After a lengthy blog post on how I’m done exploring my racial identity, the subject has reemerged.
The plight of a biracial individual.
It began with me waking up at 5:00 AM in a South Korean hostel. My friend and I were catching a bus to the Incheon airport for a flight back to the States. Five days in Korea left me ready to go home. One can only use chopsticks for so long before their hands cramp up and the urge to shovel the food down overtakes them.
Side note, I love Korean food, however, my stomach didn’t always agree with my mouth.
I stepped over my suitcase, neatly packed the night before, and headed for the shower. Water covered the entire bathroom, fogging up the mirror, and draining into the floor. Asian bathrooms are oddly designed, no shower curtains, just a corner of the bathroom where the spout comes out of the wall. But I was too sleepy to think about how my towel was getting damp.
We dragged our suitcases down sloping roads and across empty streets. As we waited for the bus, I munched a green tea pancake and peered at a cafe across from me. The day before, I sat inside this very cafe, with an iced latte and a muffin. I watched the Korean people pass the window and go about their lives.
Koreans: a people of their own kind, who look, sound and behave much the same as each other. During our week in Seoul, my travel buddy and I seemed to stick out like sailboats in an airplane hanger: we were always talking too loud on the subway, laughing hysterically in public, and using the wrong form of honorifics.
It didn’t take long before I realized Korea was not for me. I loved the city of Seoul and the food, when my stomach was ready for it, and some of my best friends lived in this thriving country. But the longer I spent touring the streets of Seoul the more I wanted to be among people who looked like me. And I don’t mean Americans, because it wasn’t the new culture and language that turned me off, rather it was the knowledge that some people live in societies where everyone looks like them. Not just the people passing by the cafe windows, but even the billboards, the magazines, the news anchors.
Imagine cohabitation with people who share your skin color, hair texture and physical appearance?
The ever-present wonder of a biracial individual.
“I want to visit Ethiopia,” I said to my friend, who was falling asleep at the bus station. The sun was just peering over the buildings. “Ethiopia, or India,” I continued.
She asked why and I said because I wanted to experience a society where I could blend in. As our plane took off from the coast of South East Asia I thought about what my next international adventure would be.
It’s been two months since I took that turn around the world. My options for the next venture are so far and wide that I decided to focus on one place where I want to explore. As I’ve said before, Africa interests me, specifically the French speaking areas. So I began doing some research on developmental needs in French-speaking African countries. Burundi came up as such.
Hmm, Burundi and I have crossed paths before.
When I was a student in England I signed up for a language exchange program. Twice a month I met with a girl from Glasgow, Scotland and we practiced French together. She was originally from Burundi and I learned that our families were actually from the same tribe! She told me all about Burundi from the shining lakes, to the hilly countryside. Unfortunately, other than her, I don’t know anyone from Burundi. But because of my Rwandan heritage , I’m drawn to both of these countries and I want to be a part of an organization that works to help the economic development of this area.
I look at countries like South Korea that have boomed economically in amazing ways. Why is this so difficult for African countries? Rwanda, has been doing well considering the genocide in 1994. But still, I would love to see this same growth happen in Burundi as well. And I want to be a part of that growth.