A Bittersweet Return

By Rebekah Koch, MDP 2021

I stepped off the bus in the middle of town right in front of where my old counterpart sells beans and beignets in the morning. Within minutes, she, her husband and my mama were embracing me as I tried to recall the bamvele greetings in order to prove that I had not forgotten them in the past 5 months.

I spent the morning at my dad’s shop. He had seen me from the street, and waiting for me at the shop was my usual breakfast order: one egg spaghetti omelet, half a piece of bread, and a glass of chai. He placed it not at the table where he served other guests, but at my old spot: a small stool cornered between the table that stored the bread and the entrance to the storage room. He sat with me while I ate and we exchanged stories about our families, showing pictures, and then just sitting with each other. Our relationship was never one full of words, and I felt a sense of peace just being in his presence again. We sat together as we had done before, observing the village happenings as they played out while clients stopped by his store to buy whatever they needed.

I timed my visit to school with the lunch break so I would have the best opportunity to visit with teachers and students. I walked into the discipline masters’ office where 3 teachers were discussing among themselves. I leaned against the door frame and didn’t say a word. The teacher who was talking stopped midsentence as they looked at the ghost standing in the entrance. “Pinch me, I think I’m dreaming,” one of them said, and the other responded, “You should pinch her to see if she’s real!” I greeted them and started making my way through the school hallways. The students were dumbfounded that Madame was back. Most of them stared at me, unsure of what to say, and to those whom I knew well I said, “So, you can’t even tell me Happy New Year?” But the best greeting came when I arrived at the 12th grade classroom, where my old head of department was writing on the board and several of the girl students from our club had already spotted me through the window. When class was over, two students came running out the door to hug me and catch me up on their summers, their families, and students who have moved away.

I made my way back to the center of town to end my day at my dad’s store. I sat there while he served his clients, dreading the moment when we would say goodbye. We were never very good at it; when I had left in August, he tried to leave my house without saying anything once the motos had arrived. We sat in silence, soaking up the moments until I could tell by the sun that it was time to leave. The moto driver came, and I started my journey back to the regional capital.

My visit back was bittersweet. I had low expectations, thinking people would be mad I hadn’t called as often, or that I didn’t bring any gifts with me (a huge cultural faux pas) and I had only stayed one day (with no time to feed me dinner). I was pleasantly surprised that my visit was well-received. It rejuvenated me to be in a place with people whom I loved and who loved me. As sad as it was to leave, I knew it was not the last time I would frequent the village. I am grateful for how connected our world is, where my family, friends, and students are just a Whatsapp message away.

 

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