My apologies for the absence from my blog. Work has been
hectic the last few weeks, as have my bowels (third time with the gut wrenching
giardia). But I think things are finally going back to normal and I’ll be in
the office for a couple weeks and able to catch up on my work and
communications. In the last month I went through an entire Peace Corps service.
I went to G7’s swearing-in ceremony and led a few pre-service training
sessions. Then I facilitated sessions at G5’s mid-service conference and spoke
about successes and plans for the second year. Finally, last week I was at G4’s
close of service conference. That was bitter, sweet, motivating and depressing.
G4 came in a year after I arrived in Ethiopia. Many of them were my neighbors
in the Jimma loop, one of them my site mate for over a year. Group 4 is the reason
why staying a 3rd year wasn’t scary and lonely, they became my new
group here in Ethiopia. And now they are all leaving. It’s weird seeing them
leave before me, since I had a solid year alone in Masha before Alex moved in,
and now, like my original group, they are leaving me behind. Sitting at that
conference hearing everyone’s plans for the future and their countdowns until
they day they get on the plane leaving Abyssinia to return to the seemingly
mythical America was painful. I have to say goodbye again. I really hate saying
goodbye. I’m bad at it. It makes me cry. A lot. I want to go home, too. I want
to apply to jobs and have an apartment and plan reunions on the other side. I
want to see my PC friends in new clothes (I can probably write out every PCVs
entire wardrobe without seeing them for a few months) and in a place with solid
floors and our own plates. It’s time to move on, but I still have 5 months
left.
But it’s not all sad news. I actually still really enjoy
Ethiopia, my job and my life. It’s just a temporary funk brought on by other
people moving on. Previous to all these trainings and crazy travel schedules I
went down to the southwest for summer camp, site visits and a return to Masha.
The Bonga Summer Camp was amazing. Like the two years before, we brought a
bunch of kids from all over SNNPR to learn about health, environment,
leadership, teamwork and how to have fun. Unlike the two years before I wasn’t
one of the people in charge. As much as I love being a leader, I have to admit,
being present without a particular role to play was actually really fun. I was
able to hang out with the kids without wondering if sessions were happening on
time and in the right place, I was able to enjoy the waterfall hike without
counting heads every few meters. It was great.
After summer camp I braved the dreaded public buses that I
have been pretty successful at avoiding this year. As uncomfortable as it is
traveling in the southwest during the rainy season, it felt like going home. I
remembered what it was like to be a real volunteer out in the field and how fun
it is to be in the Jimma loop with all my old neighbors. I stopped in Masha,
Gore and Metu to visit the volunteers and see their projects. I was SO
impressed by all the work my colleagues were doing. Last time I was down there
everyone was still figuring out their place and their work. This time people
were planning trainings, spending grant money, building medical waste
incinerators, installing solar lights, installing EMR systems and writing new
grant proposals. I felt so proud of all the good work being done out there.
Such an amazing group of people.
As great as it was to visit the volunteers out there, the
highlight of my trip was my first trip to Masha since leaving in November. I
was feeling nervous about the trip; afraid that people didn’t remember me, that
they would all call me Alex or Dave, that I would have become just another
random white person visiting the town. The feeling of anxious dread lifted as
early as Tepi, the town between Bonga and Masha. In the Tepi bus station
someone came up to me and exclaimed “Nikki! You’re back! Are you going to
Masha?”. If people remembered me in Tepi, a town I only traveled through a
handful of times, then surely I wasn’t forgotten. As the bus rolled into Masha
and the door opened people were yelling “Nikki’s back!” It felt so wonderful to
be remembered, and therefore appreciated and loved. I was only there for two
nights, but in that time I finished up my work with the mill house, spent time
with old friends, had too many tea/coffee outings, spent the night in my old
compound and enjoyed time with my old site mates. It felt like no time had
passed at all. The kids were still chanting my name in the streets (I forgot
how much I missed that!) and the same characters were in their same places. I
love Masha. I wish I could visit more often.
I am happy to be back in Addis for a while now. The recent
travel all over the country has burnt me out, and I am looking forward to
getting back into my routines. Kind of like my life in general – I wouldn’t
trade the adventures for anything, but I’m ready to be home.
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