Refreshed Ambition

Last Thursday I left my house in Manjacaze to spend 62 hours traveling to Tampa, FL for my Grandpa Nick’s Celebration of Life ceremony. I was having major anxiety about the trip for many reasons. 

First off, I had to take multiple chapas to get to the bus station, an over night bus to Johannesburg (walked across the border in the middle of the night), a train from the bus station to the airport, spend 14 hours in the airport waiting for my flight to leave, and then three planes taking me from Johannesburg to Frankfurt to Chicago to Tampa. The sheer amount of time not sleeping horizontally, and navigating from Maputo to the Joburg airport for the first time was enough stress as it is. But there’s more…

The past month has been really hard for me. First, grandpa died. Then our fellow (smart, witty and beautiful) volunteer Drew died within two weeks of each other. I had never processed through the death of a loved one before and now I had two people that I knew and cared about die within the same month. And my family is across the globe. Mozambique became 1000x more foreign to me during the weeks following those two deaths. Quite frankly, I hated everything. I cried every morning when I woke up and every night before I went to bed. I had to muster up lots of energy to do anything…but at the same time if I stopped moving the pain would come rushing through my veins full blast and I would keel over with unstoppable tears. Try maintaining continuous movement with the energy level and motivation of a clinically depressed person. It’s pretty grueling. 

While my students do motivate me, pressure was building in that arena, too, because provincial exams were fast-approaching and I was behind in the curriculum. I wanted my students to be set up for success and I wasn’t sure I would have enough time before leaving for the States to cover all the material that would show up on the test. I did the best I could and I’m still not sure it was enough. 

I was resenting the kissing and the hissing more than usual, dreaded leaving my house to face unwanted attention from literally everyone, and wasn’t even cooking real meals. Yogurt and granola was normal for dinner. I couldn’t control my moods and would go from happy to sad to happy to angry to normal to pissed to happy to sad without being able to predict when these moods would come or even where they were coming from. I was a disaster to be around and I knew it but couldn’t help it. It was bad. 

My return flight to Moz was scheduled to leave Tampa on Friday, April 22, which also happens to be my birthday. After a week with close family, zero unwanted male attention, running water and working out in a gym, I wasn’t sure I would be able to get on the plane and come back to Moz. That was my biggest source of anxiety: What if I can’t get on the plane?

…

Then something beautiful happened. 

I stayed with my good college friend Kendall my first two nights in Tampa, and as I was telling her all about what my life was like there, I called Mozambique “home” without even realizing it. I enjoyed talking about my life there, my projects, neighbors and students. I wasn’t telling her about the shit that I hated, I was telling her about my wins and my adventures and this amazing man who I know is my person. Sure, I mentioned the lack of anonymity and the disorganized education system, which are struggles for me, but most of my stories were told with a joy and passion that had temporarily disappeared over the last month. At one point, Kendall and NIck said, “I couldn’t do what you’re doing.”

And I said, “I can.”

And I believed it. I Can.

Throughout the week I shared stories of my successes, struggles, embarrassing moments, joyful moments, and ridiculously awesome adventures with my dad, mom, aunts and grandma. I did so with a feeling of pride and a subtle longing to go back. Needless to say, that surprised me…in the best way. 

My stories made me realize not only that I belong here, and I have already created so many memories that I wouldn’t trade for the world, but also that I am making a difference in the lives of my students. Their grades aren’t all As and they will likely still try to cheat right in front of my face, but there are little hints along the way that let me know that I have planted some seeds. And in time they will bloom into some pretty extraordinarily bright human beings. 

This morning (or actually yesterday morning) before I left for the Tampa airport, my Grandma Ginnie (a true pearl) looked me in the eyes, and as tears ran down her face said,

“You are making a difference Sarah. I know it. You make a difference to everyone who knows you. Just remember that.” And I told her I love her. And I left with a feeling of refreshed ambition to do what I went to Mozambique to do.

So here I am sitting in the bus station waiting to take an 11-hour ride from Johannesburg to Maputo and I am not sad. I am rejuvenated. I am ready to take the wonderful with the terrible and start each day with a deep breath and end each day with a feeling of contentedness, at the very least. I know that some days will still be nearly unbearable and other days will be filled with so much joy I might explode. And that’s okay. Because I know I can do it.