The Present vs. My Past

  
As I have flashbacks; a smell will trigger a memory, I cry for my hometown. I have come to realise that I took all those 5 years of high school for granted, they were what I will call now the “good” days. That was my home where all my life experiences and memories were made. I wish I didn’t have to leave. I have come to a 1st world country and I see all the beauty that locals have become blind to. The excitement and thrill of catching a ferry to an island, the silence of a green clean cut park where all I can hear are the birds talking, and the faint noises in the distance. The chance to sit here alone or walk alone, treat your dog to an afternoon walk, knowing that you will be safe. All the little necessities that I couldn’t have as a kid. However, I could take my motorbike through the bush and ride my worries away, I can’t do that here.

I hear people complaining over the most minor things and wonder how tough has their life actually been? How blessed are they, do they even realise? Have they every experienced having no food in the shops like in 2008? People migrating to neighbouring countries in order to find food for their children, locals queuing for miles to collect bags of food that are given away, only to reach the front of the line and realise the last bag was just given away. The disappointment and struggle was so hard to bear. Sadly, many people complain about the weather, but if I am honest, if all they can complain about is something completely out of their control, then they better count their blessings.

In my hometown, everyone was friendly, racism caused a lot of violence, but thankfully most of my memories were fun! I would get angry about the driving and waiting in queues for hours but those are the little things I have to giggle about now. I could go 120km/hr down a road to school, experience the thrill of speed and now people only go 40 miles on most roads, I know it was dangerous but it fed my desires. Those long evenings with no electricity, I used to read to my family or act and sing for them, those were incredible memories that I would live again in a heart beat. The sound of generators became like the sound of crickets, the local species all around the neighbourhood.

As I would lye in my brothers’ room, too scared to sleep alone, there would be big thunderstorms, lightening and the sound of rain on the rooftops, our power would go off and we would just lay there. The windows breathing in the smell of the African rains, a smell one can never erase. The smell of freshly cut lawn and the “choo choo choo…. rrrrrrr” of the sprinkler rotating and feeding the grass that is yearning for moisture, the waterfall trickling into the pool, I feel tranquility. The sight of an African sunrise, only so beautiful and red because of the amount of dust in the atmosphere, nothing beats that!

I used to lye by the pool and hear the whistles, calling and hooting of the commuter drivers, alongside them the vendors trying to sell phone data; the cry of an average local trying to make a days worth of work. The big explosion and vibrations as people would blast rock in the nearby fields to create space for new houses. The most terrifying sound of the night jar, a bird the size of a human palm, chirping outside my window in the big African mahogany tree.

I will never forget the sound of my gate bell as we had visitors, the sound of my gate opening, followed by the excitement in my dogs voice as my mum or family member would arrive home. Everyday at 4 o’clock, I could never take a nap as I would be sure to be woken up as a dog passed our gate, my dog would go say hello, everyday without fail! I used to get so annoyed but I would embrace it now. The contact with my little dog when I was crying, she knew all about it. I miss her, I love her, I mourn for my hometown…