The Long Road Home

The long road home….

That evening the teachers were supposed to go out for dinner together. Well, they all did. But when the bus that was leaving at 7p was still in the driveway at 7:30, I got off. I could not deal with waiting for the table, the slow service, the lack of veggie options, cats everywhere, and all of the other quirks i normally found endearing about restaurants in Somaliland. K and I had popcorn and candy for dinner while we watched a movie instead. I don’t even remember which movie. I am sure I cried throughout though.

The next day, at some point mid-morning I decided I was done. I was not scheduled to leave campus for another two days or so, but I was done. I was the only one in the office, caring about leaving some semblance of order in the office and with student records and not happy about not having someone to receive my files. I was done. I had been 90% packed for a few weeks now, but I finished packing in about 45 minutes and we headed to town on the next available bus.

I honestly forget who we stayed with the first few nights. I think we headed straight to Sabaax’s house. Here two sons, H and A, were K’s best buddies. We also stayed with Ahmed, the board member that we became friends with, for a few nights. It was a nice, mellow day or two before we began adventuring in Burco.

Burco is the second largest city in Somaliland and is a few hours east of Hargeisa. Despite the students warnings about the dangers, Stephanie (a teacher), K and myself took a bus (large van) to Burco. It took five or six hours and we went through the Shiekh mountains. It was a nice drive! As always, one  of the passengers on the bus became our steward, ensuring the students were picking us up and that we had a place to stay. Its so nice to have strangers invest the time and energy to make sure we are safe and comfortable, without us even asking! I love this country.

Ramadan began a day or two before we left for our adventure. Muslims fast from sun up to sun down during this time. Steph and I were prepared to do so as well, and K knew that he would not have lots of food to eat, but that I did have peanut butter and crackers for him if he needed. Despite our intentions and desire to respect and take part in this culture, when we arrived to A’s house, her mother had a feast waiting for us- pizza, chicken, pasta, custard, fruit, samboosas, and Im sure Im forgetting some things! They are not eating all day, yet made all this food for us! And, A told her mom that I was a vegetarian. “Don’t worry,” she tells me when we are there. “She only put a little bit of meat in everything.” J

Food, TV, guest bedroom, wonderful! Kenai had all the Fanta he wanted. Life was good here! The next day we went to the market and did bought one last scarf (I may have bought two or three. My memory is fuzzy.), and went on a driving tour of the city Then, back to the house for a mid-day feast. Just Steph, Kenai and myself, as the rest were fasting. Yet there was food for twenty on the table! We did a good job of eating- Steph and Kenai ate more meat than normal, and I more carbs. A cousin came over and painted our henna too. I LOVED my full arms, and Kenai got he-who-must-not-be-named on his arm. So fun! B’s family has about eight kids, and a handful of cousins were running around too. K had fun playing with them with the soccer ball we brought. They had an outdoor area about as big as a small kitchen. We all hung out there for most of the afternoon. That evening, the father took us out for dinner. It was a lovely restaurant, complete with no menu, cats everywhere, and all of the time in the world. J

On our final day there, we stayed with R. Her family was all ladies! I could tell they were fun people. On campus, when I randomly say a Somali word in a sentence full of English, everyone gets excited! But, when in this town and at the students’ homes, it obvious how little Somali I know. I wish I was able to better communicate with these wonderful people. R is super shy too, so she did not translate too often. Even without speaking, there was a very warm and comfortable feeling among everyone.

The homes are quite modest, most with outdoor kitchens. Two of the three had pit toilets outside and no running water. I believe all three cooked over charcoal. The general set-up was one large building with a hallway down the middle and four bedrooms. One bedroom was the living room, where the guests sat. Then there was a master bedroom, a girls’ bedroom, and a boys’ bedroom. In two cases, we slept in the master bedroom. I’m still awed by their generosity and hospitality!

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Last trip to the beach.

All along Jon has been telling me that the beach is miserable. I went in Oct and it was amazing! February, lovely! April, couldn’t not have been nicer! August, miserable. I hate to say it, but in August, Jon is correct, the beach is miserable. Its super hot, the AC barely works, its windier than heck, and its just not fun. Plus, the best deal I could negotiate was $10 off our total bill. Ugh. In the water, all was great! It was warmly refreshing and not as wavey as one would think. But out of the water, the wind was blowing the sand at painful rates! Seriously, the three of us had welts on our skin because of this! At least we had a cold shower and nice meal to look forward to, or so we thought….

