Well…I am home. Home as in America. Home as in Florida. Home as in Panama City—in the house I grew up in and will be stationed for an indeterminate amount of time.
It has been a month since I left site. While emotional, the goodbyes were not overwhelmingly sad. In fact, they went much better than I was expecting. I know (and my host family knows) that I will be back someday. Just when that day will be is anyone’s guess—well, on second thought, it is MY guess as to when I will return so all I can say is inshallah. When saying goodbye to Naima—what I anticipated to be the second-hardest goodbye, she told me to go to America, go back to school, learn as much as I can since I have the opportunity to do just that, and tell people about Morocco. When I do all that, it will be time to return to the little mountain village that arguably was a better teaching tool than any formal learning environment could have offered.
Amazingly enough, I held it together during Naima's little speech. Even more amazing considering that just 2 days before, I found out that she was attending the first ever (written Arabic) literacy classes for women to be held in town. Of all the wonderful women I had the pleasure of getting to know in the last 2 and half years, she was, by far, the most wonderful.
The two times I came close to breaking down during the goodbyes was when my host family presented me with a pair of beautiful earrings after throwing a large neighborhood party in my honor; and on my final morning, when Ali woke up, ran up to me, kissed me and said “Sbah Lxir, Ilham” (translation: good morning, my Arabic name).
The last few days in country were a whirlwind as I tried to wrap up all sorts of Peace Corps administrative items in Rabat. The mix of feelings surrounding COS is hard to convey but it seemed like the 40 other soon-to-be RPCVs were (and currently are) going through the same thing. Maybe this is why it is difficult to talk about the last 2 years now that I am home and moving about town.
In the intervening 4 weeks between finishing Peace Corps and returning home, I spent a week in London with my sisters. They were the first to experience my awkwardness in the Western world. I’m sure they will attest to my struggles with English and being on “African time”.
Just in time, I flew to Barcelona and was back in a semi-comfort zone as I joined 16 other RPCVs from Morocco, 2 from Peace Corps Cameroon, and (a completely coincidence) 2 from Peace Corps Niger. We boarded a boat sailing around the Mediterranean and across the Atlantic. This was the best way (for me) to return to the US and finish off my Peace Corps time. 21 of us, all in the same situations, having a carefree time, enjoying each other’s company and while we all know each very well, growing just a little bit closer. Not too mention, the practice of talking with other passengers about our experiences these last 2 years and our plans going forward was invaluable.
Now, the carefree, no-hassles travel is over. No longer can I delay re-adjustment or hide from reverse culture shock. The life I have led for the last 2 and half years is over (maybe the more I say it, the more I will start to feel it). I must deal with reality (in America), assess the job situation, and do all the little housekeeping items—like getting car insurance.
I am trying to reconcile the parts of Moroccan life I loved with the parts of America I love. Inshallah, I will arrive at a place I have carved for myself and a life with a healthy balance. It helps to know that I have opportunities available, that I have a great network of family and friends in Panama City, and that I can pick up the phone and call one of the 40 other RPCVs going through the same process I am.
