ed by the locals sitting on their piki piki [motorcycles]. “Hujambo!” ,the Swahili word for hello,they would voice. Responding back with "hello" in my thick American accent instead of hujambo, they immediately knew that I wasn't a local. Naturally, they inquired about my residency, to which I responded, “America.” “Ah! Tupac… Obama!”they replied –They love Tupac and Obama in Africa. After a few minutes of chatting, our salutations ended with the locals declaring “Welcome home my American brothah.”
My visits to Africa have always been an experience, to say the least. I have performed the Adumu or “jumping dance” with the Maasai of Tanzania, danced with the Himba and Herero of Namibia, drunk Utshwala or "Zulu beer" with the Zulu of South Africa, and have partied with the Ovambo of Namibia. Though the native Africans were fully aware that I was.........
Over the past few years, I have been afforded the opportunity to travel to Africa annually. In December of 2011, I ventured to Tanzania and Zanzibar which are currently my two favorite destinations on the planet. When I landed at Julius Nyerere Airport in Dar Es Salaam,TZ, I had butterflies. The butterflies weren't from fear, since I didn’t know what to expect once I landed. Rather, they stemmed from a soothing anxiety that proliferated my soul as I exited the plane. Though I had never physically been to Africa, I was certain that I was home. This homecoming was too surreal. The feeling was as if the ancestors alive inside of me were thanking me for taking them back t0 nativity.
As I exited the terminal, I was engulfed by the blazing heat. The temperature peaked at over 100 degrees, yet it wasn’t uncomfortable. It seemed more like a welcome home embrace. I was warmly greet-