How My Father's Hair Turned White: My dad, Africa, and the golden carrot

Today is Father’s day and I’d like to send out a shout to my dad. He’s a great guy and, despite a lot of challenges, he’s never given up on wanting to be a part of my life. As an adult we’ve grown closer and I am always surprised and more than delighted to find out that we’re not as different as we appear to be. Life has taken us in very different directions but somehow we’ve both figured out how to find each other. When I was a little girl and we were both trying to figure out what on earth it meant to be father and daughter after the divorce he used to tell me, “fathers don’t grow on trees.” I would roll my eyes and stare out the window of his red Blazer. I had no idea then that he was right. It’s been a long road but we’ve come out alright. He’s my dad and I’m grateful for his love. I love him very much.

One of the stories my dad loves to tell is about how I ruined his hair by going to Africa. According to him, the root of a lot of troubles (big and small, local and global) is my time in Africa. I remember when I called him from college to tell him that after graduation I would be joining the Peace Corps and heading to Africa. There was silence on the other line. “With Africans?” he finally asked. “Yes, Africa with Africans” I said. And so began the end of my father’s thick black hair. When I left for Guinea, West Africa in July of 2000 my dad still had black hair, albeit it with flecks of white here and there. He called it “salt and pepper.” And, you guessed it, by the time I returned in November 2002 his hair was completely white with not even a hint of the old pepper of his youth. He laughs when he tells others that all the worrying he did when I was in Africa made him an old man. “Look at me now”, he tells anyone who’ll listen, “look at this old man now with white hair, all because of Annie going to Africa.” His laugh is full and round, it seems to come from deep down. And he always pulls me close, giving me a playful squeeze when he tells that story. I imagine it’s because I’m back, safe and sound. He can cross a lot of things off of his worry list. My life, too, is looking more and more traditional, stable, safe. The adventures of unbridled youth have given way to a life that is easier for him to relate to. I have a wonderful partner with whom I share a life and bank account. I have an advanced degree, a teaching job, a salary, etc.

So you can imagine how thrilled he is that Matt and I are going back to Guinea. He’s already lost his black hair, what on earth will this next stint in Africa do to him? It’s obvious that he’s sick about us leaving. But, he really is trying to make peace with the whole thing- in his own way. The other day he said to me over the phone, “I guess I’m glad you’re going to get this whole Africa thing out of your system. Just get it over with. Then when you come back, you won’t have to think about it anymore.”

Hmmm…. An interesting idea. But not original. It has definitely taken me by surprise just how many people have expressed some version of my dad’s thoughts about our return to Guinea. Usually it sounds a bit different, but the idea is the same. People say, “Hmmm (or “wow” or “gee”) I guess you better do it now while you’re young.” That last part varies, I’ve heard “while you’re young,” “before you have kids,” “before you own a house,” “before you have a career,” “before you settle down,” and on and on and on. I never know quite how to respond to these comments. I don’t expect everyone to jump up and down about our plans. I certainly don’t always get excited about other people’s plans. That seems only natural. But those responses bother me. A lot. There is an implication that the real way to do things, the real way to live a life is to do some stuff that’s “adventurous” (their word, not mine) while one is young. This of course, does not last too long and is understood to be temporary. Preferably this phase doesn’t go on past the mid to late 20’s. Then comes marriage, a house, some kids (2.2 right?), maybe a career, certainly money. And everyone lives happily ever after. The second implication of the “better do it now” line of thinking is that once the ball is rolling on all the stuff that is “supposed” to happen, anything outside of the box is impossible. I, of course, don’t agree with either of these implications.

It’s taken me a long time to come to this seemingly simple revelation: life is happening right now. I’ve said to myself for so long that I’ll just get school out of the way or get college out of the way, or the Peace Corps, or grad school, or…. And then the real stuff will start. But I’ve found that that way of thinking has set me up for disappointment after disappointment. If real life happens “after” what I’m doing right now and I make it to that point, then what? Where is that darn golden carrot? I’ve been referring to it in my mind as the “myth of arriving.” I keep waiting to arrive, to get to a point where I say to myself and others, “yes, I have arrived, this is it.” That’s where the carrot comes in and the rainbow and the singing angels etc. But that can’t be possible because we’re always moving forward, sometimes to Africa, sometimes to school, sometimes to parenthood or homelessness or a greater self awareness or… And those things, all of them and more, are worthy of falling into the category of Life. And all kinds of things are being experienced by all of us or some of us at all times. It seems irreverent to imply that any life experience is just something to get out of our system before the real stuff begins. As simple as all of this sounds, I still struggle with it. I have to remind myself everyday that everything (everything!) counts.

My hope for our trip back to Guinea is that it be, in mind and heart, a linear journey, a journey that happens in real-time and real life. This trip cannot be a stalling strategy. It will be what it will be and while there I hope to really be there.

So, to my dad on father’s day:. Please know that my trip back to Guinea is not a detour. It’s a step, the next step on a long trip that you helped kick-start almost thirty years ago. I know you’re going to worry, but for the sake of your hair and health and sanity be assured that wherever I go I know exactly where home is.