La La Salama

The past few days have been difficult, to say the least. Wednesday was my last day at Ronesa. I wore my Maasai clothes and beads, painted the faces of the kids, made necklaces and bracelets with them, colored, and had them put their hand prints on a Kenyan flag for me to bring home. The kids were having a great time, not understanding the reason behind their fun and games. My six children of class one were the only ones who really were able to understand that I was leaving, but even they couldn't comprehend why. I walked out to the gate with all 45 of them, adorned with the beautifully hand-crafted beaded jewelry gifted to me by their parents, and when I started to hug them goodbye there was no stopping the tears. Crying only confused them more, many of them just stood and stared at me, completely lost. But I made sure that I had said "kwaheri" and "na kupenda" to each child before turning away. The short walk back home suddenly became a endless distance... That was the first time I felt alone in Maasailand.
That evening Rosemary got a call from the mother of a boy in class one; Charles had been really upset all afternoon, crying because I had left, asking his mom if I had hated him, and that's why I wanted to leave. This made me want to cry all over again. Charles was one of the sweetest children at Ronesa, for the past few days when I would tell them that I was leaving soon, he would say, "teacher Kate no go America!" with an unbearably adorable pouty face.
It's safe to say that those kids, especially the 6 of class one, have become a part of me. Sitting here at the VICDA volunteer house, where there is running water, electricity, and refrigeration, I feel strangely out of place. Saying goodbye is never easy, and it's a part of every meaningful experience, but that doesn't make it any less heartbreaking. My host mother and the entire community of Olosho-oibor have shown me such love. It feels wrong now to talk of Maasailand, Ronesa, and Rosemary in the past tense... I've already had to start trying to answer the dreaded question, "How was your trip?" with words that feel empty and shallow. There is a Maasai saying that goes "only the mountains never meet; but humans always will", and in this situation, I am confident that one day I'll be back here, back to show the people of that community how much they've affected me. I know that as time goes on their influence on me will not disappear, because, as Rosemary would say, "you are a Maasai now, Kate."
But enough wallowing, tomorrow I depart for a safari in the famous Maasai Mara with two other volunteers, on from Brazil and the other Mexico; it is sure to be a phenomenal three days. And then, because of a flight cancellation by Kenya Air, I'll leave Kenya for Madagascar (I can't believe it!) on Tuesday morning instead of Sunday night. This problem which at first had me quite worried, was quickly solved- I'll be staying the two extra nights with Sheila, Rosemary's first born daughter; yet another testament to the generosity of my family here. 
I have so much to say, but pole (sorry), for right now words escape me. May I just say la la salama (goodnight) and asante sana (thank you very much) for allowing me to share my adventures with you.