Mmang daalo kumbo nga mira na taala nña le la. I
don’t cry because we are so familiar with one another, but I think about how
our separation will be. ~Mandinka Proverb
Fo waati do (until next time)
There’s a glorious moment right when you first wake
up in the morning where you do not remember a single thing about your life. It’s
a tiny moment where you are at peace and in the comfort of rest. And then, just
as quickly as the moment was there, it is gone. And the flood of emotion roils
to the surface of our being and we are reminded of everything. This phenomenon
happened to me this morning. I woke up and forgot the sadness of yesterday for
that tiny space of time. And then, a fresh wave of grief rolled over me.
Yesterday was the day my family and I were dreading
for months, weeks, and finally, days. The day I would move out of village and
on with the next chapter in my life story. I refused to say goodbye, but only, “see
you later.” I just cannot bear to think I will never see some of those faces
again. If someone had told me two years ago when I was dropped off and
terrified, how hard it would be to get in the vehicle to go home I would have
laughed and said, “Yeah, alright, very funny.” And then the PC vehicle rolled
up and I slowly started putting my bags in the car. I frantically searched for
my mother but she was nowhere to be seen. Both my brothers ran out of the
compound early in the morning as well.
My first “See you laters” were to Binta and Kaddy.
As I turned to face Binta (my sister-in-law and best friend in village) the
tears rolled down my cheeks. I hugged her as tightly as my arms would allow and
she let out a great sob and ran into her house to hide her tears from me. I
turned to look down at Kaddy who was sitting on the bench in front of our house
and she was already crying. I gave her a hug and told her there was already one
river Gambia, and not to make another with her tears. I got in the car and
waved goodbye to my little Adama (Baby Blue) who had no idea where I was going or
what was happening. I proceeded to the center of my village where I found my
brother, Sambou. I asked him why he left. He was honest with me and explained
he just thought it would be easier that way. I told him I could never leave
without a last moment with him. We hugged and cried in one another’s arms and
he wiped the tears away from my face. Yusupha, my other brother made no
appearance and sadly I did not get to see him. The final person I saw was my
mother, Nanding Fatou. In all my time here I never saw her cry, not once. Not
when family members died, or when she was sick, or tired, never. She took one
look at me and the tears started to flow. I hugged her so many times I thought
she would never let me go. The grief in our bodies just passed through each
other as we said our final words. She prayed for me, and as hard as it was to
tear away, we finally had to let one another go. Abaraka Bake (Thank You) was
such a gross understatement for the amount of gratitude I felt for these
people, but it was all I could muster. I cried the entire way to the capital
(two hours away), every time I thought I was done, my mind would reflect on
something and the tears would flow again.
I used to think it would be easier to be guarded
with people, to not wear my heart on my sleeve, to avoid the type of pain that
comes with losing someone, or saying farewell. Now, I realize what a joyful
life I get to live because of these people and feelings. Winnie the Pooh had it
right, “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” I
cried at every little things in the week leading up to my pick-up. When I saw
my women dancing and drumming, when I held my little Adama and told her I loved
her, when I looked at my family all sitting together around the food bowl, when
I looked up at the night sky and felt I could see every single star. I just
kept thinking to myself, I will never have this again, except what has seeped
into my soul. I had to say goodbye to a life, to a people, to a language. As I
write now, tears again roll down my cheeks, and those tears oddly make me happy
because I know if I left any other way, my service was not what it was meant to
be. I have dreams of coming back and returning to The Gambia but like so many
things in life, it will never be the same.
This experience changed me, I thought perhaps it
would, but I underestimated just how much. I owe so much gratitude to the
people who took me in as a part of their family here in The Gambia and to my
American friends and family for supporting me on this journey. Thank you!
I set out to change the world, man oh man were my
eyes opened. I may not have accomplished changing the world, but a small piece
of the world changed me.
