My family and the sept-place driver helped me load all of my stuff into and on top of the car, which ended up being way more than is physically possible for me to carry. I hugged my uncle Cheikh and my brothers Moussa and Baba goodbye and told them to behave and that I would miss them; Ousmane was no where to be found, which is fitting because his love of soccer frequently overrides his ability to make it to any family event on time.
Next came my mom, which was the hardest of all. She started tearing up before we made it out of the compound and I was actually really surprised to see her crying at all. Senegalese people, especially women, are raised to stifle any and all emotions and crying is considered a sign of weakness. I hugged her and refused to let go until she finally told me that I needed to get in the car and leave. She held her shirt over her face to hide her sobs, and in the meantime poor Katherine and Alyssa were standing there crying too. I can imagine after already going through it on their own, it was emotionally draining to be watching another goodbye. It's the crying moms that really get to us.. I squeezed into the middle seat of the sept-place with the two of them, since literally every inch of the rest of the car was filled with our luggage and random bags. I waved goodbye to my family out the window while continuing to have a good cry, and with one turn of the corner, they were out of sight.
My explanation of all that doesn't really do justice to how I felt yesterday. The sadness that we as Peace Corps volunteers feel saying goodbye to our families is different than any sadness I've ever known. When I left my real family two years ago, I was heartbroken to leave them behind and terrified for what was to come, but I knew inevitably they'd be waiting for me on the other side of the Atlantic. With my family here it's a different story because any fear I had of returning to the US has long ago subsided and I may seriously never see them again. My life in Pout with my family was never perfect, sometimes frustrating, and always an adventure. In the end, a thank you to my family will never be enough; they were, after all, big part of the reason I survived two years in Africa. I will remember them always.
Once we pulled away from my house in the sept-place, Alyssa and Katherine immediately went to work on lifting our collective spirits. Katherine's portable speakers came out and "The Star Spangled Banner" was belted out of the car while Alyssa popped open a bottle of champagne out the window. I have never laughed and cried so hard simultaneously in my life. It was a brilliant moment. We toasted to making it and I lifted my glass to Pout as we drove out of town.
We then proceeded to make our way through two bottles of champagne and a half bottle of liqueur de Warang en route to Dakar. It definitely would have been much more difficult without the two of them there and the ride ended up being a happy concoction of reminiscing about good times and stuffing our faces full of cashews. Once in Dakar, we grabbed a quick bite to eat and attempted to keep the momentum going by repacking bags and talking about what we'll all be doing in the States.
Our good friend Jack invited several of us over to his new apartment for cocktails in the evening. We tried to look like normal Americans complete with showers and makeup and showed up with armfuls of delicious appetizers from a local grocery store. After piling on the emotions the last several days, a night with great friends and relaxing conversations proved to be a much needed respite for our frazzled nerves. It was a perfect way to end a day that had begun in such a hectic, gut wrenching way.
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