It’s been exactly one year.
One year in Africa.
A year of waking up to roosters in
the morning and seeing the brightest stars at night. A year of Black Labels and bad decisions and
buckets for everything. A year of hitch
hiking and traveling from hostel to hostel, getting lost, seeing giraffes and
the ocean and enjoying a margarita more than I ever have before in my life. A year of being squished in the back row of
stuffy, overcrowded taxis. A year of
getting sick and being homesick, meeting new friends and saying goodbye to old
ones. A year of frustration and tears. A year of falling in love. A year of books by candlelight and good conversations. A year of being harassed by African children literally
everywhere I go. A year of teaching and
learning, feeling hopeful and regretful, being alone and being surrounded by
some of the best people I will ever know.
I’ve learned more about myself and
about the world in this one year than I could’ve ever imagined. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve questioned
my decision to come here. Some days, I
want to crawl into my bed and ignore the knocks on my door and not even open my
windows until the sun goes down again. I
want to go home and take a hot shower and relax on the couch and watch
cartoons. I want to send unlimited text
messages and drink Starbucks and go out to eat in a Mexican restaurant. I want to throw my dishes in a dishwasher and
curl up in a warm blanket after it comes out of the dryer. And I want to smell pollution in downtown
Denver and hear English all around me and walk outside at night. I won’t lie to you. I miss home, a lot.
Peace Corps is the hardest thing I have
ever done in my life.
But this is my home now. And if I’m really honest with myself, I know I
will miss it. I’ll miss the alone time
in my quiet house that I’ve learned to cherish.
After a year of being alone, I’ve become my own best friend—which I think
is something everyone needs to learn how to do.
I’ll miss how long it takes to do laundry, because now I don’t focus on
the task at hand but instead on the sun warming my back and my dogs playing
next to me. I’ll miss the sweet faces of
my students when they greet me every morning at school. I’ll miss my morning walks to school, when I wake
up even before the sun. I’ll miss those
humbling moments when my first reaction to a stranger approaching me is defensive,
when all they really want to do is tell me that I look beautiful.
Peace Corps is a lot like
running. Maybe it’s because I’ve been
trying to run more often these days and I’ve got running on my mind, but I like
to compare the two. It hurts and it’s
tough and a lot of people think you are absolutely crazy for doing it. You’re alone for most of it. It’s all mental—you can quit at any time, but
you keep forcing yourself to go on because of some unexplainable internal drive
to finish the race. And at the end, you
come out unbelievably stronger than how you began.
I’m tired. But I’m only halfway finished with the
marathon.
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