The truth about moving

A year ago I read a book titled the arrival. Not read as much as saw; as it is a wordless graphic novel. It is the story of a guy who crosses the sea and comes to a new country because of adversities at home. It is a confusing book as there are no words and everything is differently shaped and looks very different in the new country. The vehicles are different. The road signs are different. The pets, the clock, the food, the cloth… Everything is a strange doodle.

I moved to Rwanda a month ago. It was not a difficult decision to make for me. I love the country and am excited about the journey we are embarking on. I still was sad about leaving my family and leaving a large group of friends, naturally, but I am a big girl. 

But they never tell you the whole truth about moving. Yes you are young and you will learn lots of things. The world is big and going to a different place is like trying on new boots. Then you walk and see the difference. 

Moreover, I had it easy. Rwanda is a few hours flight from home. It is still in East Africa and many of our values are similar. I had seen and loved it before, moving is just a cream.

But they never tell you the truth about moving. 

Like for example, how your giant circle of family and friends become a tiny one of whoever is in the city and knows you. Back home I had different circles of friends for my different interests in life. Different kinds of friends whom all you love dearly. The everyday ones. The casual ones. The book ones. The movie ones. The work ones. The questionable conversations ones. The ones you just met and can’t stop talking about. The ones you share with your large group of friends. The ones you only meet alone. The trio. The ones you kept for many years meeting them like twice a year. All these come down to the 5 or 6 people you know in the city. And you squeeze in your agenda in the tiny light of interest they show in the things you want to discuss.

 If you are in Kigali and I know you, thank you. 

And there is the life you are missing out at home.

The children are growing. Your parents are getting old. You don't know the jokes they are making these days. What is irritating them. What is trending in your house.

 Your group of friends had a random hanging out on a Saturday in that place you really like. You look at their pictures and oh how you miss them all. And oh the place you really like has added a new wall art but you can't really see. It is cut in the picture. 

And you are just here. 

When I had gone home last time, my friend asked how is home? I said home is home. Everything is familiar.

 Moving is the opposite: Everything being strange. You get lost a lot. What should normally take a few minutes of a motorbike ride takes you double the time. I had started dreading going to places I don’t  know. But you make mistakes then you learn. 

In the very first week after I moved here ( On my previous 3 months stay in Rwanda, I was institutionalized which is very very different from moving!) I had a pipe burn when I stepped down from a motorbike. (It hurts so bad!! I cried at the street corner!!) On a conversation with a friend last time, I learnt you are supposed to step down only on the left side and it had happened to a lot of people apparently. 

There is this sad strange song by Aster Aweke right? ‘ Sew mehone’ which loosely translates to ‘being’. (Aster sings a lot about being away from home by the way). 

She says: 

የማይጠፋ የሚጠፋብኝ

የማይከፋው የሚከፋብኝ

የማይቸግር የሚቸግረኝ

የሚሆነው የማይሆንልኝ

አሀሀሀሀ አወይ ሰው መሆኔ

It means: 

(I lose things one wouldn’t lose 

I suffer from things one wouldn’t suffer from

I am troubled by things that are not troubling 

And what should be easy is  difficult for me

Alas! Being a human) 

And alas it is also the truth about moving! You look for a duvet for days when it apparently is just a few minutes walk from you. There apparently is a wound band in the shop below. They do sell Macchiato!! There are ways. 

One thing I miss most is casual conversations. A friend asks me why I am not writing. But what to write about? I am away from the daily conversations people have. I don't understand the context of what I am in. Do you know how many of my stories are inspired by ‘eavesdropping’? (Acceptable eavesdropping though). It feels like being detached from the daily lives of others. And truly, whom do we have but others? And you really are detached. 

But you get used to things. You will find your favorite spot in the city. You will know the place of things. You will have a favorite brand and you will know where to find it and its price. You negotiate on the price of motor rides. And sometimes someone on the street calls out your name from across the street… it is the best… familiar feeling!!!! You find your way. 

Alors… on y va! Nouvelle vie!!

Loza Admassu