I don’t know what to do.
My mom just left.
She spent the last two weeks in
Lesotho with me, visiting my classes, cooking over my propane stove, sleeping
in my terrible bed, and drinking quarts of beer with me every afternoon. Now she’s gone, and my house is so quiet and
dark and empty.
We had such an incredible time
together. Two weeks ago, she and my
soon-to-be stepdad, Andy, flew into Johannesburg and rented a car to drive all
the way down to Maseru. We had planned
on meeting at 2pm in a coffee shop, and when they hadn’t arrived by 5pm I was a
sweaty, nervous wreck (on top of the fact that I’d knocked back about four cups
of coffee).
When they finally showed up, my mom
and I ran towards each other and broke out in tears, naturally. I’m not quite sure what I expected for our
reunion after a year’s separation (would it be awkward? Surprised? Scared?), but after a few minutes of
conversation, it seemed like we’d barely been apart. We all immediately agreed that it was time for
a beer.
My mom and Andy spent the next two
days with me at school, meeting my teachers and students and watching me in the
classroom. My mom fought back tears on
several occasions while she watched my kids sing songs and give speeches. Andy helped me grade papers in my high school
class, and at one point he was completely engulfed by dozens of students vying
for his attention. My mom tried to take
a photo, but he had disappeared into a crowd of blue uniforms.
They finally understood my
happiness and my frustrations of working in Lesotho. After only two days, they had come to the
same conclusions that I have regarding my work in the Peace Corps. I was talking to them like I would talk to
fellow volunteers, and they completely empathized with me.
It felt so wonderful to be taken
care of by my parents after so long.
They treated me to several nights in an expensive hotel, with a shower
(!) and a television (!!) and a swimming pool (!!!). I ate more meat and cheese than I have in
months. They bought me new clothes and
fabrics and things for my house. They
brought nail polish and face scrubs and wrinkle cream and magazines from
home. I even loved the feeling of riding
in the backseat everywhere we went like I was a little kid again, and having my
mom hug me and coddle over me nonstop.
It’s been awhile since I’ve felt so cared for.
One weekend, we took a trip to a
rural mountain village called Semonkong.
After a white-knuckle drive up steep, crumbling roads, we spent the
evening on a “donkey pub crawl”.
Apparently, I was trying to persuade everyone to stay out drinking all
night. Andy eventually convinced me to
go to bed. J
It was fun to see the progression
of my mom and Andy’s initial shock/amazement of my current living conditions to
an acceptance and even comfort of this African way of life. By the end of the trip, they were completely
settled in. Andy burned trash and swept
the house without being asked by anyone.
My mom became better at washing clothes than I am. One night, I had a home-cooked meal that
tasted exactly like it would have on a summer night back in Colorado. They quickly learned how to stay entertained
without a television or stereo system: drink beer! (I don’t think I need to drink any more beer
for the next month.)
Saying goodbye today was
awful. I couldn’t stop crying all
afternoon. I still can’t. I feel empty.
I feel lonely. I feel angry that I
won’t see them again for so long. I miss
my family more than I ever have in the past year. I never knew how comforting it feels to be
close to those people that you love so much, and how much it hurts to be so far
from them.
Hug your moms and dads and families
today, and remind yourself that even though you might get on each other’s
nerves and you might bicker and fight, you have them safe and near. Maybe it takes traveling the world to realize
that all you really need is right at home.
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