Coup d'etats and things like that

Due to the unforeseen coup d'etat, I'll be heading back to my site in just a few minutes, and, alas, my post for this month is not yet finished. Being here during this exciting, historical time in Guinea has generated a lot of new stories including, but not limited to, dodging bullets (not really, but that sounds exciting, doesn't it??), beach volleyball tournaments (naturally), and a completely different demeanor of the Guinean people. While I was hoping to ring in the new year with my fellow PCV's, it looks like it will actually be spent alone in my hut with a candle and a good book. But no worries! This New Years Eve will make all the future New Years Eves that much better :-p

Okay, so I'm going to finish the post on my laptop in my village tonight and hopefully pass it on to my mom via e-mail on Wednesday and you guys will be reading to your hearts' content. (Sadly, though, due to the lockdown and a really slow internet connection, additional photos will have to wait until at least the end of January). I hope you're all well and that you all have a wonderful New Year!

The hard days

Saying goodbye never gets any easier.

As my time in DC drew to a close, I kept pushing the unavoidable to the back of my mind, hoping I could just cruise through without a tear or thought of regret. It was good having some of the farewells spread out - the ones before my last weekend were no problem at all; we'd finish dinner or drinks, shake hands, hug, and part ways. But I was still returning to my same apartment at the end of the day, and it didn't feel like I was really leaving.

Then last last days arrived, and it was really time to go. The reality of the departure hits you like a punch to the gut as you load the last boxes and return to the empty bedroom in an apartment still occupied by two of your closest friends, friends who aren't leaving. And then it's time to say goodbye. You give your hug or your kiss, and you turn to leave. This time, though, you're not going back to your apartment to watch TV and b.s. with some friends; this time you're going to a big truck, filled with everything you own, ready to leave everything you've worked so hard to know the last two years, ready to leave the ones you love thousands of miles behind.

So you pull out of the driveway, wipe the tears from your eyes, and think "I'm glad that's over, it'll all be easier now." But it's not.

Now I'm home in KY, sitting alone in the kitchen, waiting to be shipped off to the Lost Continent. There's so much to get done, yet still not enough to get my mind off of all the questions wandering through it: Am I making the right decision? Will my friendships still be the same after being gone two years? How many of those friends will I ever even see again?

In college, I spent eight months working in Connecticut as a co-op. When I returned, I felt like an outsider, looking in on a world that had left me behind eight months before and not looked back. But that was only for 8 months, only a $200 flight away, and with regular telephone and internet access. This time I'll be a thousand times less accessible and gone for two years. How could I possibly expect anything or anybody to wait for me? I guess these things are just the price I have to pay for wanting to take this path in my life. I pray every night that I'm making the right decision and that I'm not leaving this all behind for nothing.

I love you all, you've helped make me what I am today. Please, don't let me fade away..