The End of the Great Adventure

And so, as all things must, my Peace Corps service has come to an end. I have been avoiding writing this post, because I knew that until I did, I could continue to ignore my feelings and refuse to process my emotions. As I sit here, with less than a week left in my village, I undergo a barrage of different emotions. And how can I process them? How does one give their life to something, somewhere, someone, for two years- and have any idea of how to deal with leaving? How can I think of saying goodbye to my family- as Sadie and mXolise, so, so dirty, play on my floor, testing the limits of how far they can go until I yell at them? How do I ever forget the image of children going through my garbage for toys, and then thanking me for letting them have it? How can I hold on to the hope that I will one day come back here and visit, and that they will remember me, and that everything will be the same that it was when I left? How can I let that be enough? I give away all of the gadgets that I brought and never used, all of my clothes, I pack my bags, and I take all of my pictures and letters from the last two years off of the walls- yet it still does not seem real at all. When will it become real? When I depart on the bus, waving goodbye to my family? When I meet up with other PCVs at home? When I get a job, will I finally understand that this is over, and that I’m not coming back?
All that I am left with here are my hopes, my dreams, my desires for this place and these people. All that I am left with are the relationships that I have fostered, the love- actual love- that I hold for many people here. How do I keep that? And how do I let it go? All that I am left with is a proficiency in the least spoken of the national languages, a knowledge of the severe health needs of a population, and the reality of a desperation for information, access, and a way out. All that I am left with are two years of memories- gaggles of kids waiting for me to get home from work, watching two babies grow from birth, all of my host brothers’ girlfriends, long runs around the village greeting everyone and allowing anyone to join me (and eventually seeing a change as people voluntarily begin to exercise on their own), words and phrases such as ‘Eish’ ‘Haibo!’ ;Nkosi Yami’ ‘Sorry shame’ and ‘Futsek’, counseling my girls on issues ranging from strict parents to cheating boyfriends to pregnancy and rape, long, hot afternoons sitting with mama as we try to communicate and laugh at the antics of the children, yoga, Akwande, figuring out how to live on my own with very little resources, the rich laughter of the Gogos as they watch themselves do the next Aerobics move, hearing mXolise say ‘I love you Sbonigle’, as he watches me cry and can’t figure out why because he is usually the one in tears, trying to garden, washing clothes with my hands, peeing in buckets, innocent and loving hugs from children, failing, succeeding, tears of frustration, and tears of joy.
It is with a heavy heart that I say goodbye, and with much pain and sorrow that I leave this place that I have called home for so long. I am left with the beautiful experience of the past two years, the empowering idea that I did have a real and tangible impact here, and the knowledge that this place has changed me, challenged me, hurt me, loved me, forced me to grow, and in turn, impacted me in so many ways that I could have never imagined. So I say goodbye, to the sunsets, to pap, to speaking isiNdebele, to dirty, dirty, dirty children, to loving and welcoming community members, to my girls, to my friends, to extreme heat and severe cold, to my family, and to everything that I have known for two years.
In a wonderful twist of fate, as I was cleaning out my room I came across a letter that I wrote my first week here, but for some reason never sent. It detailed my fellow volunteers, my fears, my anticipations, my anxieties, and my desires. One particular section told of my nervousness to go to my homestay family: how would we communicate, will they like me, how will I adjust to this new lifestyle, do they even really want me there? I never could have guessed what an incredible blessing that family has been to me during my time here. It was encouraging to read that letter and fully recognize how I have grown and what I have accomplished since that day. I left home two years ago, unsure of myself, of what I wanted, of what I was capable of, and if I could even successfully complete my Peace Corps service. I know now all of these things. I could not have asked for a better or more fulfilling experience, and I have truly loved the entire process- from the discomfort and frustration of the beginning months, to the successful projects and initiatives of the second year, to the remaining few months in which I truly realized the importance of the work that I have done and the relationships that I have cultivated here. So I say goodbye, but I also say cheers to two of the most exciting, challenging, fun, frustrating, adventurous, scary, and meaningful years of my life. I will not soon forget my experience, my friends, my work, or the calm and quiet existence of my rural community.
In the words of Kerouac, ‘What is the feeling when you’re driving away from people, and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? It is the too huge world vaulting us, and its goodbye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.