It’s been two weeks back in the US. Where have those fourteen days gone? I feel like I’m in some sort of time warp,
paradigm shift or anything else like a sense of altered reality. I definitely know I’m in LIMBo. – lonely,
isolated, misunderstood, bored. At the
all volunteer conference in Tegucigalpa,
we were told by the psychologists to expect certain feelings and that acronym
was the one that really stands out.
However, I’m getting ahead of myself.
For the longest time I’ve been writing my blog recap style and there’s
no reason to change now.
We last left off with la
gringa spending Christmas Eve and Christmas with friends in Guaimaca. It was a beautiful holiday full of the
Honduran traditions and food I love. A
special Christmas Eve church service with a program put on by the children, rosquillas en miel, pierna, nacatamales
and staying up ‘til midnight to set
off fireworks.
Shortly after Christmas my parents, this time my mom and
stepdad, arrived in Honduras
for a vacation that’d been planned for months.
Instead of it being an opportunity to see what my daily Honduran life
was like and get to visit my host families it became the opportunity to see
what my daily Honduran life had been like and going to visit my host families
for the last time to say our good byes.
While most volunteers who stayed in Honduras
over the holidays were on Standfast and not allowed to travel, I’d been granted
permission from our Country Director because my parents had rented a car and we
would not be on the oh-so-dangerous public transportation. My parents trip ended up being great timing
due to all that was happening because we were able to get my dog, Frijoles, to
the vet and cleared for entry to the US and they were able to bring back an
extra suitcase full of my stuff – which makes my grand total for pieces of
luggage coming back to the US three, while I only arrived in Honduras with
two. Weird, since I left 95% of my
clothes there.
The first few days of January were the cliché emotional
roller coaster as I started really packing up my house (my home), saying
goodbye to friends in Guaimaca and faced the reality of the end. January 8th was my despedida both with my favorite host
family and my best friends in Guaimaca.
At one point there were about twenty people in my small home. It was stressful trying to manage the two
groups who didn’t know each other, while individuals from each wanted to buy
furniture from me and have other things gifted to them as recuerdos. I didn’t handle
the situation well at all and my best friend from Guaimaca ended up not getting
some of the things I had promised her beforehand. Later that evening when I was sitting in my
house with nothing left but a small foam mattress she texted and said she was
upset with me because of that and also that I’d neglected to give anything to
her daughter. It hit me so hard – I
tried to call her to talk about it and explain myself, but she didn’t
answer. However, things were resolved
and I think it just came down to her trying to deal with her feelings of my
leaving by trying to start a fight.
January 12, 2012
was the last day I woke up in my home of Guaimaca. My favorite taxi driver had offered to take
me to the neighboring municipality where Peace Corps was picking us up in a
bus. I spent the morning dreading his
arrival to my house and doing my last minute errands in Guaiamaca. The waterworks started when I went to say
goodbye to the one little girl I’d spent the most time helping personally –
giving donations to her and her family.
I’d spent very little time with her in comparison to other people, but
she was very attached to me. As soon as
she saw me she burst into tears and it broke my heart. I had also spent the night before writing a
goodbye note to mi pueblo. There are three local news stations and one radio,
which was run by a neighbor, so I left my notes to be read on air that
afternoon or evening. It was the best
way I could think of to express my gratitude to the people of mi pueblo for welcoming me home for
nearly two years and treating me like one of their own, while also saying
goodbye to those I’d missed in person.
Finally, the hour arrived and I walked my beautiful dusty streets one
last time, passing the chickens pecking away, hearing the niños kicking a soccer ball around and breathing the ever present
smoke wafting heavenward from the fogones
heating café and tortillas. Waiting at
my back door was my best friend with her little girl. Two of my favorite people, not only in Honduras,
but the world. They watched as I packed
my last minute things – laptop, cords, chargers, phones and camera. My vision was already blurry with tears and
heart so full of pain – I felt the impact as my friend punched the wall in
anger and despair crying, “Que cabrona!” It was the hardest day of my life. The taxi arrived and I sought out my cat,
temporarily left behind with her young kittens, burying my face deep in her
soft black fur and sobbing the pain out and trying to wash some of the sadness
from my soul. I gave my landlady last
minute instructions on the cat’s habits and how to feed her, praying that I
will actually have her back here with me in the US
soon as planned. I hugged the kids whose
laughter and greetings had been the soundtrack to my life. I thanked my landlady for everything and her
aunt who lived near as well. Then I took
the ride out of Guaimaca. The clear blue
skies, wispy white clouds and sun shining even in the middle of January. I soaked up the views of mountains, valleys,
pines and creeks as we neared the next stop.
The whole morning will forever be etched in my memory.
Almost as soon as all the pain hit, it was eased seeing
other volunteers in Talanga, where the majority of people from our region were
being taken into Tegucigalpa met
up. Seeing twelve or so people going
through the exact same thing helped immensely.
We went to the very luxurious Hotel Maya and spent four days there going
through an excruciatingly painful COS (close of service) conference. Meetings all day from 8-5, in English with punctual Americans
and no permission to leave the hotel.
Weird. They were fun filled days,
trying to pay attention in the important meetings, collecting last minute
samples of bodily fluids for medical testing, enjoying the amenities of the
hotel and surviving on little to no sleep as we squeezed all we could out of
last minute time with friends soon to be scattered all over the US.
We finally flew out of Honduras
on Monday, January 16, 2012. It was another really hard day as all three
of the US bound
flights out of Tegucigalpa carried
PCVs back to the unknown. On the bus to
the airport I heard from a PC staff member that after the incident when the
volunteer got shot on the bus PC Washington had wanted to evacuate us from the
country within THREE DAYS. She told me
that our amazing Country Director stood up to PC/W and told them to not make
such rash decisions and convinced them to let us volunteers stay in Honduras
until a later date. I was so shocked
that PC/W had thought the situation was that serious because it wasn’t and felt
even more appreciation for our Country Director whom I already had so much
admiration for. She’s an amazing lady! Finally at the airport there were yet more
goodbyes with the PC Honduras staff who had helped us through so much. The last goodbye that was hard for me was
sending “Bessie” along on her flight.
Her short three months in Guaimaca made it so much more bearable for me
and I knew I was going to (and already do) miss her tons. At least it’s easy to visit people aquí en los EEUU.
I spent my last few minutes in the airport using all my saldo and calling friends and family
before boarding the plane. Tons more
tears shed and a heart warming moment as a random American monk noticed and
came over and handed me a wad of napkins.
Random acts of kindness are always fun.
Then we were whisked away to Miami
for a night of layover fun.
Continue on to part 2 to see what it’s been like back here stateside.
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