30 hours left. 30 hours in the country that has been my home for the past two years.
A home that has frustrated me and amazed me. A home that has made me cry and made me sick. A home that has built me up and made me strong.
I’ve been thinking about this post for a while now. A last post, a post about leaving and goodbyes and last times.
I left Goba two weeks ago, and in my whole two years of service in Ethiopia, I never experienced carsickness- except on my last bus ride out of Goba, while winding through the mountains, lurching up hills and weaving around the potholes that were not there when I started out.
Emily says it’s necessary to have all the experiences, even the ones you want to avoid.
I went to visit my host family three days ago. My last trip to Huruta. My last time to see the family who cared for me selflessly for 2 and a half months- who taught me to make bunna and who played with me in Amharic. And they had made up my old room for me, so I could feel a sense of home, like things truly have never changed for them, for me, for our relationship. Even on the last time.
Shito says the last time must be like the first time, and like always.
As a training group, G7 has been through many ups and downs. For the majority of us, the only times we got to see each other were for various conferences and events scattered throughout our two years. With all of the coming and going to and from conferences, we have always experienced many hellos and goodbyes. And even through all the goodbyes, we knew they were not our last. Yet now, at the end of two years, its time for last goodbyes. Some have been missed, and they do not quite feel like lost opportunities quite yet. Some are not goodbyes, but only see-you-laters. Some of them are fast and loose and rough and its all you can do is walk away and not look back, because they are uncertain. Some of them may be true last times.
Up until now- things have not seemed like lasts. It feels as if there is another trip home to take- home to Goba, to my compound and kids yelling my name as I walk up the hill to finish my journey. It feels as if there is another bus to ride and conference to attend and another night to be all together. There’s still another bucket of water to fill, and another propane tank to lug on my back. Another thirty minute walk to school and another bucket bath to heat water for. Another meal at Mitu and another morning walk out of town, to the end of the asphalt and up towards the mountains. Another breakfast to sip coffee and to talk about apparating to America and to shoo away the crazies.
But now those things have finished. They have seen the last of me, and I of them. Things don’t seem final. But where I am, what I am doing, what I have experienced, is final. It is finished, and these lasts have a very real possibility of never coming around again.
And what better way to acknowledge and celebrate than to gong out.
To gong out Bale Style, 2x.
& hugging Daniel made me cry.
in the words of AMS, murrrr.
But having these lovely G7 ladies with me made it all better.
Peace out, Peace Corps!
See you in 30 hours, America.