From the Heart of Africa to the Big Apple

Thanks everyone, for your sweet comments and well wishes.  Luckily, in health, my memories of the experience are funny.  Just imagine Sarah leading me (more than a little delirious, wearing a sexy eye patch to protect my absurdly painful corneal ulcer and high on a very old Percocet we scrounged up on campus) through African airports while getting us through customs in record time by mentioning the magical words: "medical evacuation."  She's got serious skills, that friend of mine.

As Sarah mentioned, we're also leaving Kinshasa in June.  Because we thrive on stress, we decided to leave our fate hanging until the last possible moment through a process called "applying to grad school."

BUT.

The results are finally in and come summer, we will be residents of New York City!

I snapped this as we wistfully drove out of the city last summer, wondering when we'd be back.

Johan and I have almost moved to NYC about 50 times over the past 15 years.  When we were 18, we drove to Brooklyn together to visit his aunt and uncle, romantically taking turns reading Les Misérables aloud in the car.  Aunt Mary made fudge with quality NY chocolate, we rented "Psycho" from the local public library, bought a Tom Waits CD in St. Marks Place and slow danced to the perfect combination of Nick Drake and traffic noise in the artist's loft after everyone else had gone to bed.

I have been enamored ever since.

Little Loulou.  Obviously also enamored.  She loves a good chain-link fence.

However, I applied to seven different public health programs and Johan applied to an equal amount of alternative teacher certification programs...all over the United States.  We thought that if NYC worked, it would be fun, but after a two year prep process (including getting statistics textbooks shipped to Africa, GRE-inspired summer panic attacks, and other anxieties), we really wanted to move for the program versus the city.  Happily, the best programs for us *happened* to be located in New York.

Elias, observing circa 2010 Brooklyn construction and contemplating his return as an 8 year old.

So, what exactly will we be doing?  We have no real concept of what our daily life will look like, but here's the basic rundown:

• Johan was selected as a NYC Teaching Fellow and will be teaching full-time math to middle schoolers in a yet-to-be-determined NYC public school while also going to night classes to get a master's degree in education.  He wouldn't ever mention this, so I will:  this program only accepts 10-15% of it's applicants, indicating that Johan is...well...awesome.  

• I'm headed to Columbia's Mailman School of Public Health for my MPH.  I'm interested in safe motherhood and maternal mortality reduction (but you already knew that...) and the Department of Population and Family Health is pretty stellar when it comes to this stuff.  I'm hoping to stay connected with the maternity clinics here in Kinshasa as well as look at the state of maternal health in the U.S.  No biggie.

• Elias and Loulou?  Well...I'm kind of hoping that some of you might have some tips and ideas for all of the kid-related plans we need to make.  The whole registering for NYC public school process (and Pre K?!?) is way more complicated than living in the Congo...especially if you start throwing in wishes like a dual-language program.  I'm secretly relieved that there's no planning we can do until we have a NYC address.

• We're looking to live in Washington Heights/Inwood and again, welcome (beg) for any wise suggestions, hookups, or ideas regarding the neighborhood.  Anyone have an affordable-esque 2-3 bedroom and looking for great renters?  (ha.) Where should we eat our weight in Dominican food?  Any District 6 public school shout-outs?  Gulp.

This is where I pause and am grateful for three years of Kinshasa cost of living.  I think that cereal in New York will be less than $20.77 a box.  And the milk, though expensive, is not exclusively UHT and is thankfully kept in the refrigerator, not the cabinet.  

My current cabinet: milk goes next to the cereal and above the pasta.
Each one of these lukewarm babies costs around $3.

Someone once described living in NYC like "going every morning to your window, opening it, and throwing handfuls of one-hundred dollar bills out the window before shutting it and getting on with your day."  I am well acquainted with the fleeting Ben Franklin after expat life.

That said, I'm scared that our daily schedules will be hellish and we'll all hate each other after six months in our inevitable 300 sq foot apartment.  I know that I'll be terribly jealous of Sarah, Adam, Charlotte and Ani, still living in Africa.  I will cry as my children lose their French (as although there are public French/English immersion schools in NYC, the chances of my brood getting a spot seem little to none).  I'm worried about money.  I'm worried about stress.  (Why did I just decide to read this book?)

Bad pre-move read.  Find it here...unless you're planning to move to NYC.

However, I'm desperately relieved to be going to a huge metropolis after three years in Kinshasa.  I can't imagine moving to a place where English is the only language I hear all day long. I am trying to remember how it feels to speak Spanish.  I now crave a certain amount of stress and uncertainty in my daily life.  I sleep best to loud music and traffic outside my bedroom window.  I have gained a lifetime immunity to caring about cockroaches.  

Mostly, I want my kids to continue to understand that the world is big and everyone has a story.  I think that the subway itself is enough to teach that lesson.  NYC, here we come.

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A Funny Thing Happens...

A funny things happens when you're about to cross the Atlantic. When we get ready to return to the States, we have all kinds of fears. Remember this? And now that we're about to cross the ocean the other way, we find ourselves having completely opposing thoughts about everything. Here are the multiple personalities that develop after one short summer.

On Car Seats

Thought in Congo: Do I really have to put my kids in car seats in the States? They will hate it and scream the entire car ride.

Thought in the US: Do we really go everywhere without car seats in Congo? Eeek! How irresponsible! How do we manage the kids bouncing all over the car.


