The journey to another home

This has indeed been journey, to another home, both figuratively and in truth.

In all honesty I can’t say that I exactly recall how it felt when the first thought crossed my mind and the point where I opted to stand up and be counted.

To live with a people, waking up in the same realities, living in their situations, grieving with them, partying even, exchanging skills, and learning’s, all the time unaware that you are indeed touching each others life’s; well till you realize, now, theirs is a different way of doing it but it works! Does open your eyes.

You stumble into the realization these are people like my people, all looking for solutions in their own way, in their own context, and you begin to like them. This is exactly what happened to me. Un knowingly they began to mirror my own people, my own home; just the same ball game in a different pitch.

As I spend my last month here, I have found myself in the process of reconciliation. At least I did not go native. There are bits that I have swapped for good. Others that I have reinforced, and yet, chunks that I have chucked out the window. It is sad that the chunks have been things that I was willing to hang my pride and honor on before, but no longer hold water. Others have been attitudes and beliefs that made a once solid foundation to a house of cards. There are mountains that I have had to acknowledge were mole hills now, and molehills that now loom ahead as mountains. Most of these were in most cases, related to shared positions.

It does feel a little like standing on the edge of the rift valley, and looking out to Mt. Longonot. That’s a major ground I have gained, for while I was at the bottom of some, they looked more like cliffs, but now I am able to soar with the eagles, to the clear blue skies, as well as glide onto the floor, over the crater of the volcanic mountain below, without fretting.

I can make the journey, any time. I would volunteer overseas again.