a non-specific, non-definitive list of the things you will forget and remember when you “go home”:
1. You will remember the warmth of a proper reception: they will greet you like the sun after the most dreary of cloudy days, ‘Karibu’ and ‘welcome home’ washing over you like the milky sweetness of your youth returned.
2. They will stare at you openly: because though your name sounds like theirs and your face resembles their own, you cannot scrub the America off you. It pours out of your clothes, into your saunter, out the undecided steps of your feet, and eventually, your mouth—when you open it to reveal the United States that have made themselves at home on your tongue.