The Last Last

While preparing to leave the place I have called home for the past two years, I have noticed a constantly increasing frequency of "lasts". For some, the event was planned and executed with all attention worthy of a final moment:

• my last camping trip
• the last neighbor's phone charged at my house
• my last roof-top sunset at Fambone
• my last shopping trip in the Central Market
• my last hike with Sticky
• my last time at the Peace Corps Office in Nampula
• my last lunch with Tojo

Many others just passed without even being noticed, to only be recognized as "lasts" after the fact:

• the last class I taught
• my last time eating xima
• my last brolocue dinner
• my last transit police passport check
• my last bucket bath
• my last power outage
• the last person saying licensa (excuse me) when they approached my house
• the last time I bought phone credit
• the last time I handwashed underwear
• the last time I was called macuna

Whether planned or not, with each of these "lasts" came not only feelings of nostalgia and relief, but also reflections on the impact these major and insignificant activities had on my life here:

• How one of my strongest friendships grew out of having a neighbor who had no electricity at her house, so she would ask to charge her cellphone at mine
• How I found the central market so overwhelming at the beginning that I always took the exact same route through it each time I went food shopping. Now I count my tomato lady as a close friend
• How Dylan, Eric, and I would always find a way to make something unique and special for our group dinners, whether it be special spices, strange ingredients, or just exorbitant amounts of cheese
• How up until the day I left Molocue, former students would still yell "BINGO" at me as I walked down the street. As far as they're concerned, I invented our favorite classroom game
• How I would normally pause a workout towards the end so that I could get water boiling for my post workout bucket bath
• How I became so used to being woken up by an early morning visitor saying licensa until I emerged from my house, that I am now up-and-about by 5am, even if I have nothing to do
• How it became normal to be considered part of everyone's families: I was Sergio's brother, Celias's uncle, Tojo's father, and even Agostinho's 67 yr old sister's son
• How Sticky would always sprint out from under the bed the moment I dropped an empty tuna can on the floor to lick out the oily fishiness
• How the moment Tojo would arrive at my house I would get up to find something to do, because his work ethic made me feel lazy to be just sitting at a computer typing
• How I was meticulous about always having a lighter in my pocket and candles in a predictable location, because you'd never know when the power would decide to just cut out

After having spent two years retelling the stories of and reflecting on my experiences that have filled the 67 posts on this blog, it is time for my last last. Thanks to everyone who has followed me on this amazing and life changing journey I have been on. Being able to share with you the struggles and successes that come with being a Peace Corps Volunteer have made me feel both understood and supported. I hope to run into all of you sometime soon, and if not, to hear from you about your adventures and accomplishments.

Keep Exploring,

Samuel Bar

The inscription on one of the two benches I built at my school