Moving: A Journey Home

I boarded the plane at Harare International Airport in Zimbabwe, excited about what lay ahead of me. Right outside my window, the low hum of the British Airways Boeing 787 engines filled my ears. My bags were packed into the overhead storage compartment. I was seated in a huge comfortable airplane seat, “leaving on a jet plane,” not sure when and if I’d be back in Zimbabwe. The whole world I’d ever known was about to be replaced by the great unknown
— America.

As I stepped off the plane at DFW Airport into the hot humid air, I thought jokingly to myself, “Land of the free, home of the brave, here I am.” The little I knew of America came from movies, music and high school history classes. Even as my body adjusted to the heat, humidity and altitude, I knew I would have to get used to being in a new place.

Sitting here in my apartment, I wonder why I moved to America. Well, I’m here for school. Many people move to far places for school, right? Why am I here? Well, the economic climate in Zimbabwe is tough, and the devaluating Zimbabwean dollar cannot be traded anywhere else in the world. The government is subliminally oppressive, passing laws that benefit politicians, refusing freedom of speech to individuals. Besides that, there is nowhere in Zimbabwe to study film and music.

In my eyes, America is the home of movies and the silver screen, starting way back with Charlie Chaplin and the good old westerns. I was convinced that if I stayed at home my ambitions and dreams of stardom would be crushed.

Was I fearful? Could I make it in Zimbabwe with its high inflation rates and lack of rule of law?

When planning my tertiary education, it all made sense: Move to America. Never mind the cost or long process of getting a visa, moving was my only option. “America’s where it’s at,” I thought. Was I wrong? Was moving out of fear my only option?

After a few weeks, I was missing home. Why? I was in America, wasn’t I?

Yes, I was, and I found that in leaving Zimbabwe with all its problems, I’d also left my close friends, my family, my church, my band — all regular routines. Time and space now separated us. Was it worth it?

Fear and worry drove me out of Zimbabwe, but now in America, I inherit more fear and also the pain of missing loved ones. I don’t know as many people here, and I don’t feel totally comfortable. Everything is foreign; I feel like an organ that’s been transplanted into a new body and is trying to fit in. Just as medical drugs can help with organ rejection, I suppress my feelings of loneliness through phone calls, e-mails, and weekly fellowship with my Zimbabwean friends. (I’m addicted to the acceptance they exude.)

In moments of frustration that seem to have no cause, I think, “Why did I come here?” Back at home, I remember being warned that disillusionment or culture shock would come. Moreover, I’ve found that I’m sometimes also judgmental; I measure everything to my standards and those of the people I was with at home, and if they don’t measure up, they end up being labeled. I also do all I can to avoid the stereotypes or trends that are in my new environment.

Not focusing on the negative, moving has helped do something I would have never done had I stayed comfortable at home. I have overcome my fears and overcome my character flaws. I’m learning to deal with my emotions and people. I remember the Shona statement, “Dzinyu muZimbabwe haimboita garwe kumhiri yemakungwe,” which translates,“A lizard in Zimbabwe will not become a crocodile in America.” How true, just because you move to a new place, you will not be any bigger, better, or more able than you were before; you still have to deal with your issues.

Home is a place of comfort, love and friendship. Home is a place you know. I moved away from home, from all I knew and the companionship I had. If I find love, friendship and comfort here, will I be at home?

Regardless of place and time, people who stay at home or move from it are striving to make their environment more comfortable, more loving and more peaceful. Wherever they are, they are looking for the same things. Home is wherever they find them. Moving from one house to another or from one country to another country for school is, in the end, a journey home.

In my case, even though I am in America and my desires are satisfied to a degree, and I have found some of the things I’m looking for, my heart still yearns for Zimbabwe, and I will soon be moving back to the place I’m fulfilled the most — home.

— Bongani Mlambo is a student in Dr. Bob Seeley’s English 1301 class.