Home is where your rump rests, really.

June 6th

By far, the hardest part about going to a new place to stay for an extended period of time is the fact that at some point, you have to realize that you are calling this place home for a spell.

The tricky part is feeling comfortable at home. At some point in time, between the kids chirping ‘How are you?’ repeatedly, the fruit stand owners beckoning for the white person to come check their delicious fruits—just so they can rip you off, and the generally weird stares a non-African (note: I just didn’t feel like re-using the term ‘white person’ there) receives for being in any particular place at any particular time, it can be immediately difficult and daunting to feel quote-unquote natural.

Most recently, I went on a hiking trip with a random smattering of people. The trip was organized by a fantastic man that organizes Safari trips; however, this particular trip was sponsored for the purpose of getting his men, The Green Warriors, an environmental group aimed at bringing African youth back to the environment, out into the hills. In addition to the Green Warriors were folks from a local YMCA program, and then some other peoples that they all new. A big group of goofy 20-somethings all fired up for a fun weekend of camping, drinking, and dirty talk.

Immediately, I felt at home seeing these people. Aaah, the refreshing look of youth ready to have some fun, I thought. I’d been getting eye-balled so often by the creepy dude in a papier-mache looking suit, it was nice to see people that would look at me as a peer. However, I soon found myself extremely annoyed by the obnoxious and childish yelling of these young adults. I was disgusted by the overtly sexual tones that were immediately assumed. I was insulted by the amount of pelvic thrusts I saw conjoined with holding something, anything phallic as a proxy johnson. The future of Kenya, folks.

But just waaaaaaait a minute here. Didn’t I used to be one of the most vulgar and obnoxious people around? Well, yes, in fact... but that was back when I had a sense of humor. Hmmm. And wait, pelvic thrusting to make people smile and laugh??? that’s one of my oldest and best tricks. So how can I be so critical of these people, if I’m guilty of all these things? What metamorphesis did I go through that changed me from a jerk-off young adult to the somewhat serious and goal oriented person I claim to be now?

Well, I made a lot of misakes along the way. I went to jail once; I woke up next to several sea creatures; I did things that could’ve made me lose friends (thanks to those who still care forme). So, I guess that’s part of growing up? Is that part of having enough opportunities to screw up? The first thing I noticed when I saw this motley crew, was that they all came from money. Clothes, get ups, even that general sense of ignorant happiness that can only be afforded by youth with opportunity (I am generalizing at this point: a couple of the people clearly had fantastic insight, and they are excluded from this critique).

I thought I was so close to home—so close to comfort—only to find that I was incredibly ill at ease with my present state of being. I could see the red tape surrounding this conundrum, and decided to head straight to the director of my mind via some classic introspection. I ended up journaling under a shade tree in a village, where a village’s worth of little boys watched me as I did so. When I got up to think somewhere else, I told them I was going to climb a tree so I could write and read. When they asked ‘which tree’, I pointed to the top of the nearby mountain. I knew their moms wouldn’t let them go that far from home.

I slowly began to realize that this was just a classic example of me not being comfortable with myself.

In the end, the reason I couldn’t feel at home with these people was due to a beef I keep with myself. I wasn’t comfortable becuase of my own mentality. I wasn’t comfortable because I was making myself uncomfortable with my surroundings.

This is the exact same case in any senario. I don’t have to be upset with the children yelling at me. After all, I’m getting attention from children: they are only providing me an opportunity to make white men look good (for the first fucking time in history, I might add; I hope I’m not doing some terrible evil without realizing it, like white men before me). Every person that beckons me to them is only giving me a chance to learn from them and with them... maybe even teach them something about me. And shit, they’re so incredibly nice about ripping me off. And the awkward stares I get from people—I might as well just smile for them. They can think whatever they like about me, but I know that I want to try and show them that happiness and love can always unite us (that, by the way, is what a smile means to me).

This isn’t meant to be a thought exercise for me. This is meant to be a clear example of how we can always feel comfortable and free wherever we go. Humans of different races share so many more similarities than differences. It’s amazing and slightly disturbing how all walks of life can have the same tendencies. So in the end, the most important part is feeling good about sitting down and making yourself at home. If a person can be confident and positive with themselves, they need never worry about how they blend with their surroundings.

Note: I bet when my Dad reads this entry, he starts to worry more about how I’m going to REALLY stick out in Africa, and get myself kidnapped by some radical Moslem Jihadist. By the way Dad, the Muslims here are really great people, polygamists though they may be.