Homecoming?

Entering Casablanca airport for the final leg of my flight back to Bamako feels like a strange déjà vu. I retrace my steps through the long terminal, and at the very end of the waiting lounge, I finally come upon my gate. Seeing the people waiting for my flight I feel myself slipping back into West African time. Under harsh stretches of florescent lights, colourful sleeping lumps cluster together over plastic rugs; the long robed men, skinny with skull caps and small Qurans in hand; the round women, their heads, shoulders, and shapeless bodies covered with brilliant, endless yards of fabric.

At the sight of this human quilt, my heart lightens. Over the course of preparing to come back, a rough hand had been constricting my chest, tightening my body in the worst type of fear: fear of my own weakness.. There had been so many moments of pure and utter bliss: grinning through face-shots of fresh powder while skiing with my brother; watching the sunset over the Brighton Pier with a pen in hand, a glass of wine, red flags reflected in the darkening window; losing myself in the soft warmth of a three year old cheeks as he gives me butterfly kisses; sunlight over the faces of my family and friends as they bid me good bye. There were moments that I felt so full, I was sure I would burst with happiness. Perhaps that bursting sensation led me closer to that precarious edge of fear and the tight grip as it knotted itself into my belly and crept up my ribcage. I kept asking myself: Do I need this snow, this wine, this type of beauty to survive? I was loving it all so much, a huge part of me was screaming YES!

Waiting for the boarding call, I watch the people around me. As different as they are, they are also familiar to me. Even though their language is still sludge on my tongue and I will never pull off the gorgeous bobo style of these women, I am loosening back into this world, and it is welcoming me. In the same way I received so much knowing, unconditional love from my friends, family, even strangers on this trip home, I begin to feel its effect on me as it begins to soak back out of me towards these strangers. This time, however, the soaking is filling me up at the same time. Perhaps I am coming home. At least for now, This feels right.