"Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it" -Ghandi

Before I went to bed last night, my host mom and I were laying on the bamboo bed outside her house looking up at the stars. My favorite time of day is right after dinner before going to bed, when everyone is back from the fields and my mom and I would sit and talk for hours. Whenever the moon was out, we would joke that it was the “kuran Fouladou” or “Pulaar electricity,” as it was the only time we had light at night. The kids always run around and play in the moonlight, and everyone sits outside their huts and gossips late into the night. Back in the day, my mom asked me if the American moon and the Senegalese moon were the same. She was convinced that they couldn’t be, but I assured her that they were, in fact, the same moon. Last night, she asked me again if this was the same moon that I could see from America. When I told her yes, she paused for a minute, then told me that when I get to America I should look up at the moon and call her. And she could look up at the moon and know that even though we couldn’t see each other, we were both looking up at the same moon, and that would be enough.

Hugging people isn’t really a thing in my village. I wish it were. At that moment, it was all I could do not to give my mom the biggest bear hug in the world and cry on her shoulder. From the very beginning, my little Pulaar mom accepted me as one of her own and has been my strongest advocate through thick and thin. She’s a force of nature in her own right, even though she only weighs about 90 lbs and is about 5 feet tall. She is my best friend in village. My dad (pictured) is a sweet, caring, and understanding man. He can bring his community together through the most difficult moments with remarkable thoughtfulness and diplomacy. Neither of my parents can read or write, they only speak Pulaar, no French or Wolof. Sitting here in my village for the last time, it’s easy to forget about how difficult things have been over the course of the last three years. Between the evacuation from Niger and the transfer to Senegal, my Peace Corps service certainly got off to a rocky start. In all honesty, I’m surprised that I made it this far. But as I sit here with my family, aware of the fact that this may be the last time that I ever sit here with them in this lifetime, I’m so thankful for the time that I’ve had here. Despite everything, I dread the coming of tomorrow when we say goodbye for the foreseeable future. With all this in mind, I can’t help but remember how I would count the days until I could leave site, only to count the days until I was back there again. I remember how frustrated I became with the combination of apathy and intractability that would prove such an obstacle to my best laid plans and intentions.

I didn’t accomplish any of the things I thought I would when I joined the Peace Corps. It’s impossible to gauge where you’ll be going and what your life will look like once you arrive at your site. As a result, most of my big ideals fell by the wayside. But this experience has made a bigger impact on me personally than I made on my village as a whole. As an applicant, I always thought that there should be more concrete information on what to expect and what your work would be like, rather than the plethora of vague references to “the toughest job you’ll ever love” and “sustainability.” Now that I’m on the other side of things, I realize that it’s impossible for anyone to say what your experience will be like. Even in the same site, one volunteer may have an incredibly fulfilling experience, while another volunteer might hate every minute of it. And you can never effectively explain what things are like to a new volunteer, they have to figure it out at their own pace. In my own site, my replacement and I have completely different friends, completely different interactions with the same people. Her overall experience will be nothing like mine. Sure, there will be certain similarities and shared experiences, but there are so many variations between sites, personalities, experience and interests that you could never say upfront to a new volunteer, this is what your life will be like for the next two years.

Joining the Peace Corps is a huge leap of faith, one that many people might not understand or have any interest in pursuing themselves. On a personal level, not many people at home thought that this was a great idea, especially when I decided to extend for an extra year. But in the end, I’m glad that I followed this path. I've loved my work, both in village, and as the volunteer coordinator in Kolda. From start to finish, this has been so incredibly fulfilling, engaging, and mind blowing awesome. My family here in Senegal have been so incredible, and mean so much to me. They have guided me through the last few years with so much patience and compassion. I could thank them every day for the rest of my life and it would never be enough. The last few years have been simultaneously nothing that I expected, yet everything I could have hoped for. I’ve learned how far I can push myself. I’ve learned not to be afraid, intimidated, or reserved. I've also learned how to maintain some semblance of self control under the most frustrating of circumstances. It’s amazing how much you can do without. People often think of electricity and running water as the key conveniences that you miss out on here. I don’t even think of that anymore. Electricity and running water aren’t really that difficult to live without. Some volunteers miss their toothpaste, others miss take-out Chinese food and Chipotle burritos. For some reason, I really missed spinach and fruit smoothies. But after three years of bean sandwiches once a week and lallo in the meantime, the lack of fruit smoothies and spinach didn’t kill me. 

In the last year, I’ve had two surgeries, one while at home on vacation, and the other a medevac. I’ve changed my site in the last 2 months of my service, and have been in a state of transition for the last 5 months at least. My Peace Corps experience was not unusual in it’s radical ups and downs. There were times when I felt that everyone in my village was a lost cause, only to be blown away a few hours later by an interaction with a family member or work partner who would restore my faith in humanity as a whole through the simplest of actions. As I spend these last few days with my village, I forget about everything else that’s happened. I only wish that I had more time to be here with them. My host mom was shocked that I wouldn’t be able to spend my final month in Senegal with her in the village. I wish I could have. Unfortunately, I only had these few days to spare before getting back to work. Here in this moment, it’s hard to believe that I might not have a chance to come back to Kolda. Even should I come back five or ten years from now, it will be a different house, a different family. People come and go, sons marry and bring new wives into the house, and the daughters move away with their husbands. The babies all grow up, as babies do. But maybe it’s better this way, to leave with this perfect blend of imperfections sealed in a bubble that I can take with me throughout the rest of my life.  I can leave with all of the pictures of my family and the people that I left behind, choosing to remember only the best of my experiences, and learn from the difficult ones.

In short, the major life lesson that I have learned in the Peace Corps was summed up very well by Earl Nightingale, “We are at our very best, and we are happiest, when we are fully engaged in work we enjoy on the journey toward the goal we’ve established for ourselves. It gives meaning to our time off and comfort to our sleep. It makes everything else in life so wonderful, so worthwhile.” 

And on that note, I say goodbye to my village, to Senegal, and thank you to everyone who has shown  so much care and support over the last three years. I could never have done this without you.