In Africa*

In Africa, your feet are always dirty, even if you’ve just washed them. In Africa, you listen to a song that reminds you of your old home and you want to cry. In Africa, you get absorbed in reading a good paragraph, and then get distracted by the incessant buzzing of a mosquito in your ear, a mosquito that you know will bite you in two seconds increasing your risk of getting malaria. In Africa, you mess with a tiny, plastic alarm clock you just bought at the market whose second hand sometimes goes backward. In Africa, you struggle with saying even the most basic of greetings. In Africa, you don’t know how to act around other people, especially other western people, and realize your only friend is your boyfriend who came to Africa with you and who has to be your friend. In Africa, your hair is short and greasy and you wish you had kept it long. In Africa, the holes of outdoor squatters just don’t seem big enough. In Africa, the guards who protect your house at night knock on your window at 6 am to tell you they are leaving. In Africa, there’s an orchestra of wild noises during the evening. In Africa, you know you have a lot to learn.


* Of course, I’m referring to “my” Africa, which is living and working as a volunteer teacher for Orkeeswa Secondary School in Tanzania.