Kwaheri, Kenya

For my last days in Nairobi, I felt like I had a giant ticker in my periphery counting down the hours, minutes, seconds. I loved my time in Kenya, but oh how I wanted to get back home. My trip here was punctuated with choppy phone calls, spurts of condensed emails, frustrated miscommunications from back home.  And as much as I wanted to stay in Kenya, to explore more of its land and language and love, I could feel the time running out. I preoccupied myself with the image of falling into my parent's hug, a great welcome home. I was so excited to show them what I had seen, have them feel what I felt. I wanted them to get it.

On my last day of class, my students showered me with hugs and hand-written letters. I embraced my third graders. Their room had been my home at Rumwe. I fought back tears. Francis flashed me his giant smile. Otieno gave me a fist bump and a goofy grin. These kids would turn into memories in just a few hours.

I walked back to Winnie's alone. The sky was overcast and the bumps in the dirt road tripped me, as if I hadn't figured out their course. I got my usual stares, but I liked to think that the residents of Kangemi had gotten use to my presence. I bought a cut of pineapple for 10 shillings, a little ritual Floss and I had started only two weeks back. It was sweet and dripping down my hand. I still couldn't bring myself to throw the wrapper on the ground, though no one would have thought twice.

Me and Winnie

I packed up my bags then ate my final Kenyan meal as I waited for my taxi driver to arrive. I had scheduled a pick up, hoping to have plenty of extra time at the airport. This was only my second international flight and I had been raised by Nate Seely, who taught me leave more than enough time to twiddle my thumbs in the terminal before take off. But the car seemed to stop more than it started and once, to my horror, the driver actually turned off the engine and flipped open his phone to chat with a buddy. Ineffective traffic circles and constant red lights threatened my timetable. I checked my phone every thirty seconds just to see the minutes slipping by. I breathed through the Nate-inspired panic attack that was building up.

I arrived at the gate with 20 minutes to spare. Good enough.

In order to defeat the disabling jet-lag of international travel, I forced myself to stay awake on my first flight and hoped to sleep soundly on my second. Of course, I was too optimistic and barely slept for two days. I came down with self-induced sickness.  It was a whirlwind from baggage claim to the car. I answered my parent's questions though I was exhausted. I took them through my photos and videos and we talked about the lifestyle I had temporarily adopted.

But my mind was preoccupied. I couldn't afford to rest and relax. I had come home on this particular date for a reason. I cut my trip short because I had bigger plans. I arrived home just in time for my first day of intensive training with Mama Hope,  a nonprofit, in San Francisco. I had been selected to participate in their 9-month fellowship program and the kickoff bootcamp was tomorrow. I had to ignore my exhaustion and coughing and light-headedness. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity to be fully immersed in the international development world and I was about to embark on a journey that would take me to new territory.

I was about to build a health clinic in Uganda.