As
an American, there’s no better scale on which to measure the give and take of
living abroad than Thanksgiving. How do you celebrate a holiday about home,
family, and the onset of chilly weather in an equatorial place 7,000 miles
away? Falling so close to Christmas, it’s also the only major celebration that
I’ve consistently spent apart from family all 6 years, and I would guess I’m
not alone in that.
When
it comes to how to celebrate in a place like Kenya or Zambia, you have choices.
Hunting down a frozen turkey or killing a live one, a massive patriotic
gathering or an intimate meal, the options are many. But there’s never any
question that your day will be weighed against past Thanksgivings and those
happening back home- what you brought with you, and what you left behind. My
personal Thanksgiving story arc moves from preserving and recreating tradition,
to embracing an almost entirely unrecognizable new celebration.
My
first Thanksgiving, in Zambia, was the first (and last) time I hosted dinner
and cooked my own turkey. It was an event replete with homages to home, down to
a fireplace video loop projected onto a wall. The setting wasn’t fancy, I
remember throwing a tablecloth over our washing machine when we ran out of
tables, but the multi-cultural gathering was warm, loving and about as close to
home as I could get.
Each
year since, I’ve moved slowly away from this direct translation as the holiday
began to develop a new life based on friends gathering and comfort food.
Eventually, even the near-religious importance of key food like green bean
casserole (which I don’t think I ever ate in the US) began to drop away, and
last year was the first I did without turkey.
This
year, though, was the grandest departure yet. As a small group of friends we
celebrated on the tropical coast of Kenya, in the ancient island city of Lamu.
We rented a stunningly beautiful house with endless reading nooks, light and
airy Swahili architecture, and even a small pool. Not only did we not cook a
single traditional Thanksgiving dish, we didn’t cook period: we hired a chef
with the house who prepared an amazing meal of fresh lobster and crab that
evening. With not a pumpkin pie or cranberry sauce in sight, and near 100%
humidity, it was a happy Thanksgiving celebration nonetheless.
Yet,
at the end of the day, American traditions or not, Thanksgiving isn’t complete
without the (new) traditional evening video call back to Massachusetts just as
the family is starting to gather. Passed around from one relative to the next,
glimpses of foreheads and feet and drinks in hand, someone inevitably taunting me
with the appetizers I’m missing, warm wishes all around. It’s not much, but it
has always been that crucial digital foot in the door, keeping me connected,
keeping me eternally weighing and remembering. On Thanksgiving, wherever it is,
I’m thankful for family, for friends, for plenty in my life, and, of course,
for good internet.
(Lamu town)
(Inside our house)
(Traditional lateen sail dhow)
(Coral-walled alleyways)
