Two More Days

Gina's post:
We officially have less than two days until our plane officially leaves for South Africa and then Zambia after a brief period in Philadelphia where we get to meet about 35 other PC volunteers from the health program (Scott will meet his group from the fish program 2 weeks later).

This past month has been a whirlwind of packing, moving, leaving work, and saying goodbye to friends and family in different parts of the country.  This week has been a blessing with some much needed R&R with Scott's family in Virginia and Delaware and even a day at the beach!

With all of the stress of moving behind us and the anticipation ahead, I wanted to post one of my most vivid memories of our second to last night in Yakima one week ago:

The house was completely empty except for a few boxes in the living room as remnants to go to storage the next day.  We had just taken down the bed, which was replaced by therma-rests in our bedroom.  The kitchen shelves had some food left, but all of our pots, pans and eating utensils were packed.  And then we had the "Zambia room" in the basement  . . . the place where we put everything that just MIGHT go to Zambia that we found during our move and had to consolidate to 80 pounds each.

Other than that, the house was completely empty.  The house that Scott lived in for the last 5 years and we shared for the last 3.  The house that we lovingly painted by the summer after we got married and that hosted plenty of dance parties, summer barbecues, and bonfires.  The house that we crammed 16 friends and family into for Christmas dinner and hosted dozens of out of town visitors.  The house where Scott dug irrigation ditches by hand and we zealously planted a garden.  The house that we sat by our cozy gas fireplace on cold November days and watch from the window the leaves falling from our tree-lined street.  The house that we will leave in exchange for a mud hut in an unknown area of Zambia that will become our new home for two years after we finish training.

On the second-to-last night, we had one last hurrah for the friends that have come into our lives during Scott's past 12 and my past 5 years in Yakima.  We saw co-workers that have worked with us since we started our jobs, neighbors, my former business partner, and lots and lots of friends.  Their children picked berries from our bushes, chased the neighbor's cats, played baseball and roasted marshmallows and hot dogs in our fire pit.  We gave friends free reign of our kitchen to take any leftover food from our fridge and pantry.  The evening was simple but memorable with many of our closest friends a few tears, and good long hugs. 

As the evening progressed, Scott and his friend Brad started some African rhythms on the djembes and we burned the last of our piles of no longer-needed documents that pertained to the past few years of our lives as we chatted, said goodbyes, and drank wine around the campfire.  We were basking by the fire in the carefree Yakima summer night.

The evening as I saw it was a bridge to our upcoming lives, as we will most likely have plenty of opportunities for drumming, fires, and new friends.   Although the fires will most likely be for cooking real food or burning almost all trash, or warmth during cold winter nights and the new friends may not speak English.  And we won't be surrounded by irrigation systems that turn on with timers and gas fireplaces and tree-lined streets.  Instead, we'll be able to see glorious stars and beautiful skies.  We'll listen to sounds of voices joining in unison in song for the sheer joy of celebrating the night.  What I do hope, is that when we leave our new village, the hugs, the children's laughter and the tears will penetrate us no less deeply than they did the second-to-last night in our Yakima house.