Goodbyes, Continued

Yesterday was rough.

I've thought about the process of saying goodbye for some time now. I pictured it being emotional and difficult, but the truth is, I've been in denial about the actual leaving part. On Wednesday, once I had recovered from my whirlwind demyst weekend, I stayed in my house all day and started the daunting task of packing. I made it though all of the paperwork scattered throughout my room and started a massive "donation" pile to my family of everything I won't be bringing with me back across the Atlantic. If living in a developing country didn't make me want to tone down my life, seeing the amount of crap I've accrued over the course of two years in one giant pile certainly did. This process took most of the morning and then I hid in my room the rest of the day. I should have been spending quality time with my family or venturing out into Pout to bid someone adieu, but I just couldn't muster up the energy to do it. I was pretending it was like any other normal day.

Yesterday I could no longer put off the inevitable. The first stop of the day was my friend and former Wolof tutor Yacinne's house. It's hard to describe in words how much my friendship with Yacinne has meant to me. I've attempted to blog about her before, but without being a fly on the wall during our conversations I suppose it would be difficult to understand. She's just different, in a good way, and has been a comfort to me for the past two years. We talked about how far I'd come in my service, and how my Wolof skills never quite ascended into language glory. She recounted tales of her "first great love" - a man she was with for over 7 years before her family forced her out of school and into a marriage with her current husband. I took the opportunity to finally admit to her after all this time that I am, in fact, not married. She instantly laughed and told me she figured that out a long time ago (sigh).

Saying goodbye to Yacinne was difficult not only because goodbyes are inherently sad, but because I just wish so badly that I could magically change her circumstances. It's not that she isn't happy per se, but she certainly isn't living the life she had imagined for herself. But alas, it is not my place to step in, even if I could. She's a strong woman and doesn't pity herself so she'll continue to live her life, one day at a time. After sitting in her room for a long while with her son Babacar snoozing on my lap, I finally made the move to leave. We took a few pictures and she gave me a necklace as a going away present. We walked a few blocks down the dusty road connecting her side of town to mine and when the moment arrived to finally part ways, I lost it. We shook left hands, which in Senegalese culture signifies an improper goodbye so that the traveler must return again. I attempted to hide the tears behind my sunglasses but it was no use, and after a quick hug she turned away to hide hers as well. I waved goodbye and walked away.

I made my way to the Mayor's office, attempting to choke down tears and hold it together in public. I was greeted by my supervisor and an assortment of characters on the front steps. Ousmane and I talked briefly and then we made our way through the office so I could wish all of the office workers au revoir. I was racking up left hand shakes by this point. As my emotional instability had already been indulged by Yacinne, there was no need to be sappy with Ousmane. He has been a great work partner and many of the accomplishments I can look back on are thanks to his willingness to collaborate with me. Inevitably, we became friends, but our relationship remains professional and he is already talking about potential projects he can take on with my replacement. I will always look back with fondness on working with the Pout Mayor's office, regardless of how many times I found Ousmane doing a Sudoku instead of working. As we walked towards the front gates I stuck out my left hand, but was granted a big bear hug instead. It was a fitting end.

En route back home I stopped by my favorite boutique to buy yogurt for the last time. Seriously, I must have gone through over 50 tubs of yogurt the last two years. I think I'm their best customer. I explained that I was leaving for good and the boutique owner made a last ditch effort to convince me to marry him. Thanks, but no thanks! Once back in my neighborhood, I made the rounds to the other two boutiques I frequent. I thanked the boutiquiers for always being so kind to me and (almost) always having everything in stock. It's going to be strange to live in the United States without a little Senegalese boutique around the corner. I suppose our version of that is the nearby Walgreens but do those people know your name and ask you how your family is? It will be different.

I spent the rest of the afternoon getting in some Skype calls, writing letters, and coming down off of the emotional high of the morning. I thought a lot about this process of saying goodbye. It's draining and frustrating because I feel like there's really no way to do it "correctly." I find that the physical act of parting ways doesn't live up to these romanticized moments I've formed in my head. Maybe that's a defense mechanism on my behalf so as not to become too emotional. It's also probably due to how excited I've been about leaving for so long. The sad farewells are, in the end, no match for my eagerness to get on a plane next Wednesday. In any case, checking off the important goodbyes certainly does bring closure to this experience. And the goodbyes, they continue...