Anyone who has lived abroad knows that there is a great deal of excitement in arriving in a new place, adjusting to changes in weather, food, language and culture, starting a new occupation, making friends with local citizens and, eventually, settling into a daily routine. But there are also those days when you long for your own family, friends, food and familiar traditions or habits which have greatly contributed to who you are as an individual. In my life I have had my fair share of Easters, Christmases, Thanksgivings, and birthdays away from home and family, both domestically and abroad. But this past weekend was my first Independence Day – a day which for most Americans means the melding of good friends, food and fireworks - spent overseas. In Rwanda, this week is also of particular importance nationally, as it marks the country’s Independence Day (from Belgium, 1 July 1962), as well as its Liberation Day, also on July 4th, which commemorates the day that RPF soldiers brought an end to the genocide in 1994. As Rwandans gathered across the country to recognize the end of this tragic event, I joined several hundred fellow ex-patriots at an afternoon celebration and barbeque at the US Embassy in Kigali. My long journey to American soil - into Kigali and to the swanky part of town – brought me to a place where I was not only spared the usual stares and commentary that have become a part of my everyday routine, but also was able to enjoy some of the traditional fare I would have had on this great holiday in the US of A. Despite the large number of people in attendance, the Marines organizing the event had us covered: buffet tables consisted of hotdogs, hamburgers, French fries, potato salad, pasta salad, cornbread, pound cake, chocolate chip cookies, lemon squares and more (…can you imagine my excitement?!) The Ambassador read a speech from President Obama commemorating the holiday and congratulated all of us on our work in Rwanda. People mingled in their casual red, white and blue attire and a volleyball match started up.
While it had been amusing to run into British friends earlier in the day and remind them (jokingly – no hard feelings, of course) of our remarkable victory 233 years prior, it felt especially strange to be away from home on this holiday. Later that evening, my nostalgia got the best of me and I called home, knowing I would find comfort in hearing about the party my parents host every year at our little summer cottage on the lake. I missed the hammock, the rowboat, the lively Italian neighbors we’ve known since as long as I can remember, my mother’s annual dive from the white rock into the water, listening to the Boston Pops on the radio, lighting sparklers and fireworks, roasting marshmallows and fending off non-malarial mosquitoes, and most importantly, being with close friends and family. Although my siblings were also away from home this Fourth of July, I called the cottage at 2PM EST and spoke with my parents and several of our family friends, fondly thinking back on the traditions of my past and imagining those still to come.
