Saying Goodbye

Somehow 8 weeks at homestay came and went in a flash, and suddenly it was time to leave. I’d been dreading leaving, as I had become so attached to my family. To make things worse, 3 of my siblings were gone (2 before I could take their photos, sad face) and my aunt had also left to go visit her family. So my family had dwindled in numbers and I wouldn’t even get to say goodbye to everyone, but in the meantime, I was trying to make the most of the time I had left.

Two days before we left, Mountougoula held a farewell party for us. We returned to the same community meeting space where just 8 short weeks earlier we had sat, knowing next to no Bambara, nervous as to which man was our dad, which family would be ours, and how we could possibly survive the next 2 months. I look back on all that has happened since the last time I sat in that room, and I amazed at the progression we all made. I came in so nervous to live with a group of strangers, and I leave so heartbroken to leave a family. I can hold a conversation in Bambara on a varietyof topics. Sure, my level is basic and I need my conversation partner to speak a bit slowly and clearly, but I can do it! I have health education knowledge and experience, cultural knowledge and experience, and a family to visit whenever I can.

We started with speeches. Kaba, our PC representative. The dugutigi (village chief). Abu, one of our teachers. Several of the host parents and grandparents. And finally, us, the PCTs. We had prepared a speech in advance, with the help of our teachers, and each of us took a few sentences to tell the village of Mountougoula how much we thank them for their hospitality and patience! It’s customary for each side to ask the other for forgiveness for any wrong or offense that may have been unknowingly committed, so I guess now I’m pardoned for my “zame” mistake and any other wrong I may have done. After the speeches, drinks were passed around. It was pretty cool to be sitting on mats on the floor in a meeting hut in Africa, watching my African granny sit on the floor in a pagne and an American college T-shirt drinking a bottle of Coca-Cola.

After the farewell meeting finished, it was time to dance!! Mountougoula provided half of the entertainment: music, and we provided the other half: dancing toubabs! The dancing was so much fun! We danced with each other, our families, and other Mountougoulans. My granny brought some serious boogie to the floor! She would wait till the circle was open and then hop on in with an African shake. Kaba did a dance with scarves that kicked up 2 lungs full of dust and later sent him to the hospital with a dislocated shoulder. Andrew and I had a dance off and I lost after he got low. And my favorite moment of all, my brother Moussa, who has told me from week 1 that he doesn’t dance, and who worried me that he wouldn’t show up at all, unexpectedly jumped into the circle while I was dancing and danced with me for a few precious moments before laughingly darting out again.

It was a wonderful party, and when it had finished we all went home, back to our daily lives. The women prepared dinner while the men, children, and Americans sat outside making tea and chatting. Clare and Andrew joined my family and we talked until sunset when my mom came and told me it was time for my bath. Unfortunately I never did get a picture of my entire family. I never seemed to be able to collect everyone at once, and 4 of my family members were gone anyway. So I took as many individual photos as I could, which wasn’t hard since the kids love to pose for pictures!

In preparation for saying goodbye, each PCT bought a sack of 25 kilos of rice for their family, and some of us chose to give other gifts as well. I included tea and sugar for the men, bracelets for the women, and a soccer ball, candy, and the beloved dice game for my siblings. Additionally, my American mom asked me to buy a gift on her behalf, so another sack of rice was added to the list. It’s not necessary to give gifts, but like in America, it is a nice gesture, and of course I was incredibly grateful for all my family had done for me. My gifts were well received. It was wonderful to see the smiles on the face of each member of my family. While bittersweet, it was definitely a favorite moment of homestay.

My family had their own gifts for me. While not tangible, the words they spoke as I prepared to leave will stay with me forever. My uncle has repeatedly told me that I am a good person and therefore my parents must be good people as well because they raised me. He has mentioned on at least 5 different occasions that before I go back to America in 2 years, I have to call him and meet up with him so that he can give me a bag to bring to my American dad as a gift. My Malian dad tried to give me a speech, but it was too much for me to grasp it all, and since he really wanted me to understand we walked over to my school together so my teachers could translate. My dad said that since his father died 5 years ago, he’s been in charge of the family and has been honored to receive many visitors, and that I in particular have been a special guest. He appreciated my integration into his family and culture, and says the family will miss me. When I go back to America and get married, he said I can return to Mali and he will give me land so I can live as part of their family! His words touched me deeply, and I responded with the Bambara words I could come up with; that earlier that day Moussa and I had gone to the butiki to buy Kleenex because I knew I was going to cry a lot the next day! Everyone laughed a lot, but I hope my dad knew what I was really trying to say.

