To my friends, family and readers;
This post is hard to write. What does one say at the
beginning of the end? At the beginning there’s “once upon a time” or “a long
time ago, in a galaxy far, far away”. At the end there’s always “and they lived
happily ever after” or “Fin”. What about the beginning of the end? What does
one say?
I’ll back up. The end of my last blog post mentioned that I
was sick. I spent a few weeks in Yaoundé on Medical Hold waiting for first one
test and then another. The general consensus was “a mono-like virus”. One that
will affect me for a few months but should be fine. I might feel tired or get
sick sometimes, but it would take care of itself.
So that’s what happened. I was tired, and sick, spiking a
few fevers here and there, picking up strep throat; again, nothing big. I came
down to Yaounde for some follow up tests that basically said things were going
well. I was still sick, but that was fine. After spiking a fever at the Medical
Office though, they sent me in for a few more tests and found that my spleen
was enlarged. Now this is not a big deal. This happens pretty often in the
states. Most mono cases are accompanied by splenomagaly, as well as some
infections. Mine was probably caused by my virus. The only difference in circumstance
is, well, that: circumstance. I live in a village, way out in the bush far away
from emergency medical services. I take a two hour moto ride to get to my
village. If something were to happen, for example me falling off a moto, or
getting elbowed in the side, my spleen could rupture. In the states, while
that’s a pretty big deal, you’re never really that far from a hospital. Here, I
would bleed out before I even made it to a facility that would think it was
anything but sorcery. The chances of my spleen rupturing are minimal, but they
do exist.
For this reason, a team of doctors, me, and my family have
decided that it’s best if I finish my service early and go back to the good old
US of A.
This decision is surrounded by so many conflicting emotions.
I am so deeply sad that I will be leaving Cameroon before I was even able to
get running. I felt like I was just getting my bearings, just getting ready to
take off when the rug was pulled out from beneath me. I’m heartbroken about
leaving my friends, both American and Cameroonian, before I was expecting to.
My training mates will continue in their service, travelling together, working
together, sharing adventures, stories, and beers, and I won’t be there. My
house, my dog, my puppies and the new kitten I was getting, those will all be
abandoned by me. I am joining the ranks of the worst training class in
Cameroonian history, with more volunteers leaving than any other training
class, I think ever! I’m becoming a statistic
On the other hand, this is ok. I’m taking care of myself and
allowing myself to be taken care of. I GET TO SEE MY FAMILY! I get to see my
friends! I’ll have warm showers everyday, electricity, washing machines, real
mattresses, good food. And my family! I can’t say that I’m not ecstatic about
all that.
I’ve had a few days to mull this information over. My first
instinct was to run into my room and cry, which I did. But I’ve had time now
and am in a much better place.
Cameroon has given me so many gifts. One of them is
flexibility. Expectations are never met here. People either always exceed them
or always fall short. You learn not to rely on expectations at all. Because of
this newfound… skill (can we call it a skill? That’s what it feels like) I’m
able to pick myself up and move on. I’m excited about going home and anxious
about my prospects. While I may not have achieved what I’d hoped to here in
Cameroon, I wouldn’t trade this time in for anything. I’ve learned so much,
grown so much, and had my mind and attitudes expanded. I met amazing people and
learned so many new things that will change my life! And so, I’m grateful for
Cameroon, my time here, and all the many lessons (good, bad, hard and easy)
that I’ve had the opportunity to learn and teach here.
But leaving isn’t easy. Peace Corps was amazing enough to
grant me time to go back to village and close up my post; get some closure. My
sister had plans to come visit me, so we’re going through with that. She’ll be
here to help me close up, meet my friends as I say goodbye and witness my life
and work in Mogode and Cameroon.
I’ve had tearful conversations with friends here, telling
them I’m leaving, saying goodbye. Those have been the hardest. I am leaving,
abandoning my friends here. We all support one another so much. I have friends
that I call when I’m feeling sick, sad, lonely, or just pissed to find another
dead lizard in my house. And they call me. Our web of support is weakening as
our friends leave. This is melodramatic. It’s hard to find the words to
describe the tangled emotional blanket I’ve got inside me right now.
So now I have a few weeks. I’ll be leaving the country
before Christmas, maybe with my sister. We’ll get to say goodbye to my village,
friends, home, and animals together. We get to travel together. I’m really
looking forward to this.
So my mantra right now is “one day at a time”. I could be
freaking out about where I’m going to live; what I’m going to do since I’ll be
jobless, broke, and kinda homeless (shout out to everyone who has offered a bed
or a couch to me). I could be freaking out about how many time I need to poop
in a cup before they’ll let me leave country (it’s at least three times, by the
way). I could be worrying about who’s going to be thinking what? Or where I’m
going to be for Christmas? Or any number of things, but instead, I’m going to
do this in African time and take it slow. Things will come together. I’m sure
of it.
So thank you readership, for your support and kind words
these last 16 months. I would never have made it this far without you. You’ve
been an outlet and a constant source of upbeat energy in my life.
This is not my last post. Not by far… stay tuned for my last
adventures with my trusty sidekick, Kelley.
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