Posts tagged homesick

A little Sweet Micky to set the mood.

This one reminds me of my first communion; it’s called “Ayiti Bang Bang” by Carimi.

Recently, all I’ve been wanting was to have a piece of Haiti with me. I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve been on google for a few hours now trying to find any West Indian community here in Jo’burg (I realized quickly that searching just for Haitians would never yield any good results.) When at Wellesley, just the knowledge that I was a 4 hour bus ride away from home and the Haitian environment that I grew up with or alternitavely a 45 minute ride away from a Haitian community that I wasn’t familiar with was more than enough.

Here, I have a growing feeling that I’m alone. The only thing I got when I searched for a Haitian community in Johannesburg/South Africa was information about Aristide (UNHELPFUL) and the fact that he was leaving the country. “West Indian community Johannesburg” only results in information about the Indian (from India) community and I get nothing if I search “Caribbean”.

When I walk around and hear black Africans speaking in their native languages, I perk up with the hope that I’ll understand what they’re saying: I never do. Now, I’m finding myself speaking in Kreol even though I know that no one will understand me. I’ve lost the ability to care about the fact that I’m talking to myself, I just need to hear the language. I feel like I’m losing my mind by not having any piece of my culture with me.

I just want a piece of Haiti. A while ago, I asked my mother to send me some spices (for Haitian food) because I haven’t been able to find any here, but I think I’ll have to settle for music on YouTube: since she’s really busy (and there’s the whole Haitian time thing) I don’t think I’ll be getting them until the day before I leave South Africa. 

I feel like there’s a hole in my gut, and I never thought I’d feel this way. A very big part of my soul (is that too dramatic?) is missing. Give me Kompa or Zouk, some Diri ak Pwa Kole and legumes (le vert pas le marron)…give me some Pikliz…something! I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long without Haitian-ness.

Beck, if you’re reading this, please tell mom to step on it. I’m jonesing here.

Also, if anyone knows something I don’t, like if there’s a hidden Haitian/West Indian community in Jo’burg that I don’t know about,  please please please send that info my way.

ON REPEAT

I was never one to miss home.  My mother always tells me the story of a time when I was 8 or 9 years old: I went to spend a few weeks in the summer with some family in Maryland: not once did I ask for my parents or sister. When it was time to go back to New York, I through a fit because I didn’t want to go back. When I left for college, not once did I miss home during that first year (or the second, now that I think about it).  I never really had a strong sense of “home,” so there was never any sickness to be had.

When I got to Wellesley, I was able to find a home. I’m not talking about the institution though, because that I still dislike to a great extent. No, I was able to find a home with my friends.  I built a family at Wellesley, one that rivals my biological one in some aspects, and as they say “home is where the heart is”; my home is with them.   

Recently, I’ve been having trouble. It’s been little things that alone wouldn’t have caused much of an issue with me, but they’ve all seemed to have attacked my consciousness in tandem.  These little things have also been antagonized by one horribly large “thing.” I wish I had certain people here, people who understand my history, so that I don’t have to explain it just to get to telling them about the issues at hand. I miss my friends, my family.

I miss my younger sister quite horribly as well. She and I didn’t always talk when I was at school in the States, but we would send at least one text to each other a day, just to, in a way, remind each other that we would always be around.  I can’t text Rebecca now, and I always seem to forget that: something cool or funny will happen and I almost always reach for my cell to send her a message. She’s starting her senior year of high school, and she’s making waves (following in her older sib’s footsteps), and I wish I could be a part of that, but I’m here.

Ultimate’s been a great help.  I’ve loved that I have been able to play some Disc, because it does what it’s always done for me: helped me to forget. When I play Ultimate all I know and all I feel is the wind, all I want is the disc, and I don’t need anything else. I haven’t been able to play as much as I want (or need) though due to transportation and workload issues. I cherish the days when I do get to play though, because those days may be the ones that remind me of home the most despite the fact that I’m playing with an open team on grass that is so dry that it shouldn’t be called grass.

Things have been exasperated by Culture Shock, the big bully. Little things are getting to me. For example this morning I got mad at my bathroom sink, because there are two spouts: one for hot and one for cold meaning that warm water does not exist when it comes to my bathroom sink. I cannot seem to be able to handle the lack of ice cream parlors here either, which is weird because I’m not really big on ice cream parlors to begin with. Food: I wish I had Ragu sauce. I wish I had cream cheese. I wish I had PIXY STIX. I want something, anything from the H00P. I think it’s a familiarity thing. Familiarity. Not much is familiar here, which would make sense because South Africa is not Boston, Wellesley, Manhattan or Long Island, it’s South Africa. I also wish that my Mac didn’t die - it feels like it was my last full link to home.

I miss so much. So much. I only just started here though, and so far my quest for familiarity and a sense of home-ness has yielded little fruit. I’m trying to take it one day at a time, but tears are imminent, and so is anger. I’m just hoping that none of my friends here do not fall victim to the monster that is an upset Blake.