The Road Home

My last week at site began with a party. The savings group from my last post celebrated a successful savings cycle. We sang and danced twice -once in the morning, again in the evening- and ate fresh fish, rice, and fried chicken. The group members even sang a goodbye song to me as the evening progressed. It was an excellent start to my week-long send-off. Later, my counterpart and I led one last compost session, and those women then gathered for a goodbye discussion of memories and mutual appreciation. It was profoundly touching to reminisce and share a few compliments. The next day I bade farewell to my favorite market vendors and spent my last day at site wrapping up my move-out preparations, walking around my community, shooting the breeze, and giving away my household goods that have no place in the Peace Corps office or my luggage.

Leaving site was not a logistical nightmare, but neither was it a walk in the park. Final packing and cleaning was done quickly, and we scrambled to remedy last minute changes in taxi drivers. Some of my beloved neighbors helped pack the car. With a few hugs goodbye and final, emphatic thank you's, I was off. It was strange to definitively leave site by the road I always took to reach it. The red dirt road that always brought me to my warm and welcoming community was now taking me away from it to another home across the sea.

After leaving site I spent a week in the capital of Cotonou doing the necessary paperwork and meetings to wrap-up my service. The doctors made sure no parasites plagued my belly. I returned Peace Corps property. I met with staff member after staff member to fill out paperwork. The designated departure day for my volunteer cohort is December 14, but the office can only off-board so many Volunteers at a time. As a result, they permit up to a handful of Volunteers to finish their service each week up to a month before and after December 14. I chose my date of November 23 and finished service with another Volunteer, Danielle.

On Friday we had our customary “gonging-out” ceremony. It’s a tradition for Peace Corps Benin staff to tap a traditional cowbell throughout the office and gather around departing Volunteers for some last remarks of sorts. Other Volunteers like to attend and share humorous as they give their heartwarming goodbyes.

The occasion capped a week of reflection for me. It’s been difficult to find the words to express my transition from a Volunteer at site to the returned Peace Corps Volunteer (RPCV) I am now. My greatest feeling is one of warm love from and humble admiration for the Peace Corps Benin community and my community at site. Whatever I’ve learned as a gardener or teacher, I’ve learned from them. Their support underscored every high and low, making successes possible and failures weatherable. I’ve grown as a compassionate, resilient, and tenacious individual thanks to extraordinary models among my community, fellow Volunteers, and Peace Corps staff. 

Volunteers and my counterpart saw me off at the airport at 2 AM. As I walked onto the airplane I caught final glimpses of the row of buildings, lit in the twilight, ringing the edge of the airport grounds, and my heart swelled with admiration for the people I was leaving and the beauty of two years of service. Later as the plane took off my eyes were glued to the window. I recognized the streets and neighborhoods formed by the sprinkled lights below. My throat tightened as I watched the lights grow smaller, and I briefly panicked as we rose above the clouds and Benin below disappeared in the mist. My connection was gone like that, as quick as waking from a good night’s sleep. Moments later I got another view of the ground below, the lights of villages curving around an empty dark space that could very well have been the southern end of Lac Ahémé. This time the clouds taught me my last lesson: what’s no longer in sight remains lodged and healthy in my heart, where it will always remain. I sat back in relief.

So I was calm there on the road home, but it was undeniably clear that this road home is a two-way street. “There is no such beauty as where you belong” sings one of the final phrases of The Road Home by Stephen Paulus, one of my favorite choral pieces. I belonged at my site and in Benin, through thick and thin and the hospitality of strangers who became loved ones. It’s now my duty and inspiration to share my experience in Benin, continue serving with a mission, and cultivate the kind of belonging I find in places called home. That’s my new role as an RPCV, and I hope to love it as much as I did my service. As I write this in Casablanca (the road home will be a month-long fun one) I welcome this new vision. I felt a new but familiar spark of wonder as I gazed at the fields and palm trees surrounding the glittering Casablanca airport. Yes, I’m ready for whatever is next, one step at a time. After all, whether I look forward or backward, I see the road home.