Eating North America
August 6, 2011, 10:38 pm
Filed under: nomadisms

In North America, we mostly ate. Junior bacon cheeseburgers, pepperoni pizza, small mountains of fries. Hersheys. Filter coffee. Giant cinnamon rolls, footlong subs, wings. LG had his first poutine and Slurpee, and a fast food taco. Pierogies, horseradish, blueberry pancakes. Then we laid in the cool basement and had several trashy reality tv marathons.

Have you noticed everyone here looks the same?

The shopping, however limited in that small city, was enough to send LG into a retail trance wandering the discount store aisles. So much, so cheap. Doggie bathing suits. 3D TV. He bought a pair of Levis, I bought a tube of moisturizer to try and revive my airplane inland crocodile skin.

If you’re not from the prairie

People who have been to Africa for two weeks-six weeks-never want to tell us things about Africa. They ask me if I speak Swahili yet, I explain they don’t speak Swahili where we live and never have. They say something negative about white Africans, oblivious to my relationship with my future in-laws. They want to know if we will stay long term, this is the sole question.

Ironically, I know I am not entitled to express my private observations about where I’m from, that the reflections so much distance brings are unwelcome from a traitor like me. I am often expected to beat the drum of nostalgia when asked about missing Home, a lost daughter dreaming of childhood fields and sunshine. But the truth is the greatest gift that town gave me was probably the sense of restriction that made everything in the world out there so bright, that there are fields all over the world, and that the sun shines pretty much everywhere sometime.

I watch the patchwork farms
slow fade into the oceans arms

That salt water air is like breathing freedom.


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