Looking out over the wing and seeing nothing but clouds and sunshine, I’m having a hard time processing the idea that I’m actually going home. Like home. I’m on my way home from Nicaragua, where I’ve been for the past two months. My mind is going, “Seriously?! Did I really do that? Because I know me, and I don’t think I’d do that.” I guess I’m still surprising myself.
I woke up at three this morning after less than two hours of sleep and made some French toast for breakfast. I think it’s pretty common near the end of a long trip to think, “This is the last time I’ll…” but I couldn’t help but laugh when I caught myself thinking, “This is the last time I’ll play ‘how many matches will it take to light the stove today?’” I ate at the kitchen table on my own, brushing those irritating little spider bugs off of it before I put my plate down. (I won’t miss those.)
Mauricio drove us to the airport in his taxi, which gave things a nice bookended feel because he drove me from the airport that first night. Just like then, it was pitch black and pouring rain. This time, though, the road was familiar (despite the disconcertingly heavy fog) and because I called shotgun, I was actually able to chat with him on the way there. I wouldn’t say I’m fluent by any means, but hablo bastante – I can get by – and I’m really going to miss speaking it. I hope I can find a way to keep it up because feeling myself improve from simple words to actual conversations is a pretty cool feeling. That, and the better I got at conversing, the more positive my work experience became; I think the reverse is true, as well. Still, having to listen so hard to understand gets to be exhausting and while I can make myself understood in Spanish, living in English again is going to be refreshing. I miss being well-spoken!
I was up so late last night because I had to finish writing in the BaseCamp notebook, which is full of past volunteers’ personal accounts, words of advice and thank-yous. I was having trouble thinking of something to say, but it seems that the others who wrote before me were right – once you get writing, it’s actually kind of hard to stop! To sum it up, I said that it’s important to relax, explore and talk.
Somehow, John, Brett, Danielle and I were all on the same flight to Houston this morning. Brett and Danielle already had seats together; it occurred to John and me last night that we could change seats online so that we could be travel buddies, too! The flight was uneventful in general – left on time, arrived almost on time – but it was really nice to spend it with John. We talked a lot about how things will be different when we go home, and how things might have been had we done something else with this summer. John has done a lot of travelling with his family, so I think he’s used to thinking about where to go next; since the idea is new to me, it was really exciting to consider my next trip! In the past week, a lot of people have been asking me when I’m going to return to Nicaragua. My response has been that I’m not sure, but maybe when I’m a doctor. I’d really like to do more volunteer work when I have more skills and can offer more help. Recently, the idea of working in French-speaking Africa with my dad has been sprouting in the back of my mind. (Um, I think that’s news to you, Dad. You in?) I know that I’m definitely not done volunteering or travelling; if anything, this trip is just the beginning.
I learned a lot while I was here, both professionally and personally. I know I didn’t make much of a difference with my clinical work – I’m still pretty slow at IVs and I don’t know all the dilutions for all the injectable meds – but I think that in terms of health promotion, I had a positive impact. I feel good about my time here.
Things got a little tricky after we landed in Houston – John had a very tight connection that I think he may have missed, and I was “randomly selected” to have my checked bag searched. I don’t mind having my carry-on looked at in Security, but this was different. My checked bag was supposed to go straight through to Edmonton, but a Homeland Security agent took my passport and told me to sit and wait for my bag to come so that they could search it. It was a little scary because for a while, I was the only passenger in this big area with a bunch of armed agents. I really had to go to the washroom and when I asked, they had the only female agent escort me into the back, where I had to use the metal prison-style toilet in a holding cell. So that was an experience! I sat and waited on a bench for about an hour, watching almost two dozen people come through to have their checked baggage checked. Fun fact: not a single woman was chosen. When my bag hadn’t arrived after an hour, one of the agents gave me back my passport and told me to go get the Starbucks I’d been so excited for. Apparently they still had to search my bag but they’d make sure it got on the plane; now, I realize that I should have refused because I have the right to be there when they search it, but oh well. I wrote this en route to Edmonton, but thankfully everything arrived safely - including me.
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