On Stuff

Get lots and lots of stuff!

  by  Steve Snodgrass 

In Congo: Maybe this year we don't need to buy as much stuff to bring back with us to Congo. We do have a real grocery store now. Paying $5 for a toothbrush isn't that bad. And hey, I kinda like these Turkish diapers.

In the US: 50 cent toothbrushes?! Get 20! And 15 tubes of toothpaste. And enough deodorant for 5 years! And I've never used hair gel, but let's get 5 tubes just in case. How much space is left in the suitcase? Can we pack a few more rolls of toilet paper in there? And I'm not using those damn Turkish diapers!

On Illness

  by  I woz ere 

In Congo: Boy it's going to be nice to be in the States where we don't have to worry about the kids getting sick.

In the US: I can't wait to get back to Congo after the kids have recovered from all their vaccinations. They've both been miserable for weeks. Charlotte is covered in measles or mumps or something, and Ani has developed an allergy to anything that touches her skin. She's constantly covered in hives.

On Safety

In Congo: Things are so safe in the States. Won't it be nice to not have to worry about political instability.

In the US: We're gathered in a public area and no one has gone though any kind of metal detector or security screening. Is this safe? Also, I have a mild heart attack every time I ride in a car. Everyone drives so fast when there are no potholes to dodge.

And finally I know it's time to go back when my thoughts have changed on the cleanliness of public restrooms. Fresh off the plane from Congo I can visit the filthiest bathroom in the States and be impressed there's running water. Now I find myself judging an establishment if the trashcan is too full and the water doesn't get hot fast enough. Don't even get me started on no changing tables. I guess it's time to get reacquainted with changing diapers mid-air.

So, so clean.

  by  loop_oh 

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Guest Post: I just said Hello. Why aren't you giggling?

I asked my friend Jillian Foerster to write a bit about her transition back to the US from her time in South Sudan. Jillian is a volunteer with Brethren Volunteer Service for RECONCILE International. I think I could have listed these same observations after my first semester in West Africa. I returned kind of a crazy woman (but that's another post). It seems Jillian is faring much better.

Only a few days back home and I already miss South Sudan. Several key things have highlighted the difference between my life in Africa for the last six months and my mostly happy transition back to the US.

1. Airport Security. This is probably the best representation of the different worlds I traveled through during my trip back. Perhaps symbolic of the typically disorganized and relaxed mode of operations in South Sudan, the metal detector at Juba Airport was broken (with few attempts to fix it: they’ve started using it to store files) and so the security consisted of a woman briefly looking through people’s bags by hand while she made conversation and joked with her colleagues.

Although the airport in Cairo was a step up security-wise (they had metal detectors and people in uniform) the confusing and contradicting directions I got from the Egypt Air staff didn’t give me confidence that the airline wouldn't lose my checked luggage on my return flight, as it apparently has for so many other people I know.

My short layover in Frankfurt affirmed my reentry into the Western world, or at least German efficiency. Not only did I successfully make it to my flight on time --after being chosen for a random security search and frantically helping a Polish man find baggage claim-- but some man working for the airline approached me and conducted a quick survey with me on his smart phone while I waited in line to board. And I was worried about only having 20 minutes to get to my gate…

Thank you, Western Airport.

  by  Claudio Matsuoka 

2. Mannerisms and Social Interactions. Here are things I’ve been trying to tell myself since I’ve returned to help me readjust back to my “native” culture: Keep your hands in your pockets. Not everyone wants to shake your hand (or just hold hands for several minutes like the Sudanese do). Don’t invade people’s personal space as much. Also, remember to speak in complete sentences in English.

There are some things I wish the hospitable and friendly South Sudanese would export here. Why can’t I just get Americans to smile or giggle by just saying hello to them???

3. Salami. While in South Sudan, I watched way too many pirated episodes of The Sopranos saved on someone’s hard drive. The characters just wouldn’t stop talking about Italian sandwiches.

Just. Stop. Talking.

  by  jeffreyw 

4. Paved roads. [See picture]. This is more desperately missing access to rural areas, but driving within Yei is also an experience. Driving and multi-tasking isn’t an option. With all the reckless boda-bodas (read: motorcycles), chickens, goats, dogs and children constantly darting in and out of the roads in town, it’s impossible to fiddle with your iPod and not hit something/someone and inflict the wrath of mob justice that isn’t in your favor.

5. Lawn mowers. They go a lot faster than slashers. My Nigerian classmate at EMU marveled the other day at this and understood it as an example of how organized American society is.

Since coming back, I’ve noticed that I’ve become a bit more patient with people and I developed a heightened ability/habit of schmoozing with random service people, since this is a necessity to get answers or things done in South Sudan. This also means I basically flirt with everyone who sells me something.

I’ll enjoy the convenience (and bars with actual good beer) and direct communication while I’m Stateside. I don’t miss people yelling at me and calling me kawajah on every walk I take into town, but I’ll miss the humor, warmth and sense of camaraderie and welcome. Although I was only there for six months, I still felt at home and I can’t wait to go back in July for another year and half.

Anyone else remember your transition between the Western and non-Western worlds? I get tripped-up every summer when we go back to using a debit/credit card in stores. There's usually this awkward pause when I have no idea how to complete a transaction. So I try to hand over my card and then the clerk gives it back with this look of, "Just swipe your own card you dum dum."

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