That night there was another party, not for us, but for the kids who were returning to school in 2 days following the end of Easter Break. A few of us decided to crash the party, and crash is definitely the right term! When we got there, tons of kids were dancing to Akon. (Malians LOVE Akon, Bob Marley, and Michael Jackson). But as soon as we started to dance, everyone stopped and formed a tight circle around whichever toubab happened to be breaking it down, usually me. We felt bad that we were stopping everyone else’s fun, so we sat out a lot of the time. Later in the evening, after the kids were booted out for the older teenagers, the emcees for the night called up about 15 girls one by one to do a short dance in front of the crowd, and then form 2 lines on the sides. At the end of the line up he called each of us in turn! The Malian girls were dressed like it was a homecoming dance, and we were all wearing our pajamas, but we went out with enthusiasm and did our thing! Later, they called us out to dance alone, just the three Americans, so we danced to Akon with everyone watching. Good thing the three of us aren’t too shy when it comes to dancing! It was a great end to our stay at Mountougoula. I went to sleep looking up at a sky full of stars, and listening to the music of the kids who had outdanced me and carried on late into the night.

The next morning was our last. We were scheduled to leave around 8:30, so I woke up at 6:30 to finish getting ready. Unfortunately it took longer than I had anticipated, so I didn’t get to spend as much time with my family as I would have liked, but I did play a little bit of soccer with my brother and his friends. You can be sure I truly became a part of the family when I tell you I tried to kick the ball and instead stepped on it, falling flat on my face and inciting howls of laughter from the boys. No more fragile toubab here!

When it came time to leave, I gathered up a plethora of kids to help me carry my things to the Peace Corps jeep. There were few family members to say goodbye to: my dad had said the day before that they would not be around, as they didn’t want to have to say goodbye. So Moussa and the neighbor boys walked me to the car. Along the way, we happened to pass my dad who had already left the compound. We stopped and shook hands and he said goodbye, finishing the shake with a touch of his hand to his chest, an extra sign of respect. I tried to thank him and say goodbye, and although I’d been doing well up to this point, I started to cry as we parted. Moussa had been telling me that crying was bad, and in turn I kept telling him, “Too bad, I’m going to cry!” He looked at me and said, “Damadje, amiɲe!” (Damadje, bad!) We both started laughing, which helped a little, but not much. I managed to pull it together as we reached the jeep and joined the throngs of Americans and Malian families, all trying to load our things on top of the car.

I said goodbye to the families I had come to know so well. Hannah’s sister who made us tea and fried plantains and gave us hugs. Clare’s brothers, the younger one who sweetly pressed 100cfa (about 10 cents) into her hand, the only gift he could give her, and the older one who always gave her a hard time but cried as he hugged her goodbye. Ashley’s mom, whose special handshake I always knew to do, and her brother who spoke English and helped us with our vocab. He shook my hand with his forbidden left – not a sign of disrespect, but rather a custom for those who are leaving, so you’ll be sure to come back and redeem the bad for the good.

And finally, I said goodbye to Moussa, the stranger boy who became my brother, who taught me and teased me and laughed with me day after day. We had been avoiding each other since we reached the van, but when I knew it was time to go, I went over to him and hugged him hard, then turned away through tears to climb into the back of the car. Just before we left, he came around and grabbed my hand and held it for several moments before they shut the doors and we pulled away. As we left, everyone waved goodbye and I could see Moussa wiping at his eyes. It was a hard goodbye for all of us, and a fairly silent trip home as we all pulled out our iPods to sit and reflect silently.

For some reason I always have to pee a lot when I’m nervous or upset, and by the time we reached the Training Center I really had to go, and the bumpy, unpaved road wasn’t helping! Ashley’s puppy, Legend, was sitting quietly on her lap the whole way home, sleeping like a baby. He woke up right as we turned into the driveway of Tubaniso. I reached under his chin to give him a scratch, and just as I reached toward him, he opened his mouth wide as if to yawn and immediately threw up into my outstretched palm. That finally broke the sadness in me and I cracked up with humor and disgust, and additional impatience that I had a new problem to take care of before running to the ɲεgεn! Thank you, Legend. Groan.