone on what to expect on our first flight. As the plane finally set to the air, we searched for the puke bags loudly, making a fuss and announcing to everyone our readiness for whatever the take-off would mean for us…and the crowd went wild.
I wanted my first time on an airplane to be memorable, and it was. I wanted it to mean something, because I believed then as any number-line would attest, there is only one first time for everything. Too bad for number lines though, for poetry comes in and ruins mathematical precision, calling for more first times even to things routinely done.
The first kiss after a huge fight with your lover
The first outing after the death of a loved one
The first alcoholic drink since the pregnancy miscarried
The first date since the divorce
The first night in your old bedroom at home after almost a decade away
The first home cooked meal since she left
The first car accident with a new car
The first plane ride since Trump was elected
The first time you tell a particular group of friends that you are single again
The first doctor’s visit since the diagnosis
The first time you drop your phone with the new screen protector
The first poop in a new apartment after the breakup
All these are “firsts” about things that you and I may have regularly done, places we may have routinely visited, but now turned into “first times” by incidents of remark. The first time I set foot at home after years away, I was brought to tears wondering why I had come and wishing I hadn’t. But it was the right decision to be back, not because of the tragedies that have ensued but because of the purpose of the journey. There was so much to reclaim and so much to do after that reclamation and it goes on even now.
Poop
I have long wanted to write a facebook post that goes:
“That feeling when you badly want to go number two, and then you get a chance to sit on the golden throne and let go.”
This post has been in my head for over a decade now and I have shared so many controversial things on social media but this I have shied away from. I don’t know why but there is something about being human in this way that I may have not yet embraced. Maybe if I take a first aid course and put the certificate in my folder in readiness for flying to the UK, I may be able to talk medically about bodily functions. However, this week I am able to write about it because I titled this piece, the first poop.
As I was leaving my farm this week, I saw two little children in the dust road. A boy barely 4 standing over his little sister who was squatting by the side of the road. As I passed them, the boy turned to face me, in readiness to protect and defend his kin and I found that really cool. I wanted to write about it and a part of me wished I could snap a photo of this countryside scene. But that would not have been respectful of these children’s privacy. Something about being human in this way in Zimbabwe is particularly interesting. I once wrote how these people urinate everywhere but I still did not publish it. Bodily functions are not as easy to be comfortable with sometimes. Back then I like the “these people” series because I could still see the divide between me and the “them”. Though the separation remains the line is faint now, and in many places faintly dotted as there have been plenty of cross overs.
Touched
I am touched by the outpouring love as people responded to my sharing last week. Indeed my friend had yet more to do and it hurts. One particular one exhorted me to grieve well, which also goes along with my desire to suffer well. It’s been tougher yet still grieving the things I can’t yet share here in writing. Some like my friend’s passing - which took a while to find words for - I am still searching for the words. Other things are private and would impact people who have nothing to do with this wonderful writing emotional outlet of ours. Of course, sometimes I find myself not caring much about that since it is my story too, but for now I am letting it stop me, for now…but there have been many “first times” dear fellow travelers. Many “firsts time this and that after this incident”…and these first have been marked with sadness and a realization that life does go on. Without even raising alarm to the world that this person’s paradigm has exploded to pieces, hence shifted to a molecular level, life goes on.
Sometimes I want to not write because it feels quite depressing. But then you think, I am living it, I might as well write. In addition, no many people get a. record of the times when it was dark, what a way to celebrate the light that is soon to come by writing these sad reminders to myself to be humble and not let the good stuff get to my head when it shows up - Humility. Wink…this the first blog post where I wrote about some of my many recent firsts and I find it interesting how writing is in so many ways an enshrouding of truth. This hiding and masking is something I think I have since become comfortable with when it comes to being human.
I am wondering though, what are some first times of a regular thing have you experienced fellow travellers?
Until next week, I am here in Zimbabwe still grinding, still hustling…I have faith in the light I don’t yet see at the end of this tunnel. It will show up, this is home after all!