We are family

I've been in the process of writing this blog entry since I've hit the 6 month mark in village. I was going to start off with witty scenarios that are true examples from my village. However, that all changed two weeks ago and I felt the urgency to complete this particular blog entry. Family here is different than it is in America, but it's still family.

Two weeks ago, when I was returning to village from our All Volunteer conference, I discovered that my 20 year old host brother had died. I was returning to village on a Friday, two days after the fact. While riding on public transportation in Senegal, people LOVE the fact that we speak the local language and the inevitably ask where I live. This particular day, I said the name of my village and a stranger said that his wife was from that village (awesome!). He then proceeded to tell me that a young boy had died there two days ago. I was SHOCKED. I asked a couple more questions and he finally said it was the son of the chief aka my host brother. I was speechless, how could this happen.

I arrive at my dad's boutique on the road and he immediately pulls me aside to tell me the news. I asked how it happened, but he couldn't tell me what he died from. My brother had been sick since Tabaski and they took him to the hospital, but it didn't help. My dad and I proceeded to walk back to village together, where he decided to tell me about my brother's last moments. They had brought him home and that last night, he asked for his mom, dad, and siblings. I couldn't hold it together, I had silent tears running down my face. In this culture, not much emotion is shown publicly, so they think I'm weird when I cry.

I get back to village and after the standard greetings, no less that 7 people asked me if I knew that my brother had died. YES...I did know and thank you for reminding me. It was a really tough few days back in village; I wanted to turn around and head right back to Kolda. I stayed in village, but I had no one to talk to about it. My village was really open about stating the fact that my brother had died, but I had no one to talk to about it. So, I turned to my fellow PCVs for emotional support. Thank goodness for text messages, free calling, and neighbors. I don't know what I would've done without their support.

The most difficult part was seeing my mom cry. People usually aren't open with their emotions, so it was a million times worse. We were sitting around the fire one night and my mom just burst into tears. Luckily it was dark, so no one could see my own tears. It was heartbreaking. I just wanted to give her a hug (something they don't do here). I've been around three too many mothers who've lost their children, so the past came rushing back. At that point I just wanted to go home. For those of you who follow my blog, you know this time of year makes me really homesick and this turn of events didn't help alleviate the longing one bit. This was the first time that I seriously thought about ETing (early terminating PC service). I came home two days after my brother died...what if something happens back home, I wouldn't be able to get back until three or four days later.

Things have gotten better in village, but it's still hard. I don't deal well with death in general, but being in an entirely different culture made it exponentially more difficult. Sorry for the depressing post on Christmas eve, but this is the first time I've been able to sit down and write this blog. I will try to write a more uplifting entry by tomorrow, but there is no guarantee.

Much Love and Happy Holidays!

--Peace on Earth