There are places I remember, all my life...

It’s 7 am and I am waking up. This whole week I have woken up at 7 am. Actually, I wake up at 630 then start to think about how I will be leaving soon…then my heart pounds faster and I can’t fall back asleep.

I hear the roosters in the distance, and the chickens. I hear music played at night that used to keep me awake, but not anymore.

At 7am the sun is up and I can see the light through a small window above my bed. The curtain is pink, so the light casts a pink glow on me through my mosquito net. I know I have to go to the latrine, and then brush my teeth, get dressed, and walk to another hut on the compound for breakfast.

For breakfast I have either white bread, pound cake, ndazi (fried dough), or chapatti. And sugar tea. So much sugar that I am afraid I have grown so used to it I will always have to have 8 teaspoons of sugar in my tea, and one day be diabetic.

The sun is hot already, and I know I will be sweating. I also know my feet will get really dirty from walking. These things used to bother me, but not anymore.

There is a magic here that I can’t explain. How can a place draw you in like it has to me?

The faces that I know, the fresh fruit from the market, the comfort of my hut.

Never in my life have I had such a hard time saying goodbye. At home it is different when I leave a place, say a job or a nursing placement, because I know I am still close. It is in the same town. And with nursing placements there have always been other students around, it’s not just me, so I haven’t felt as close with the nurses and other staff because I’m only there one day a week and we don’t get an opportunity to know each other well on a personal level.

But here it is different.

This is life how I have grown to know it and accept it. And while of course I miss so many things about home, I am perfectly content here where I am to live without them (except for my family who I couldn’t live without for much longer).

I haven’t cried in my time here about missing Canada, and that’s because I always knew I was going back. I could measure it in time and I could rely on my memories to bring me back there when I really missed it.

In the same respect I didn’t cry at my farewell party, because somehow I know I will be back here one day. I will see this place again and the people I have grown to be great friends with, and until then, I will keep it alive through memory and staying in touch with those who have made my life here such a joy.
So here I am, taking it all in, soaking it all up, and engraining each detail into my brain.

My blog is called An African Dream. When I created the title I thought it was a bit cheesy, but was very appropriate for what I was doing and why I was doing it. It was a dream of mine for 3 years, and my call to Africa only grew stronger in the three years. And now, upon leaving Africa in a short time, I know more of why I was meant to be here, at this time, in this place. It wasn’t just a coincidence. It wasn’t just self-directed determination and hard work. It is something more, something from God, which I can’t even explain, that brought me here and which will bring me back here one day.

There are places I'll remember
All my life though some have changed
All these places have their moments
In my life I've loved them all