Do You Know What it Means….

Well, I am in a much better place than the last time I blogged. I finally heard from CRS, and I can honestly say that after all the anticipation and conflicted thinking about staying in New Orleans or going back abroad, it didn’t seem like much of a decision at all. Adding a week to the anticipation only solidified what I already knew…that I wanted to go back to Africa and continue to do this type of work. It was one of those heartthumpingoutofyourchest moments that just felt incredibly perfect. Yes, grad school was totally worth it. Here I go. I will be placed in Mwanza, Tanzania—on the southern tip of Lake Victoria, on the outskirts of Serengeti National Park, working on HIV programming, agriculture projects, and livelihoods. Yay me. My life for the next year…what I want. Hands down.

In saying this, though, comes the acceptance of the expat life. Again. I’m sure to some my lifestyle seems exciting and somewhat intense, and in some ways I guess it is. But we expats also sacrifice a lot to do what we do, by choice. We choose time and again to uproot, adapt, learn, adjust, and settle in. Over and over. It’s a gift to learn about a new culture, a new country, put your footprint on a new spot of the globe that just blows your mind when you step off the plane. The majestic beauty, the vastness, the simplicity, the kindness, the resilience. It’s enlightening, challenging, humbling and hopeful. It’s what keeps us coming back. But coupled with this comes insecurity, isolation, disconnection, and the day to day turbulence of working in a foreign land. I will never be Togolese, Ethiopian, Rwandan, or Nicaraguan. As much as I educate and assimilate and accept, I will always have white American privilege propping me up, making excuses, justifying whatever it is I do or don’t do. It’s a lot to manage. You build friendships, but many are out of necessity or convenience. You balance the desire to live like a local while appreciating the comforts afforded you because you ARE white and you ARE American. You learn how to function seeing your family once a year and supporting friendships over Skype, email and Facebook. You give up the familiar and sacrifice what you could have had if you stayed. Your New Orleans wrapping you in her arms and showering you with a culture that can’t be found many places. So, yes. We agree to the loneliness and solitude in order to fight a greater cause, contribute to something much larger than ourselves. We overextend ourselves professionally, work incredibly long hours, frustrate ourselves beyond belief, and it’s all for the sake of the project, the work…because if the work isn’t changing lives, what the hell is the sacrifice really for?

Now that I finally know, it’s hard to start closing the door on New Orleans. I wake up every morning determined to recognize and appreciate how magical of a place this city is. I envy the richness of her culture—the festivals, the food, the music, the attitudes, the family. There’s always something to do in a very spontaneous, organic, wonderfully New Orleans sorta way. It’s also timeless in a way that I think most people recognize if you have spent any amount of time here. The pressures of fitting into those pre-determined timelines ruling and robotically running most of America just simply don’t exist. Must be married by 28. Must buy first home by 30. Must have first child by 32. It’s a great place to feel freedom without judgment. Everybody moves to the beat of their own drum, trombone, or washboard. Which is why I feel so happy to have had this four months back down here…to enjoy and appreciate and thank the city for the time I’ve had here, and also to know that there is no question in my mind that I will once again call New Orleans home…in 3 years, 5 years, 10 years…she’ll be waiting for me with open arms...back to her tradition and soul that make New Orleans so special. And, yes. Time and time again, I do indeed know what it means to miss New Orleans.