Not ironically, not sarcastically. I genuinely love good-byes. As heart-wrenching as they are, formal, final goodbyes demand a different kind of expression than we normally allow ourselves.
My last day in Rwanda started quietly, with the chirp of a single bird. Her song woke me up around 4:30 – a whopping 3 hours before my alarm. I fought the reflex to get up for a little while, but then it occurred to me that the earlier I was ready, the more time I’d have to find and hug as many kids as possible. I packed up my things and tucked them safely away at the front gate, and then paused to take in the spectacular morning that I had pretty much all to myself. The birds sang to me, the mountain mist frosted the distant hills, the eucalyptus scented air tickled my lungs, and the sounds of the Villagers waking up were music to my hungry ears, desperate to commit each sensation to memory.
A few days ago, I wrote about doing my best to just feel open and ready. That has translated into working hard not to make too many concrete plans – just let the day take me where it will. That mindset has allowed me to have beautiful moments and serendipitous reunions that I couldn’t possibly have planned and would certainly have missed had I been attached to an itinerary. This morning was no different.
By 6:30, the kids were trickling into the dining hall, and though it hadn’t been my plan to eat breakfast with them, the morning made it known that that is where I should be. I sat with some of the girls and told them to start collecting their classmates so I could say goodbye. After breakfast, I wandered down to my family house to hug each of my girls one more time.
Relationships in the Village are interesting things. Some kids are easy to get close to – they are usually the ones who have the best English. Some kids will seek you out and others will love you from afar. Some kids avoid building relationships with Cousins altogether – too painful to say goodbye. Returning was a plot twist– it was interesting to see kids who I had thought I was close to keep their distance, and other who hadn’t previously been major characters make it known that they wanted to be important to me.
For each relationship, a different goodbye is appropriate. For many kids, I blew a kiss and threw a quick wave – I popped into classrooms and family houses and announced my love and my leaving. For others, a long, silent, tearful hug was the right thing. Some goodbyes never ended – we’d part and then a few minutes later, run into each other and have to do it all over again. Needless to say, I didn’t bother with makeup this morning, and I almost got rid of my glasses (very annoying to wipe tears under glasses) but then realized I wouldn’t be able to see who I was crying about.
After taking a lap up to the School, around the Village, back up to the School, and around to all of the classrooms three times, it was almost 9 and I had already hit my 10,000 steps for the day. I decided I had caught as many kids as I could, and though there were still a handful left I wanted to make sure I saw, the Village is too big a place to find a single person who doesn’t have a phone. I decided the best thing to do was to plant myself on a bench in the middle of the Village and be as visible as possible in the hopes the kids would find their way to me.
Like the blessings they are, each kid on my list happened to pass by and I had the chance to speak and hear the most loving words a person can muster. They thanked me for loving them and teaching them, for putting books in their hands and delicious words in their minds. They told me how hard it had been for them to adjust to their subsequent English teachers, and how much they talked about me to the younger students. They looked me deep in the eyes and told me earnestly how much I had changed their lives for the better – and I believed them.
In turn, I thanked them for the joy they have brought into my life. I thanked them for the good choices they had made that had allowed them to achieve their graduation day – out of our class of 144 students who arrived four years ago, several were unable to graduate with their cohort for various reasons. I encouraged them to keep in touch, use me as a reference, and chase after every single opportunity that comes their way. And when my words failed me – as they often did – I held them close and I cried and cried and cried some more.
Finally, mercifully, it was time to get on a bus and take one last bumpy ride down the dirt road that lead me away from some of the people I love most in this world. I got to Kigali around noon and had a few hours to spend before getting on a horrendous flight back to D.C. Though I was physically and emotionally exhausted, I wanted to spend time with however many alumni I could find. Ange came by the house for a final hug, and Mabubu – who is two years away from a degree in hospitality and tourism – came by to oversee my last hours and make sure I made it to the airport on time and in one piece.
We went for a walk and brainstormed dissertation topics and met Modeste for a final meal because I had a handful of francs left and two hungry young men to feed. Modeste insisted that he pay for his meal, but I snapped at him – don’t you dare deprive me the opportunity to feed you one last time. All of my students received the same promise – call me when you’re in college and I’ll come to take you out for dinner. How lucky I’ve been to make good on that promise for three more students this week.
Saving my two hardest goodbyes for last was an interesting choice. Modeste and Mabubu are arguably two students with whom I have the deepest relationships. Not favorites – but it’s hard not to have incredibly deep relationships with people who actively and intentionally spend the bulk of their free time sitting next to you.
My Modeste – who towers over me – wrapped his arms around me and caught me in a hug that said more than either of our words ever could. We’ll meet again, we promised, as he smiled his charming smile and I fought back tears like the puddle that I am.
Just then, Kigali started crying with me, as the raincloud that had been threatening us for hours finally decided to make itself known. Mabubu summoned two motos, and we rushed to pick up my luggage and take a death-defying ride to the airport before the downpour would make our travel even more miserable than it needed to be.
With lead feet, I dragged myself toward the entrance of the airport, pausing to give one last hug and cry one last time (jk, I’m still crying). Like so many of his siblings, Mabubu seized the opportunity to give his heartfelt thanks for the moments of love he’ll never forget. Naturally, my response was lost in my tears, but I managed to thank him for getting me to the airport and being with me until the very last page of this chapter ended.
With no plans to return to Rwanda any time soon, the only thing left to do is head home and adjust to the reality that I may never reunite with these people who carry pieces of my soul. That being said, I am so grateful for this chance to come full circle and bear witness to the transformations I helped cultivate. Though their futures are still uncertain, my cousins are ready and raring to go out into the world to find themselves and I cannot wait to see what they’ll do, where they’ll go, and who they turn out to be. Isonga and Umurage – it has been a great privilege to be your teacher and a true delight to be your cousin. Ndagukunda cyane 💚🧡
Where The Sidewalk Ends 