#48 – January 6th 2008

Home coming….

I sit here thinking, thinking so hard. As you may not be aware, I have changed my ticket for the third and final time. I remain with precious little time here in this country I now call home. The time has come for reflection, final moments, good-byes.

Where do I begin? Where do I end? How did I get here, and how do I leave? I may have had mixed emotions when I arrived but what I’m experiencing now is more heart-in-the-blender type feelings. One hour I find myself breathing in excitement imagining the airport arrival, seeing those faces again, the whip of cold on my face as I step from the plane. Moments later I feel a deep ache, each time one of the boys does something sweet or funny; if I even allow myself for one second to imagine leaving them. It is okay to imagine being home, but not okay to imagine not being here.

I am not going to sift through the details of my decision to return home at this particular time. I am confident and resolved that it is the right decision, however. It was not an easy one, as choices tied so much to emotions never are. If I could find some way to live in both places at once, I would. I have promised the boys I will make every attempt to return by 2009 and plan to follow through.

As time ticks I think and think, about what I’ll miss and what I’ve been missing.

Bubble baths and sweet white wine. Downloading little-known indie tracks, cranking them in my car. Driving. Restaurants with unique menus. Cheese. Lulus and the gym. Snow, frost, icicles, mist, fog, dampness, single digit temperatures. Snuggling by a toasty fire with fuzzy socks and a blanket. Salads. Google and Wikipedia at my fingertips. Web pages loading in less than 5 minutes. Washing machines. Drinking water straight from the tap.

The rush of wind past my ears on the backseat of a boda boda. Fried cassava, kikomando, rolexs at 2am. Friendly greetings. Squishing 24 into a 15-person taxi. Thirty degrees and sandals. Noise freedom. Blunt honesty. Attention from everyone. $1 meals. Juicy mangoes. Beeping. Speaking Luganda. And above and beyond all, 64 boys who have accepted me into their lives and loved me unconditionally for nine wonderful and wondrous months.

And of course, the things I won’t miss and haven’t been missing.

Avoidant glances. Rules. Stress. Impatience. High prices. Disrespectful kids. Wastefulness. Materialism. Ungratefulness.

Dirt. Unwanted attention. Standing out. Blunt neo-imperialists. Chaotic driving. Traffic jams. The inability to find anything you’re looking for in a sufficient amount of time. Doing laundry by hand. Starving dogs. Inequality. Abject poverty.

I’m getting that strange prisoner-syndrome: fear of release. Obviously I have felt nothing like imprisonment, but I am apprehensive about going home. I fear change. I fear difference. I fear feeling different. The space I occupied will no longer fit my mould, as my mould has been altered by my Ugandan experience. In a quick self-assessment I remain too materialistic yet wishing to eradicate that very thing from society; I continue to organize and plan yet find I have slowed down considerably; I still desire a hot shower, washing machine, and electricity, but am far more appreciative and conscious about such things than ever before. I have always in some manner cared for these people even before I met them but will now work steadfastly side-by-side, hand-in-hand with them towards a better tomorrow…or better yet, a better today.

My final e-mail will arrive to you from Canada in less than a few weeks’ time. Thank you to everyone who has stuck it out and traveled along this journey with me. Your time, comments, and encouragements have been much appreciated.

~Nicole