2/2/06

Beep-Boop. Bzzz, Bzzz.

I look up from the giant purple plastic bowl I'm washing dishes in. On the table, my cell-phone is glowing. I dry my hands and go look.

"NEW MESSAGE: READ?" It says. I press the button- it's from Nelson, our director.

"Early COS approved for 9-15-06. NC."

...And just like that, the three final months of my Peace Corps service disappear. Instead of leaving in mid-December, as I'd assumed all along, it looks like our group is getting the boot three months early. We'd heard a rumor of the date change awhile ago- a new group of trainees will be arriving in June, and after they finish their training, they'll be replacing us. In theory, at least, school starts in September, and with the first three groups of PCV's (mine included) arriving then, we swore-in and went out to site just in time to be three months late. Peace Corps decided it'd be better if trainees arrived and swore-in in a way that fit the Chadian educational system better, so they moved everything up three months. Now that it's been officially decided, September feels so close, and I've begun to realize that I'm really almost done with my PCV service. Seven and a half months is still awhile, naturally, but considering that I've been here almost 17, time is running short.

Leaving early has me feeling torn. Part of me agrees with one of the PCV's from my group, who texts me saying, "I'm SO HAPPY! Seven and a half more months of their shit!!" It will be nice to say goodbye to the 35º C "cool" days, thick, gray, clinging dust and sand in and on everything, the impossibility of finding vegetables, not having electricity or running water, cheating and begging, and "Psst! Nasarra!" Although this is an interesting and challenging chapter of my life, I definitely don't want it to be the rest of my life.

Another part of me though, knows how hard it'll be to leave. The reality is that when that Land Cruiser drives off with me inside, in roughly 220 days, I'll almost certainly never see these people or this world again, and my two years in Chad will become an interesting topic for dinner parties, waiting to be brought out when someone asks," So, how was Africa?" Our world is shrinking so fast, and is becoming so interconnected that it seems crazy to think that you'd ever be saying goodbye to anyone or anywhere "forever." Were it anywhere else on Earth, this might be true. Rural southwestern Chad is about as isolated from the rest of the world as one can possibly get though, and the chances of me seeing Gounou-Gaya again after about September 10th, 2006 fall somewhere between 'slim' and 'none,' more likely on the latter end.

With cell-phones having arrived even here within the past 18 months, I suppose I can call Marc and family whenever I want. That's a long way, though, from sitting out under the stars on a moonless night with the stars glittering, drinking cheap red Chinese tea and chatting, as the dogs howl, the motorcycles buzz by, and the crowing of roosters who seem to forget that they're supposed to do their thing in the morning, not at 8:00 PM sounds in the distances. Tanga will always stay an eight-year-old girl with two huge front teeth and twinkling brown eyes in a sea-green dress with red flowers to me, and Dakassia will be forever frozen in my mind toddling barefoot and pants-less around as fast as her two-year-old legs can carry her, chirping "Nya-neh-nehl!!" as she tries to say my name. That day is getting relentlessly closer, and while I imagine I'll feel relieved, in a way, when it finally does arrive, I know how hard it'll be.

It's still more than seven months off, but the announcement has my mind working overtime, even if it is in advance. Later in the evening, sitting with Marc, I realize that I'm mentally composing a farewell letter to him. What can I possibly say in a page or two, in French, to someone who has been such an important part of my life though? I guess I still have some time to figure it out.

As if he's read my thoughts, Marc suddenly says, "Now that you've been here so long, you really are a veteran." Bizarre. I'd mentioned the date change to him when it was still a rumor a few weeks ago, but I haven't told him yet, and we haven't discussed it since then. Maybe there's something to be said for telepathy after all.

"I guess," I reply in a non-committal tone.

"No, really," he says. "You've been here more than a year now, you've seen how difficult our lives are, and you've stayed. You're a veteran."

"That's true," I answer, "but really, it's not that bad. Of course life here is more difficult than my life in the US, but it's not miserable or too much. If it was, I would've been gone a long time ago." Which is true- I'm obligated to stay in Chad 27 (24 now) months, but certainly not required- I could've made that phone call at any point since September 2004, and been back in the US within a week, if that's what I wanted. Maybe I am a veteran after all.

"When you go back, you'll be able to explain to people how life is in Chad," Marc says. "If they haven't been here though, they won't really understand."

If he only knew just how right he is...

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