Today was the official day of departure for me. It was so surreal. The entire time I swear it felt like I was dropping off someone else; that I would be returning to the apartment afterwards and we would spend another night laughing at the dinner table and playing games until obscene hours of the night. Reality quickly set in after I said my goodbyes, though. I managed to hold myself together without really feeling any sadness while I hugged my co-parts before entering customs, which, to be honest, I was shocked at myself for—I was joking and smiling the whole time while I held my crying friends! But the second I turned my back to them and handed my passport to the guy over the desk it hit me like a brick wall. I finally processed that that was probably the last time I would be seeing any of those people ever again. The truth behind the fantastical thought of “we will get together again one day” finally sunk in, and the poor TSA guy had to suffer the consequences of that. He offered me tissues and tried to console me while also validating my exit from the country, which in hindsight is kind of hilarious, but at the time he was my only light in a dark tunnel. Finally he stamped me through and I had to give one last wave to my team—my family. In true fashion, I princess waved, blew kisses, and headed into security. Now that leaves me here, on the plane to Johannesburg, afraid to open my sugar cubes (letters from my team mates), a glass of wine in hand, listening to sad music and eyes burning from copious amounts of waterworks.
I should probably explain that I’m not sad to be heading home in the sense that I prefer Mauritius or dread returning to San Diego. Rather, I’m thrilled about the prospect of being with my family in a familiar city, but it’s hard to give up everything that I have established in this foreign country. When I think about it, I’ve worked so unbelievably hard to figure out their way of life, to make friends, to get a routine, to understand the cultural norms, to learn about myself in more ways than I can explain. It’s absurd, really. Everything that I worked for in this country led me to happiness. Yes, there were plenty of failures—overcooked dinners, dressing incorrectly for the weather, angering managers of NGOs—but there were also so many successes. I developed a family and a support system; I learned to cook for myself and self-motivate to exercise; I figured out how to use public transportation; I tried new foods and didn’t die; I learned how to say a few things in several different languages; I found a way to deal with impossible people… I could go on for hours about the things that went right or wrong. It’s these things, the accomplishments as well as the failures that make me sad to leave. I feel like I finally understood my role in Mauritius just a little before I had to leave, and that’s what makes it hard to go—knowing that I had finally got it, and knowing that I may never return to it ever again.
Additionally, it’s hard to leave my friends. After spending every waking moment with these people, it’s so difficult to leave. It’s unfathomable that I won’t wake up to Amarindi’s face tomorrow morning, or cook dinner with Sam or joke around with Cynthia and Wesley… that I won’t get to spend time with any of them anymore. I know that we will always be in each other’s lives via social media, but it’s not the same. The intimacy that this summer forced all of us into was what made us bond on such a deep level. It created a foundation of friendship that eventually developed into love for one another. I would jump off of bridges for any of those people, simply because they have formed such a place in my heart. For this reason, walking away from them was almost impossible.
It’s incredible to think that my 8 weeks in Mauritius has officially come to a close. Seriously, that was the fastest two months of my life, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. While yes work was essentially nonexistent, the people and incredible experiences that I had made up for it. I’m going to miss a million aspects of Mauritius…. the man we befriended that sells roti at the bus station, the late nights spent debating religion, our mocking of Cynthia’s Spanish by pronouncing words with an American accent, the pretty blue color of the walls in my bedroom when the sun light them up, the view of the sunset from our deck, Amarindi’s creepy staring, the stick we made into a house pet named Penny, the clear blue waters of Blue Bay, the sugar cane fields we pass by every day on the bus, the sore throats after Karaoke night, the days of no wifi when we spent hours at the dinner table discussing life, the thousands of languages and accents I could hear when everyone was in one room, the morning runs to the top of the crater, the pack of stray yet playful dogs that hover outside our apartment, the unbelievably friendly gate guard that always welcomed me home with a smile and wave, blaring music in Aslams van, the strobe lights in OMG nightclub, the afternoons spent tying gecko homes to trees, listening to “If I Die Young”, “Le Tournier”, “Chop my Money” and various Sega on repeat, the puzzle that was deciphering what the label on raw chicken said at Sik Yu En (the local grocery store), the generosity of the locals, the sound of Jeremy’s ringtone going off every five seconds, the street vendors that cover every square inch of sidewalk space, the chaos of Port Louis, the walk to the bus station, Samosa lady in Mahebourg, the name of local buses (i.e. The Tampon, Spiderman, Love Will Bring You Happiness), the cold showers, the constant hum of conversation in the common room, Sureyya’s wildly inappropriate sayings in the most questionable of settings, the particular shade of light blue that the sky is on sunny days, the nights spent watching movies on the projector, the times we used each other’s bodies as canvases for henna….even the constant rain in Curepipe. I will be so sad to relinquish any of these things, since they have become such an integral part of my life that I’m not entirely sure I know how to function without them anymore. But the combination of all of these amazing memories and experiences is what made my summer so fantastic. Not to toot my own horn, but I’m really proud of myself. I survived 8 weeks abroad, and am returning with so much more knowledge about myself and about people in general. That’s not to say I’m returning an entirely new person, but I really do think I have changed this summer. I feel more mature, more ready to embrace adulthood and make changes in my life, and more passionate for the things I care about. I’ve come to appreciate a thousand things about American culture, and also have come to realize some norms that I no longer see as appropriate. Overall, I just feel a little worldlier. I came to Mauritius with my eyes half-mast and return to the U.S. with them just a little more open.
Well, I think that might be about it…Only 29 more hours of travel until I’m home and reunited with my amazing family!!! This summer has been one to remember, and possibly one of the best of my life. I will always, always, always want to return to Mauritius because it is absolutely one of the most incredible places I’ve ever been to for a thousand different reasons. I’d even go so far as to consider myself part Mauritian at heart… this country and these people have made such a mark on me.
Thank you again for reading, and for the last time:
au revoir!
