Family

Today is the last night with my host family. Back in June, which seems like ions ago, I remember being so nervous and overwhelmed moving in with the Azdejuns. One moment I was dancing behind my mother in a drum circle; the next, a PC Rover was dropping me and bags off at what felt like a random gate across from a pink church. My mind was racing going over whether or not I forgot a bag (I did, but all that was lost was found), desperately trying to come up with something French to say (Ca va?), and bewildered by all of the lizards everywhere.
That evening my dad showed me the different trees in our compound - avocado, meranga, coconut - and my mother showed me the goats and where the water was drawn. As the sun went down I joined my siblings around my mother and the charcoal stove as she explained what each ingredient in the dinner was. It was insanely hot between the heat of the day and the fire. I sat on a tiny wooden stool wondering how a kid from Wisconsin ends up at this exact moment. The music from the church across the street was loud, percussions and voices in Ewe; loud, but beautiful. I slowly started to feel at home.
 My family made it easy to feel comfortable; my room was a beautiful shade of blue and my mother spoiled me with boiled water for my bucket shower and incredible dishes, such as pate rouge and fufu. My siblings, albeit quiet, smiled and nudged me in the directions to go. My younger brother would walk me to and from school the first few days until it was time to find the way alone. Although I got turned around in the paths quite a bit and it ended up taking me much longer than it should have, I eventually found my way home - in the corner of my eye I could see my younger brother hiding behind a tree, he had been tailing me making sure I figured it out. I came into the family so dependent, like a baby; but slowly, it has all sort of come together. Okay, I still can't do a lot that the Togolese can - but I'm getting there.
When I first met my family my level of French was embarassing. In addition, I was incredibly nervous so I could muster even less than I comprehended. My mom kept saying in French, "Each day, a little and a little, it'll improve." Thanks largely to them it did.
Before leaving I had put together a box of gifts to give (my real mama, had sent me some gifts to give, as well). I hadn't expected that before I even got a chance to give it to them they would have given me a gift. They bought me a beautiful dress to match my sister and paid a photographer to come take a photo of the family. (They also had given me a box of oranges and cookies for my post visit a week prior). And this is on top of cooking three meals a day for me and helping me with most facets of life. When I gave them their gifts, they loved it,  of course, but I could hardly feel like it was enough.
In short, I'm going to miss this family very much. It's not goodbye, as they are going to come for my Swear-In Ceremony and I'm sure I'll be back in Tsevie sometime in the next few years, but, I am moving out. Now it's time to move onto a new village, where I will live with a new family for a few weeks until I return to my own house in Sagbiebou.
In June, saying goodbye to my family was the hardest experience I've ever had and being away from them right now is immensely difficult. But it's a pretty cool experience to meet strangers and become family in a land very far from home. I think it says a lot about humanity that we're able to care for others, like they are our own, even though we look different, speak different languages and have no obligation based on blood or marriage. I'm happy when I hear my Togolese mother call me her American daughter.
(Blame the sappiness on the Malaria meds).