Time to Move On, Time to Get Going

I'm leaving Senegal in less than week. I fly out in the early morning of April 26. Then I plan to travel for about a month with Peace Corps friends before arriving home in late May.

I feel lucky that despite leaving I have a lot to look forward to in the near future: Travels. Reunions with friends, families, and pups. The comforts of home. Food, glorious food. Seasonal change. Grad school (I finally made a decision--I'll be going to Yale in the fall to get my M.A. in International Relations!). Taking the next step. I am confident that I've made the right decision to leave the Peace Corps now, instead of extending my service for a third year. I just wish that the knowledge that it's the right time to go could lessen the pain of leaving.

These past couple of weeks have been an emotionally numbing period of constant goodbyes. I've recently bid adieu to friends, mentors, co-workers, surrogate families, pets, region-mates, and stage-mates. To people who were here with me at the beginning and people who got me through to the end. But it's not just the people I'm leaving behind that make it hard to leave. It's the knowledge that I'm also saying goodbye to a place and an experience. And what an experience it's been.

The rational, emotionally well-adjusted part of me tells me that it's not productive to dwell on the finality of this departure. Its forward motion is one of life's only certainties. At every step along the way, we're saying goodbye to all that came before and embracing the thrilling unknown of the future.

But another part of me can't ignore the nagging feeling of emptiness that accompanies these goodbyes. And I'm not certain I should. I think it's indicative of the significance of this experience for me and for the people with whom I've shared it that it's so tough to leave it behind.

Photos of the goodbye tour:





The teachers at Ecole Bamol Sow threw me a little party and got this lovely green outfit sewn for me. I was also happy to see that they've expanded the garden we worked on together. It now takes up about 70% of the school grounds.


It was a tearful goodbye with my beloved Barkedji family. Before I left, I finally got a photo with my kind, but camera-shy Dad.



Saying goodbye to the kids was tough, because of that fear that when I come back they won't remember me. Or that they'll no longer be kids.


I didn't want to leave Abdou and Diama, my brother and his wife, or their beautiful kids, Maguette and Khoudia. They are truly some of the best people I have ever met.


The cows didn't show much emotion, but I'm sure they'll miss me, too.


Linguere brought a whole new set of hard goodbyes. I love this family, the Ndiayes. They are the kind of people whose goodness you can immediately sense when you meet them.


I was incredibly touched when Coumba, one of the members of my girls' group, gave me one of her coveted sparkly outfits as a gift. It was a beautiful act of generosity from an inspiring young girl.


We had a joint welcome/goodbye party for the new Linguere PCVs and the three of us that are leaving at the missionaries' last Saturday. The Stadtlanders' warm and inviting presence in Linguere vastly improved my time there, and I'll certainly miss them.


It hurt to say goodbye to my kids in Linguere. Linguere might not have the best scenery, but I think we have the best people. My friends there have been everything to me during my service. I can't really express how much they mean to me, so I'm not going to try. I'll just send care packages...