I walk into our room, probably for the last time. As I look around, I realize how empty it looks. All of the clothes are neatly (lol maybe) packed away, all of our drawings we put on the walls gone, and all of our blankets and sheets neatly folded and placed on one singular bed. The air is cool, just as it always is in the early afternoon, but this time it feels… Different. Less comfortable, more freezing. Less like home, and more like a singular concrete room with 5 bunks in it.
As I look at my bed, the one with the sheets and such on it, I realize how bland it looks now. Just a plain metal bunk bed with an old spring mattress on it, no longer my safe-haven to disappear to when I want to read; no longer my cozy little bed that’s always waiting when I’m exhausted.
There’s still individual items on each of the beds, waiting for their owners to come get them before embarking on their next leg of their journey.
As I sit there, thinking, Libby comes in with Abigail and she says that she just said goodbye Dushe, our wonderful chef and Albanian Grandma. She says that she never realized how much that she was going to miss this farm. We both start crying and I say that I never would have guessed that I wouldn’t want to leave. That I wanted to stay and have the monotonous foods and jobs of the day. That I wanted the weird weather and uncomfortable beds. Abigail starts crying as well, and we all come together and just cry in what would have been our room. Soon someone comes in to find some of us and is startled that we’re all crying. We have three others come in and offer words of encouragement as we try to hold in our tears. We then head back upstairs, for the last time, to take a Polaroid of us with Dushe for her to keep. As soon as the pictures taken, we all start tearing up again. I give Dushe a hug and a kiss on the cheek and I see that she’s crying as well, and I lose it. I start crying and I run down to the second floor to sit and let my silent tears out. Abigail, Christal, Jen, and Libby come down the stairs and see me huddling my legs and crying. Libby takes my hand and leads me down the stairs as we go to grab our packs and head to the bus. I pick up my pack and I look around to find if we’re heading to the bus yet, and I get the good to go. I walk towards the gate and look up at the third floor, expecting to see Dushe seeing us off. She’s standing there, as faithful as she always has been, and I yell “te dua, Dushe! merë bob-Shem!” (I love you Dushe! Good bye!). As I had what felt like a hundred times before. I walk down the dirt road that leads to the main road for the last time. It ends too soon, with the last of it ending in what we named “Lake LightForce” (because it’s a huge puddle that you can’t get around). I walk to the bus and give my pack to the man whose waiting to load it up and get on. Soon enough, the bus is pulling out and I’m watching the road that we’ve walked so often disappear in front of me. Instead of going straight to head to town, we turn onto the highway.
I’m sitting on this bus, writing this and watching the fields and car washes and cafes of Albania go by, and knowing I’m going to miss this country just as much as I miss Nicaragua.
In a few hours, we’re going to be boarding a plane and flying to first Istanbul and then to Manila. Our next ministry is awaiting us, and our host is excited for our arrival. Our next chapter is about to unfold, and we’re in for quite a ride.
