I don’t blame you for asking, and I’m sorry if you’re tired of hearing “It’s great!” every time you ask. So here is a glimpse into how it’s all come together since stepping off the plane almost 2 weeks ago.

Free stuff rocks. I’ll take a chic haircut and vintage desk please.

• When you’re friends with someone who is interviewing for a job at a trendy new salon, you’re eligible for a free cut and style. Thank you Sydney! And my apologies for jerking my head when you burned me with the straightener.
• When you partake in the amazing wonder that is Freecycle, you can own an amazingly cool vintage typing desk. Technically, it wasn’t free because my way-too-generous father insisted on giving the woman $10 for delivering it to our house.

It’s cold. However, this does not mean the air conditioning should be turned off. Cory and I have the habit of turning off the AC in the mornings when we wake up with icicle feet. Our parents spend the rest of the day lowering the thermostat and making comments about how dad-blasted-hot these Oklahoma summers are. Meanwhile, Cory and I sit cozy in the 80-degree house. Usually by late afternoon they realize we’ve had the AC off all day. Then we get lectured. And remember why living in Mali was much simpler.

A Taco Bueno party burrito is the best investment I can make in my own well being.

I am an unfit mother. My parents were out of town for less than 24 hours, yet I managed to roast our dogs and traumatize the bird. Apparently the former is very accustomed to a climate-controlled environment and the latter doesn’t thrive in darkness (read: blankets covering its cage) all day. This is reason #492 why children are not in my near future.

Daytime television has an uncontrollable power over my soul. Or at least a mysterious mastery over how I spend my time every afternoon. While cleaning or reading or categorizing souvenirs, my soundtrack has become the sensuous stories of the OC or One Tree Hill. And of course daily attendance at the church of Oprah is required at 4:00 sharp.

Lesson learned: When it’s your first day on the job as a secretary (glorified phone answerer), you should constantly repeat the name of the company you work for so you don’t answer the phone with “Uhhh…” followed by a mumbled version of the business’s name who signs your paychecks .

Phone accessibility with the parents has quite obviously changed. Last night they called just to ask about the doubles rule in the card game Egyptian Rat Slap.

Daily trips to Wal-Mart are essential in the journey to become truly American. An aside to the patrons of the Owasso Wal-Mart: Please look in the mirror before you leave your residence to shop our local Cheap and Plenty Store. No one wants to see all that.

I have friends! In Mali I had convinced myself that my evenings in America would consist of sitting at home alone eating popcorn chicken and/or shrimp and petting my cat. To my surprise, there is actually a swell group of young folks here to keep me social and further away from my spinster cat-collecting season of life.

Vacation Bible School still has watered down Kool-Aid and songs with ridiculous hand motions. (P.S. It was my 3rd year as the official missionary of VBS. This missionary name tag is apparently superglued on.)

Some things never change. Even after two years, the elderly Sunday greeter at church still talks of setting me up with his grandson who went to Kenya. And so as not to play favorites, he has found a lovely girl for my brother. She’s the teller at his bank. And on greeting my grandpa after arriving, he casually mentioned that he’d like me to meet the music guy at his church. Good thing my brother made a Sister Pact tonight with his 2 friends who each have single sisters. Apparently one of them already called dibs on me. How flattering.

Church is the best place to catch up on all the gossip. Apparently 2 of my friends got divorced (both my age or younger), one is finally prego, and another is expecting again.

The family that exercises together…hmmm…enjoys Sonic Chocolate Oreo Blasts together? How reaffirming it is when all of your family members agree that a one hour work out at the YMCA entitles everyone to splurge on Sonic’s fine selection of iced beverages.

I miss Mali everyday. But maybe a little less everyday. When I look at the clock I automatically add 5 hours and think of what it looks like in Bamako at that moment, what my friends and students are doing, what I would have been doing. And as I’m snapped back from this vision of My Africa Life, my heart breaks a little. It’s like a long distance relationship. And we all know how much those suck.

A deep fear runs through my typing fingers that my post-Mali life will be too boring to blog about. Seriously, what am I doing here? I’m sorting through piles of forgotten items. Books I ordered in hopes that my leisurely American life would afford me plenty of reading time. Brand new Busted Tees t-shirts that I couldn’t stand to be ruined by the harsh washing and wear of Mali. Cutsie summer dresses that I bought on clearance last Christmas thinking of all the non-church events where can show more than my wrists and ankles. Sorting and eating and texting and shopping and the occasional Zumba class at the Y.

It’s not orphanages and translating and taxi rides with chickens. It’s not hearing the whining goats, drinking bissap, and eating mangoes. Because this isn’t Mali. And that’s ok.

I watched a 15-minute fireworks show tonight celebrating this great place I get to live in for an undetermined amount of time. And it’s actually more than great to be back.

Growing a little weary of answering the question with just “great,”
Amber

What am I saying? It’s not just an arrival, it’s a sweet welcome home celebration! You’re finally here! Our prodigal precipitation has returned at last! Bring robes and rings! Kill the fatted calf and let’s feast! For tonight it rained!

Far down the road we could see you coming. Oh yes, I had my suspicions when the humidity reached 80% this morning. Then the overcast skies, a dead giveaway. Plus, it’s all in the name: M-A-N-G-O rains. I’ve been enjoying about a mango a day, so I guess you just knew it was time.

Good to see you, old friend. Six months is far too long to be apart.

Right now watching your fresh drops dust off cars and trees and my dog, I can’t help but reflect on our extended absence from each other. In October I was in denial about your departure, December distracted me with its chilly 60-degree temps, and by March I was so consumed with sheer heat that dreaming of your return only made it worse. I forgot what you sound like pounding on the metal porch, your smell that covers the African stink, and how it feels to play with you “like a slippery wet toy” as my 6th grader Cole once wrote.

Inevitably all of this reminds me of AMERICA and how today’s reunion is one giant metaphor for all that awaits me in June. The mental list of Stuff I Miss has shrunk over the past 2 years. So much of it I’ve simply forgotten. The feel of carpet, driving, greasy Sonic, life sans mosquitoes, English, cushioned church pews, bookstores, Oreos and milk.

Thinking of those familiar images leads me to ask, When I finally return home and America wraps me in her arms, spins me around, and says to begin the feasting because what once was lost is now found, will I grab a fork and dig in? Or will I scan the table and realize that it’s not so appetizing anymore. What used to cause insatiable hunger is now unsatisfying? Will I discover my true thirsts are camel rides in the desert, afternoon tea, crossing the Niger each morning, and of course mango rains?

I’ll be expected to slide right back into my culture, just like I expect you to hang around for a while longer. But you understand, mango rains, because that’s not what you do. It’s your nature to come only once or twice before rainy season begins in June; you don’t belong here right now. You are just passing through to offer what you can—relief from the heat, nourishment for the ground, and a delightful afternoon of play. You won’t come back until next April when the mangoes are ripe. Then from across the ocean, I’ll think of you for the first time, all over again.

Soaking it in while I can,
Amber