‘Where are you from?’. This is one of the biggest questions I have heard since I left Burundi in 1999. And most of the time, it was quickly followed up by: ‘Where is Burundi?’. My Burundian folks would understand the struggle that comes with explaining where this tiny little East African country is located. I am not going to lie; it gets annoying at times which makes me wish that certain African people should know better their own geography. Then for those who know about Burundi, the 1st thing that they will mention is the Hutu/Tutsi conflict. So, for me, it is a pain that my homeland is either unknown to a big part of the world or a country known for all the wrong reasons.
It is practically sad, as Burundi is a diamond in a rough with beautiful people, amazing scenery, extra delicious food and a rich culture. But most importantly, we have the best coffee in the world. When I left Burundi, I was still trying to learn about myself, I was still a teenager after all. I mean kind of knew who I was, but deep down that I knew that I didn’t fit the description of a typical Burundian girl because I was a little ‘out there’ (people used to call me ‘fofolle’, a term of endearment which means crazy). I also have to acknowledge that I was bit of a clown, and unfortunately, I still am.
As I was growing up, maturing and moving around the world at the same time, I became like a cultural sponge and I could relate to many other cultures from my west African people (without ever stepping a foot on that side of the continent), to my Muslim people (2 years in Egypt will teach you a thing or two) and my Caucasian people. I have been blessed to have the opportunity to meet such a melting pot of individuals. More I moved around and interacted with different culture, more I become open minded (which was a lot because I was already ‘out there’).
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But relocating every other couple of years came with its own disadvantage, I wasn’t able to call any place ‘home’, and Burundi didn’t feel like a home anymore as much as it was home in my heart. And to be very honest, even recently I felt like a foreigner in my own country. I started to feel like a stranger everywhere I went, and some people (I mean a very few) would actually make sure that I was reminded that I didn’t belong in their country. At that point, every country was not the perfect one for me as I had something to complain about. It wasn’t until after a few years in Zambia (it took me almost 8 years to come to this realization) that I recognized that there isn’t one perfect country on this global and that Zambia was actually giving me everything that I needed. Note that I said ‘needed’ and not ‘wanted’ because I stopped focusing on the wishes and concentrated on the practicality of things and the reality of life.
I knew that I wanted to be in Africa, even when a lot of people kept telling me (and still do till this day) that I would do better in the West because my views and ideas are too progressive for Africa. Since then, I refused to accept that African and black people are a monolith. For the most part, our cultures tend to bring us together, not matter how diverse we think we are, because the truth is that we all share some similar values and customs. But we need to accept that progressiveness has it place in the African culture, and we need to stop being uncomfortable with changes.
Today, I came to the conclusion that I belong to Africa, even if Zambia is home for the moment and probably for the foreseeable future. I have created a little family here that has embraced me with all the craziness and stubbornness that come with this Burundian girl. And if you ask me, I couldn’t ask for a better Zambian family. But this doesn’t change the fact that Burundi will always be a big part of me, that I love everything about it, I try to go back every single year because they are my people. And maybe one day, if the universe is aligned the right way, I can go back home and build a different life there.
On that note, a man's home is wherever he prospers.
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