You don’t know what you have until it’s
gone. Everyone knows that saying. But very few people really understand what it
means.
My first week in this foreign place I had my
mother and her sisters to settle me in. I was basically being spoiled so I did
not miss anything. I had a part of home with me (my mother). The day she left
however, the depression hit me, I was so alone. Everyone goes on about how this
is an exciting time of my life, they are wrong. I have found this daunting.
It’s my third week and I still cry when I
come off the phone with my parents. Because this is not home. We all dream of
leaving home. We all want it. We hate the power cuts, we hate the potholes, and
if you’re like me you even hate ZRP. But when you come to the other side you
realize that all those things you hate, you actually love. I have not
experienced the happiness that comes with the joyful shouting of “magetsi awuya!” on this side. It’s such
a simple thing but I want to experience it again.
Everything is so different here; the food,
the way people speak, even the weather. Moving here is different from when you
are here for holiday. When you are sitting in the bus the energy just feels so
dead. Whereas, back home you know the Kombi driving will be pumping Jah Prayza and Disappear by Winky D.
Everything is just so new and the weather so
cold you just find yourself going back to your apartment and feeling so under
the weather and just dreaming of home. There is so much pressure: to excel, to
make new friends and not to let your parents down because they have spent
thousands of dollars to get you here.
This article has been rather depressing, I
know. There are some pretty okay parts of your first week like meeting new
people, the shopping and of course the nightlife which I must say is RATHER
LIT! But those back home must savour everything that is being a Zimbo, the good
and the bad. I actually miss how wild ZRP can be and how I was once “fined” for
a wide turn! What even is a wide turn?
Lastly, I want to touch briefly on knowing
who your own are. You will go to Australia, America, England or Canada and say
I don’t want to go back home. No! These countries will never look at you as one
of their own. I am the black girl with locks here. Everywhere you go they want
to see proof of your visa. Because this is not home. We do not belong here; we
belong where we came from. You will face so much racism. Some subtle and some
from whole institutions. The people here will never accept us like we will be
accepted at home. At home we can walk freely in the streets without fear of
being accused wrongly or fear of being shot. There is no place like home and so
because of that know what you have and know your own. Enjoy that mazoe, enjoy those uni snacks maputi, enjoy basking under that African
sun (kudziya mushana), enjoy
celebrating with the maid that magetsi
awuya. Enjoy it all.
- Thursday, September 29, 2016
- 1 Comments
