so it finally hit me

as I count down the hours to leaving for the airport, and nerve myself up to the dreaded task of packing:

I'm going to Zanzibar.
And to Italy.
To do my work.

My father was born in Zanzibar. Left at 16 to apprentice as a mechanic in Nairobi. A couple of years later, the revolution in Zanzibar expelled / exiled hundreds of Zanzibari Asians, including his family. He never went back.

Zanzibar was a legend of my childhood. A piece of my heritage shrouded in sadness, loss, mystery, curiosity, danger. And now I'm going there. For the first time, yet I want to say going back. Taking Migritude to Zanzibar.