Unfortunately my plans were quickly derailed.
After one of the longest travel days ever, getting back from London, I spent the following day (Thursday) recovering.
On Friday I had planned to make a visit to see Sami and Dave out near Tafroute to deliver them the curry paste I got them in London and to just catch up before life got too hectic again. As it turns out, visiting them was both a blessing and a hassle.
On Friday afternoon, before catching the bus to Sami and Dave's I got some frantic and not-so-hopeful emails and phone calls from my family telling me my sick grandfather was probably not going to live much longer. My Dad advised me to start pricing flights and to be prepared for the worst.
Unfortunately, the worst came that night. I got a broken and sad phone call from my sister saying my grandfather had finally passed onto a better place. After many years of battling liver problems and a somewhat rapid decline in the previous weeks, I was extremely sad to loose someone I loved and respected like a father, yet grateful that God finally took him and ended his bodily suffering here on earth. I have not really experienced death of close relatives until the past few years and I can tell you, the grieving process is difficult but I find a lot of comfort in knowing that God has a plan and after the suffering comes the reward.
I am grateful that Sami and Dave were there with me when I got the call. Their compansionship forced me to keep my composure. The thought of being alone in my rock house, so far away from everyone when getting that news is frightening.
On Saturday morning I woke up very early, after not having really slept, and attempted to get transportation out of Sami and Dave's site, which can prove quite difficult on short notice. Someone was certanly on my side Saturday though, because I had by far the luckiest travel day I have ever had.
I wanted to catch the 7:30am souk bus from Sami and Dave's site but after only about 1 minute of waiting, a car pulled over and asked if I needed a ride. Lucky. When I asked him to drop me off in the next town so I could catch a cab, he told me he was going all the way to Tiznit and I could just ride with him. (As a note, I don't hitchhike often but this was not a "usual" day and he also had another passenger in the car, it wasn't just me and this Moroccan man). The guy turned out to be really nice and we chatted most of the way back to Tiznit. When he dropped me off, I tried to pay him 30dh (the same cost as the bus) but he only accepted 10dh. Awesome.
From there I headed to a little men's cafe around the corner from my taxi stand where I could connect to internet and book my flights home. Thankfully, all of the flights, connections and trains I needed were still active and priced right. I got a direct flight from Madrid, Spain to Chicago, Illinois for only $503. I have never seen this flight so cheap and frankly, I still don't believe it was a real price, it must have been a typo.
After I booked the flights, I caught a cab back to my site with little to no waiting, which is extremely uncommon.
Once in my site, I ran to my house and attempted to get my life in order. Living on my own presents its own set of challenges with preparing to leave but I also have a bug problem meaning food has to be thrown out, things have to be wiped down and the trash has to be taken out or else I would have been welcomed back by 10,000 ants eating everything in my house. I cleaned up and packed in about 45 minutes.
From there I headed to my counterpart's house, half crying, half out of breath to tell her that I was flying home that day. Her whole family was there, trying to talk to me in Tashlheet and I was too scatter brained to even understand. After throwing out some words to get the point across that my grandfather died, she only had one question, how was I going to get to America that day? It was too much to explain I had to spend a night in Kech, then Madrid so I just told her I was flying out that day. All of the women were flabbergasted. They wished me luck and I was off.
Only an hour after arriving in my site, I miraculously caught another cab out of town and was headed back to Tiznit.
From there I was lucky in my transport catching another cab from Tiznit to Inezgan then the bus was basically waiting for me from Inezgan to Marrakech. Normally the bus stops in Agadir, adding about 1 hour to the travel time, this bus did not. Again, somebody was looking out for me, I am sure of it.
In Marrakech I caught the city bus to the place where the hotel was. When I got to the "Peace Corps volunteers" hotel (aka all of the volunteers stay there) they didn't have a single room available but thankfully there where two newer volunteers willing to let me throw a mattress on their floor and sleep with them. One of them was even a Mizzou fan, much like myself.
On Saturday morning I woke up early and headed to the airport to catch my 11 am flight to Madrid. I exchanged out some money and caught my flight.
I spent the better part of my afternoon/ evening in Madrid showering, drinking beers and talking to my family. My roommate at the hostel was an 80's returned Peace Corps volunteer from Niger who worked for Doctor's Without Borders. She was great accompanyment since I was feeling particularly lonley since the last time I was in Madrid, it was with Claire.
