Storytime Sunday: September 11th

There's no proper story today, just my memories.

Ten years ago today, my mom and stepdad were supposed to fly to New York for my step-cousin's wedding on the weekend. The phone had started ringing very early that morning and when my mom woke me up, I assumed it was to say 'good bye'. Never, in my wildest imaginings would I have thought of what I saw that day.

I laughed when I watched the TV. Not because I was happy about it, not because I found any actual humour in it but because I laugh when I'm nervous and this made me very, very nervous. I watched the second plane hit. I just kept shaking my head; "this can't be real, this can't be real."

Two cousins, bothers, on my dad's side work in Manhattan. When I finally came to terms with the fact that this really was happening, my next thought went to them. Were they at work? Were their buildings affected? It would be almost 48 hours before my dad would get word from his sister. I had never felt time move so slowly.

At work that day, I ended up comforting an American woman who was freaking out. She had come up with her sister who was visiting from Germany. The US border was only allowing American citizens to cross the border. What was she going to do? She couldn't leave her sister whose English was very rudimentary but she had a 15 year old daughter at home in Bellingham. It was the first time she had ever left her daughter home alone. I was torn between wanting to tell her everything would be okay and wanting to scream at her "I have family in New York and I don't know where they are!" Screaming back at someone rarely solves anything, so I told her everything would be okay.

We got her and her sister a hotel room, and we were able to put her in touch with her daughter and her neighbours who said they'd let the daughter stay with them until she got back. When all was said and done, she looked at me with tired eyes.

"I can't imagine what people with family in New York are going through right now."

"We're waiting to hear about our loved ones; hoping for the best, mentally preparing ourselves for the worst."

Her eyes got really big as she realised that I had family in New York. She pulled me into a bear hug and I could feel her body shake as she sobbed a couple of times.

"I'm sure they're going to be okay," she whispered in my ear before she stepped back. She and her sister disappeared into the crowd in the Inner Harbour.

When she came back three days later to thank us for our kindness, I was not at work. I wish I had been there so I could tell her that my cousins were okay.

While much of that day passed in a fog, if I ever passed that woman on the street I'd recognize her in a heartbeat. I can't help but wonder what she's doing today.

Storytime Sunday: The House

I stand at the road and stare at the building trying to reconcile it with the one from my childhood. It's just a non-descript house in a row of non-descript houses crawling slowly up the hill towards the church. Was that all it ever was? I ponder as I watch a lazy bumblebee loop-to-loop its way to the geraniums standing sentry along the front of the house.

The world stops. Even the breeze has disappeared. The unusually sunny sky paints the house but it's just a facade on the depressing stucco walls. Flecks of gray paint commit suicide from the front door overhang revealing the old pale blue underneath. Like a line of marching ants, four doorbells stretch along the doorframe. I can't help but think to when there used to be only one.

Movement.

The moment is broken as I feel the breeze on my cheek.

An ad for Skysports whispers out the window defeating the lace curtain’s attempt to hide life from the outside world. The whisper reaches the church bells and they answer in dulcet tones: it’s one o’clock and we don’t want Skysports.

The roar of life comes from the road and the bumblebee takes off.

You can never go home again.

Storytime Sunday: Returning Home

Our bus pulls away from our stop, leaving its two lone wazungu passengers in its wake of dust and diesel fumes. Kara turns her head left and right to stretch her neck.

"I want to be back in Nungwi."

"Me, too."

We walk across the road and knock on the big metal door. The small opening slides open and when the eyes see who it is, they're replaced by a big grin and a shout in Swahili. Jonathan opens the gate and hugs us as we walk through. Andrew walks out of the guard gate and hugs us as well.

"Karibuni! Habari za safari?" (Welcome! How was the trip?") His big white teeth are about all I can make out in the encroaching darkness.

"Nzuri," (good) I reply. His big hand messes my hair like I'm one of the toddlers. I  feign anger as I fix my hair but he knows it's just an act. Kara and I say good night and promise we'll chat more tomorrow when we're rested.

"Go. See your children," Jonathan laughs after us as we continue our trek towards the main house. "They've missed you." I wonder if the kids have even noticed our absence. They didn't seem to notice any of the other times we've been gone for multiple days.

We settle into our room in the newly completed volunteer quarters. I sit on my bed with a loud sigh and I glance around before settling on Kara's smiling face.

"Let's go see the children."

We're both up before she even finishes the sentence. We carefully make our way down the stairs and around to the back door. It's hasn't been locked yet so we're able to sneak in. Unspoken between us is the understanding that we want to surprise the children. We make our way as quietly as possible to the change and laundry room where the kids are being bathed before bedtime. We open the door.

"Hello," we call out.

All the chatter stops at the sound of our voices and there's a moment of silence while all the heads turn towards us. Suddenly, the room erupts in noise.

The nannies move forward to hug us and the toddlers walk and crawl as quickly as they can towards us. Maria gets out of her bath completely naked and beelines for my legs. Her wet, shivering body presses against them while Mama Musa tries to coax her back to the bath. She looks up at me with a big smile.

"Mommy," she screams. I pick her up, give her the biggest hug I can and then hand her back to Mama Musa. Kara and I gather up the toddlers and older babies that are done their baths and take them to the play room. I sit down on the ground and am immediately beset by Joshua, Cory and Simon. They crawl over my legs, drape themselves over my back. They have me pinned to the ground.

They hug my arms.

They kiss my head.

They tell each other that 'mommies are home'. Nosatwa comes crawling out from the change room with her pajamas only half on. Hadija comes running out after her to catch her and finish getting her dressed, but I pick up Nosatwa and tell Hadija that I'll do it.

"It is good to see you," Hadija tells me as she hugs me. I'd hug her back but Benny is pulling on my free hand as he jumps, repeating 'mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy'.

The older toddlers start to do laps around the area stopping on each go round to hug Kara and me. Kara has Junior in her arms and a huge grin on her face. The last time Kara and I were in this room was after Queen had died, very unexpectedly, in Kara's arms. Tomorrow, Kara will depart Tanzania for Uganda and continue her overland trip to Cape Town. I am so happy that her last memory of CoL will be of all this joy and not the sorrow which greeted us on our last day before our two week holidays began.

As the younger toddlers and babies take up residence in our laps, the older toddlers wind themselves up. They can't stop running and screaming. Constant calls for our attention keep our heads turning left and right. Philip stops running. As he turns towards us, he pulls his pajamas up over his head and throws them in the air.

Cory follows, then big Maria, then Benny. Soon, all the toddlers are naked. They throw their pajamas in the air, catch them and thrown them again. They scream 'mommies, mommies' each time. I teared up. I have never felt so missed in all my life.

We leave the toddlers totally wired and in various states of redress. We apologies to the nannies for getting the kids riled up but they're so happy to see us back, they don't seem to mind. We can still hear the toddlers shouting 'mommies are home' as we make our way back up the stairs to the volunteer quarters. Sleep may be a long time coming for the toddler room tonight.

"I needed that," I close the door behind me as I say it. I lock us in for the night as Kara moves into the kitchen to make some tea. We make eye contact and despite the tears dancing on her lower eye lashes, she's flashing me the biggest grin her mouth can make.

"So did I."

"Better than Nungwi?"

"Better than Nungwi."