Re-Entry to America | Amy Medina

Please, Talk to the New Person

On May 28, 2021

Last night I attended a school event with one of my kids, hosted in the large backyard of one of the families. About 40 adults were there, and I was looking forward to finally going to a social event where I could meet people.

As soon as we arrived, my daughter ran off with her friends. I looked around and recognized only one person, someone who I had briefly talked to only a couple of times. But she was with a group of women and I didn’t want to intrude. In fact, everyone was with a group of friends.

So I positioned myself in a central area. I fought the urge to take out my phone, because I knew that would put up a wall around me. So I just stood there, leaning against a pillar, alone. I worked hard to put a pleasant look on my face, when internally I was feeling awkward and anxious.

I don’t consider myself shy, but I’m not extroverted enough to have the courage to approach a group of strangers at a party. I looked around for any other woman who was by herself, because I would have been brave enough to talk to her. But there were none. I guess I was hoping that someone would recognize me as new and come up and introduce herself. No one did.

On Getting the American Dream

By Amy Medina

On March 22, 2021

In How Americans Think, Re-Entry to America

We bought a house. We moved in last week.

I chose not to tell you the details as they were emerging, mostly because we had already had our hopes dashed before and because there were many times in the process when we weren’t sure it would go through. But it did, and here we are.

It feels kind of like a small miracle. The housing market is crazy right now, at least it is in our area. Our realtor told us that houses were selling in a day, usually for over the asking price. So when we got our loan pre-approved in January, we started looking right away, figuring it would take awhile before we found something that worked for our budget. This was the first house we looked at. We saw it a day after it went on the market, and we put in an offer the day after that. Since we had several months to think about where we wanted to live and what kind of house we were looking for, we knew that this one checked all the boxes.

We didn’t think we would get it, but we did. There were multiple offers, and we weren’t the highest offer, but for some reason the seller decided to invite us to meet the higher offer anyway. I have no idea why, other than God’s kindness.

One Year Ago March

By Amy Medina

On March 7, 2021

In Leaving Tanzania, Re-Entry to America

March 2020: Corona virus comes to Tanzania

Grace, who is 15, told me about a conversation she had with an old friend. “She asked me how my year had been going,” Grace said. “And I told her about all the new things in my life and the things that have changed.” Suddenly her face crumpled. “And I realized, I’ve been through a lot, haven’t I?”

Yes, my girl, you have been through a lot.

The earth has made its way around the entirety of the sun since last March, which means we are headed towards all the anniversaries. March 13–the last day I was on campus with my students. March 19–the day we were told we had to leave. March 25–the day we left Tanzania. The emotional impact of each of those days left a yawning hole that has yet to be filled.

I don’t like remembering it. I’ve related the story of March 2020 to friends several times; I’ve re-read the account I wrote. It doesn’t take much to pull me back into the grief and bewilderment and shock all over again. I wonder how long it will take before I can think about it without feeling it.

Writing In Past Tense About My Missionary Life

By Amy Medina

On February 10, 2021

In Leaving Tanzania, Re-Entry to America

I thought I was doing fine, and then I watched The Office episode in Season 7 when Michael leaves, and found tears leaking out of my eyes all over the place. And Gil looked at me bewildered, and I choked, “I had to say goodbye to an office too!” So I guess I’m not always doing fine.

I didn’t just inhabit Tanzania; it inhabited me. The humidity settled in my hair, frizzing it out, it dwelt in my skin; I never needed lotion. The tropical sun beat down on me most days of the year; I look at my wrists and neck now, places I didn’t regularly wear sunscreen, and I see that my skin has aged more than my 44 years deem appropriate. My legs and feet were accustomed to sandals and skirts almost every day, not jeans and socks like today. The words I spoke were different–not just when I used Swahili, but my English vocabulary too. My muscles were trained in different patterns; the rough ground I walked on, the way I drove, my routine in the grocery store.

I suppose it’s understandable, then, why I have felt disoriented for so long. My body was yanked out of Tanzania, but for a long while, Tanzania still dwelt in me. It’s not just my mind that has needed reorienting, but my body as well.

In Tanzania, I spent many hours at my tiny kitchen sink, washing dishes. I would stare out the screened window into our backyard watching the dogs and the crows and the occasional chicken. There wasn’t much of a view, mostly just the top of the underground water tank and a cement wall that surrounded the yard. But fuchsia bougainvillea grew on that wall, and several coconut trees towered behind it, their papery leaves rustling in the wind.

It was such a very, very familiar sight to me for many years. I looked out that window when Josiah was two years old, whining at my knee, and when he was twelve years old, making a peanut butter sandwich next to me. Last year, I can remember looking out that window and wondering what it would be like to not look out of it anymore. It was hard to imagine.

My life in Tanzania went on for so long that for a long time, I couldn’t visualize the end of it. Life beyond Tanzania seemed like a fuzzy black hole, out of focus.

Rain, Reconsidered

By Amy Medina

On January 25, 2021

In Re-Entry to America

I miss the rains down in Africa. This mamsy-pamsy California rain doesn’t make the cut.

Rain didn’t play around in Dar es Salaam. When it rained, it rained with purpose. This rain wanted you to get wet; it was pointless to pick a fight. It was determined to make its presence known, creating rivers where there were none, punching the tin roofs, angry not to be let in. It pounded hard on the earth, awakening toadstools and millions of flying termites, sprouting grassy mold on shoes and beds and belts. The sky was electric; the lion’s roar ruptured the heavens, demanding to be heard.

But it’s the smell I miss the most. The scent of that rain would filter through our window screens, filled with growing things, animated with life. It carried on it the savannah of wild antelope, the ancient strains of the baobab tree, the underwater gardens of coral. I inhaled, and I breathed Africa into my lungs.

These days, I find myself gasping for breath.

Category: Re-Entry to America Page 4 of 6

Please, Talk to the New Person

On Getting the American Dream

One Year Ago March

Writing In Past Tense About My Missionary Life

Rain, Reconsidered