Today marks one year. One year since my mother called me with rumors of gunfire in Bamako. One year since I left Feremuna and got on a bus, determined to go to my friend's birthday party in Sikasso, getting stuck in Koutiala. One year since everything changed.
I don't want to linger too long, go into too many details - I lack the words and still find myself too emotional for descriptions. Looking back, I wish I'd stayed in village those last few days when there was the chance. I wish I'd taken all of the pictures I was putting off until the end, given more gifts, given more hugs. If I'd done my big grant project - a well at the maternity - in my first year, I could've left that accomplishment, not abandoned plans. If I'd known, admitted what was happening the last time I was allowed to back (those of us in safe areas were sent home for a day before they announced the evacuation and we had to really leave), I would have spent the day visiting everyone I never seemed to visit enough. I would have stayed up all night talking with Djelicat and Drissa, would have bought them sacks of rice and beans. I would have told them all what they mean to me, how much I appreciate what they gave me. My hindsight is flawless.
I am thankful for where my life has brought me. In some ways, the coup changed my life for the better - without it, I would not have come to Zambia, wouldn't have all of these fantastic experiences that are forming the direction my life will take. Heavy price, though. I'm helping out with a training today, supervising I suppose. But my heart isn't in it, and I keep getting distracted by thoughts of my mango tree lined road. So many things can change in one year.
Peace & Love
Elyse
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