It is my last night in Diego.
Four nights until I am back in America, and I am feeling such a range of emotions; truly, I don’t think that my writing abilities can convey the bag of things that are sprinting through my brain right now.
I cycle between intense excitement, sorrow at leaving, butterflies about the four airplanes that await my entry, and nervousness at seeing people who I have spoken to only sporadically for the better part of a year.
I wonder what my friends and family will think of me. Will they wonder at my changed personality, new vocabulary, African wardrobe, and tropical tan? Will they simply see the same old Kim peeking out from a new exterior? Will they be interested in hearing about my experiences, or simply ask how my trip was and move on with their lives?
I have no clue. No freakin’ clue.
Today I had my final assessment, for the day-job I’ve been working here in Madagascar. The end. It’s over. I deleted relevant files off my computer (I really needed the hard drive space too!), spread the news about a good-bye dinner I’m having tonight, and walked directly to my favorite internet spot.
Every pothole in the road is so familiar. Speaking French has replaced the words that used to be spoken in English. I no longer say “Good Morning”; it’s “Bonjour” and “Ca va” at every meeting.
The sun is setting, and loud Malagasy music fills my ears as I write this. The internet is down, and it makes me yearn for the moment I can sit at my dad’s house in Florida and know that my emails, charity responsibilities, and day-to-day communication are literally just a mouse click away…not a mouse-click and ten-minutes-of-my-life away.
I find it so hard to say goodbye. While this place did not touch my heart near as much as Equatorial Guinea did, it has been my home, and from that perspective, it is difficult for me to imagine never seeing it again.
I have grown to love every nuance about Northern Malagasy culture. Even the aspects that drive me up the wall (and yes, there are some), I cannot imagine a life without them.
I cannot fathom an existence where I am not the minority, where I am constantly struggling to understand the language, and where I have modern conveniences like a car, hot water, and television. To have a phone conversation with my local friends is near impossible. I cannot begin to understand what it will be like to have a mobile phone that I can actually use, with success. It has become a defunct method of communication to me here. It’s not that I have forgotten what my pre-trip life was like…it just seems so distant to me now. A foggy past that has no time and place in the life I live now.
Last night I went out with my local friends. They don’t want me to leave. At every opportunity they double and triple checked that I was, indeed, departing on Saturday morning. It was so bittersweet. I looked into their kind faces and realized how much these people have changed me. Just a bunch of local fishermen, they have accepted me with all of my American-isms and have made every effort to make me feel included and part of the local scene. I doubt if I will ever meet such a group of characters ever again.
So here I sit. I sit and wait. The minutes tick by and I feel this part of my life coming to close.
I have had a phenomenal time here and I will never forget it.