In Claire's honor, I ate pizza, a ham sandwich, drank a Magner's Pear and finished my evening with some chocolate churros.
Sunday morning, I caught the Metro to the airport, only to get lost for a while and eventually find my way through security and onto the flight. The flight from Madrid is not too bad, only about 9 1/2 hours except they played the same crocodile movie three times in a row and I was too wired about getting to Chicago to sleep.
It's hard to describe the feeling of exuberance I felt when landing in Chicago. I was so smiley that I am sure my fellow Americans thought I was on drugs. Customs was quite interesting when I had to list all of the places I visited since I was last in America (i.e. Israel, France, Spain, England, Morocco). Most interestingly of all, I got an entrance stamp into America which I thought was pretty funny. After all, I am a U.S. citizen and I wasn't aware the government cared when I entered the U.S. but apparently they do.
In Chicago, I caught the "L" into downtown and after nearly freezing to death leaving the subway station, I found Sabrina's building and was reunited with my long lost friend. I can only imagine what her take on me was after having been in America for about an hour, freezing to death in my "springtime" coat and struggling to compose fluent English sentences. I am sorry to her and Vince for having to see me in that state, next time I promise to be less flustered and more composed.
We grabbed some delicious food and then I caught a cab to Union Station for my 5:15 p.m. train. Ironically enough, my cab driver was Moroccan and Berber. We spoke Tashlheet all the way to Union Station.
This is the point in my story when "coming home" really started to set in. At this point I hadn't seen my parents, siblings or the rest of my family (excluding Claire) in a year. I was anxious to say the least.
Despite my excitement, Amtrak failed me, miserably. Amtrak in Chicago has a reputation of being notoriously late and that day was no exception. My fellow passengers and I stood in a line for over an hour and a half waiting for that silly train. Mind you, I was only 5 short hours away from being reunited with my family and I had been traveling for what seemed like two solid weeks at that point. I was probably unfairly harsh to the Amtrak customer service women and if for some reason she reads this, I am sincerely sorry, but my patience had reached its limit.
After begging the Amtrak police to let me use their phone, since I was the only person in America without a cell phone, I called my parents and warned them of the delay.
Around 7 p.m. we finally boarded the train and were off. Most of the seats were full since they had combined the 5:15 p.m. and 7 p.m. trains (which I was not happy about considering I paid extra money to leave earlier). I finally found a seat next to a seemingly cute 5 year old girl. What I didn't realize at the time was that she was quite possibly the most interested and curious 5 year old on the train. I spent all 5 hours answering her questions, talking about her school, her friends, her family and my life. I was exhausted.
When we finally pulled into St. Louis, my parents were waiting to greet me at the station. My mom ran across the line and started crying, much like I expected. I have never felt more loved in my entire life. Coming home was so satisfying for my soul it is hard to even place into words.
My parents had purchased me some chicken fingers and sauce from Syberg's downtown for my arrival. (As a note, when my train was supposed to get in at 10 p.m., we were going to grab some food there). Then we went home and for the first time in a year, I stepped foot into my home. Things hadn't changed a bit.
My parent's and I drank diet sodas and ate our chicken fingers around the dinner table, just like old times.
A lot of Peace Corps volunteers had shared with me their stories of "going home" and how disappointed they were with the life they left. Many commented on how things just weren't the same, others on how different things were, much to their displeasure. I am not sure if I just left America with different expectations or reasons for joining the Peace Corps but unlike many of my fellow volunteers, I didn't come to Morocco to "escape". I love America. I love my life in America and this was not meant as an escape but rather another stepping stone on my path in life.
What I can say is that I felt no disappointment at all going home. I cannot even explain how satisfying and happy I was while I was there. All of the amazing things I loved about "home" were still there and many more awesome things awaited me (like DVR). The America I had built up in my mind was essentially the same that I came back to. What a relieving feeling.
America is awesome, period.
I spent the next 8 days in America trying to soak up as much as possibly. I spent many hours shopping with my mom, walking around Wal-Mart, grabbing meals with friends and family and even making a short visit to Columbia, Missouri to see my siblings and friends.
In Columbia, a bunch of my friends, and my brother and sister came to Addison's with me to enjoy some nachos and good company. That was certainly a hi-light of my trip.
