Images of abject ruin plastered across TV screens followed by news reports of systemic ethnic cleansing in a war-torn part of the world do not evoke emotions one typically associates with paradise. Yet, they leave me desperately searching for something good amid the human strife and suffering which has become so familiar. This yearning started a few years ago when my family lived in the region, and at that time, I was oblivious to the fact that tensions between these border countries were brewing just beneath the surface.
Days before my family was to make the pilgrimage from the U.S., my friends begged me not to go for fear I would be attacked and eaten by the wild animals they had seen on TV, and I started to believe them, so I too was overcome with fear about this journey.
After what felt like endless days of travel in the airplane, far below I could see what appeared to be an airport ensconced in a plush, green, forest whose landscape spanned about the earth in every direction. As the plane slowly, descended onto the tarmac, I gazed out of the window and took in the fast-approaching scenery, and then, we made a smooth and perfect, landing- touchdown!
What was a fully loaded flight of well-behaved passengers only moments ago gave way to pandemonium. Sounds of clapping and laughter erupted. People yelled and screamed and some even cried and I remember thinking that the volume of all the noise was simply, too loud. Then everyone yelled in unison: WE’RE HOME! an even louder applause ensued. Passengers walked and grooved off the plane to a ditty in a language I did not understand. The mood was celebratory and everyone was happy.
As we made our way to the gate, I could not get enough of the surrounding terrain. The untamed natural environment was quiet, powerful, and inexplicably inviting. I felt connected to it, almost as if I belonged to it. The sprawling landscape unfolded itself about the land from hither into forever yonder and then into the sky. A few hours’ plane ride to the West takes you to the Majestic River Basin, and if you head a few hours to the North, you will encounter the lifeline of the entire region: The Mighty River.
Inside the airport, a woman’s voice blasted directions for international flight arrivals through the loudspeakers, in French. We snaked our way through the airport, beyond baggage claim, and then to the main entrance where we were to wait for our ride.
As the door to the entrance opened, we were greeted by a huge and anxious army of relatives who shed tears of joy when they saw us. A crowd encircled us as I watched my parents being showered with hugs and kisses. And I noticed this time, mom was not just tearing; she was in an all-out crying contest with family members who, I reckoned, she had not seen for a very long time. Later, I met more relatives and was overcome with an increasing sense of power as the number of family members, some of whom I still have yet to meet, soared into the hundreds and even thousands. Now, I understand why I felt so connected to this place! I am a descendant of this equatorial land, which comprises a former widely known, great kingdom which has a rich civilization, beautiful people and cultures, and many languages, and at the very least, a powerful river that winds across thousands of miles of riverside towns, markets, and stops which lowers itself into a vast basin which makes the Niagara Falls pale in comparison.
The place that I had often heard my parents talk about, wistfully, for years before this trip was nothing like anything I had imagined. Until now, I thought of a faraway place that would answer the question that I’d asked my mom often: Where are we from?
Before this trip, the neighborhood in which we lived was inhabited by people from Poland, Argentina, Nigeria, and Cuba, etc. So, at the time, I knew we must have been from somewhere too because we were from none of those places, I reasoned. And as I recall, whenever my parents spoke about that faraway place, sometimes their eyes filled with tears. I was too young then to understand whether those were tears of joy or of sadness. This uncertainty only intensified my curiosity to know my origin.
We were now “Back Home” as this place was oft referred to by my parents, and it was absolutely breathtaking! I wanted to know why the sky was so blue and why there was such a vast array of colors in everything I saw. “Mom, what’s that smell?” I peeped. The air I breathed entered my body through my nose and fell gently into my toes and then climbed back up, slowly, and billowed out of me as if it were a magic potion with special cleansing properties. I tried desperately to taste it. Mom told me it was clean air.
Being in this part of the world made my senses come alive. As I cast a glance at a leaf from a nearby tree, I noticed an unusual shade of green and as the rays from the sunlight bounced from one leaf to another, four or five variations of green flickered simultaneously from that one leaf. I was filled with wonder as I smelled many unfamiliar, yet pleasant smells. What had come over me? I was lost in time and space as I tried to understand what I was experiencing. The sounds emanated from every manner of animal to the wind blowing sometimes forcefully, and at other times gently, seemed to speak to me, but about what, I had no idea.
The small town of Kede-Mbrekete was a utopia. The narrow dirt roads with an occasional patch of concrete were reminiscent of the roads in Butcher Holler, the hometown of Country Music Singer Loretta Lynn. I spent part of my adolescence not too far from there in Eastern Kentucky and the similarities between the two places are striking. In both cases, the people were genuine, kind, and friendly. They’d easily invite strangers over for dinner and treated everyone like family. However, the horses I saw in Kentucky were non-existent in this small town, and many of the fruits we bought in stores in the U.S. could be found just as we walked about. Huge Pineapples, Mangos, Bananas, and coconuts grew here unabated and they were for the taking, as my mom explained. Fruits and vegetables were plentiful, so there was, not even so much as a hint of commerce. Different species of friendly, yet unfamiliar animals that hopped and galloped towards us and fed from our hands served as a reminder that we were in nature’s garden. Disney World’s Animal Kingdom could, for decades, try to recreate this environment and it would fail dismally, for nothing about this place was contrived.
The word family has taken on a whole new meaning as I met so many relatives beyond my immediate family. I learned about love and that there is an indefinable kind of happiness that comes from being around one’s kinfolk; especially, when such an encounter takes place in the homeland of all concerned.
Today, years and years later, that “Back Home” lives inside of me even though I haven’t gone back, and somehow, sharing this account with you relieves me of the heavy burden I have carried with me for not returning. It also reminds me of the good that exists in the people and in the wonderful place often buried deep beneath the heavy weight of images and words that convey perpetual doom for the entire continent.
I plan to visit the celestial land of my forefathers soon, and as a Christmas gift to my parents, I will take them with me if only to see proud, intelligent, and resourceful people who deserve so much more than what they have been enduring: if only to breathe the air, to taste the food and to speak the languages: if only to be among my people, if only for a while.
What do you long for, a job? Is there something holding you back from what you really want to accomplish? Share it! Tell us your story. I promise we’ll listen.
