(Written on a flight from Zambia to the UK)
Limbo – that is what I am currently in. Not feeling much at all as I don’t know how I should be feeling. Flight travel is a form of limbo anyway as you aren’t anywhere specific. I’m not even sure of which country we’re flying over at the moment (Zambia? DRC?).
I’m in limbo, partly because I don’t know where I belong. I feel … nomadic – where is home? Which of the two countries I’ve lived in is home?
My identity is a bit skewed right now. If someone asked me where I’m from, what answer would I give them? “Well, I was born in the UK but grew up in Zambia and now live in the UK – my Mum is in the UK but my Dad is in Zambia.” When I land in the UK people will say “welcome home”: they’ll also say that when I land in Zambia.
Am I British? My passport says so. And my life is in the UK – my wonderful boyfriend, the house we share, my job, my Mum and sister, my friends, my hobbies. And my Dad some of the time. But there is this gnawing feeling – and it nags me. Don’t get me wrong, I am happy in the UK – it is where I have chosen to live and where I culturally “fit in”.
But one is shaped by one’s childhood. Eleven years in Zambia – a long time. I don’t want to ignore it or forget about it. And my Dad still lives there.
Do I want to live back in Zambia at any point? Take a new job? Living there would not be easy – being part of an expat community, and I’d have to learn the politics and culture from scratch. I’ve never lived in Zambia as an adult, only as a child, meaning my relationships with people have to alter.
Too many questions and too few answers. Maybe that is why I am in limbo.
But, one answer to the question “do you feel English or Zambian” could be “both”. And I’m proud of that. I think I’ve just invented a new word – “Zamglish”.
PS: we must be over the DRC by now …