craiglist lessons from a teardrop trailer.

The trailer is the most expensive thing I’ve ever bought on craigslist. I knew I had no idea what I was getting into with bartering and inspecting and all the other normal craigslist things we’d be required to do to make it ours. So I called my little brother. Kid’s been buying and selling shit (mostly trucks and other things on wheels) on craigslist since he was 12 years old, and somehow always makes a profit. He suggested a starting price I thought was a little low, but we listened to his haggling advice and off we went. The following story outlines our “Craigslist Experience” and concludes with someone very useful advice for anyone buying anything on craigslist.

As we drove to view the trailer we made jokes about how weird/rude/scary/strange the guy we were buying from might be. Turned out he was totally normal! He seemed to be in his early 30s, talked about his girlfriend a lot, had an adorable little puppy, said he’d gone camping in the trailer just recently and everything worked fine. He told us he had “several people looking at it.” We retreated to discuss our options in the car. After meeting the guy, and seeing the trailer, we decided that the “starting price” my brother had given us was disrespectful – I mean the guy built it himself! We couldn’t suggest less than 2/3 his asking price!

So we up our offer a couple hundred dollars and let him have it. His response: “When can you pick it up?”

Immediately we felt like idiots, we totally could have gone lower – he didn’t even try to haggle! But it was done, so we moved on. As is, the trailer didn’t have lights, a mattress, or an air vent yet. He wrote up a bill of sale with a list of the things he still needed to do, and we gave him a down-payment, set a pick up date, and left feeling pretty pleased with ourselves… for the time being…

In the meantime, David installed the hitch and lighting on his car. When he arrived at pickup the lights didn’t work, but the guy insisted that they worked on the way there, so David assumed something was wrong on his end. The guy promised the mattress would arrive in two weeks, so David paid the rest of what we owed and took it home.

Turns out the lights didn’t work. So David spent three weeks fixing them, only to eventually realize that because they were mounted on wood, they weren’t grounded, and therefore had never worked. We also never saw a mattress.

Once the lights worked we needed to get it registered. We set out on what we thought would be a quick trip to the town office. Instead, we were informed that since we didn’t have a title, we needed to get it weighed and inspected, though it didn’t matter in which order. Unfortunately, that wasn’t true. We arrived 30 minutes later at the only trailer “enhanced inspection” place in the county and were told they couldn’t do anything without a weigh slip. So 45 minutes later we arrived at a truck stop to weigh the thing (the office window was above our heads, we had to jump to talk to the lady inside). Guess what – the trailer was too light to weigh! After two hours of no progress we went home defeated.

A month later we tried again. This time we went to a quarry to weigh it and were successful ($20…). Then we took a 45 minute drive to the inspection station where we were told we needed the “bill of sale” as proof of ownership. I had even called first to make sure we had everything we needed! Thankfully, I worked my magic (more like bitched enough) to convince the guy that the pathetic bill of sale was not what he was looking for, it didn’t prove ownership anymore than a grocery receipt would. We walked away with a successful inspection ($60…)!

… straight into the town office. On the way in David grumbled sarcastically, “This better not cost more than $2.”

$260. Taxes. What a bitch.

We learned a heck of a lot from this experience. To make it easier for you I’ve spelled them all out below. I think most of these suggestions could be used for any craigslist purchase, teardrop or otherwise.

1. Don’t ever assume anyone is nice.

I don’t care if they’re cute, if they have a puppy, if they seem old and sweet, if they seem like awesome parents, or even peaceful hippie yogis. Every. Single. Person. you buy from on craigslist is out to screw you out of all of your money. Now this may not be true, this probably isn’t true, but you need to treat every aspect of your purchase like it is true. Especially if what you’re buying costs a lot of money… like a teardrop trailer.

2. Never EVER pay a dime until everything is there and working. 

Unfortunately, the guy lived two hours away from us and frequent travel wasn’t ideal. However, if we were smart, which we weren’t, we wouldn’t have spent a penny until everything was fixed, we had the mattress in hand, and we knew for certain that the lights worked. Don’t bet your money on trusting a stranger, no matter how nice they seem.

3. Always offer way lower than you want to. Listen to your brother.

They’re a stranger, offending them is not something you should worry about. Let them haggle, see how far they’ll go. Don’t offer your highest price because you never know what’s on their mind. We overpaid for the teardrop, and we knew the second he accepted our offer as is. Should’ve listened to my little brother…

4. Taxes are a thing, whether you like it or not.

If you’re buying a car, trailer, anything that needs to be registered with the state you’re required to pay sales tax at the town office when you register it. Keep this in mind when you set your bottom offer. We were totally naive and ended up paying way more than intended.

There’s not a lot of information online about teardrop trailers. There’s even less about how to register one that doesn’t have a title. Even the women at the town office and the men at the inspection office were confused. Don’t get rolled over, stick to your guns, and hopefully the information I’ve provided can help you a little bit.

Even if you’re not buying a teardrop keep these things in mind. Here’s some other good advice from other bloggers if you’re not satisfied with my list (and you shouldn’t be!). Buying and Selling, Craigslist Safety, Successful Buying.

