Ci abyong bi, On the airplane

Finally taking off from The Gambia was.... I''m not quite sure.  Somehow matter-of-fact-like.  The tears had been shed the week prior and tear ducts were spent, or as we like to say, tired.

I can't say that I never pictured the flight home from site a time or two, or three or four.... Especially within those last four months in the heat of the afternoon.  Imagining the clean crisp coolness of the plane.  The beverage cart.  And saying bye to Gambia underneath a golden sun set.  Happy and at peace.

As it was, we watched the sun disappear into the sky at the beach hours beforehand.  Surrounded by good friends as the waves rolled in and breeze blew cold.  Night fell upon us there.  Indian food was delivered.  We enjoyed music in the glow of a lit up water bag as we waited for the power to come on.  Shortly after the current finally flowed into the dull bulbs above, the speakers responsible for extracting the information encrypted in the iPod and emanating it as sound waves and lyrics and beats, died from low battery since I had neglected to charge them for a long time.

So we finished the meal without the accompaniment of Regina Spektor or whomever was serenading us.

As I sat in the plane taking it all in, that this was really it, I found myself reminiscing over many scenes of West Africa that colored my last two years in the fullest and brightest of ways.  Markets, transport, restaurants, village, attaya, gardens, farms, etc.

Shortly before the flight we were exhausting our Dalasi on overpriced tea and Pringles.  I took in my reflection and noticed my cheeks to be a bit more gaunt and sunken than they were when I came to the continent.

My service was definitely challenging.  But as challenging as it was I found my tired heart burst open for the people and the land and the culture of what I now consider and feel to be my far way second home.

"I'm going to really miss West Africa," I said to Daniel.  He answered with a sympathetic smile.  "Yea, it will be a long time before we see it again."  He said.

The tall dry grasses were a lit by the lights of the plane under the dark 1:00 am night sky.

"It will." I answered.  Feeling better about leaving with the sense or hope of a return if even far off in the future.

Exhaustion took us both over then.  My eyes stung briefly.  Then the tires lifted.  It was real.  We were leaving.  We were gone.  Two years... over and done.  Just. Like. That.

I thought of my family in Jimbala.  What were they up to?  When would I get to hear from them?  Would the search the sky for an airplane?

And then, as memories and thoughts flitted through like a soundless movie screen, I slept.  Somewhat.

Bye Gambia.  Or, shall I see, see you later.  Inshallah.

Pick up

Yesterday on May 3, in late morning, the white land cruiser started to make it's way towards my house.  I lost feeling in my legs and made an effort to breathe and not pass out.  The tears I'd been trying hard to ward off started to stream.  I sat down on my concrete bed one last time.  My host mother seemed to lose feeling in her legs too as she was sitting on my stoop sobbing.  My host grandmother came out.  She only ever leaves her bed to relieve herself.  We looked as if in a football huddle grasping each others heads forehead to forehead, both sobbing and praying for each other in wolof.  She mentioned something about the sky or sun or trees...  I just couldn't tell.  I told her to think of me when she sees the trees we've planted together. 

Fortunately there were some other volunteers in the car.  Peace Corps likes to pair us for pick up.  My pair, Peter, and two other volunteers Sarah and Kara, were there to ease the tension and console me that if I wasn't crying and upset I probably did something wrong.  And also asking me how I lived in the house I did as far off the road as it was...

My host mom and I had our tears stop before I got in the car.  Before I knew it I was seated inside with all my things packed nicely and neatly in the car.  A crescent of some of the most amazing people were standing there with tears and waves.  I had to say goodbye to a family that unfortunately is so so far away from my permanent residence in Alaska.  All I could do was hold on to the hope of seeing them again but residing in the fact that I just don't know if that will happen.

I was glad I didn't pass out.  I hadn't eaten well the week prior due to stomach sensitivity.  I think in that case it was nerves to blame, not a protozoan or spoiled food.  Either way Peace Corps has a sample to send to their medical technicians...

It's a difficult process to describe anyway.  As tragic as it was there was also great relief.  The anticipation and waiting for the day just gets you and everyone down.  I can't believe those last two years of that chapter are told and finished.  It was an intense chapter.  I'm trying to sort through the remaining emotional fragments, continue to be present, and look forward to future chapter. 

Thank you Jimbala, and the people of Jimbala.  Thank you for teaching and giving me far more than I feel I gave you.  I wish you and your community lots of trees and honey, and fat crops from the soil you can try to repair from the compost thing we talked about.  May our farewell be a be bennen yoon, a see you another time, rather than see you rekk, only.

I did it.  I survived.  It was wild.  I'd do it all again.  Really.