That…and “But are you happy living in America?”
The two questions that have plagued my first week back in South Africa. Strangers in carpet stores, owners of art shops, my mom’s friends, my own family. All alike. Everybody just wants to know if leaving is the right thing to do. Or more likely, if leaving will be like they imagine. Unabashed, unashamed, they just want to know the truth. No one is feeling safe, but this sitting on the edge of a cliff seems to draw everyone together more and there’s no space for secrets.
If feels wonderful to be “home”. The sun is shining, a glass of sauvignon blanc is delicious and dirt cheap, the rush of Christmas season is over, and people are generally more relaxed. The vibrant, colourful, noisy culture comes back in a rush as I click the radio dial on to Five FM. Woolworths shelves, a smorgasbord of first world Africanness in Ethiopian curry pastes, rooibos and honey teas and fresh granadilla juices. It’s emotional, and difficult, like having an affair with a married man.
As the Indian Ocean prostrated itself below my windows this morning in total honesty, I was reminded of how I find South Africans to be this trip. Never the sort of people able to hold back, I am sensing some part of me has become lulled into comfort by typical American sugar-coating. I gulp for breath at their unaccustomed boldness. Conversations drift from emigration to pesky Zuma, the dipping South African Rand, and a story about crime. But that is not all. My weight, the condition of my skin, the depleting blondeness of my hair has all been up for discussion these past seven days amongst my family. When will we be starting on babies? Whew! (Drawing breath). That’s a general one again for public consumption.
This all makes me feel quite comfortable and at home, in that way a large family’s passionate fights make you feel more loved. Like the preening of monkeys, digging for ticks. But living in a safe, foreign country, with the nearest relatives a hop, skip and jump of several states away, our obligations are few. Real conversations about real things even fewer.
Yes, I am happy. As happy as newlyweds facing the uncertainty of a recession first hand can be. Blessed, but unable to afford the luxuries yet that come cheap here. I miss my family. I won’t ever sugar-coat that. But we have a good life. We’re safe, building awesome careers, with an assortment of first class opportunities. San Francisco is a paradise. My friends are there. For now it works. That may change and we may crave the peace big city life can not afford us, in time. We may want to live closer to the beach. We will one day want to buy a house.
Regardless of this, I draw strength from the predictability and stability of life in America. Obama can only do so much damage. Bush did some already. But no one ever emigrates to Australia or London, when they do disappoint. It can’t ever get that bad. But when your back is safe, you start to critique the view in front of you. Net net (American-speak) I’m as torn as any of you. Leaving won’t give you the answers you crave, so how can I? We’re all just doing the best we can. Because that’s the best we can do.
