A Sort of Homecoming, Part II

It’s official, folks, I am back in the United States of America. This past Friday afternoon I met my Uncle Rick at Door 3 on the lower level of the Minneapolis/St. Paul International Airport, loaded down with one over-stuffed Kelty backpack, one heavily weighted Kathmandu backpack, one bursting SwissGear computer pack, and a ratty tote bag containing my passport, U.S. dollars, the August edition of Runner’s World-South Africa, my journal, and one worn Old Navy flip flop (I lost the right flop in the Chicago O’Hare Airport). I waited outside Door 3 with my hair pulled back, wearing blue hospital scrubs, a black tank top thrown over a white sports bra, and my dust-stained running shoes, perching on my tiptoes to spot my uncle’s black Toyota Camry over the rooftops of minivans and SUVs.

Mostly I saw hordes of white Minnesotans re-uniting with hugs and smiles after one or two weeks apart, like a little seven-year-old boy running towards his grandparents to show off his stuffed animal beaver and recount his newly acquired knowledge on beaver habitats in Michigan. I noticed Somali and Latino airport staff and a large African American man picking up his buddy who carried two gym bags and a suitcase.

After heaving my bags into my uncle’s trunk, we drove to Café Latte on Grand Avenue in St. Paul. I ordered a chai tea latte and a slice of chocolate orange cake. We found a table near a large window facing Grand; my uncle let me sit where I could watch the passersby and we gabbed for about an hour, touching on the highlights of each other’s lives over the past two years. Then I ran across the street to JCrew and purchased a pair of chinos, flip flops, and two lightweight long-sleeved t-shirts. After thirty-five hours of traveling, I finally ripped off my scrubs and running shoes and pranced out of the store in the chinos and flip flops with a sigh of relief. Next I darted over to the Aveda Juut Salon and treated myself 4.2 fluid ounces of Sap Moss Conditioning Detangler.

My uncle then drove me to my friend’s apartment on Grand Avenue in Minneapolis where I’m staying for the week before heading back to South Dakota. He left and I went for a run around the neighborhood in running shorts that I never dared to wear in Lesotho - I simply could not show that much leg in Mapoteng. To be honest, though, I probably shouldn’t show so much leg in the Twin Cities since my pale calves and quads haven’t seen the sun for two years. One block away I saw a friend from college with her two-year-old daughter and we exchanged quick hellos and promises to get in touch this week. I ran past another college friend’s house and left a note on his porch. Afterwards I looped back the apartment, breathing in the warm, humid Minnesota air.

I took a quick shower to get ready for another college friend’s wedding celebration. While I was away, he met a man and they got married last month in Montreal. Their friends held a celebration for them in Plymouth, a suburb of Minneapolis. So there I sat on a long white couch with my best friend from college, Elysia (one of the groom’s former girlfriend of two years), sipping a pomegranate cosmo in an artsy house in the burbs surrounded by gay men and 3-D inspired paintings while a black shitzu scouted for spring roll and organic mozzarella crumbs. Now, I can’t say that I felt culture shock per se, but the soirée seemed like a bizarre cultural non sequitur, especially when the party favors included the world’s largest condom and a “Dick-orette” patch and the wedding cake was topped with two topless male wrestling figures.

Elysia and I left around 11:30pm, about an hour after a jetlag-induced coma set in. She drove me back to the apartment in Minneapolis. We walked into the apartment and I kicked off my shoes, flipped on the bedroom light, and out swooped a bat. Being proper Minnesotans, we expressed fear in hushed whispers and I hid behind the bedroom door. Elysia, being infinitely braver than I, searched for a trash bin and cardboard lid while the bat swept through the rooms. I remained hiding. She caught the bat and escorted it outdoors. Whew!

Finally, I went to sleep around 1:00am after my first day back in America.