Salani Kahle, Mzanzi!

I meant to write this a week and a half ago, when the poignancy and disbelief of leaving were still fresh--but life happens. I have plenty of what's happened since to share, but I will try to stay on topic.

I left.


Well, what more is there to say? Doesn't that simple statement encompass everything? Wouldn't any detail of emotion or uncertainty pale in the face of the simple statement of fact?

All right, so I haven't processed it yet. I'm still focused on plans--what visa I'm getting, if I'll miss the flight to Windhoek (ETA: I didn't), how to fill out a FAFSA (off topic: I heard Duke made it to the final four last weekend!)--that the reality of Peace Corps being over is far away. I'm still in a happy delusion that hanging out at the Masvingo Wimpy Burger waiting for the midnight Greyhound is just another holiday (where I am writing this longhand), and that any discussion of Durham real estate is just as purely speculative as any previous trip to Craigslist has been (don't mock, it's a low-megabyte hobby). I still refer to Peace Corps in the present and schizophrenically seesaw between listing America and South Africa as my country of residence on visa forms. I've burned my Peace Corps manuals in a glorious bonfire and passed on my Khanimamba portfolio to our staff, yet still I worry I've forgotten an obligation.

Ah yes. The last days. I burned my Peace Corps manuals, as I said, in addition to countless other accumulated trash (why did I savfe all those half-done crosswords?), and handed things at Khanimamba over to the trainers and administrators. My room went through various permutations ranging from complete cleanliness to embarassingly improbable clutter as I sorted through what I wanted to keep, burn, or give away. In the end, I ended up with two backpacks full, a feat undermined by the generosity of those I've known here (a traditional straw mat is currently residing in the sleeping mat compartment of my backpack; let's not talk about certain baskets) but nonetheless accomplished. Work was not accomplished in the quantities I had expected, but nonetheless the _project_ succeeded--the trainers have begun to run the course without me.

And goodbyes were said. I never felt like I knew so many people until it became time to tell people I was leaving. Beyond the obvious--coworkers, family, neighbors--people grow to expect your presence: taxi drivers, the women who work at Roman's (a pizza place), security guards. Word spread quickly: weeks before it was planned, people I didn't know asked me when the farewell function would be. In the end it was a small affair, a braai with coworkers, family, and neighbors, but it was a wonderful opportunity to exchange thank you's and final thoughts.

That's all I have for now. I really do think that I expect, at the end of this trip, to return to Giyani and Mapayeni and all their accompanying frustrations and reqards. I doubt that will change until I return to America.

So a question for all of you: what will shock me most when I return?

Pictures from my last months can be found here: http://picasaweb.google.com/Jade.Lamb/FebMar201004#

Stay well, South Africa!