Beauty in Arusha

I was back in Arusha last week.  On the way to town from the airport, one of my companions, a Tanzanian, looked up at the heavy peach clouds surrounding Mount Meru and said ‘wow, it’s so beautiful’.  It was, but what struck me was that to her it was still beautiful, after a lifetime of living in this country.

I’m currently reading In the Shadow of Kilimanjaro and recently came upon a passage about how visitors to Africa and more specifically the Rift Valley often feel like they are ‘home’.  In a way, it’s no wonder, the type of beauty that endures a lifetime in combination with our primordial yearnings is a potent cocktail.  Having stood and looked over the sweeping panorama of the cradle of civilization more than once in my time here, I’ve felt a glimpse of what the author described.  However, up until now, I would have called that feeling connected to, and overwhelmed by, a past more distant than I could imagine.

However, Africa (in general) as home is a concept I have always struggled with.  This is ironic, as I am literally a daughter of the continent.  In spite of this, (or because of it), for much of my life I have thought of my relationship with Africa, and specifically Nigeria, from where I hail, in terms of what I owe.  I have ruminated about the price for my good fortune to have been raised in a land of opportunity – my debt to the world.  True to this, I moved to Tanzania under the auspices of ‘development’ and ‘doing good’.

A year into my time here, I think I am finally letting down my defenses.  I think it’s because I’ve started realize what this content has given me.  My earliest interactions with the continent gave me perspective – there are other things to worry about than having the latest of anything.  As I grew older, it gave me courage – I still maintain that if you have left Murtala Muhammed Airport into a chaotic Lagos night, you can go almost anywhere.  And now that I am even older, it has given me a sense of belonging.  People recognize my name, joke about where I’m from, call this tawny-hued girl their sister.  And in that albeit partial acceptance, I think I’m finding freedom.  To explore the world and myself and with any luck, share the story.  When my friend said 'beautiful', I immediately responded – ‘yes, it is’.