Lovin' it in the USA
2011-05-20 17:21
Jean Barker
Selling all my stuff and moving half way around the world, leaving behind a country I loved, a solid career, friends... all of this seemed crazy to me a year ago, when I quit my job and got on the plane. Crazy - and irresistible of course.
And next thing I knew, I was ordering my first American pizza while the motel's bed bugs began having their own late dinner of my foreign blood. Film school, once a pipe dream I wrote down in my diary, was now emptying out my bank account and disturbing my sleep in a very real way.
At first, I couldn't bring myself to behave like anything except a long-term traveler. All the contracts I've signed are still month-to-month. I preserve my food in a bar fridge with a freezer that doesn't freeze anything. My $14 Target bedside lamp falls over all the time. Even my corkscrew (99c store) is so flimsy they'd probably allow it through the airport in your hand luggage.
I was meant to be excited, but I was miserable and lonely for the first few months.
Everybody I met seemed so conservative, so overly polite... accustomed to South Africans' sledgehammer approach to day to day interaction, I couldn't tell if most Californians - born or newly-minted - were mocking me, trying to sell me something, hedging their bets, or actually being friendly. (Turns out, they can't tell either.)
Foodwise, I remain confused. Half the nation appears to be eating for quintuplets, while the other half is 1/8th the size of the other half. I wonder if they shouldn't just have the big eaters suck the fat directly out of Miami's liposuction tubes. It would save so much time and money.
It was impossible at first to find food that wasn't toxic to my system. I've traveled to countries where you're meant to watch what you eat if you're from anywhere vaguely first world. Madagascar. Mozambique. England. I've eaten off street stands there – eggs that have gone unrefrigerated for entire days in subtropical cities. Crab with the guts still in. No problem!
But American pork or beef or chicken just kills me. I'm convinced it's made from Animalz ™ - or some sort of Frankenstinian Muzak equivalent of meat. And then there's the popcorn. It's bright yellow. And it's $10 a bag. But even this weirdness has become normal for me. I go to Denny's at 2am sometimes, and order American Cheese on my hamburger. It's not really cheese, but it's what they eat here, and I just can't risk deportation over a slice of Camembert?
It's not worth it. I'm addicted. To the possibilities, even to the fake-ass friendliness, because it sure makes daily life a lot easier.
And yes, feeling safe in day to day life is pretty cool to. No alarm systems. No private security. Just a lock and key. But I'll stop right there - the thing I miss least about South Africa besides the crime and poverty is listening to middle class South Africans endlessly discuss “the crime” and the burden poverty places on them, over beers at their swimming pools. I don't even visit South African websites any more. I don't care to linger over lavish description of every rape that takes place, or plough through 100 racist, sexist diatribes on the comments board in search of one paragraph of sanity.
Instead of reading the news, I tune into the 24 hour jazz station, or listen to NPR, cause that's what well-meaning liberals do here. American public-supported radio is everything I always wished for in media: open-minded, international, and above all, good entertainment with almost no advertising.
But I'll choose interesting over pleasant in the end. I'm South African, that way - trouble is in my blood. Ask the bed bugs. I was their last meal.
So I'm returning to visit South Africa in less than a week. And there are so many things I'm longing for, so many things I've missed. I can't wait to speak my home language again (and by that, I do mean english). I can't wait to eat good food. I can't wait for the onslaught of beauty that is Cape Town city. I can't wait for the music. I can't wait for the rush of being in a place that's still becoming something new every day. I'm longing to feel I truly belong .
America is amazing. I adore it here. Sometimes I even forget I'm here – I'm just who I am, where I am. I don't even hear the accents anymore. But home is still so beautiful that it hurts to be away from it.
- Jean is studying to be a famous screenwriter you've never heard of in California, USA. She tweets as @jeanbarker and blogs pictures of signs and more, here.
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