The day a parade brought me back to my house
The students of my Girls Club decided to end the year how most things in my life are ending right now: with a party. They made food. We ate their food. We listened to some people talk. We took some pictures. And we danced.
After about an hour and a half, the girls decided they had had enough. They packed up the food, put their containers on their heads and started walking toward their houses.
Then one of them started singing. And then a few joined in. And then 18 girls were walking down the streets of our village chanting and singing.
“Club des Filles!” Prisca shouted.
“La Paix!” they answered.
“Club des Filles!”
“La Paix!”
“Club des Filles!”
“La Paix!”
They continued until they reached my front door. (Which was not on the way home for any of them.) My neighbors, curious as to the source of the noise, met us and then joined in.
A large part of the party that day was for them. I wanted them to forget about the final exams they had just taken. I wanted them to learn how to execute a project from beginning to end and learn how to work with a budget. I wanted them to have a memory that would make them want to continue the club next year.
I will also say that part of the party that day was for me. Working with these girls has been the most fulfilling part of my time here so far. It’s the time that I most feel like me being here means something to someone.
Before we ate, our school director said a few words about what we had done that semester. He talked about what they had learned, and then told the girls basically that I have a little over a year left here so they better take advantage of the time that rests.
During this part, one of my girls made eye contact with me across the room. I will never forget that look. It was a look of her not wanting to me to go anywhere. That one look made me think that everything that I left behind, everything that has gone wrong here, every time that I wished I was back in the United States over the past 11 months may have not been in vain.