Stuck in Traffic
A conversation with an Uber driver helped me understand my reentry
Stuck in the evening traffic on the streets of Nairobi, we sat silently in the Uber watching pedestrians hurriedly pass by. Occasionally, motorbikes carrying passengers popularly known as ‘Boda boda’ would flaunt the traffic lights and zoom off. One motorbike rider carrying a young Caucasian man zig zagged in between the cars, breaking every traffic rule in the book. The Caucasian man clad casually in a red t-shirt and black shorts, no helmet, just sandals and seemed unbothered by the speed of the rider. In fact, he looked like he was having the time of his life. After a little while, the Uber driver spoke.
“That young man does not know that in every county is a hospital ward reserved for motorbike accidents.” A frown forming on his forehead.
“I think being a tourist, the rider is a bit more careful not to ride too carelessly,” I said, despite doubting every word I spoke.
“What nationality do you think he is? I think he looks Italian?” I said smugly.
“He looks Brazilian to me,” he said as he narrowed his eyes and leaned toward the window for a better view.
“Well, I don’t see it,” I replied. Even after living abroad for almost a decade in a multi-cultural country, there were always those people I found hard to place.
The traffic was still moving at a snail’s pace and this encouraged me to engage him in a conversation.
“But how can you tell?” I asked.
“I lived in Brazil for 7 years,” he responded. By now I had learned his name was Michael.
This caught my attention, and I knew a story was in the offing, so I prodded further.
“What made you come back?” I asked quietly, trying hard to curb my enthusiasm.
Michael glanced at me from the front view mirror, as if weighing whether or not he should tell me.
“Many reasons, I suppose, but the main reason was my family. When you stay out too long, you can be easily forgotten and find you have no place here anymore.” He paused and gave me another glance as if to peer into my soul. “Staying away from home for too long is like a rolling stone that gathered no moss,” he added contemplatively.
Exactly what my thoughts were; one of the main reasons that made me reenter my home country after almost a decade of living abroad was the feeling of estrangement. I realized I had changed and so had everyone else.
“How long did you stay abroad,” I prodded after some self-reflection.
Well, I stayed out for 11 years, 7 of which were in Brazil, where I attained my citizenship. Some friends of mine organized for me to go live with them in the U.S. but my visa was rejected. I then decided to be nearer home, so I packed my bags and moved to South Africa, where I stayed for 3 years. Finally, I moved to Mozambique before returning home.
As I was processing all the places he had been, he interjected my train of thought.
“I am sure you are wondering why I first went to South Africa and Mozambique instead of coming back home direct. He took the words right out of my mouth. “I had run through most of my savings trying to move to the U.S and did not want to come back home empty-handed. You know how tough it is when you come from majuu: colloquial for abroad, without money. It is better to stay out there than to face these societal expectations. Reentry to Kenya is hard, the expectation is that you are a hero and savior but who is saving you?” He asked rhetorically.
I took in his words like a sponge because, even if this was not exactly a mirror of my story, it felt awfully familiar. He continued, “it would be easier for my family to forgive me with an entire load of money than to come empty-handed begging for forgiveness.”
“Were your wife and boys happy to have you back after such a long time?” There was some awkward silence before he spoke, “well, at first the reception was warm but my absence and silence over the years started thundering in my wife’s silence and the boys’ disdain.” I caught the hurt look in his eyes. “I don’t blame them, you know; after 3 years abroad I stopped communicating.” He sighed before continuing. “God has been good to me; my two boys are now strapping men almost going to college and my wife eventually forgave me and moved past that. I think the hardest part about reentry is you have this vision of what things should be, but then reality hits you and you awake from your stupor. Everything changes: that is life. It is foolhardy to hold on to things of the past while things are being born every day. All that it will accomplish is to break you irrevocably. Change is inevitable and one needs resilience to adapt. Did I tell you of how I gained my citizenship in Brazil?” He asked rhetorically. “I enrolled in a program of long-distance runners and convinced them I could run like Eliud Kipchoge. Coming from Kenya, they believed me and a lady running the program promised to help me expedite my citizenship application if I won the marathon. Surprisingly, I won.” He laughed loudly, “but never again! Why is it that foreigners think all Kenyans can run? The last time I remember running like that was when my neighbor’s dog decided my leg looked like a walking drumstick. I ran for dear life. I ran the same way at the marathon as if my life depended on it; which technically, was true. The lady kept her promise, and I got my citizenship. Thereafter, I was bedridden for about a week. “He burst out in peals of laughter. “For the life of me, you cannot convince me to run for anything.” He paused a bit, “the reason I told you about my little marathon story was just to tell you resilience and determination pays. It is not because I trained at the Iten camp I won that race, rather, by being resilient enough to know that anything was possible and being cognizant of the cost. When I faced the same resistance from my family on my return, I determined in my heart to make things work, and they did.
I thought of my reentry and how difficult it had been to adjust to this new reality amidst a pandemic. It took all the strength I could muster not to catch the next flight out onto my next adventure. Also, there was the “small” issue of air travel restrictions.
“So, are you happy now?” I asked introspectively.
“Yes, I am,” he replied, not trying to hide his joy. “After 3 years back home, I can say I have found my balance and rhythm. Rest assured it was not easy. I missed my friends in Brazil and Mozambique, but I had chosen to see this through. Now whenever I see my sons asking me for advice or my wife making my favorite dish, I can’t help but be glad I toughed it out: it was worth it. There are things you choose to embrace and other things you learn to keep close to your heart from your experiences abroad. I guess I can say you are a hybrid of all the places you’ve been to and the best thing is to draw strength from those experiences to push you into your ‘promised land.’
Listening to Michael answer my questions, plus the ones I did not ask. Sharing his story was like balm to my soul. I knew everything would be alright, eventually.
‘Would you ever leave home again?’ I finally asked.
Yes! He replied emphatically, ‘but this time around, I would do it with my family.’
