Immigrant

It is ironic that I am writing this next post while home on Thanksgiving break. Growing up in Namibia I had never heard of Thanksgiving.

I remember one morning my sister had some kind of large lizard in bed with her. Wearing her head to toe pajamas, lying on her back she had this reptile resting on her belly under the blankets. If only this were a strange circumstance. Growing up in a wild place where animals are a part of every day life, it wasn’t uncommon to see one of us kids hauling around a critter. We found snake eggs in the pile of sand that was delivered for building and carefully moved them. We raised a bat eared fox, who was orphaned, by feeding him raw meatballs and finally releasing him on a friends farm. We bottle fed a ground squirrel baby who then became part of the family, and bit visitors’ ankles in an attempt to protect us. An injured owl, crippled ostrich chicks that required my mothers physical therapy treatments (they worked), raising several wild birds and babysitting a skunk were all part of life.

The reason the lizard was in her bed that morning by the way was because she had found it outside stiff and cold and felt bad for it. Needless to say, once it warmed up and became much more lively it was released outside.

I absolutely loved growing up in Namibia. A country so wild and beautiful and full of animals. I always knew that I would spend my life connected with animals in some way. I had no idea it would lead me to working as an animal control officer in Michigan, USA of all places.

I am the oldest of four kids, and when I was 12 my mom was offered a contract to work in America for a few years. My parents have never shied away from an adventure and moving a family of 6 to another continent seemed like the next big adventure on their list.

The only thing we knew of America is that they had cowboys and Indians like the movies showed, and that they had this magical place called Disney World. At our age we couldn’t wait to leave behind the bush and desert to see the bright lights and Mickey Mouse. After a stop over in Germany to spend Christmas with family, we landed in Detroit Michigan on a cold blustery winter day just before New Years. While we drove along the sloppy wet streets, passing dirty snow piled up along the sides and rusty overpass bridges, we realized that maybe not all of America looks like Disney World.

In Namibia I had attended a German School and the languages I grew up with were German and Afrikaans. I had just begun to learn some English in one of my classes but found myself entirely unprepared to live in an English speaking country like the US. Entering 6th grade and only speaking a handful of sentences in this language left me feeling a bit isolated. I was the weird kid from Africa. I was the one who had no idea what a locker was or how to work the combination lock. They spoke so fast in their American accent that I couldn’t follow a conversation. I was asked if I lived in a hut. If I rode a Zebra. If I had running water where I lived. The teachers tried to explain homework to me but even they weren’t sure how to get the immigrant student to understand a lesson. I found myself in the library checking out the entire Babysitters Club series and credit the many books I read with helping me learn the language and eventually feel more normal in this new world.

My sisters were in elementary school and at times would come home in tears because they couldn’t understand a single word that day. Lucky for us we were young. And as all other immigrants to a new place will tell you, children adapt much quicker and easier than adults.

My dad had to wait to obtain his green card still and since my brother was the youngest, and not in school yet, he took him to the local grocery store one day. My brother was fussing and my dad was talking to him in German, and wouldn’t you know it a lovely lady approached him and spoke German to them. It took us mere weeks to find a fellow German speaking human in our city. You have to appreciate America for its diversity.

And so we started a life here in this new world as the weird immigrant German kids from Africa. The plan was to return to the hot, sunny savannah of Africa in 2 years time but my parents, realizing the limited educational opportunities there, decided to stay a while and allow us all to get through school and college here.

In Namibia we had dogs, cats, tortoises, rabbits, chickens, and various parrots, among other random wild animals. Here in the US we had dogs, cats, chickens and several parrots. In 7th grade I volunteered to come to school early each day and maintain the chinchilla cage in the biology room and was gifted a chinchilla by my teacher as a thank you. Our house was never without a pet of some sort.

In High School I had a part time job at a veterinary office as a kennel cleaner. That progressed to receptionist and tech, and eventually I found myself employed at the animal shelter. At the same time I was going to college and completing a Biology degree. The position of animal control officer I hold today does not require a specific degree, or even the extensive animal experiences I have gained, but it sure helps.

At this point in my life one of my sisters has moved to Florida. Another has moved back to Namibia and my brother, the youngest of the bunch, has moved from Namibia to now settle in Australia. My parents had recently decided that retirement meant the desert and bush was also calling their name, and so they too have packed up and left life in the USA behind.

I would be lying if I said I wouldn’t love to move back. Namibia will always and forever be my preferred home on this this planet.

While growing up in America I wanted nothing more than to fit in. I did not want to be unique, or different, or known as the immigrant girl. I finally sounded and looked like all my American friends and didn’t like talking about where I was from or answering the many questions that inevitably followed. Now in my older years I find myself longing for that place. I am proud to be different and realize how that makes me unique and see life differently than others around me. I enjoy sharing my knowledge and experiences of that foreign, far away place. I guess that’s why I felt like adding this post to my blog. To tell my story.

I used to wear flip flops every single day of my life and now wear socks and boots when winter invades my life for half the year. I am surrounded by millions of people instead of millions of termite hills. When it rains here it is a nuisance instead of a long awaited gift from god to quench the thirst of a dry land. It is a different world, but I am the same girl. The girl who longs for hot sun and vast open spaces.

I have a life here, but I will always be an immigrant. And I will always long for that hot, dusty place I consider my home.

P.s. I still have never been to Disney World.