avelog

It occurred to me that I should eventually complete the details of my African journey, and post some kind of assessment of where I’m headed next. I’ve been back in Canada for nearly five months now, and have gone through a number of phases in terms of happiness, energy and determination.

My last few weeks in Africa were spent in Burundi, Cape Town, and back in Pretoria. The few days in Burundi turned out to be very rewarding. My new friend took us on a road trip, visiting his home town, and pretty well anything remotely interesting that occurred to him along the way. We paused to take in an avocado oil factory; a memorial condemming the atrocities of the civil war; a pair of hills that his father always maintained were a set of women’s legs spread invitingly; a sculptured mural exploring ancient Burundian myths; a former refugee camp that had grown into a permanent village; a new biotechnology research facility in the highlands, dedicated to the development of improved crop varieties for the African Great Lakes region; and many many other little spots of interest.

We stayed overnight in his hometown of Gitega, at a two-level concrete hotel owned by his father. In the evening, we stopped by his father’s house to join the extended family in feast and revelry, children running in and out and around a low-slung house and people spilling out onto the covered concrete patio, beer or wine in hand. Goat skewers, mashed potatoes, and salad were eaten from paper plates balanced precariously as we stood around and absorbed the conversations flowing through room.

On Sunday morning, we were woken by the sounds of a jubilant Church parade winding through the town centre, past the balconies of our hotel. Colourful banners were carried a the head of a number of seemingly different groups following eachother; hundreds of men, women, and children in each groups marching, dancing, and singing songs in Kirundi.

While driving back to the capital, Bujumura, to catch my flight back to South Africa, we paused to intercept the minibus to Rwanda, so that my travelling companion could return to her medicine elective. Despite my Burundian friend’s assurances that we had plenty of time to catch my flight, we barely made it in time and were chastised by the airline attendants before I was allowed on the plane.

Flying south from Bujumura, over the dense Congolese jungle and arid stretches of Zambia and South Africa, left me feeling intensely bittersweet. I knew that it would be a very long time before I would ever return to the colourful and diverse cultures and contexts through which I had travelled during the previous months; so often and so starkly an outsider, yet welcomed so warmly. My life of day-to-day uncertainty and adventure was to return to the more mundane and frightening long-term uncertainty and excrutiating detail that I had not-so-easily forgotten. Decisions about grad school were looming, and I was questioning whether academic pursuits were really of any importance in my life plan. I knew that if landing in Cape Town was to be a shock, incongruous as it is with the African context, my impending return to Canada would be something altogether different; possessing a sense of finality for which I was not prepared.

My ten days in Cape Town were a transition. I spent much of it wandering around on foot, aware of the constant warnings about personal safety now that I was back in South Africa, but with a hardened resolve to wander nonetheless, borne from months of solo travel. I hiked up Table Mountain, lingering several hours to watch the sun setting over a seemingly eternal ocean. I strode purposefully up and down Long Street, conscious of the stories - muggings and attempted muggings - that had flitted around the backpacker’s where I was staying. I went down to the A & M Waterfront, converted from its historical roots in maritime commerce, to a vast, touristy district of shops and restaurants. I contemplated the architecture and history imbued in buildings from the Dutch era of which I had learned so much during my research in Pretoria. But most of all, I was obsessed with the life-changing decisions that I had to make.

After an agonizing week, I finally decided that the best course - for my personal life and career - was to move to Vancouver and start an MSc program at UBC. Having set my mind (mostly) to rest on this issue, my time was freed up to fight with Singapore Airlines to have my return flight booked. For various reasons, this was extremely frustrating, and it monopolized much of my remaining time in South Africa. After flying back to Pretoria, I was fortunate enough to be able to stay at a former colleague’s house while he was vacationing in Australia. With many errands to finish before getting on my plane back to Canada, I wasn’t able to see friends as much as I would have liked, but managed to drop in at work on my way to the airport for one final goodbye. My bags overstuffed with African trinkets, both tacky and sentimental, I boarded my 40 hour flight back to Canada, dazed and confused, uncertain and apprehensive, hopeful and impatient.

I cannot sum up, or draw a line under, my African experience, for fear that this will finalize it. Life is continuous and complex; it cannot be boxed off and packed away. I have every hope - and a deep-seated need - that this will not be the end of adventure. I am sure that my fears seem naïve in the eyes of those more experienced or wise, but I can only communicate my own state of mind; not that of my elder self to come.