I AM HERE(??)

Teressa Walsh
Aug 8, 2017 · 3 min read

Ko, Po and Mo are locative markers in Swahili. Let me define them for you. PO — definite (a specific place), KO — indefinite (a general, vague place) and MO — inside. I reflect on this pretty often when I’m submerged in a tangle of limbs and fabric on the dala dala (a cramped van and my primary mode of transport to and from work).

That is: I reflect on the division of time, and the tension that exists between a place and its proximity to our loved ones as we attempt to orient ourselves in the world and share our location with others.

When someone asks UPO? in Swahili — they are literally saying — are you here?

The appropriate response is NIPO — Yes. I am here. I am definitely here — but it’s a response that doesn’t capture the totality of my physical or emotional (or temporal) state in this place, or any place really.

Rather — the uncertain quality of NIKO seems more accurate as I slip through various time zones — consuming the present, lamenting the loss of the past, and urgently demanding more and more and more of the future and its ability to preserve everything that I value.

Niko — the indefinite — I am here. But only vaguely.

Niko — I am kind of here — but I am unsure what that means.

As I prepare to leave Tanzania, I find myself sifting through a catalog of faces, and all of the fragmented landscapes (past and present) that I claim mean something to me.

It’s such a privilege to encounter people and places that demand you care for them.

They launch me into the world and they make me feel like I have skin in the game, something that I can mourn the loss of, and a reason to participate in life, after all.

It’s been a fantastic year in Tanzania. I’ve engaged vigorously and I’ve felt immense amounts of frustration. I’ve loved, and I’ve left people that I’ve loved, too — trusting that our paths will twist themselves back toward a mutual point and merge together again in some grand sweep.

I’ve seen roadways built and demolished, rode on the back of motorcycles down Mount Meru and negotiated fifty cent fares to cross the Tanzanian border from Kenya. I’ve attended weddings and funerals and field days and whore houses, been arrested and mugged and loaned large sums of money to strangers (yeah — I’m still wondering why any of that happened too), seen infants admitted to the orphanage due to precarious and abusive home environments, and then watched older children in our care return to their once estranged families. A lifetime has curved itself around me in 15 months — all distilled to a few core images that — I am sure — will always be able to stir my heart, even as time mutes the vividness of this place, these feelings, and all of these small moments.

And now, I’m leaving again. But to where?

I’m still not entirely sure where “home” is.

The idea of a “home” has been this abstraction that I’ve chased around for years, but I’ve since shed the urgency to select a specific place. The remote benefits of my new job further reduce the pressure to make such a decision, at least for now. Maybe I’ll always be living in what I define as a provisional home. All moments start, and then end. Our stories knot together to create new and more vibrant stories that spin softly into tomorrow.

And HEY! It’s just a few more tomorrows until I return to New York, to California, to a few new areas in the Midwest, and then, back again to Tanzania.

Niko hapa.

I’ll see you all soon. X

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