Just one more thing from Rwanda…

17 March, Nairobi, in transit to Freetown

I am surprised how emotional I felt at the Kigali airport. I mean, I’m not leaving-leaving; just going away for about two weeks, and then coming back. Maybe it’s because I finally feel on top of my game in Kigali, and I’m ready to run. Maybe it’s because this very nice older man was astonished by my Kinyarwanda. (I protest the compliment, insisting, “All I can do is greet. Mwirwe, amukuru, ni meza…Oh, and magana tano [five hundred].” “What on earth are you buying for 500?” he asks, through his wife who translates; both look incredulous that the sum nets much. “Moto rides,” I say, and they nod and smile. As he walks away, he mutters, “Only five weeks. The pronunciation is so good,” and I feel like pretty much the most awesome person ever.)

Mostly, I think it’s because the day was a bit like the dress rehearsal of the inevitable (complete with annoying duffel bag with painful shoulder strap and no wheels). I haven’t been thinking about leaving, really. In fact, I have been emotionally cheating on my airline, concocting all kinds of plans in my mind about using Facebook to sublet my NYC apartment just a few more months, sticking around, pretending there is no departure date….maybe never leaving?…

And all of the sudden, here I am, leaving.

In the meantime, who will make sure the nearly-ready lemons in our garden are plucked before they fall off the tree and rot? Who will try every day to earn a smile from Mathilde, who gives so much time and energy but holds so much of herself back unless you offer some of yourself in return? And who, most importantly, will burn the coffee on the stove on a regular basis?

Who will do these things, if I am leaving?

But coming back.

And then I realize, since the moment I first set foot in Kigali two years ago, I’ve always been coming back. Planning a return. Saving money for a ticket. Finagling bureaucracy. Scheming.

Returning to Rwanda is a state of being for me.