I continue to search for a direction, knowing that our paths are about to change dramatically. I have half-heartedly completed a respectable stack of applications to send off to a variety of international schools. Every so often I get a little nibble- a return email with some small request for more information. But it hasn't really progressed beyond that.
My number one choice- after much thought and deliberation on their part- finally sent me an email stating they could not actually offer me a job this year, but maybe next. Little birds whisper in my ear that even at this moment there are those that conspire to change that decision and I guess time will tell if they find success.
It has been discouraging to say the least. I know that the interview process was good, that the fit between skills and needs was a match and the location ideal. I figure if a school so completely enamored with me can't deal with the circumstances, then no one else really will either.
It makes for an interesting analysis however and I have spent a fair amount of time trying to figure things out. The whole process raises several questions. The first of which revolves around location. (The second of which to be discussed at a later date perhaps.) Whenever I get one of those interested little nibbles, I begin a process of imagining myself in a new locale. It's usually fun for awhile, but when I try to put the details in place, things get weird. Anyplace sounds interesting initially, as a vacation. Putting long term attachments to the idea always seems to send me reeling. Because in the end, I don't want to raise my children in a place that's too white. And I ask myself absurd questions like, "How do the Chinese feel about blacks? Are there any Africans there?" Thailand or the Philippines conjure up relaxing images of islands and long, luxurious coastlines. Until I spend a little more time on the school websites, viewing pictures of students and activities. It's the dark faces that are missing.
I wonder what's going on with me because, after all, I am white. Caucasian to be precise, I suppose. I have never been able to identify with a specific ethnicity, not really knowing much about my family. My mother's side claimed Italian heritage, among others, and I guess if I think hard enough I might occasionally identify with food from there. But that's as deep into the cultural alliance as I can get.
So I am left to wonder why exactly do I feel so connected to Africa and Africans? I tried to find some research on this topic- people of one race or ethnicity who identify more strongly with those from another- but I couldn't really find much. Tabloid-esque tell-alls about white women who only date black men (and theories on why) that don't quite hit the mark. While I am well aware of the "women-who-only-date ________" phenomenon (insert whatever you like on the line. I once had a conversation with a lady in a bar who informed me she only dated cops....Asians, Italians, Indians, Cops, Military, Cons or Ex-Cons.....you name it and there's some kind of woman out there who will fall for it- and only it.) but that's not exactly what I am talking about. Dating, marrying, physical attraction. No, I am talking about the rest of real life. The mundane bits.
What I am uncovering, as I search for a place to live, raise my kids and settle in my roots, is that I would really feel like something were missing if I wasn't living here in Africa. Somewhere- anywhere- on the continent, though, of course, I have my preferred regions. There are a certain number of people who might feel that way about living in America or Canada (there's an awful lot of fiercely loyal Canadians here in Kin,) but they most often hail from that country originally.
So what's up with my weird trans continent obsession? Where did it come from and how was it born? While there are plenty of novels and romantic movies about the ex-patriot who finds him or herself hopelessly in love with Africa those stories usually involve some sort of rolling farm in South Africa or tranquil village in Tanzania. The main character is usually surrounded by a bunch of other ex-pats and claims to love the land. I'm not sure it's quite the same thing for me.
I'm in the middle of a city, spend most of my time alone in a borrowed house that provides as much frustration as satisfaction and when searching to socialize I usually prefer Congolese artists whose company infuriates me as often as it provides solace. I don't exactly fit in here any better than I did in America. There's very little to romanticize.
I haven't really arrived at any answers. An easy out would simply be to say I don't want to raise my kids in a school where they are the only children of mixed race. It is simply overflowing with inter-racial families here. There seem to be combinations from every country on the planet -Italian-Congolese, American-Rwandan, French-Malian. But the reality is I could chose wisely and find similar melting pots in other areas- large cities where cultures collide, fall in love, marry and have children who then go to school with their multi-hued heritages coloring the hallways with a variety of skin tones and hair textures that would allow my children to blend in.
It's not really about blending in though. I do like that fact that my children have friends from other places whose families speak a multitude of languages. I like that they are aware of countries I hadn't even heard of until I was in college. And I really like the fact that they seem to understand how big and small the world is at the same time.
But there is a definite part of this feeling that is purely, selfishly me- not mom related. I like it in Africa.It fills me up and makes me whole on those days when emptiness threatens to eat away my soul like acid. Maybe I don't need more of a reason than that.
My fourth grade literacy class is studying India- home of both Hinduism and Buddhism. My recent life events have sent me on a quest to seek advice and knowledge from all level of spiritual books and so the two have nicely collided. Past lives. Karma. Old ideas reinforcing themselves in my present life once again. Maybe my intense passion for all things African is simply the part of me that was born here before and hasn't yet found a way to let go. Not really sure if that means I should resist or give in? Not really sure the choice is completely all mine to begin with.
