“Tara, tara!” the children yelled at me on my final motorcycle ride into the village. After two years here I don’t get called “Mzungu” (foreigner) very often anymore. Most of the children in my community know my name and greet me enthusiastically when they see me. This time became especially sentimental, because the next time I leave Kibangu I won’t be coming back, not anytime soon. Tears welled up in my eyes, as we made our way up the terrible hill to my house. Theo and Maggie, my little neighbor kids were there to hug my legs. As I entered my house I breathed I sigh of relief and looked at all of the familiar things around me and felt grateful to arrive home.
I would be lying if I said it has been an easy journey to make Kibangu my home away from home. There were different periods of time where all I could do was count the days. Some days where I would feel so homesick the best thing to do was binge watch tv shows. Yet I kept trying, and my friends here kept trying. They invited me to weddings, to choir parties, to teacher celebrations, insisting that I be there. I had students invite me over to their homes, which despite poverty they welcomed me with huge plates of food and open arms. I’ll always remember my friends and my students here for their generosity and for their persistence into taking me in as one of their own.
Yesterday, Hilarie and Donatha invited me out for drinks and meat brochettes. We talked about our time here together and some of the memories we have. There was the time Donatha and I played football for the school’s teachers team. The time when Hilarie, Nicole (my site mate), and I hiked down and up a mountain to arrive at the school Donatha is now the headmistress at. I told them I promise to come back to visit them, and that I will never forget them. When they gave me a blue basket that says HILARIE AND DONATHA on it I immediately started crying. Donatha looked at Nicole and said, “She is very emotional.” I laughed, so true.
There is a quote that for the last two years has been on my door. Every time I leave my house, I read it. “It’s not how much we give, but how much love we put into giving” from Mother Theresa. Throughout my service this quote reminded me, that in the end it doesn’t really matter how many projects I do or how many hours I teach, but instead the amount of love I put into it. I guess what I didn’t realize when I was doing this was the amount of love I would receive in return. I never thought I would be gaining a family here, a support system that I could really count on.
Last week, I was feeling a bit down and overwhelmed with the task of leaving. My friend Isaac took me out to dinner and drinks. We talked about what I would do next and about the different job possibilities in America. We discussed how maybe Isaac could come to America to study or find work. At the end of dinner, someone mentioned to Isaac that he needed to make sure his sister got home safe, referring to me. Later he sent me this message, “I really appreciate to be called the names they call me when we are together, “sister.” Since I don’t have any brothers, finding one here is probably the biggest blessing of my service. Isaac has been there for me from day one. When I felt forgotten and alone, he was the one who would offer to go for a walk or play a card game with me. I will never forget all of the brotherly love he has shared with me. He will always be my brother Isaac.
Sometimes I wonder if I feel too deeply and love too freely because it does hurt. I have so many emotional breakdowns. Yet I wouldn’t change it. I’ve loved here in Rwanda. I’ve loved the people, the places, experiences. In return I have been loved and made a home here. I’ll get to keep that forever no matter how hard it will be to say goodbye. As Isaac always reminds me, it’s not goodbye only “see you later.”