The service at the otherwise lovely restaurant at the hotel was really, really bad. Per the above, we understood that it was Ramadan and did not expect them to take our order right when we sat, though they did give us menus. Generally, the polite thing to do during Ramadan is when you serve everyone watermelon and dates to break fast, serve them to EVERYONE, especially the children and guests. Well, we sat through the first prayer, watched the staff break fast, chat, then pray again. Finally, the unapologetic server came over and took our order. I was not happy. And I was hungry. Watch out. K ordered French toast, per the item and description on the menu. First, he got French fries, then plain toast, then finally his order. Three times!! For our last meal out in Somaliland, this was by far my worst experience. It was disappointing to say the least.

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Heading home

You have to love that on Thursday (or whatever the day before we left was), when we are supposed to fly out on Friday we hear through the grapevine that instead of flying out of Berbera, we are flying out of Hargeisa. This is like the difference between Midway and Milwaukee and only having side streets to get you from A to B. How  are we supposed to deal with this? 

We left the beach a day earlier since we were no longer flying out of there. Finally, the van/bus left for Hargeisa after waiting quite a while to fill it up. We were about ¾ of the way home when we stopped to break fast. We pulled over to the side of the road. There was your standard, non-descript hut. A handful of men were squatting on prayer mats. We were ushered over to one and sat. Promptly, we were served slices watermelon, two bags of dates, and our samboosas. Don’t for the cup full of luke warm sugar water with a drop of tea. We sat in silence, amongst this group of strangers, silent in our own prayers, watching the dusky sky turn from light orange to deep red to black, watching the stars begin to appear one, two, fifteen at a time after the sun set. Peaceful. Quiet. Comfortable. Beautiful. We offered a few dollars for the food and cha, but no no, a stranger on the bus took care of it for us. That is what I want my last memory of Somliland to be. All was well in my soul at that moment.

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Arriving back in Hargeisa, we called the school, rather Stephanie did as I knew how warmly I’d be received. They said we just had to find our own place to stay in town because they did not want to send a car. Fabulous. So much for the warm fuzzy feeling I had moments ago.

After letting two board members know we were not welcomed at the school, we stayed with one of the students. Actually, S was the first student to have K and myself over for lunch. It was very fitting to have our last night in town be with her. Her family is truly lovely and we got to know them a bit over the year. It turned out to be wonderful.

The next morning, as S’s family took us to the airport, we passed two students- Kenai’s chess teacher and one of my favorite advisees. We could not have planned to see them, but it was great to wave one more time. Sigh.Good-bye Somaliland.

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A cry in Dubai

Though not exactly perky, I did not cry again until I could see the lights in Dubai. A week before we left, two students left for the states to begin their scholarship abroad. One of M’s first reactions was, “Why didn’t you tell us the US was this great and had all of this stuff! I had no idea!” I imagine the same lights that he awed with wonderment, I awed with resentment. Take me back to the hut on the side of the road! I am not ready to leave simple, nurturing Somaliland! I cannot handle the infrastructure, the lights, the costs, the choices, the preservatives, the fakeness, the waste, the blinders, the self-centeredness. I don’t want to leave!

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NYC to SJ

Long stories short, tea at the Plaza in NYC with Cara and Grace was a far cy from my little hut 48 hours earlier, but it was my choice to go there and I was able to enjoy it. Some of the things I have not enjoyed but had to adapt to are paying for my luggage and the suitcase dollies in the states! The US is the only place that makes you pay for luggage dollies. And tipping. It took me a few good months to get used to tipping again (and Im still not the most generous person, admittedly). Although I did pay for a ride from a random person who asked us if we needed on in JFK instead of standing in the taxi line, we had a plan: NYC with the Malcolms, Chicago with the family and friends, drive to Denver for more visiting, the to Santa Clara. Kelly would graciously house us for a while until we figured life out. I made it to the steps of JVC, where Kelly works, and then I lost it again. There were no more tangible to-dos or activities on my calendar. We had made it back to Santa Clara, where we started just over a year ago, and I had no idea what to do next.

