Bartering with Goodbye.

Two weeks. 14/756 days.

Two weeks and my service as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Mozambique will be over.

Two weeks and I’ll be handing back the keys and saying goodbye to the Hut, Mozambican friends and colleagues, my ever faithful dog, Fenda, and hopping a plane to Maputo for medical exams (poop cups, our favorite!), a language proficiency test, exit interviews from PC Mozambique Country Director (let’s talk about our feelings!) and oodles of government paperwork. My RPCV (returned peace corps volunteer) status even comes with a few perks upon American reintegration, including (but not limited to) complete ineptitude in discussing social and cultural phenomenon after 2012 (looking at you Tinder and Snapchat!! wtf?), “shock and awe” syndrome upon entering a supermarket (I will probably schedule a day to just wander around Costco), and total communication breakdown when trying to bargain every price and realizing my wide spectrum of tonal grunts usually used to win over the stern market ladies for extra tomatoes in my basket make me look like a crazy person instead. I can see the future and it terrifies me haha.

Sooooo clearly someone’s not ready to leave Mozambique. If you haven’t heard by now I’m staying on an extra six months (maybe more) to do online pre-reqs and volunteer at the Vilanculos hospital to prepare for nursing school applications due in Fall 2015. Moreover, I’ll get to continue improving my horsemanship with Pat and Mandy by continuing as a horse volunteer, and I’ve been tentatively offered an ocean safari guiding position with a local dhow sailboat company taking clients on overnight sailing/snorkeling trips around the Bazaruto Archipelago. It’s going to be a blast, and I’m SO excited to start this next chapter.

Because I’m trading in my Peace Corps privileges for complete autonomy (and maybe even a real living-wage) here in Mozambique, my Close-of-Service experience is very different than for most PCVs. I’m leaving Mapinhane, yes. But I’m moving only 50km north rather than 12,000 miles northwest.  I expect to be able to keep in touch with my students, help the new volunteer in Mapinhane take on the library project, and visit Sarah and Maria, my site-mates and best friends, regularly.

I’m allowing myself a transition time. For one, to not go back to Washington in the midst of a dreary, grey, cold winter (hellooooo depression!). But also, to fully savor and make the most of the friendships I cherish with my whole heart. It scares me thinking of what saying goodbye will ultimately mean when I finally do climb my way into that sky, looking to the next horizon.  Saying goodbye means going away and leaving people behind. Going away means throwing yourself into the next crazy venture and eventually, inevitably forgetting.

And I don’t want to forget!!

I don’t want to forget the smells after an electric, crackling summer rain, nor the sounds of my students gossiping in Xitswa while doing their English exercises (wahemba!), or the sight of another spectacular sunset silhouetting the ancient embandeiro (baobob) trees, striking and burning the earth into a magnificent orange. I don’t want to forget the cheers of “teeeeecha karinaaaaa” and little pitter-patters of flip-flopped feet of the criancas that race to greet me when I arrive each week to work on the library.  I don’t want to forget the old man across the barrio who’s soft heart helped me save Lisimu’s paw from infection and who later that day tore down an aggressive vine strangling an old papaya tree others were too lazy to save. I don’t want to forget the value of open space, of clean air, and drinkable water. Of working with what’s available, making the impossible possible on a daily basis. I don’t want to forget how sweet the first mango tastes after the dry season, and the stickiness of the juice running down your greedy chin.

Most of all, I vow never to forget the people who made my experience worth the struggle. Pat and Mandy, who I will forever love as my family away from home. Director Marculino Bambamba, a visionary, albeit a bit of a well-intentioned square, who believes in his students and loves his country. Chefe Samuel who was my first and most trusted friend. Angelica and little Junior who is very quickly growing into a little man, meu homininho. Joana and Crimilda, my Mozambican maes. The innumerable community members, from mischeivious vovos to bandito carpenteiros Tomas and Obedias that repeatedly taught the American mulungo a thing or two about the “real Africa.” And of course, my favorite students whose names I write down in my heart, names that one day I hope to see doing something as great as the potential I see in them. Adelson, Celso, Edio, Gervasio, Bento, Helton, Jeremias, Erdito, Rui, Nelio, Domingos, Edilson, Zacarias and Gercia, Hawa, Inazardina, Anelca, Assucena, Greta, Dorca. They represent the next generation of Africa’s quiet community leaders.  As many times as I wanted to give up, they keep going. They believe in the value of their education, and so how, even on my worst days, could I not?

We barter with goodbyes because we can’t stand the idea of walking away from something we love toward a future we yet cannot see. No, I’m not yet ready to leave Mozambique. But, “this is the time to remember because it will not last forever; these are the days to hold on to because we won’t although we’ll want to.”