Still in the USA. For now.

It's been nearly a week since I said my heartfelt good-byes to Jamie at the Milwaukee Airport. We embraced and then I ambled down the slopped walkway towards the security check point. A rush of emotions came over me as I made one last turn over my shoulder to blow Jamie a kiss. I had an immediate dose of sadness and longing. I felt as if I was unprepared at that exact moment to leave. It was a rather unexpected emotional state for me. Normally, when planning an international trip, the anticipation and excitement of seeing an exotic country and experiencing a new rhythm of life are so strong that I hardly second-guess the decision to leave. But this time it was very different. Maybe it comes with aging? I don't know. Surely, it was a consequence of knowing that I will be spending the next 6 weeks without my life partner and friend. Nevertheless, in that immediate moment,  I realized that I was no longer that twenty-year old idealist with a bag full of Wendell Berry and a head full of blonde curls. Back then, I didn't know what I was leaving behind. It was rare that I reflected on the friends I wouldn't see, on the family who would worry, and on the wife I wouldn't be able to embrace. In a sense, I've come to see both the beauty in both travelling and finding a healthy stable existence rooted in community. And the definition of my being is no longer defined as "Jeremy: the one who has seen and experienced the world." My definition now lies within my relationships to family and friends and in the way I treat others around me. How I struggle as a man and husband. And how I triumph, sometimes.  Yet travelling still gives me an appreciation for home. For a traveler, in the words of Yeats, is the only one who can see their home and know it anew for the first time. And that is an exciting proposition.

Spending time back in Pittsburgh was amazing. I took in a Pirates game with old friends, visited with my new niece AND nephew (held them, which was a rather nerve-racking experience), drank cheap beers in a bar along the Ohio River, and strained my legs to walk up the unbelievably steep hills--after living the past few years in the Mid-west, this was a rather frustrating task. I then took the train from Pittsburgh to Philly, went around horseshoe curve, and proceed to exit the Allegheny Mountains and enter "The East Coast." I spent time lounging around Jenkintown, PA, with my friend Josh and took a stroll around the square and admired the 18th century architecture of colonial Pennsylvania.

Upon arriving in New York, I was immediately accosted by a woman asking me for change. Seeing that I was clearly a tourist (with my wiffleball bats attached to a suitcase and a generally confused countenance, it was obvious), she proceed to "assist" me in finding the correct subway train to Queens. It didn't matter that I was already making my way down the CORRECT corridor, or that I had just spent the previous 5 minutes deciphering the subway transit map. She still insisted on grabbing me by the wrist, calling me "honey" and taking me back to the aforementioned map to point out that I was to proceed down the exact hallway from whence I had came and from whence she had intercepted me. Thinking that she had clearly kept me from walking blindly into the death maws of crazy New York, where I surely would have been robbed, beaten, and left for dead, she asked if I could spare her some money for her help. I told her no. Then I relented and gave her a dollar. Was it a mistake? I don't care. Already enthralled with New York, I then made my way to the subway, rode it, and then stepped off into Queens. I had no idea where I was. I stood for a few minutes in front of an old fruit stand. I asked for some advice about how to get to Leffert and Rockaway blvds. No one knew. I was informed that no one around me was 1) either from New York or 2) spoke English. So I took the problem into my own hands and did what all good tourists do: wander. I went around a pub, looked inside. Found nothing of interest. Proceeded down the block, turned around, and tried to wear a face of confidence. It was clear, however, to the taxi drivers on the curb, that I was clueless. The kept insisting that I needed a ride. I was stubborn and refused. FINALLY, I found the correct bus stop and ran to the back of the line. Thinking that this was like Prague and that I could pay my fair with the driver, I entered and asked "How much?" Perplexed, the driver sighed and asked me, "Do you have a metro ticket?" I informed him that I bought one for the subway. He then looked at me with sad eyes and said, "Well, I'll just take you anyways. Go to the back of the bus." And I was on! No money. I got a free ride! So New York took a dollar, then it gave me about $4 back. Not bad at all. I did make it to my destination with light to spare and went on a small stroll around the neighborhood. It's a very ethnically diverse neighborhood with numerous Sikhs, Hispanics, and Africans living in close proximity to each other. Just in a few hours, I've heard Russian, Ukrainian, CZECH (!), Spanish, Hindi, Arabic, and some African languages I could not recognize.I'm definitely not in Pittsburgh or Milwaukee anymore...

Tomorrow morning I fly away from my home country and head to Lagos, Nigeria, where I'll meet my professor and proceed to New Owerri. I'm nervous and very anxious. I have no idea what it will be like. I have decided to only take a  pack and a very small suitcase filled with sports equipment donations. Who knows if I'll have enough clothing to last me the five weeks. After my cross-country trip last summer, I'm pretty sure I could survive with 2 pairs of underwear and one pair pants. I'm not too concerned. I have had no ill affects to my malaria medication, which is great news! I'll keep everyone updated. Until then, I'll see you on the other side of an African sunset.