After the Fact...

Since Im back in CA and working a ‘real job’ that has a certified risk management team making decisions about where I can or cannot travel, I’m know its not as important to keep you all informed about my life at AT, but for my sake, I want to reflect on the last few weeks there, coming back here, and the first few months of life here. All in 500 words or less! Okay, Im not limiting myself, but I am going to finish where I left off.

Happy Birthday to me. :/

One of the more memorable nights for me at AT was Jul 9^th-10^th. My birthday. A is one of my favorite students (have you noticed they are all my favorites?!?!). Yes, he is rough around the edges, usually inappropriate, and known for making the only wrong decision available when presented with 10 other right ones, but we are buddies. He has a kind heart, is very intelligent, and keeps a very watchful eye on many folks at the school, Kenai included. He has more than one run-in with the administration and this particular evening, push was coming to shove and on July 9^th, my bday eve, I was sitting in his expulsion hearing. This time, technically he ditched a class, my class. That is what he was on trial for. During that class period, when a good dozen other kids were late or also not in my class (it was a study hall on the weekend), a pair of shoes disappeared from one of the students rooms. Two of the administrators in particular are hard to deal with during these hearings. One really does view the kids as adults and treats them as such. This administrator is not good as being reserved and has to speak everything that is on his mind at the moment and make the other person feel as small and wrong as possible, including things that happened way back when and are not relevant for this conversation. The other, I think was just on a power trip. It was ugly. I hated it. He admitted he was not in the class without hesitation, and also insisted he did not take the shoes. His alibi checked out, but most were convinced he was guilty.

We sent A out of the room to discuss. Yet, there was no room for discussion. He was gone in the morning. We always have one student there, the same student, representing the student council. He said it best to one of the administrators: “You say you are like family, like a father to these kids, but when they mess up, instead of helping them you kick them out.” Well, as if I was not emotional enough already that night! Just after midnight, we called him back in and told him to go to bed, we’d talk in the morning. Happy Birthday to me. Ugh.

In contrast, a few of the girls wanted to come wish me a happy birthday at midnight. Blatantly ignoring the ‘no students in teach housing’ rule, five of them snuck over with cards in hand. They were as giddy as could be! It was a great distraction as we whispered, took a few victory pictures, and I gave them a tour of my room. After a few minutes, we were ready to sneak them back into their dorms. Well, wouldn’t you know, two teachers chose that night lay outside, chatting and star gazing. There were there for over an hour! Aye. Stiffling giggles, peeking out to see if the teachers were still there, and finally being able to tip-toe home, that is a night the girls and I will remember forever! Especially them I have a feeling. J

In the morning, I asked to be there when they told AR the news. I was told the wrong time and wrong location. Super. I walked in halfway through. No need to go into details, but it was not good. The reason Im good with A not being at the school is that I know he never would have been given a fair shot. No matter how good he was in the future, some people never would have let go of the past. I told him this and he seemed to understand. More words were exchanged as the process continued, and his family called me to ask what was going on. It was sad and heartbreaking. He can K played their last monopoly game. It was my first in a slew of upcoming goodbyes.

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I think the rest of the time passed fairly uneventfully. Eventually my two-a-days caught up to me and I threw out my back pretty badly. Very badly. About ten days (and a lot of herbal medicine) later, I was all good and out push-uping them again.

The last few days at the school were a mix of everything. Instead of class on the last day, my 7a writing class and I all made breakfast together. It was a really nice change of pace! And at the assembly the night before we said our good byes, the students were all given the chance to speak. I held it together during that, and graciously accepted so many of their wonderful gifts (including two books on becoming Muslim). The next day, however, I was a mess. It started with a miscommunication- I was supposed to help put report cards together, but no one else was there to do it. I was close to walking away, but thought the student deserved them. Then, in doing the merge, I noticed some of the grades were wrong. Whoever did the formula for GPA reconverted the grades incorrectly. Considering it should have been done 24 hours before that and I was not supposed to be doing this, I was not happy. It was frustrating to say the least, especially a half hour before I was going to say good-bye to my kiddos. The tears started. And did not stop for two days. It was endearing to see many of the boys awkwardly try to cheer me up. The girls just cried with me. Sigh. Until we met again.