Homeward Bound

The highest function of love is that it makes the loved one a unique and irreplaceable being.

Tom Robbins, "Jitterbug Perfume"

Greetings and pre-holiday salutations!


It's December 17th and in T-37 hours I'll be HOME! Barring any snow-related delays, in a day and a half my feet will be firmly planted on Western New York....snow. After 18 months in Burkina Faso, I am so-beyond-ready-its-beyond-words-to-explain to be home, amongst my family and friends.

"What!? You're LEAVING?"

For the past year and a half, I've collected a lot of names. In village I'm Christine, Christini, Christina, Miss, Madamoiselle, NASARA! ("white person", screamed repeatedly by small children), la blanche, "fo" (you), but for three weeks, I'm going to be Chrissy. I have images of snow covered trees and drinking eggnog in front of the Christmas tree dancing in my head that are so wonderful, if I thought hard enough I could cry (les larmes de joie, bien sur). OK, I actually DID cry when I was in the bush taxi on my way to Ouaga two days ago.

"But you're coming back, right?"

It's impossible to comprehend being so far away from home for so long unless you've done it. And if you've done it, you know exactly what I mean. I'm glad that I'll probably never go this long without seeing family and friends again. It's certainly caused me to reach deep down into the depths of my strength and fortitude, and has no doubt made me a lot more self-assured, confident, and, well, tough. But, in a nutshell, it's been hard as hell. When I get back to Burkina, I'll have less than 7 months of service left, which will no doubt fly by. It was such a great feeling to leave village, America-bound, but a tad bit bittersweet knowing that soon enough I'll be leaving for good. Literally ever person I came across during my last few days in village told me "il faut saluer les parents et la famille" (to greet my parents and family) or "donnez nos salutations aux gens de l'Amerique" (say hello to the people in America). This experience continues to consist of such an array of ups and downs, despite the fact that I've come so far from the wide-eyed trainee who stepped off the plane into the humid Sahelian night a year and a half ago. I think part of me will stay in Burkina forever. This place is bewitching, simultaneously awful and heartbreakingly beautiful.

My father said that the natural world gave us explanations to compensate for the meanings we could not grasp. The slant of the cold sunlight on a winter pine, the music of water, an oar cutting the lake and the flight of birds, the mountains' nobility, the silence of the silence. We are given life but must accept that it is unattainable and rejoice in what can be held in the eye, the memory, the mind.


Salman Rushdie, "Shalimar the Clown"