It's 2-0. Abidjan is clearly winning. I think I spent my first year walking around in a daze, trying to dodge rainstorms and puddles, both literally and emotionally, and ending up soaked more often than not.
My second year doesn't seem to be going much better, though I have managed to stay drier so far. The biggest news for me is that the boys are leaving. In a few short months they'll be flying off to the US for an extended period of time and my worries are all in reverse now.
Of course, I worry about myself- how will I cope with the empty nest syndrome a good 5-8 years early? And Mbalia? I know this is the kind of change that results in ...really big change. Her personality is going to alter as she transitions from being the baby princess with 2 older brothers (complete with a neighborhood of friends and "brothers") to essentially being an only child. I try not get teary-eyed just thinking about it.
But more than us, I worry about them. Heading off to America. I am reminded of a teaching assistant I worked with who told me one summer he had gone to some educational training in the US. His wife was terrified about his trip. "They have guns there," she said. "Everyone has a gun." Her image of the US furnished solely by the news, she'd understandably become concerned about the safety of her husband in such a renegade country.
I admit to feeling the somewhat the same way. Donald Trump lives there. My boys are mixed race Muslims. My fear is grounded. It's not DT himself, of course, but his whacked out followers that worry me most.
And there is high school. Or middle school, or any public school really. My boys have spent cushy lives attending international schools with super small classes and peers from all over the world who look like them, speak like them and hold some basic understandings about the world (like them.) Which essentially boil down to the fact that even though we come from different places, speak different languages, have different skin tones and countries of origin, it's all good. It's good to be who you are and let others be who they are. Respect. Tolerance. Open-Mindedness. Interest. Curiosity. I'm not convinced an American school is going to offer the same level of acceptance.
I'm worried they are going to find themselves minorities in a small town. I'm worried about the new pressures they will face and the new opportunities to act out or fall down or get caught up in the wrong path. I'm worried about how they will respond to the overwhelming choices suddenly available and the constant plugged in, turned on, tuned up atmosphere I imagine.
In their minds, America represents everything they have never been able to experience or acquire living in Africa. It's come to mean never getting wet on the way to school, never sitting in a traffic jam, and never wearing socks with holes. There are no street beggars, no power outages and no heat waves. It means going to Burger King every night for dinner and racing around go-kart tracks on the weekend. America is every adventure park and thrill ride they've ever imagined. They are very African in thinking that America is a land of milk and honey and immediate dreams.
These last 8 years, the reality of America has gotten further away from me. Not only am I out of touch with what the day to day is like for kids, but I have no doubt succumbed to much of the same type of thinking and stereotyping my colleague's wife had. The only links I have are social media and the news. When friends are posting articles like this, it's no wonder I'm freaking out a bit. And I haven't even gotten into the movies or TV series influences yet.
I've been told it's time to have faith in my parenting and that the last 8 years won't simply be erased because the boys are stepping into a new leg of their journey. I'm trying to believe it's all true. But faith in my parenting is shaky- I am left wondering what memories are they going to have, exactly, of our time here- especially since these last 2 Abidjan years haven't been the most idyllic. I wonder how they will hold on to their second language. Even if I vow to only speak French with them, it's not going to be the same as living here and using it everyday. I might even be a bit worried that they won't remember how hard I tried, but only how much I didn't succeed.
They're going to change. They're going to grow. They're going to meet people and make decisions and have experiences. And I am not going to be there. It's just a tiny bit devastating to me. The grass was looking greener in Abidjan, until we got here.
