I was 20 years old when I went to Africa for the first time. I was alone, I was excited, and I was naive. Bulimia was a part of my life, yes, but from what I remember, it wasn't a huge giant at that time. The escape to a new culture was probably a good distraction from the binge/purge cycle I had been clinging to, and I am sure it was a sweet relief to live life without that burden for those weeks and months. Kenya was amazing, and I was busy and happy while I was there. I missed home terribly some days, and I know I cried a lot, but I had a very, very "special friend" who we shall call Lucas, and he was always there for me. Lucas speaks perfect English, has an amazing heart for children and ministry, and kept me entertained during my time there. I'd call him someone who knows me best on this earth, and yet he has no idea what I struggled with. My eating disorder was so fresh and new to me, not only did I not understand it at all, but I had no way to explain it to someone else, even Lucas. A month or two into my time there, I began to hear those voices. The same ones who spoke to me in B.C. The ones who told me I wasn't good enough, wasn't thin enough, wasn't pretty enough. And despite being right smack in the middle of my dream, I believed them. Can we talk for a second about the sewage system in Mombasa, Kenya? To be more specific, I lived on a compound in a town called Diani Beach, Ukunda. That's right people, I lived on the freaking Indian Ocean. It was sweet. I bring up the sewage system situation because it doesn't work very well for a girl with severe insecurities to throw up food into a toilet that may or may not flush for several days. Heck, I was lucky to even have a toilet! And can we also talk about the guilt that follows when you throw up food that thousands of your neighbours would have sold a limb to eat? Holy smokes, did I ever feel like the crappiest person on earth. Even now as I write this my face is hot and I am embarrassed but I am going to keep on writing. Barlow Girl has a song called Mirror that I am now going to quote:
Mirror, Mirror on the wall,
Have I got it?
'Cause Mirror you've always told me who I am
I'm finding it's not easy to be perfect
So sorry you won't define me
Sorry you don't own me
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Who are you to tell me
That I'm less than what I should be?
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Who are you? Who are you?
I don't need to listen
To the list of things I should do
I won't try, I won't try
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Some of you out there still might not understand the battle that rages in the mind and body of a bulimic. It is simultaneously mental and physical, bringing you down from every angle. I ate traditional African food, pilau and ugali, and I loved it. But I didn't love myself enough to keep it down. I have searched high and low for a pattern to my strange behaviors over the past 5 or 6 years and have come up almost empty-handed. But there are two fairly obvious triggers that make me want to eat and then dispose of my caloric intake. They are boredom and loneliness. As previously mentioned, Lucas was my special friend. He kept me company and taught me the ropes around our city and the compound. He listened to me and let me cry and made me laugh. But let's be honest here...he is a boy. That isn't the same thing as having a girl friend to talk to. I'm not saying that my behavior would have been any different in Africa if I had had a best girl friend there to talk to, because obviously I have close friends here in Canada and continued to be ruled by a disease, but I do think it would have helped to have some more support.
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In Kenya, when I felt bored or lonely, I would hop on a matatu (bus/van) and head into town to go to Nakumat. Nakumat is wonderful. It is Africa's version of Walmart. Nakumat was my friend, because it sold "American Food", as my friends called it, and of course I was all about the American Food. Instead of heading to an Internet cafe and emailing or calling my Canadian besties, I would buy American Food, take a matatu back to Diani Beach, and eat. Then I would wait for the guilt to set in. And it always did. I didn't always throw up, but even the times I did make me wish so badly in this moment that I can take them back.
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I just want to take a moment to say, to those of you who don't know me as well, that I went to Africa to be a mommy, sister, and friend to the beautiful people who live there. I basked in my role as baby rocker, tummy tickler, and shoulder to cry on. When I previewed this post, I realized again how awfully selfish bulimia is, and it might sound to you that all I ever did there in Kenya was obsess over food and body image, but that isn't true. I wrote this because I wanted you to know that even though I was far, far away in a strange land, my bad habits caught up with me. But those bad habits, in no way, shape, or form, took away from the fact that every single micro-moment spend there was filled with overwhelming love, compassion, hope, and joy.
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Smile...
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~C~
