12/30/11, 9:46 p.m. (Eastern Standard Time)
Xhosa may not have separate words for “he” and “she,” or “blue” and “green,” or even definite and indefinite articles, but Xhosa people do know how to give a proper farewell. There are separate phrases for whether you or the other person are the leaving party—“hamba kakuhle” for “go well” or “sala kakuhle” for “stay well.” Both can be poetically translated to “goodbye,” which seems like an appropriate subject for my final entry in this blog. I realize I’ve been out of Cape Town for exactly 20 days now, so it seems like this is coming a bit late. Now that I’ve unpacked everything, sent off gifts, decorated my room with South African treasures, and developed ridiculous amounts of photos, I guess part of me realized that this blog marked the last loose end of the trip. Once I send this out into cyberspace my African adventure is over, so I better tie up the loose ends with a big, pretty bow.
I did indeed get a proper farewell from my amaXhosa. Attendance at Home From Home had been dwindling for weeks, and was especially small that last week because of graduation the Saturday before. Speaking of graduation, it was a great day where all the 6-year-olds had new outfits and hairstyles and the daycare was humming with excitement. The Christmas sketch and carols, my contribution, went really well and I may or may not have shed a tear as each of them received their diploma (a laminated paper with their picture and name on it) and when I saw how proud their parents were. Graduation culminated in a lunch where I got to eat mainly with my hands and had the honor of getting my soda bottle opened by a mother’s teeth. On my last day at Home From Home, I brought in the ingredients for no-bake cookies to make with the few kids that still showed up. It was a happy chaos of peanut butter, oatmeal, and chocolate. I thought I would be able to keep my composure the entire day, but when I heard CCS van honk (or hoot, as locals say) I immediately started bawling. The children seemed slightly mystified, but some of the staff was slightly misty-eyed. After several rounds of hugs, I passed through the gate one last time. On the drive out of Khayelitsha, I spotted one of the 6-year-olds who I hadn’t seen since graduation and we made eye contact. My last vision of the beautiful if troubled community in which I worked is of Asemahle vigorously waving at me from the dusty street.
That afternoon, my last time at Sarah Fox Children’s Hospital carried out much in the same fashion, with the babies and I having a great time until the van showed up and I lost it again. Although it was my second placement it was harder to leave those children, because without volunteer attention they are in a much less loving, engaging environment than the daycare kids, and especially because they are all sick—that’s why they are at Sarah Fox at all. I got the biggest hug in the history of embraces from Lukhona, a 2-year-old who couldn’t walk when I got there and after 8 weeks of laps around the ward was waddling around proudly. Once I returned to the CCS Homebase, it was after office hours so most of the staff had already left. However, much to my delighted surprise, the program director Luann called to say she would be stopping by the next morning in order to say goodbye to me. I spent all that day in my traditional shweshwe dress, alternating time out with other volunteers and packing in my room, which was once a bustling epicenter of giggly female energy and now just seemed hopelessly empty. When Faried, the always slimy yet endlessly entertaining ATS driver, picked me up to go the airport, all the volunteers accompanied me to the van to see me off. A day and a half later, I was flying into the Philadelphia International Airport.
As I write this sitting on my bed, I look around my room which was starting to get the aura of a rustic farmhouse before I left. Now, I see the framed elephant footprint on the wall, the Zulu passport mask on my dresser, and the tin art painting of Khayelitsha and vuvuzela in my bookcase. It’s an odd conglomerate but it makes sense as the room of Taylor. I’m in a whirlwind stage of my life and I’m interested in a lot of things. Going into this trip, I wished for clarity coming out of it, and I think I’ve gotten some. I now have a better idea of where to go from here. In the near future, I sent off my application today to volunteer at a branch of the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia here in Kennett Square, and I’m in the process of planning a trip up to Connecticut and New York next week to visit CCS friends. Farther off, working with HIV+ children now has me looking into making a career out of research in virology, public health, and communicable diseases. Plus, the Mother City never lets you go from her tender embrace. Children’s laughter and strains of the stirring national anthem, “Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika,” still waft over the Atlantic like the songs of sirens. Maybe this isn’t goodbye; maybe it isn’t the end of a journey. Perhaps it’s only the beginning.
