"I'm Here! Here I Am! Oh Boy! Now what?" life as a lost MK

A funny thought struck me as I walked back to my apartment tonight. Shuffling through the red leaves, I realized “I am in the US”.

This seems like kind of an obvious statement for someone who has lived here for the past year and four months, but it was a loaded statement for me.

My family moved to Uganda when I was nine. At that age of Barbies and American Girl Dolls and the pre-pubescent craze, I thought my life was being stripped away from me. Don’t get me wrong, I was thrilled to go to Africa and be an adventurer. But I missed my friends and I missed the ease of life that came with living in the States.

I tried to have a “normal life”. I guess it was normal to me: a life that involved chasing monkeys and climbing mango trees to get the “raw”—or green—baby mangoes while playing with my hand-me-down American Girl doll with the other missionary kids.

But I was always an outsider. I remember crying to my mom when I was 12--will I ever just feel normal with my Ugandan friends? The answer was that there were a couple, a few exceptions to the rules (I'm talking about you, Grayc Gatera and Bridget Malunga who will sadly never see this). 

By the time I was twelve, though, something seemed amiss. Life wasn’t normal. The things that had brought me joy at one point seemed childish and mundane. I began to look at the US as this glorious savior. When the time came for our first trip back to the US right around the time of my twelfth birthday I counted the hours until our plane would land and I would be whisked off back into a normal life.

Well, the plane landed, and I was whisked off, but I knew something was wrong the first day I was there. My parents told me to take a nap to deal with the jet-lag and the double over night flights. I tried to, back in our old friend’s familiar house. In the room which had been my best friend’s, where I had spent countless hours, and where I should feel at home. Sleep did not come. The problem? It was too quiet. Where were the roosters? The cows? In the endless hum of the air conditioning—another sound that I was unaccustomed to—I heard the dreary life of a machine.

Over the next few “home leaves”—6 week trips in and out of my passport country—I developed and lost relationships.

By the time I was 13 I felt the true loss of an MK. I cried for the life I believed I “should have had”.

This continued for years… the sense that I was in the wrong place. As I fell into a teenage depression over it I realized that I really just missed the US. I coveted every bit of Americana that I could get.

“It’s the life I should have,” I would say to my parents. As I read my 17 magazine, I honestly thought that that was what life would be like.

I remember some of the questions that went through my mind about Uganda..

In what world was it okay to be sexually harassed and threatened at every turn?

In what universe could I possibly blend in with the Ugandans, when every millimeter of my body cried out that I was different?

In what galaxy was it okay for me to get sick with tropical illness while facing gun battles down the street over elections?

Why had God abandoned me there?

And so I counted the days until I would return to the US for university. Everything would be better then, surely.

My first year was pure Hell.

On what planet was it okay for everyone to sleep around?

In what context was it okay for people to mock my home country?

Why had God taken me away from the one home that I knew?

As I felt lost and alone and cried night after night, I knew something wasn’t right. But I began to find my footing.

I remember the biggest revelation to me: home is not “nowhere,”. It is in Heaven.

So I shuffled through the leaves today. I covet every bit of news I get on Uganda, every snippet I hear about someone’s travels. This summer I got my driver’s license and drove to the mall to hang out sans parents for the first time ever.

The truth though was that it felt empty. This country that I had idolized ever since I was whisked away in an airplane in 2004 felt meaningless.

I recently posted on a Missionary Kid discussion board the question “Who else has itchy feet?” The response was almost devastating: we all want to be somewhere else.

Are we happy as MKs wherever we get planted? Well, we have honey moon phases. We are not often content with where we are, always dreaming of being somewhere else.

I still cry to my mom: will I ever feel normal with my American friends? The answer is yes--with a few exceptions to the rules (Tasia, Nix, Maddie, Maia, talking about you guys!)