guess who's back?

The past month or so was kind of an emotional rollercoaster. After my return from medevac in Senegal, I partook in a second Ramadan/Eid celebration in Djibo, which happened to fall on the same day I had arrived last year. It’s amazing what can change in a year. PETA, the goat I had bought back in September, was one of the main dishes for the community feast. Everyone seemed to be thrilled with the African complet I had tailored for the occasion (luckily no one pointed out the fact that I looked approximately 14 years old in it).

On the outset, not much looked different from last year’s celebration. I had gotten to site about 5 days before, and so didn’t really know what was going on and didn’t really celebrate with the community, since we were still strangers to one another. Looking back on old journal entries, those strangers quickly accepted me into their community, took care of me, my mom and aunt when they came to visit, and regard me as one of their own. Those strangers are now part of my extended family.

This realization was what brought on the emotional rollercoaster. Had I moved to another city in the States, where I knew no one, who’s to say I would have run across people as loving and hospitable as I have here? In the States, I would have at least had the advantage of knowing the local language, but I somehow doubt if I had been dropped in the middle of somewhere like Wichita, Kansas, where I would stick out like a sore thumb (much like I do here in Djibo), I would have had the same experience.

I have under a year left of service in Burkina Faso and I’m at a crossroads. I put a lot on hold before coming out here – job prospects, graduate school, my family, a serious relationship – and I still think about all those things. Yet, I’m nervous and even a bit wary of my re-integration back into the world I know. Where I come from, people have money, but are not generous with their hearts; they are well traveled, but never take the time to look past the subtleties offered to tourists and really understand people; they are familiar with time saving devices, but cannot take the time to ask you – really ask you – how you’re doing, how your work is, and how the family is.

My parents have shown unconditional support for something that they themselves were not familiar with in the beginning, and all my friends have been great in keeping in touch with emails, letters, and even Facebook messages. I think I’m lucky to have such support. As happy as I am to be able to see these people again, I’m scared of the big, scary thing called the USA.


Some pics from Senegal:

N'Gor, the Western most point on the continent of Africa. Photo taken at sunset.


Your's truly on the pirogue en route to N'Gor. Notice the Club Med in the background. And the lifejacket. Note that these are not common occurences for me.


The train station in Dakar.


Artisan work displayed on Goree Island (off the coast from Dakar)


Goree Beach. Perfect spot for escaping the hectic life in Dakar. I'm already seriously thinking of buying a house here.


Me with a friend during the post-Ramadan Eid celebration. I know, I look 12. Don't remind me.