Bittersweet.

As I get closer and closer to the end of my service in South Africa, each day brings new emotions that can only be summarized by one of my favorite words: bittersweet. The last couple of weeks have really made my quickly approaching end date hit hard. Maybe it’s because two of my closest volunteers are leaving in December, maybe it’s end-of-the-year melancholy, or maybe it’s because my friends and coworkers have just acknowledged that I’m not staying in South Africa much longer (or as they wish, forever).

The last month or so I have been getting antsy to leave. My programs are finishing up, I’m passing projects to local counterparts, and I find myself with less to do.  I’m excited to travel for a couple of months and then to get a job (hopefully!) in the States. I’m ready to stop my nomad ways and be home with friends and family.  Leaving seemed so sweet.

Then, last week, the winds shifted.  All of a sudden I couldn’t imagine having to leave in December. My friends and counterparts started expressing to me how much I have made a difference and how many good things I have brought to the village. (It seemed I waited two years for this vote of confidence and thank you).  Parents wanted to make sure I warned them at least a month in advance before leaving.  Friends said they couldn’t say goodbye because they would cry.  I tried to treasure the painting-esque views, watching the storms come my way down the valley, knowing I’d miss it. I cherished the kids running after me on my daily runs, laughing hysterically because it really is that funny to run with a white girl. Mostly, I tried to imagine how I would say goodbye to the family, my family, which made it clear from day one that I belonged. How to say a goodbye that, unlike most, seems so definite. Leaving seemed so bitter.

Luckily, I still have about four more months in South Africa to treasure the place and the people I have come to love.  I plan to spend my last months just loving everything and soaking it in, not worrying about anything else. One thing is for certain, though, leaving is always bittersweet.

Thanks to all you TOMS Shoes wearers

As most of you know, TOMS gives a pair of shoes away for every pair of shoes that is bought. I know I’ve always wondered where those shoes end up, and now I know! I was able to work with local Giving Partners to organize for shoes to be given to every learner at the primary school in my area. The teachers and I spent a couple of days passing out all of the shoes, which are black canvas, so that they can be worn as part of the school uniform.  It was a ton of fun getting to see all of the learners receive shoes, and the fun didn’t stop there. The next week, I had every single parent in the village stop me to thank me for the wonderful shoes and everything I have done. Now that’s what I call a pick me up.

Volunteering at the Hospital (aka playing with cute kids)

Last month, I started volunteering at the local hospital every Friday morning. I go to the Pediatric Ward at 8am, just after everyone bathes. I usually bring some kind of craft (crayons, beads, etc) to get the morning started. I spend the morning playing with the kids (nothing more, nothing less) and it makes their week.  A lot of the kids aren’t there from one week to the next because they are discharged but some are in on a long term basis, depending on their illness.

One of my favorite baby boys is about two years old. He has the fattest cheeks I have ever seen and loves to pick things up only to throw them on the ground. He was abandoned on the side of the road and brought to the hospital.  He needs more love than anyone I’ve ever met and cries every time he is put down (but you can’t really blame him).  On my second visit, he decided I was his mom and kept trying to go for my non-existent breast milk.  He would call after me, “Ma! Ma!” even after the other kids and I explained his mom wasn’t around. If I could take one baby home with me, he’d win hands down.

Another one of my favorites is a young boy who has spinal TB that has left him temporarily paralyzed from the waist down.  Even through months in the hospital, he is one of the happiest kids I know.  As soon as I walk through the doors, he is calling me over, insisting I get him into a wheelchair. The first time I brought him outside, he flung himself onto the ropes of the play set and pulled himself up to the top. I was terrified he would fall but he was fearless.

A lot of times the pediatric ward can be gloomy: sad stories, sad conditions, sick kids; but, as I’ve gotten to know a couple of patients, what’s really amazing is their resilience.