Missing

It has been over a year and a half now since I began my journey of self-discovery.  I have cried and survived and thrived.  I have been tired and inspired.  And I have finally begun to dream of being home again.  I am exhausted so often, that I dream of the things I always took for granted.  I miss the ease of buying food as I please.  I miss being clean (though while I am luckier than most volunteers in the world in that I have running water and a shower, it’s sometimes very hard to convince myself that jumping into a freezing downpour is worth it). 

 

I miss putting time and effort into my physical appearance.  It’s hard to care about cosmetics at 6 in the morning when it’s still dark and I can barely see my face because there’s no lighting in my room.  I miss men with dirty minds keeping their dirty thoughts to themselves.  I miss sitting inside a car, wearing a seatbelt, while traveling.  I miss having a plethora of opportunities to be with my family.  I miss washing machines and clothes that are more than pretend clean.

 

Despite that fact that many of my conversations now center around my dreams of first world wonders, I know that I am and always will be absolutely in love with Namibia.

 

I love the mezmorizing shades and contours of the clouds which meander across the sky.  I love the subtle change of the landscape as precious rain falls, transforming the barren bush land into a lush feeding ground for life-giving herds.  I adore the fact that in Africa we share, regardless of how meager that sharing may be.

 

I love the scree’s and cha-churs of a thousand avians migrating across the mighty expanse of wilderness.  I will never forget the barely perceivable munch of masticating worms as newly green trees slowly return to being bare.  The rays of concentrated light breaking through the clouds, highlighting the beauty of the world, will always warm my heart. My olfactory senses being bombarded by the smell of newly fallen rain and animals and LIFE will always make me smile. 

 

I am awestruck by the sheer expanse of inspiration at every turn of the head.  The unidentifiable shades of an African sunset will always keep me guessing for words no tongue or pen or lens have ever accurately conveyed.  My heart skips a beat at the fiery tips of Thornwood trees as said sunset crashes into the horizon.  I love the rejoicing of voices young and old as the sky turns slate and thunder shakes their bones.  And I love the fact that at many times laughter and smiles are far better forms of communication than nouns and verbs.

 

As my time here begins to speed up, I know that these little things will become so much more important than the comforts of home.  Of course I will love those comforts, but while I may be back in America in less than a year, my heart will always be in Namibia.