A Place To Call Home?

September 17, 1994 village

I had a letter that I wrote to all my family and friends a month ago describing where my village was going to be. I described the population, 2000 people, mostly children. I described the working conditions. I'd be working out of the village health center. I described the living conditions. No running water and electricity only several hours in the evening. I found the letter under my bed, which means no one at home knows where I am.

And now I'm here, officially here. After three months of training, I'm in this village I now call home for the next two years.

 

I'm sitting alone in this big office and I'm stranded.  I've been ditched by the kayid, the big boss of the village.  He and about six others left this office, got into cars, and drove away.  Where do you think they went?

If I could have grasped on to just a bit of their hour-long conversation, I might know. But, no. They talked and talked and looked at me and talked. They finished talking and looked at me and talked some more. Then they stood up, walked out of the room, and gently closed the door behind them. Why didn't they take me? Why did they leave me alone in this room? 

What do I want right now? I’ve got tears that welt up in my eyes when I think of this. It is so hard to write this while controlling the tears falling down my cheeks. I sit in this office wanting only a bit of familiarity, tired of struggling to make it through the day and unable to tell anyone what’s really going on in my head.