I close my eyes and instantly I can see it. It’s 5:00am and the sounds of the morning stir me; the long, unwavering chant of the call to prayer, the never-tiring rooster announcing his daily intentions, the gentle swish of broom meeting ground. I lay still in my morning sweat, half-drifting in and out of dreamworld until the noise of my family prods me out of bed. A quick splash of cool water on my face and I slip into today’s outfit. I unlock my heavy, metal door with three loud affirmations that I am ready for a new day in Guinea.
Click. Click. Click.
But I open my eyes and it is 9:30am. I am in my room at my family’s house in Maryland. I have overslept.
This is the post that I never intended to write. The post that I never believed I’d have to write.
Things have been unfolding in slow motion for the past two months. Today it’s as if time has caught on to the trick it played on us and apologetically warped us back into reality; only the reality is horrid, is a smack on the face, is the full force of an explosion offered up to you in the words of an e-mail.
It’s with a heavy heart that we regret to inform you that sadly you will unfortunately not be returning.
I left Guinea with every intention of returning, every belief that my goodbye truly was temporary. We were removed from the Ebola outbreak at a time when it hardly seemed reason to go. Ebola hadn’t reached our villages, hadn’t affected our lives. Ebola hadn’t ravaged a region, sparked an international public health crisis, and defied all predictions of what Ebola might do.
I created this blog almost immediately after receiving my invitation to serve in Guinea (what can I say? I was very excited). The name “Guinean Dreams” seemed sophisticated and romantic to me. I had scoured dozens of blogs for information on life in Guinea and as I laid in bed, my dreams filled with the words of others. I was anxious. Ready to go, ready to serve, ready to learn.
People plan and God laughs.
I served eight months in Guinea, a far cry from my planned 27. I learned more than I’ll ever be able to express, but I wanted more. I had not even begun to think about My Future, and now I find myself faced with it daily. Every night I dream of the Guinea I left behind.
I have a running list of things I should have done that now will never get ticked off. People I didn’t hug tightly enough, didn’t thank loudly and often enough. Work I wasn’t able to complete. Money I wasn’t able to give. People I couldn’t help.
Thinking about the what-if’s and the unfinished’s is a heartbreaking game to play. It’s up to me to begin this healing process by focusing on the things I did accomplish.
I learned and spoke French and Susu every day. I lived with two beautiful families who took me into their lives and gave me love. I became a part of a close-knit community of people. I washed my clothes by hand. I fetched water from the well and carried it back on my head. I cooked rice and sauce, cleaned fish and chicken, and pounded rice into powder. I taught women how to make soap. I taught women how to cook more nutritious meals. I taught children English. I planted edible, nutritious trees all over my village. I implemented organic gardening techniques. I fasted for Ramadan and learned the 5 daily prayers of Islam. I became good friends with toddlers, teenagers, 20-somethings, and old men and women. I learned the importance of giving and sharing. I learned how to live with next to nothing. I rode a tiny, wooden canoe to an island with white beaches. I took bushtaxis through the lush, mountainous country side. I stared at the uncountable stars in the sky and prayed to God. I rode my bike up and down a jungle paradise and called it a normal day. I found more happiness and purpose and joy in my life than I’ve ever known.
I will, one day, return.
For now, I’m working on getting money to local NGOs in the Ebola affected countries. I may be done with my Peace Corps service in Guinea, but I’m not done dreaming of her.
Guinea will always be a part of me.