So how was it?

Resist
The first time I was confronted with that question I began stuttering and felt like I had to explain it all. How I felt, the highs and lows, what I learned, what state the country was in, yada yada. But the more times I was asked that, the more I realized that all they wanted to hear was, "it was great!" But the times that I answered in that way made me feel sad. It was as if I was cheapening the experience and not courageous enough to own up to it. Whenever someone asked me, "so how was Africa?" I felt like I was holding back from them a world of insights, stories, pains and joys. The second that question was uttered; I knew I couldn't truthfully answer it. It wasn't that they didn't care. It was whether or not I had the ability to express it in a way that they could understand. And I do not have that ability.

Everyday I feel this mixture of regret, hesitation, and dishonesty. 'How is your new job?' 'How is San Francisco?' 'How has it been since you've been back?' 'How was the Peace Corps?'

Over a cup of coffee or a pint of Castle Lager, I wish I could sit down with every person and truthfully answer his or her question. I often think to myself that it is not necessary to always verbalize every single thought, idea, or opinion. But to me, that is one of the great joys of living in this society: to share, to empathize, to discuss, and to debate. Otherwise, we are living in an empty space filled with well-practiced how are you's and well-rehearsed responses.

The day my urge to share my memories and experiences dwindles, is the day I have successfully transitioned into this place I will have to call home. America is a super confusing place. It's a land of contradictions. Public displays of intimacy are okay. Nude beaches and craiglisted personals are okay. But sharing how you really feel is inappropriate. Asking about someone's past is inappropriate. Americans are very private about some things and very open about others. And Africans? You would have to ask me over a cup of rooibus tea.