a former self

Its seems a lifetime ago, but its only been four years. Sheesh. Just four years ago I was in Rwanda and about to start a semester at a Ugandan university. If I could alter and add to what the labels at the top of the right column say, I realize now that I would write in big RWANDA and UGANDA ones. Then I remember that those are just labels from past blog posts, and not of my LIFE. Right, right...blog world isn't my all-encompassing. I like my little blog so much that I forget there are these gaps.


leaving Rwanda

Four years ago I spent four months in East Africa. I returned to the States and met the inevitable and painful question "so, how was it?" to which I would respond, "great. it changed my life and all that." Sarcastic, but honest. About as honest as I could be for a while. I came back from abroad with one college semester left, and I used it to begin the process of, well, processing. I wrote a memoir piece called mzungu memoirs and performed it as my senior thesis.

Every time I perform the show its different. The first time, I felt as if I was taking my first deep breath since returning to the States. It was the first time I didn't feel lonely since returning. Then I performed it again 6 months later, and again a few months after that. I've been blessed with opportunities to perform it a couple times a year, and each time a little more life has happened between me and my East African self. I performed it last Friday, and was confronted with this big deal of life that's happened between me and Uganda- a wedding, a honeymoon and a name change. A whole new identity to add to the mix.

I talk about identity in the show- the value of names. One of my Ugandan home-stay families named me Nassali, after the "clever-est woman in the Chima clan." My peers at Uganda Christian University called me "Keeem-bear-leee" with their strong Luganadan accents. I would hear "Kimi" called through phone lines from Connecticut. And I wondered if a different self was called out of me with every name that resounded in my direction. Now I've added another name- wife- and it was dizzying in the preparation for Friday's performance. More than ever, it felt like I was playing a former self. Getting reacquainted and relearning my own language. 



the path I walked into Banda to work in the IDP camp

 And what an incredible opportunity performing this show is. I was forced, despite my own reluctance, to re-access this vulnerable former self and this incredible abroad experience. I didn't just get reacquainted with Nassali. I was forced to remember my home-stay families, my niece Mercy (who is now 6 years old!), the people I worked with in the IDP camp, and my peers at UCU. The smells of the dining hall. The heaviness of Rwanda's memorial centers. The moment at one of those centers in which I received a bit of faith back again, after a dark period of questioning. My hut. Hand washing my clothes. Cold showers and dirt-orange feet. Matatu rides into Kampala. My birthday dinner at the Indian restaurant in Garden City. The children on the street yelling "mzungu," day after day.



dinner in UCU's dining hall, braids, matoke, and all

Friday night was emotionally exhausting, and fill-me-up enriching. And my husband was there with me, cueing the music and even fielding a q&a question or two. My former self and my current self are all darn lucky to have this fella in our life.