Though we were spared once, we would not be spared again. Without time to defend ourselves, our removal from Zambia was planned and executed. The ten of us left so suddenly, an event that is one of the scars I share with my nine brothers and sisters. The other six were left behind, to endure without us. We would all have to escape Africa by a different route.
I don’t think I’ve ever had a strong sense of family. When I look at my own, I see one side that is a bunch of men-hating single women and the other side that says they love God but has these ideals of perfection that no one could possibly live up to. Thus, in neither side of the family have I learned how to truly give and receive love. I have only learned this from experiencing family in other groups, such as at camp, at college, and in Zambia. So I have had to grieve recently because I was reminded by one of my Zambian sisters that we, as a unique group, fit together in Zambia in a way that we could never fit together back home. Our Zambian family has broken up.
I think about those family members and wonder if they are grieving the same way I am. I wonder if she is trying her hardest to escape Africa and put it out of her mind. I wonder if Africa is calling him back. I have seen the changes in some, and for others I can’t quite tell what affliction Africa might have caused them. Africa might not affect some of us until years down the road, and although I’d like to know how everyone is doing, perhaps it’s not for me to know. I have to let it be.
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