Scales of Big

We ventured out as a whole family this past weekend.  A home store.  Grocery store.  Back.  I always get irritated when I hit "overwhelmed" in shops here because, well, Joburg is massive on a totally neutral scale.  It's not massive for South Africa (although it is that), it's not even massive for Africa (again, it is), but it's just plain massive.  It's a huge city spread over a huge area.  We have huge shopping centers, malls, markets and the likes.  I could go to an all-organic farmers market or I could run down to the Quick Mart around the corner.  I should be fine going from there to here.

Here's the thing:  I'm not.

We went to a neighborhood party last night.  As we walked across the street, I had this moment where it all made sense to me.  Joburg is big, but America is obscene.  Let me explain.  As we were traveling those few steps to the neighbors home, I saw a newer version of Todd's car back home, a VW Golf.  When I would see that car in the parking lot of Clearwater Mall, in Johannesburg, it was actually an excellent example of an average sized vehicle.  I have grown accustomed to routinely seeing a Chevy Spark, a SmartCar, Mercedes A180, Mini Cooper and other compact cars not as tiny little toys but as practical, viable cars for families.  As we were walking across the street, I saw my "normal" sized car, one that was dear to my heart in South Africa, had been driven around with all three kids' carseats in the back, and loved until my belly got too big to fit behind the wheel.  The difference was that this VW was in suburban America and was parked right next to a brand new Dodge Ram pick-up truck, complete with lift kit and tires that were bigger than any of my babes.  It was then that I fully understood why Todd broke out into a cold sweat in the home-goods store and I had struggled to catch my breath and tried so hard not to cry in the shops.  We've had big, but what we're adjusting to isn't big, it's behemoth with it's own scale of "bigness"... and this time, we're not going back.

And there my struggle lays.  I'm so desperately sad that my daughter is waiting for snow in December because all I want is to go out and use the grill I bought Todd for Father's Day three years ago to have hamburgers and corn and sliced watermelon (*Claude: under no circumstance are you allowed to feel guilty for doing just that - I'm so glad to know someone is putting our braai to good use!).  I'm missing my house, my routine, my dog.  The nostalgia and homesickness are kicking my behind in ways jet-lag can't even touch.  I find myself trying to explain to strangers and giving up before I start because it just feels so pointless.  At best, the checker at the counter will be polite when I accidentally hand her a R2 coin instead of a quarter, and at worst, she'll be highly irritated.  I seem to get highly irritated more often.  And yet, I can't bring myself to ditch that coin that's technically useless here.  So I carry on, write my shopping lists so that when I do have to go out, driving on the wrong side of the road in cars that seem as big as bulldozers, I can go straight to what I need and then get out before critical mass is reached.

When this whole thing started, I vowed to myself I'd be here, be in the midst of all of it, and let myself have the time and space to just feel what I'm feeling.  No rushing through, no stuffing emotions, no cutting corners.  Taking the time to do the work.  I feel like I'm slipping, like I'm putting my head down and just looking at my own two feet for the familiarity and comfort of it.  Saying goodbye to dear, precious friends was so hard, but at least there I had someone who felt the same way I did, heartbroken.  And we'd hug and order some cake and coffee and talk.  Explaining this... this homesickness for a place that most people don't consider our 'home' is so much harder than I anticipated, even after reading up about repatriation and the likes.  Here, I don't have that friend who is in it with me to hold my hand.  Here I have friends who are so kind and compassionate but are not going through the waters of chaos we are... and so I sit at the computer, and type.  I surround my family with as many things that remind us of Joburg as I can- the Advent Calendar from Ulrika, the candle from Martina, the candy from Woolies, the necklace from Leigh, the shoes with Afrikaans words from the Bryanston Market.  I'm trying to keep my head up, keep looking around and not just going into survival mode.  My kids deserve better than survival.  I deserve better than survival, but I'll be really honest, it's rough.