Goodbye, Goodbye

 

My bags are packed, unpacked, and repacked.  There have been to-do lists for my to-do list, and all list have been checked and double checked.  I’ve been on shopping trips and second trips, and to the electronics store not once, not twice, not three, but four times.  I said a long, sad, tearful goodbye to Big Bunny.  I’ve moved out, moved in, sorted, and moved out again.  I’ve put in, taken out, and put away.  I’ve downloaded movies, backed up files, and written countless emails.  I’ve seen bankers and lawyers, tax accounts and met with sustainable farmers.  I’ve explained where in the world is Burkina Faso and what the Peace Corps is and answered every imaginable question possible.  I’ve said hellos and I’ve said goodbyes.  I’m sick of talking and preparing, and just ready to leave already. 

Yesterday I spent a lovely afternoon with my Michigan family at the beloved pond I grew up on; a good note to leave on.  And after an exhausting evening into the day of last minuets, only an hour of sleep, and a full day flying to staging and Peace Corps orientation, introductions to 50 fellow trainees, and a delicious last supper it’s time to bid America adieu.  Tomorrow is yellow fever shots, bussing to JFK, and we’re off.  So Goodbye, Goodbye! I will miss you all!        

Why in the world....

Moving home, well, sucked.  As I'm sure you can imagine.  Of course the physicality of moving was unpleasurable- it was hot as balls, moving down three flights of stairs, and don't forget the 13ish hours it took to drive home- but then there is the actual fact of departing form the city I called home for the last 5 years.  It didn't really hit me that I do not have a return date for DC until I got home, unpacked the truck, and started putting things in their resting place.  As I began to put things in their places Mom said to me, "This is your room, you can decorate it however you want," and my heart stopped for a second.  This is not my room, nor ever really was.  It was my sister's room before I went to boarding school and then it was "the girls room" for when we came to visit.  And I am not moving in, I do not live in Michigan, I'm just visiting and storing my things here while I live abroad.  I'm still in transit.  I love you Mom, and I appreciate the sentiment, but I stopped living in Michigan 9 years ago.  There will be no decorating, unless the best way to keep my photos safe are on your wall.  That is when I fully realized that I also no longer live in Washington D.C.  

One of the most challenging parts about being back in Michigan, I find, is that I constantly have to defend my decision to join the Peace Corps.  I joined my grandmother for the annual Memorial Day BBQ at our neighborhood pond (it's not your typical pond, it's a small lake that is been turned into a beach and use-to-be tennis club).  Nany is the president and has singlehandedly run the place for years, plus I spent everyday of my summer up there as a child and then was a lifeguard, so I've known most of the families there pretty much my whole life.  Not only that, but I baby-sat their kids everyday for 3 summers when I was a lifeguard.  I was shocked at the overwhelming negative response I received when I replied to their queries of what I'm doing now.  I was surprised by many peoples general lack of knowledge of what the Peace Corps actually is/does.  But what really threw me is the constant question "Why in the world would you want to do that?".  The first time I was asked this, a couple weeks ago, I was so caught off-guard that I was speechless.  I guess that DC and the people I surround myself with there are so NGO or humanitarian (or liberal?  what ever you want to call it) friendly that motivation was never a question, it was a given.  I don't really understand not wanting to join the Peace Corps, if you had the opportunity.  I can't understand not wanting to live abroad for a period of time, learning a new culture, walking in someone else's shoes, learning how they life.  These people are going to have a wealth of knowledge and skill sets that are totally different form the American knowledge bank, and I don't know why you wouldn't want to tap into that.  I don't know why you wouldn't want to learn 2 other languages, if you had the chance.  And I cannot imagine, for the life of me, not wanting to assist a community in making a positive difference (hopefully).  I'm not sure exactly where I'll be living or in what conditions or even exactly what I'll be doing (isn't that the exciting part?), but I know that this village has requested a volunteer and they have a need, and as a health volunteer that need could potentially save a life.  I am willing to fill that need as best I can.  Wouldn't you?

Apparently not.  As soon as I mention I am going to West Africa people sigh and say "good luck..." like I was trying to make pigs fly or going to go stand in the middle of a war zone.  I know the Peace Corps is not for everyone, and that not every PCV could handle a placement like mine, but peoples blatant lack of appreciation (and, sometimes, approval) for what I am doing gets tiring, especially, occasionally, from my own family members.  I know that all my basic needs will be met and I'm about to embark on an incredible experience, and that's good enough for me.                      

My new hair cut

My first major step in preparing to leave was a hair cut.  I am protective of my hair, and am very particular on who cuts it.  It took me 4 years in DC to find a hair salon that I liked and a hair stylist I trusted (Ashley at Immortal Beloved).  So right before leaving DC I wanted to make sure I got a last hair cut.  I hadn't really put much thought into it before hand, just walked in and told Ashley my deal- Peace Corps, West Africa, no electricity, no hair products, and no hair cuts for at least a year.  She strongly suggest something short and after explaining the benefits- wash & wear, won't need to carry around hair ties, off my neck, etc- I reluctantly agreed thinking something about bob length.  After a horrible shorter hair cut experience in high school, I've been very weary of short hair.  Even after cutting off 13 inches for Locks of Love two years ago my hair was still just above shoulder length.  So you can imagine my horror when she came at my face with hair shears.  When it was all said and done, it was not bob length.  Not anywhere near chin length.  The front is barely long enough to go behind my ears.  Not going to lie, when I first saw it I had a slight urge to cry.  But then she made a comment that totally flipped my view point, "It's a whole new you!"  And in a way, she's right.  I'm going to the Peace Corps in West Africa...  It's time to be practical.  The Burkinabe are not going to care what my hair looks like or what I'm wearing, they are justing going to be happy I'm there (hopefully!).  I'm going to a country without running water and unreliable electricity, if any at all, so why care if I have a funky hair cut according to american standards, because long hair is the latest trend?  It is a new me- a short hair, glasses (I finally caved and got glasses, after over a year of suspecting I needed them), braver, ready to leave America behind for life in West Africa me.  ... or at least in the preparation to be a new me...    

After almost a week with the new hair, I'm starting to really like it.  In the DC heat it was really nice to have my hair off my neck without even thinking about it and not having to do anything with it after I shower shaves tons of time off of my dressing routine.  And it looks cute without doing anything to it.  I just have to figure out how to combat bed-head, I'm not going to be able to shower every morning in Burkina, but other then that I kind of love it.