Shivering in an air conditioned room, I'm so adjusted to heat now 85 feels like sweater weather. The moon is almost quarter full again, Ramadan long forgotten and my stomach full, oddly enough, of Chinese food. I'm just a few hours away from heading to the Ouagadougou airport and flying home.
I know that when I step off of the plane in Seattle I will be swept up in the return to my old routine. I will be overcome with the urge to resume the life I once knew as the person I once was. Habits are so much more convenient than choices. I will forget this adventure, or it will dull to the abstraction of a barely-remembered dream.
There are certain things I would like to remember, certain changes I would like to cling to, certain parts of this experience I hope to carry with me into whatever I return home to.
I want to remember the streets of Fes, the classroom where we studied, the Arabic (and Darija) that I learned. I want to speak it often and well.
I want to remember the moment I realized my classmates had become my friends, I want to keep each of them present if not in life than in memory.
I want to remember: the stars in the desert at night, the feeling of heat radiating off of the sand, the colors and the voices and the music. The oceans in Tangier and Asliah and Essouira and the cool blue walls of Chefchaouen. The long train rides across the country. The Riad, Ali, my host family, Khadija, Moustafa, my hanoot friends, the cafes and the cats.
The musketeers. The fantastic four. The sisterhood, the bro code, Jan & Rashid. Rabat and Sale. Our nicknames, our inside jokes, our hypothetical conversations. The sound of the prayer read through Sahoor, the warm companionship of Iftar.
Paris, little North Africa, more shabab. Park naps and shopping and museums and picnics and bartenders.
Burkina. I want to remember the red, red roads and the blue skies in Gallo. I want to remember the lightening storms the days of rain and reading and silence, the bike rides, the sunsets, the food we shared and the food we made for others. I want to remember the waterfalls, the people who put us up for the night, the chatter of Moore, the transit house, new friends I may never see again. I want to keep the calm person I've become and the optimism I wish I could pack home in my suitcase. I want to hold on to this feeling like it hasn't been a year since I last saw my best friend, so that the next year without her doesn't seem so long.
On this trip I have gone through 6 months worth of contact lenses, 5 pairs of shoes, more hairclips than I can count, 2 water bottles, 11 books, 3 pairs of sunglasses and the first few seasons of sex and the city (long story.) I didn't publish my book or finish my novel. I did learn some French, despite my best efforts to the contrary.
I have regrets, but fewer than I did when I left home.
I have friends who love me and friends I love, many of whom I doubt I'll see again.
(I got my heart broken, but just a little and ever so politely.)
I walked on the beach with one of my favorite authors. I saw the Mona Lisa and a couple hundred more paintings I liked even more. I've been "married" to at least 5 different men, and I now have more sister wives than I have sisters.
I spent more money than I had, I lost my apartment and I decided firmly on two mutually exclusive plans for 2012 (peace corps and law school.)
I did not learn to love olives, despite my best intentions.
I lost my grandmother.
I found out I'll be getting two nieces or nephews.
I've missed home so much it hurt and hoped I'd never go back in the same breath.
After 7 years, I finally finished my degree.
Somehow it is September now.
I'm getting on a plane.
I know that when I step off of the plane in Seattle I will be swept up in the return to my old routine. I will be overcome with the urge to resume the life I once knew as the person I once was. Habits are so much more convenient than choices. I will forget this adventure, or it will dull to the abstraction of a barely-remembered dream.
There are certain things I would like to remember, certain changes I would like to cling to, certain parts of this experience I hope to carry with me into whatever I return home to.
I want to remember the streets of Fes, the classroom where we studied, the Arabic (and Darija) that I learned. I want to speak it often and well.
I want to remember the moment I realized my classmates had become my friends, I want to keep each of them present if not in life than in memory.
I want to remember: the stars in the desert at night, the feeling of heat radiating off of the sand, the colors and the voices and the music. The oceans in Tangier and Asliah and Essouira and the cool blue walls of Chefchaouen. The long train rides across the country. The Riad, Ali, my host family, Khadija, Moustafa, my hanoot friends, the cafes and the cats.
The musketeers. The fantastic four. The sisterhood, the bro code, Jan & Rashid. Rabat and Sale. Our nicknames, our inside jokes, our hypothetical conversations. The sound of the prayer read through Sahoor, the warm companionship of Iftar.
Paris, little North Africa, more shabab. Park naps and shopping and museums and picnics and bartenders.
Burkina. I want to remember the red, red roads and the blue skies in Gallo. I want to remember the lightening storms the days of rain and reading and silence, the bike rides, the sunsets, the food we shared and the food we made for others. I want to remember the waterfalls, the people who put us up for the night, the chatter of Moore, the transit house, new friends I may never see again. I want to keep the calm person I've become and the optimism I wish I could pack home in my suitcase. I want to hold on to this feeling like it hasn't been a year since I last saw my best friend, so that the next year without her doesn't seem so long.
On this trip I have gone through 6 months worth of contact lenses, 5 pairs of shoes, more hairclips than I can count, 2 water bottles, 11 books, 3 pairs of sunglasses and the first few seasons of sex and the city (long story.) I didn't publish my book or finish my novel. I did learn some French, despite my best efforts to the contrary.
I have regrets, but fewer than I did when I left home.
I have friends who love me and friends I love, many of whom I doubt I'll see again.
(I got my heart broken, but just a little and ever so politely.)
I walked on the beach with one of my favorite authors. I saw the Mona Lisa and a couple hundred more paintings I liked even more. I've been "married" to at least 5 different men, and I now have more sister wives than I have sisters.
I spent more money than I had, I lost my apartment and I decided firmly on two mutually exclusive plans for 2012 (peace corps and law school.)
I did not learn to love olives, despite my best intentions.
I lost my grandmother.
I found out I'll be getting two nieces or nephews.
I've missed home so much it hurt and hoped I'd never go back in the same breath.
After 7 years, I finally finished my degree.
Somehow it is September now.
I'm getting on a plane.
Fascinating stuff. Would love to travel to Africa hopefully soon, may I ask who is your favorite author that you walked on the beach with? Thanks for sharing.
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