this all feels connected

Written 21 September 2013

My second day in my homestay was September 11. I mentioned this to my Papa, who said: “this is a big day for your country. This day changed your home.”

Today, my friend Caroline was over at my house and we were flipping through channels and found the documentary, 102 Minutes That Changed the World about 9/11. I told my host aunt what it was about and she said: “that’s your home.”

Like most Americans my age or older, I remember September 11,2013 like it was this morning. I remember where I was, I remember thinking my brother was joking when he told me what had happened, I remember saying: “but we were there last week”, I remember asking my mother if the elevator operator we had met when visiting the World Trade Center just days before was still alive, I remember watching the news and feeling confused and asking if a plane was going to crash into Indianapolis.

And I’ve recounted this all with others when the conversation in our generation somehow and fairly frequently moves toward: where were you?

But for some reason I had never felt it in the way I have these past few days in Sénégal, twelve years after the day.

I have never been very patriotic. If my family and friends and some special places weren’t there, I’m not sure I would feel much connection to the country. The times I have felt purpose and fulfillment have most often been outside its borders.

And most of the time September 11 and the events that followed have always seemed too large to fully grasp, distant and very close at the same time such that I’ve never been able to process much of any of my feelings about the day.

But to see it from a distance and to witness the concern and deep empathy my host Papa and aunt felt for me and my home threw me.  That is my home. And that day did change it forever. And suddenly, as we watched heart-wrenching footage of that morning in New York, I thought: that’s my home…all of that hurt and despair and sense of fear and loss, that happened to my home. And once again I found myself confused about belonging.

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Written 22 September 2013

I flipped on the news this morning as I took my morning tea and there stood Uhuru Kenyatta, speaking of an attack on Nairobi.  Suddenly there was footage of persons being rushed out of the commercial center, blurbs scrolling across the screen about a poet being dead and, at that time, 59 dead.

My host sister, Corine, came into the room and said: “Callie, that’s Kenya.” It was not so much a statement of fact but of empathy.

Later on we went to the beach and there met Corine’s fiancée, Michel. Immediately after saying ‘hello’ and asking how I was, Michel asked if I had seen the news in Kenya and said “it’s not good.”  Again it was not so much of fact, but of empathy and of acknowledgment of my home.

Later still, I returned home and was able to receive the latest news of Kenya. 68 dead, 200 injured. And my Pappa said “yes, you should call and receive news from your family there.”

And once again I was struck with emotion… emotions of hurt and fear and loss both far and very near, emotions of grace from a deeply caring host family, emotions of home.

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This all feels connected.