It is often said that one must travel in order to grow. That all those new experiences, challenges and insights to a different way of life matures you like nothing else does. Now if like me, the most fun times of your life are spent in bed huddled with a good book and a blanket, tea and popcorn, preferably by the window on a rainy day, the farthest thing from one’s mind is leaving such a spot. Again if like me, you thought you could cheat your way into this growing through the breath-taking novels that we sometimes immerse ourselves in, you could be given a pass. And again if like me, you need an entire paragraph to state that you’re a severe introvert, join the club.

Courtesy: Pinterest (rainydays, 2016)

Oh…what memories…err if I ever had a bed right next to that window that is. Nevertheless, you get the picture. Home for me embodied those scenes and I would pass at any invitations that involved travelling, people, noise, smiling(shudder!), people and…yes people. That was before I got the opportunity to travel for school. Whilst everyone (minus the haters) was excited for me, the only excitement I looked forward to was living on my own in a room that would be solely my own and having to account myself and my time to no one for an entire year, thoughts that any Cushitic girl from a large family can relate to. So off I went with plans to spend uninterrupted time holed up in my own room for a year, oh what fun! And I did. While friends and colleagues spent their time travelling around and exploring new places, I explored mine on the benches of cafes with a mug of hot chocolate at hand, and the comfort of my bed, discovering new literature.

Sadly, the world doesn’t quite work like that and I had responsibilities to meet, relatives to see, classes to attend, readings to make…and my reluctant journey began. I met amazing souls who were some of the kindest and most generous I had encountered, and I met bigots who insulted me and wished me away. I went to places where people would trail after me to compliment me on my beauty and style and I had those who derided and pitied my existence as a black woman and a visibly Muslim woman. I met some who marvelled at my wit and intelligence and those who would not give me a minute upon sight or upon hearing of my origins. I met those who stared at me in wonder and those who stared in hate. I discovered that a step outside my room automatically qualified me as a polarising figure in society and an expert in all matters Islam.  I lived. In a world so unfamiliar to me. I loved my solitude and the independence and freedom it afforded me but I would count the days…I would constantly count the days I had left to return to these beloved shores. I do not think that I could ever long for home and pine for what is familiar to me more than I did in that year.

But therein lay my lessons. I had once spent four years in a boarding school, a common experience back home so I never thought a year was anything to blink at. But what I have learnt in that year! You see my dears, I understood what is meant by this travelling and growing business. They didn’t mean places, well it was nice to look at sights inaccessible back home, but it is in the meeting of all these unfamiliar people that lies the growing which inevitably changes your perspective on life. I was tested on what it meant to stick to one’s principles and how much it takes out of you. I learnt that I was stubborn and that I was proud of my culture and religion in a sea of faces that were the farthest things from it. In an ocean of difference, I rejoiced at my indifference of my difference. I exulted at my visibility as a servant of Allah in the face of indignities and snide barbs thrown at me. And I appreciated my cushiticness as a daughter, sister and friend in all that I was taught on kindness, overabundant generosity, and reciprocity. I rejoiced at my hayaa, encouraged by my Creator, not the hayaa propagated as a putdown by misogynists, but that which humbles one to appreciate the blessings given by The Supremely Exalted, and that which embarrasses one from actions and words displeasing to the sight of The Most High, in the face of intense provocation. And none of this my novels could ever teach me.

I must admit that it is nice to never have blackouts and to know that the train will be on time (a blessing and curse if you know what I mean) and that the roads have no potholes and the zebra crossing lines are regular and visible. But none of this can ever compensate for the amazing life that I live as a black Muslim Cushitic woman in Africa. It just so happens that I needed to travel in order to appreciate this, oh well.