Now let’s get to the heart of this post series. GOODBYE. Oh. My. Goodness.
Was it hard! There were so many goodbyes, it felt like it was
unending.
I had to say adios to many volunteers that have become close
friends, knowing we would most likely all end up in Amerik eventually, but with
no assurance that we would see each other again. That part was hard but I could trick myself into believing
that we would all be together very soon, because we were all going to the
village of America.
The infinitely harder part was saying goodbye to my
Senegalese village, family and friends.
When I started with my girls group and the tears came a-flowing, I knew
this was going to be one of the hardest things I had ever done. Then there was my refuge of
Wassadou. I said goodbye to the
river, the hippos, the monkeys, my favorite ginormous tree and all of the
workers of the hut-style hotel that have provided me with a cold beer and good
company when I really needed a break from village. Next up were my Catholics. Illi, the man I have constantly gone to for advice or
inspiration, took me to his garden and made me promise that I’d be back. I said so many goodbyes to his
daughters I can’t even count them, each of us always wanting one last hug or
guarantee that we would see each other again.
The kicker.
Goodbye to my family and physically walking out of my village. The night before I left my family
decided for me how we were going to handle everything. They made me promise I would stay for
breakfast and that we could all walk to the road together and wait for a car
for me. I had considered saying goodbye that night and leaving at call to prayer
at 5a.m. to make goodbye less painful but they would hear none of it. That night we sat around eating
American popcorn (huge hit), drinking crystal light mixes and playing
Parcheesi. I was spoiled with a
huge bowl of leaf sauce all to myself.
We hung out late into the night and my sister Hawa even
moved her kids to my other sisters room so that w. It was hard to go to bed, knowing that this would be the
last night I would get to hang out with my sisters like this. Issa said, “tomorrow I’ll be laying
down passing the evening lonely without you…” This has always been one of the
best things about village. Laying
next to my tokora (namesake) outside or in bed, with the babies and talking
about life. I knew that night that
it would be one of the things I’d miss the most and boy has it proved true.
That morning I woke up super early, outside on my stick bed,
under my mosquito net in my backyard and I couldn’t get back to sleep knowing
this was the day I would walk out of my village and leave my family behind
me. I did some last minute packing
and more give-aways, but mostly just sat outside with my family. Several family members came in my hut
just to look around and be in “my space” before it was not mine anymore.
(Here is the video I took of my compound that last morning.)
Last breakfast was corn gossi (pounded corn boiled in salt
water). I can’t say I’ll miss that
although I did eat up just to get the taste imprinted in my memory. This is the
video I took of my compound before leaving.
When it came time to go, my brothers Souleyman and Diakari
Yow got the donkey cart ready and took it to the road while the rest of us
walked behind. I said goodbye to
my dad in my compound and to my mom at the edge of the village, but Issa, Hawa, Djebou, Ruby, Gassimo,
Ramatou, Fanta, Mamadou, Hawa Becky, Binta, Penda, Ami, and Fatou all walked me
to the road. Along the way we
stopped at several houses to say last goodbyes and several people ran out to
shake my left hand (a gesture that says ‘may God bring us together again’).
There were a few times when the tears welled up as I looked
back at my sisters, and our village behind them and the huge trees on either
side. I couldn’t believe that I
was leaving my family, my village, my Senegalese life behind.
We waited, all together, for about 30 minutes until I had a
car. As soon as the bus came I
forced my hugs on everyone (a gesture uncommon in West Africa) and everyone was
sharing their last words/goodbyes/left hand shakes. The tears welled up as my best-friend/namesake/sister kissed
me on the cheek (something I’ve never seen in Senegal) and told me not to
forget her and how much she’d miss me.
I took a long good look at each of the babies and gave them a kiss on
the forehead. I gave Ruby the
biggest hug and told her to study hard and stay in school. Fatou made it a point to take my left
hand and look into my eyes. She
slipped a bracelet on my wrist and before hopping onto the bus I choked up
breaking into a full cry, took my bag from Gassimo, said goodbye to him and got
in semi-sobbing.
The next hour, (and as I write this now) I could not quit
crying. Knowing that my sisters
were walking back to our compound without me and that I wouldn’t see my family
in years. The babies will be
kids. So much will have
changed. I will eventually have
trouble communicating in Pulaar…it was/is all so overwhelmingly emotional to
think about. My bus was full of
people on there way to a prayer festival so they sang the whole way which was
comforting.
