Its been long, and a lot of things have happened such that if I disseminate all of it at once, the flow will cease.
In the past several months that I have been an international African student in America, I have seen a lot, and learnt a lot about myself, about my friends, about this new home. Being African to me has become more and more meaningful. This is to mean that it has become more relevant. I guess it becomes relevant when you leave Africa. And this being the case, I have come to notice those small tiny feelings of connection to a place I call home that I couldn’t see when I was back at home. As is the case. Like the babushkas of Chernobyl [babushka is the Russian translation for grandmother; but we all know that Russian is such a beautiful language and the actual written term is “бабушка”]. They returned to their homes, to live there even after the Chernobyl Incident [Okay, maybe incident is not the right term, maybe disaster is more appropriate] because they wanted to be home.
So, straight to the point, it’s quite clear to me that I am African when I am out of Africa. Not when I am back home in Nairobi [Actually, somewhere close to Nairobi], but when I am out of Africa. Therefore, African has been born, only out of Africa- Boom! 💣