Somebody call the WAHmbulance.

I've spent the past week and a half avoiding writing this, because I don't want to face the fact that this part of my journey is over and I am actually in New Jersey.

I cannot believe it was almost two weeks ago that I got into that taxi and drove away from the place I've come to call home.
After the countless times that I've watched other people leave Arusha, I was completely unprepared for my own departure.
My housemates were incredible and sweet, and made me feel so loved.
The cab ride to the airport felt like a dream. Like a really weird dream where you know you're dreaming and you're trying so hard to wake up but you just can't.
Holy crap, I didn't think I would get this emotional writing this.
But there is a group of people who live in a house in Sakina who would not be surprised at all that I'm sobbing.
There is a group of people who live in a house in Sakina whom I just want to hug and sit on the porch with and talk about our days and play stupid pranks with.

Time moves so strangely here. I feel like I just got home, and in some ways, I feel like I've been home for months. But I do not feel like I never left. I will never feel that way.
There are things that changed in my heart that are irreversible.
Never again will I be the same girl I was six months ago.
I came home with a lot of scars.
46 bug bite scars.
scars on my legs, on my knees, elbows, arms, face, and multiple bruises I have no explanation for.

But the real scars are the ones inside of me.
The ones that formed on my heart when I walked away from my kids.
The ones that represent all the memories I made, and the hard times I went through with my friends by my side.

My dear friend and room mate, Mane, wrote me a letter, and in it, she said;
      "I believe scars are the marks life leaves behind to help us remember what we have learned and lived, to remind us that we are strong and can overcome anything. They are the marks people we meet leave when they walk away, and help to remind us how important it is that they were present in that time."

She is so right.
I have scars.
All over my body.
And I also have a scar on the inside for ever single child that I love and every single mzungu I lived with who became like family to me.
I am so grateful for these scars.
They say all scars have a story, right?
I got a lot of stories.

This will be a process, living at home.
It is not easy to leave Africa and live in New Jersey.
It's weird.
That's the only word I can think of. I've been feeling weird since I got here.
But weird's not bad, and I know I'll be okay.
I have all my scars to get me through it.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'M LEAVING TOMORROW?!

It is with a heavy heart that I say goodbye to the children who have become mine.

This is so difficult, and unknowingly, they make it even harder for me by loving me back.
On Monday, I said goodbye to my kids at Cheti, and my Angel.
The kids sang me a song and gave me a gift and said thank you, and I cried.
I met Angel's family, and told her I would not see her for a while, and I cried.
She asked me when I was coming back, and I told her it would probably be at least a year, and I cried.
She got sad and said, "Okay, Teacha, I love you" and kissed me on the cheek, and I cried.
Then she called me "Mama" and I SOBBED.

Today, I said goodbye to my kids who live at the Hope Orphanage.
I brought them books and vitamins, and told them I loved them, and I cried.
We played games, and I read them stories, and I cried.
I couldn't handle it, so I walked to the back of the building, and I cried.
They all followed me to see if I was okay and give me hugs, and I cried.
We folded their laundry and sang songs, and I cried.
They told me not to go home, and I cried.
I kissed them all on the head, told them I loved them, and I cried.
I waved to them, walked out the gate, shut the door, and I cried.
Then they all ran out the gate after me to hug me one more time, and I SOBBED.

I cried on the ride home, I cried when I walked in the door, I cried when I looked at the pictures we took today, I am currently crying.

I have to do this again twice tomorrow.
I have to say goodbye to my students tomorrow morning, and I have to say goodbye to my housemates, who have become my friends and family tomorrow evening.
I hate goodbyes.

I am so happy to see my friends and family in the states, but my heart is being torn to shreds.
I cannot believe this is my last night in Africa.
It flew by.

Where did half a year go?
It went into the cracks and crevices in the rocks that line the dirt path I walk every morning.
It went into every laugh, every smile, and every tear experienced over the past five months.
It went into the hearts of all the children I have fallen in love with and who have become mine.
It went into every pang I felt in my heart when one of my kids told me they loved me for the first time.
It went into every loud night staying up laughing with my room mates.
It went into every breath expelled during meaningful conversations with my house mates about how we can possibly change the world.
It went into the heart of every wonderful person I've lived with and become friends with in this house.

I've said goodbye to a lot of my fellow volunteers over the past few months, and that was always hard.
But to look into the eyes of my babies, and tell them I'm leaving them, that I won't be back for a while, that I love them, but I have another family, that I let them love me and now I'm going away...
I have experienced very few pains greater than this.

It is with a heavy heart that I say "kwaheri".