Those are my Mizungus

Early one morning I was walking down towards the beach in my site. An average walk through town- stopping to greet old men, practice English with little children and trying not to trip on the cobblestones. Still not fully awake and in desperate need of my first cup of coffee for the morning I was pretty much going through the motions like any other day in Moya. Except this day wasn’t exactly like any other day. I was going to the beach pre-coffee (shocking I know) because my family was staying at the hotel down by the ocean. My mother, father, sister, brother and sister-in-law all came to comors and Madagascar.  Along the way to the hotel I ran into a man I knew and he explained to me (in Shikomori) that he was going to meet some mizungus/foreigners to take them up into the jungle to look for the large Livingstone Flying Fox bats. I promptly responded by saying, “hey! Those are my mizungus!”

And that was the beauty of it all. My family’s visit was one part this amazing colliding of worlds where I never expected my immediate family to be experiencing the place where I’ve called home. And the other part it was completely normal- because this is my new home. I have friendships and relationships here that are incredibly important to me. I live and work in Comoros. This has been my life for the past year and will continue to be for the year come. In many wonderful ways it was completely natural for my American family to be visiting my home.

While they were “my mizungus”, the people of Moya treated my family as one of their own. They inquired about their health and how the traveling had gone. They smiled as I gave the names of my siblings and parents- asking me to repeat often so they could try and remember this whole family of foreigners. Friends of mine came bounding down down hills from the countryside or bursting out of their homes to make sure they had the chance to meet my family- often commenting that I was now their brother in Comoros and they were going to keep me here. It warmed my heart to see and feel this outpouring of mutual respect, admiration and joy.

But it wasn’t all joy and rainbows and butterflies. In fact I had warned my family in an email before they departed on their journey to the Indian Ocean that “There probably will be things that will fall apart or not go as planned, and I’m sorry for that in advance.” And while it is true that things did not go perfectly as planned, the times that weren’t joyful came from my own insecurities, lack of confidence and anxiety. It had nothing to do with Comoros or Moya or my family. The weeks leading up to my family’s vacation I had serious doubts on whether I had done a good enough job getting to know my community. Questions would bounce about my head like “ What if my family thinks I’m wasting my time here?” or “What if people call me by the wrong name, highlighting all of the mistakes at integrating I’ve made?” and so on. At one point a month before their scheduled departure I even called my parents somehow thinking I could make them cancel the entire trip because I thought it was a terrible decision and I was a fraud. The anxieties quieted but the self-applied pressure to demonstrate I was competent in my new environment still rested in the back of my mind.

Their time was incredible including a full goat beach BBQ with my host family, visiting an Ylang-Ylang distillery, and eating lobster by sunset next to the Indian Ocean. And yet my own brain could never quite fully turn off. Are they actually having a good time? Are we doing enough activities? Are we doing too many activities? I would ask if everything was ok and I was constantly reassured by my patient and caring family that it was. And truly it was ok. My host mother and real mom both cried in the airport as they met each other for the first time. People would have double takes thinking they weren’t seeing correctly as my brother and I would walk by (how are there two Andrés in this town?? Is he a twin??). Laughter would ring out as we pieced together conversations in multiple languages. People still ask me every day now how is my family. The anxiety I get about my own abilities hasn’t magically disappeared. But the time in Moya with my family showed that I’m doing something right. I’m making plenty of connections.

So, my mizungus came to Comoros. It was stressful, incredible and a time I will always remember. And it was completely natural. My family was in my home.