I am so grateful that I got to spend time with my family, see my friends and enjoy some of my favorite past times.
On Friday, my mother and her siblings put on a beautiful memorial service at our church, Mary Mother of the Church, for my grandfather since he donated his body to the St. Louis University Medical School for research. While the mass was incredibly sad, there was a positive tone about it. The people who came, came to celebrate the incredible life that my grandfather had and shared with his family. My mom gave the eulogy and did a wonderful and touching job encompassing what her father meant to her and the rest of his family.
The mass ended with a reception in the hall of the church. We ate delicious food, reminisced about Grandpa and enjoyed each other's company. It was bittersweet that my Grandfather's death was the reason for the mass and my trip to America but also a great chance to see everyone, catch up and be surrounded by my family and friends.
After the mass, my Aunt Carol, Uncle Mike, my three cousins and my family headed back to my house, sitting around and reminiscing around the kitchen table. These days are the days I miss the most. I was an amazing feeling to sit around with my family (including the other half of my immediate family, i.e. my Aunt Carol and her family) and just be together.
The night ended with my closest friend BP making the drive in from Columbia to join my Dad, Claire, Alex, Danielle Hohmeier and I for some chicken at Hodak's.
My trip in America reminded me of how much I really miss even the littlest things about my life at home. I miss haircuts, Wal-Mart trips with my Mom, lunches with my Dad, Cracker Barrel breakfast with my Grandma, seeing my friends around town, bar nights in Columbia, El Rancho nachos, trips to JCPenny with my Aunt Carol and Eva, just getting to hang out with Claire, driving a car, fountain sodas, spending time with people I love and just being surrounded by people who really "get" me.
An easily 4,000 calorie breakfast thanks to Cracker Barrel with my Grandma.
I have plenty of friends in Morocco, both fellow PCVs and Moroccans but the reality is that I am a different person here than I am in America. They can never know both sides and my life in America can never really grasp the Moroccan side of my life now. I was happy to see that I could assimilate into my American life quite easily. I didn't come home the "weirdo" I thought I would (at least I didn't feel like I was, I guess everyone at home is a better judge of that than I).
After 8 glorious days at home, I had to face the reality that I had to go back to my life of no hot showers, no washing machines and no car. On Tuesday, my Uncle Rich drove me to the bus station (I took the bus not the Amtrak) and I was off to Chicago.
I was met in Chicago by the dearest Megan Valli where she graciously cooked me a pizza and let me crash at her place. We spent Wednesday bumming around Chicago and spending some much needed time together. I am so grateful for her and thankful that she was there to help me. I was in the process of falling apart on the inside but being around her helped me regain my composure and have the courage to get back on the plane.
For everyone who went out of their way to accommodate me, hang out with me and listen to my stories while I was at home, I eternally grateful. You are the reason that coming back sucks, to put it plainly.
I slept the entire flight from Chicago to Madrid (thanks to some help from my friend, Tylenol P.M.). In Madrid, I caught my connecting flight back to Morocco and then started to long and exhausting process of traveling back towards my site. On the way, Sami and Dave asked me to come visit them before coming home and I did. Despite my annoyance that I left my phone there, I am grateful that I didn't have to go home to my lonely house on my first night back.
I think one of the greatest lessons I have learned while being in Morocco is that we are not too big, important or strong to recognize and ask for help when we need it. We cannot do this crazy life on our own and for the longest time, I thought I could. As it turns out, I can't, we all can't. Sometimes we need help and I will never again be too proud to ask for it.
Thank you to everyone who comes to my rescue, even if they don't realize that's what they are doing.
Now I am back in my village, trying to re-acclimate to my life. Today I had to do laundry, that was a rude awakening. My friends in the village have been extremely helpful and kind, offering their kind God phrases for my loss. Only one person has asked where their souvenir was, so that's pretty good. One lady did ask if she could buy my computer from me next time I go to America. She wanted to pay the equivalent of 40 USD. I had to tell her no.
Life is back to "normal" and I am learning to readjust and attempting to keep busy to avoid the elephant in the room, my homesickness for life in America.
To aid in my homesickness, I did happen to bring back over 20 lb. worth of "America" things to help the transition.
it was so great having you here with us! May will be here before you know it!
ReplyDelete