So, what was it REALLY like?

The slip of paper read. I stared bewildered. How am I supposed to respond to that?

What was it really like?

It was like watching myself grow old. Students who had never been to a proper school before, wearing hand-me-down khakis, grew to become young men and women. Babies were born and died. Goats were born and killed. Girls became mothers. Boys became farmers and carpenters. Old women stopped going to the fields and stayed home to watch growing numbers of children crawl in the spaces between legs, pots and mudwalls. I saw new buildings, new enterprise and growth. I saw displacement, decay and neglect.

What was it really like?

It was like watching Sisyphus toil for two years. Tears well up in my eyes when I think about the quiet afternoons shelling sesame seeds with Mama at the storefront, listening to her loud, percussive lectures in Fon. She gets up, stirs something in a pot with one hand, shoos a goat with the other, serves a customer, gives change to a child, hails a passing motorcycle all with the other other hand which has yet to reveal itself. She won't sit again until it is night, and her grown children have scrubbed the blackened rice pots. Women walk by with enormous logs on their heads shouting, "E-Kabo Wit-taou", I bow low in my awkward whiteness as they sweat on by. Miriam comes for a visit, walking slowly, waving shyly and balancing an enormous, heavy tray of shoes on top of her head she’d like to sell to make money for her baby’s medicine. Papa snores drunkenly under the shea tree.

What was it really like?

It was like listening to a symphony of car crashes. The quiet sitting of funerals. E-Ku-jo-ko. The slow, back-bent dance at weddings. The miraculous births. E-ku-djoun. The homecomings, the liberation ceremonies, the drums. The many, many fights. The bleating goats and screeching chickens. The women calling out "Awadja!" at market.

What was it really like?

It was like re-coming home. While here, in Africa, in a new community, I have been fortunate enough to rediscover the community I left behind. The unfailing support of my parents and friends, the dedication to my projects and goals, has been as much a blessing as it has been a surprise. My projects have all found their funding, and have either been implemented or are almost there. I could never have done my work here if not for the army of people that work at home. I am excited to go back and make it up to all of you.

What was it really like?

This question was part of a game during our Close-of-Service Conference. We were all to answer one question out of nearly 50 frequently asked questions for RPCVs. When I saw the slip of paper, tears sprung to my eyes.

What was it really like?

It was wonderful. And thank you. Thank you.