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Late Post #2

April 23, 2012



Last post I swear.

I’m writing on a rainy and cold northeast morning from the café formerly known as White Rabbit in my hometown in upstate New York.  I’ve been home for a week today, and amid a deluge of seeing long lost friends and family I’ve managed to maintain a measure of normalcy here.

There was a part of me that knew the transition from Senegal to Amerik wouldn’t be as jarring as it might seem.  There’s actually something vaguely disquieting about how easy it was to slip back into the flow of life here.

In the weeks preceding my departure I thought a lot about the divide between the place where I had lived for the last 2 years and the one I was about to return to. It felt like the end of a relationship. I was finally conscious of how temporary my stay was, how I wouldn’t have the music, or language, or food, or sand, to jog my memories in America.  Aware suddenly that my Pulaar, the language that connected me to everyone that I love there, would fall into a state of neglected disrepair. And that friendships with fellow volunteers, forged though shared suffering, would transform in the face of our old American responsibilities and relationships.

One thing that I don’t think I’ve ever really written about on here, is how incredibly lucky I was to share the past 2 years with a group of 42 of the finest PC volunteers that West Africa has ever seen. Without ya’ll I wouldn’t have made it past the first week…. literally.  The photo below is a picture of most of our group during our Close of Service conference this past January.


Finally, I’ve been getting a lot of questions about what my daily life was like in Senegal. It’s a tough question, but I came across this video which bears an uncanny resemblance to what my life was like there.



One Comment leave one →
  1. April 24, 2012 19:40

    Beautiful Ev.

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