Anywhere But Here

by Sydney Mubiru (United States of America)

A leap into the unknown South Africa

I think the most interesting thing about travel is the way I hungered for it. I constantly wondered, “what does it mean to be anywhere but here?” By my late teens, all I knew was this longing. I’d never been outside the US, yet I had filled journals with plans of the things I’d do when I got the chance. This chance came in the form of a month long trip to visit my mother’s family. They were expats to the land of South Africa whom I’d never met. I’d finally be able to say I’d been in a different country. That’s all I’d ever wanted; ever dreamed of. In my dreams however it wasn’t South Africa that I bounded off to. I dreamt of postcard-perfect places like Tokyo, Paris, Fiji—never South Africa. I didn’t dare to dream about it now either. I thought it might be dangerous to get my hopes up. So I got on my first plan ride without any expectation or fear. Immediately I learned that plan rides weren’t like rollercoasters. I read until my eyes became sore; I twisted and turned trying to get comfortable. I was relieved to stretch my limbs when the flight came to an end and we could journey into a new world like explorers. Landing in South Africa meant opening my eyes. I hadn’t had expectations yet still I was shocked. Airports are like countries inside of cities. They have their own self-contained brand of chaos that doesn’t fully capture the surrounding environment, but I didn’t know that yet. All I knew was the bathroom attendant laughed at me when I couldn’t figure out the faucet. All I knew was that a guard stopped us to ask if we had ‘sweets’ and shooed us away when we said we didn’t. All I knew was that our driver was late, and no one would help us figure out how to contact him. All I knew was that I was out of my element, and not looking forward to the rest of my trip. In hindsight, it’s stellar that the trip started this way, because upon leaving the bustling airport we stepped into a quiet world. Our driver eventually arrived and helped us to our hotel. Though in a strange land, nothing was as odd as I thought it would be. The country had its civil unrest and unofficial segregation, but as an American, I was familiar with that tension. Along the highway was burning grass which reminded me of California. It wasn’t comforting, but it also wasn’t frightening. I was able to enjoy what I’ve decided is the best part of travel: connecting. We went to an ostrich farm and fed birds from our hands. We went to a zoo and walked on a creaky bridge atop a lion’s den. We watched endless hours of Seventh Heaven and Vampire Diaries with our cousins. We shopped at the mall that closed at 6pm. We laid in grass while lizards hid from us, and played games outside past sunset. Among these shifting moments was our conversations and laughter. We talked to each other like old friends reconnecting rather than strangers. I still remember the sounds of their laughs even if sometimes their faces fade. For a month, they were our lives. It was bittersweet to leave. I boarded the plane all out of books to read and dreamt about landing in the long moments between fitful minutes of sleep. Upon returning home, I couldn’t make sense of myself. It felt like an old skin—like seeing everything through a sepia filter. This feeling lasted a week, and I was too inexperienced in travel to understand it. Now I know that every time I leave, I will come back a slightly different person. It can feel stifling—like carrying a whole other land inside my heart that no one else will see or care for, but it’s just growth. South Africa changed me, and so will every other trip. It sounds melancholic, but it’s exhilarating. “Anywhere but here” is a good place to be. Stepping out into the world will always be better than the hungry longing.