The truth: my heart’s not in it. It started as a tense and loveless relationship, and I’ve concluded that it’s better to be selfish than break myself trying to make things work in Africa. In one deep breath, I’m looking forward to coming home.
It wasn’t the city so much as the circumstances. With no separation between work and play, a home office, living/working/socializing with the 40+ crowd, it was hard not to see myself fading away. The bi-monthly beach parties and marathon treadmill runs got me through the first three months, but at the cost of my sanity (not to mention the blisters). It’s hard not to feel defeated, but I know I can do a lot more good in a city where archaic thinking isn’t so entrenched in personalities and social practices.
There was no contract, there was no security, and I fell face-first into an opportunity to cut ties and ran with it. The bitterness is mutual, but tensions have eased in the seven days since D-day and it’s not completely unbearable to be at the sitting at the same table with a person you feel has wronged you, and who is more than happy to play the victim. I’m hoping to fly out as soon as some last minute papers go through, hopefully the first week of June. I won’t hold grudges – but it’s time to go home.
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