I grew up
used to being late to things, impromptu unplanned outings and vacations, long
road trips in a full size van stuffed with entertainment for my hyperactive
brother(s) (ie toothpicks, aluminium foil, glue, paper), living in a house full
of noise and mess and chaos. When I grew older I became determined to reclaim
my German roots and create some semblance of order in my life. This meant an
obsession with being on time, writing things in my agenda, calculations, plans
and excel spreadsheets for my budget and life decisions (however, I still couldn’t
bother to keep much semblance of order in my personal space…). Given these
compulsions it would seem unlikely that after my first visit to the African
continent I would fall deeply in love with the red dirt, unorganized rhythm,
sense of time, chaotic transport, and lack of plans. I stubbornly told my
mother as a young child that I would not go to a developing country (horribly
embarrassing to admit now) and just wanted to live in Germany. My stubbornness
extended to wanting to learn German instead of the more practical language
Spanish that I started with. Oops. Well go to Germany I did and now it’s
northern and perhaps equally organized neighbour (I will stop with comparisons
there…). I do love both Germany and Holland!
I guess
there are some aspects of childhood no matter how hard you try to reject them
that just stick. Now I appreciate my family’s flexibility when it comes to
trying new things, random and sudden adventures that are organized in the spur
of the moment rather than months in advance, willingness to impulsively plan
surprise parties for dear friends, and give of time and resources without the
need to meticulously arrange every detail far in advance. Maybe it’s the fact
that I was nearly born in Zimbabwe or my family’s still close ties to the
continent but at nearly 27, I can’t seem to get “Africa” out of my blood.
I’ve lived
in the same country (officially) for 2.5 years. This is a new record for me.
And not long ago I started thinking that maybe I could call this place “home”.
For two years I was theoretically fixed (but that didn’t stop me from leaving
the country as often as possible) to being in the Netherlands but it’s rather
shocking that I have lasted as long as I have in this country. It is a well-documented
fact that I hate being cold. Like really hate it. Sure, I can tolerate the
cold. I spent the majority of my life in the Midwest which has a climate of
temperature extremes, no mountains and long months of cold and grey. So in some
sense the Netherlands has a significantly milder climate. But more important
than the miserable weather, I’ve begun to the hate the aspects of the
Netherlands that I first fell in love with.
I moved to
the Netherlands after 5 months in Uganda, which even by African standards is
not exactly known for its organization. The first few days of orientation at
Delft were a bit of a shock to me. I recall examining the carefully planned
program that was split in 20 minute blocks. I scoffed at this level of detail,
“how on earth would they stay on schedule?” But miraculously the schedule was
followed perfectly. I received invites to parties months in advanced and began
feeling stressed at the thought that I should be planning my social life that
far in advance. Quickly I learned that if I wanted Dutch friends to show up to
my events I had to also plan months in advance. Now many aspects of this
organization were extremely appealing. Meetings start on time, people complete
tasks on time, train delays (although often frequent) are unacceptable and
cause often excessive amounts of stress—everything is highly functional.
Education is affordable and mostly accessible to all, healthcare is mandatory
and although the Dutch complain about rising costs due to the privatization of
insurance it’s still extremely affordable when compared to the US, transport is
reliable and easy to use, there is a highly developed network of cycling paths,
I can find all the food I want in the supermarket, people speak a high level of
English… Essentially it’s “perfect”. But sometimes this perfection is
maddening. (sorry Dutchies, I really do love your little country).
Sometimes I
just feel like hanging out and calling friends the day of and going somewhere.
Sometimes when I see the immaculate gardens where I picture a kind old Dutch
man or women carefully trimming every leaf, I want to get shears and make it a
little less perfect. Sometimes when people complain how someone is 5 minutes
late, I want to shake them. Sometimes, although I dearly love my agenda, I want
to rip up my agenda and others and tell people just to go with the flow.
Sometimes I just want people to understand how someone might think or believe
differently than them. Ultimately, because everything is so functional and
organized I feel like I’m stuck in a perfect bubble with no room to make an
impact or really enjoy life.
So here it
goes: I have loved my time in the Netherlands. And I appreciate the
organization. But, unless something drastic happens (never say never) I think I
will lose my mind in the greyness and perfection if I choose to call this place
“home”(but I will still probably be living here for some time). Apparently, the
chaos of my childhood is too deeply engrained in me for me to survive in a
perfectly functioning society.
