6/10 Final Blog from Kristen

"And then there were two," Jess says to me as we walk out of the Ndola airport. Two. Two muzungos, two days left, too many times to the airport having to say goodbye, too much on our minds. Too.

We climb back in the van and start in the general direction of Mufulira, bouncing along with the great enthusiasm that a 1982, eight-passenger Chevy without front shocks affords. Images of mud-brick huts painted yellows and reds, with their thatched roofs and dirt floors, bob along beside us, out behind us. Women walk with water on their heads and babies on their backs, half-naked children play in the dust that will become mud in four months time. Scrawny goats scatter the road in front of us. Dr. Thinus talks of African history. It's almost here.

I've already said farewell to most of us - we've been trickling out since last Wednesday - and I've felt it in pieces, building brick-by-brick like one of those thousands of mud huts. Goodbye. Yesterday was Jeremy and George and Dan and Abbie and Carol and Elizabeth. Old and new friendship, partnership, put on pause. Brick, brick, brick. Today, Tannen, my best friend in the entire world, (I can say that definitively) leaving for yet another continent. I already feel the emptiness left by her absence. I already miss her sensible advice, loyal companionship, and the witty comments that she whispers too quietly for most people to hear. Brick, brick. This is the process. Only a few more bricks to go, and then I'll be up and gone, weightless and away from this beloved, sprawling spread of yellow-dry grassland, scattered lakes, tangled jungle, and tortured wasteland.

Goodbyes are a strange thing. You leave something, or something leaves you, and we call this a goodbye. In these moments I always find myself wondering who will do the most missing... the one who leaves or the one who is left. At the many junctures in my life when I've had to change schools, or churches, states, or countries, I've always had the feeling that I was doing the majority of the missing. That the place I left behind, the people, would go on. I would be remembered perhaps, but remembered is entirely different from missed.

This time, though, the goodbye does not seem that way. Maybe it's that I'm doing the sending off before being sent off. Maybe it's because I've been here before and I know I'll return again. Or it could simply be that I'm too sentimental and indulging of my own silly feelings. But it seems to me, that life will not go on here as it always has - that our presence made enough of an impact that our absence will be mourned when we are gone. And likewise, we will not go on as we always have - something has been planted by this time in Zambia, something within us that will take root and become more than a memory.

We leave for Lusaka tomorrow morning: Dr. Thinus, Jess and I. Tuesday these Americans will leave the African soil, and the South African Zambian will return to life as usual, without us. But I feel assurance. Ties will not be broken, new truths will not be forgotten, partnerships will remain - despite economic, racial, and geographical distance.

And that feeling - the knowing that neither side will be the same, that there has been an equal exchange of learning and gratitude, and that until rejoined, both will regard the other - that is a good bye. It is the positive parting that assures us all: This hole created with your leaving will remain waiting for your return.

Kristen