Anyone else have a good craigslist story, or some good lessons?

3 failures of minimalism.

Constantly reading about minimalism while packing compelled me to write about it, but since then I haven’t stopped thinking about it. I got more likes on that post than I’ve gotten on a single post in a long time. Intrigued by this response, I looked even further into minimalism on the web – it’s everywhere! I ran across numerous blogs devoted to personal journeys towards minimalism and similar ideas. People love “tiny houses” and having fewer than 100 possessions – and a lot of people like to follow the blogs of people who live that way.

Minimalism is good, right? Having less stuff is sustainable; getting rid of stuff creates happier, healthier people. Right? For some reason the concept of minimalism started to bother me, even though I knew these writers were doing what was best by them. I took a few days to figure out why, and through debating with David I narrowed it down to three problems: waste, the definition of stuff, and dependence on consumerism.

1. WASTE: Minimalism is often framed as disposal. “Get rid” of everything. Don’t “hold on” to stuff. When you buy one item, “get rid” of another. Less stuff in your house = less stress, more happiness, a better life in the minds of those who believe in minimalism. But from a sustainability perspective it’s extremely dangerous. Instead of emphasizing not buying more things we’re emphasizing throwing things away. In a country where the average person will produce 102 tons of waste in their lifetime we can’t afford to think this kind of minimalism is acceptable.

Minimalism is great if you make sure to:
1. hold on to things that are truly valuable.
2. donate, repurpose, or recycle everything you’re getting rid of.
3. and; when you do buy new things, make sure you know how and where they were created.
4. but; above all else, avoid buying new things.

2. STUFF: Not all things are stuff. This drives me crazy. David and I own many more than 100 things – but the things we own are useful things, not useless stuff. Too often there is a ridiculous effort to achieve # in one’s inventory, whether it be 200 or 100 items. This promotes getting rid of things that are actually useful, which is not only wasteful but counter productive, leading to point #3:

3. DEPENDENCE: I’ve always found self-sufficiency and minimalism fascinating – yet, with little investigation it’s easy to discover that these two things are rarely synonymous. When you own less than 100 items you’ll find it hard to fix things that break without tools, to grow your own food (farm tools, preservation supplies, etc. etc.), and to provide your own entertainment (musical instruments, art supplies, or board games). Minimalist lifestyles often rely on consumerism for access to food, entertainment, and other goods and services – making it a suitable lifestyle only for those with money, another issue I’ll avoid for the moment. For example; without our food processor and canning pot we would have to buy pre-processed foods, without our guitar we wouldn’t be able to play music, without our electric razor David would have to pay for a haircut every two weeks. Of course, there are always ways to decrease the need for these items (such as borrowing tools from a neighbor or renting farm equipment) but many people won’t always be able to borrow what they need – and they need to know that owning those things isn’t bad.

What I recommend is:
1. when getting rid of something, consider what you might have to outsource as a result.
2. don’t get rid of anything that you actually use, on a regular basis.
3. don’t justify buying something solely by trading something else out, it should have another purpose.
4. try not to buy anything that’s new: get something used or just don’t buy it.

Minimalism is not inherently bad, in fact I love the concept. As someone who practices sustainability and self-sufficiency having less unnecessary “stuff” is a great first to decreasing my reliance on consumerism and my impact on the planet. However, I have to be careful that simplifying my life doesn’t translate into waste and dependency. I’m not saying it’s impossible to be minimalist, eco-friendly, and truly independent; but we can’t all be Rob Greenfield. Having useful things that fulfill the three tenants of independence, happiness, or sustainability isn’t bad – it’s buying useless stuff that doesn’t fulfill those tenants that is. That’s what we need to focus on.

doing away with baggage.

Getting rid of “stuff” seems to be a hot topic right now. This could totally be biased, considering I follow many blogs that tout “minimalism” and “sustainability.” It also could be seasonal – considering spring started literally overnight last week and everyone has the spring cleaning bug. Regardless, I’ve seen a lot of talk about it, and I’m actively participating, so it’s been on my mind. David and I leave in two weeks. I technically leave in one week, as I’m dropping my car (the non-road trip car) at my parents’ in Maine loaded with all the things we’ll need when we settle down somewhere for longer than a few weeks. So this weekend is packed full of sorting, packing, unpacking, repacking, etc. etc. (pun intended). Sometimes I think I live to get rid of stuff. I find every excuse to do it: spring cleaning, buying too much new stuff, attending a lecture on climate change that scares the crap out of me, watching a movie about third world countries… really any event that makes me feel awful about my privileges or like I’m drowning in unused possessions. It always leaves me feeling renewed. This winter I undertook the most involved “simplification” of my life thus far – to the point that there’s barely anything left to get rid of that makes any reasonable sense. And now we have to fit it all in two cars… To the left is what our bedroom looked like this morning as we sorted everything into: (1) winter clothes, (2) farm clothes, (3) running clothes, (3) work/nice clothes, (4) frequently worn, (4) not so frequently worn. The first two categories are headed to Maine, the rest we’re taking with us – whatever doesn’t fit a category is headed to Salvation Army. And that’s just clothes; we’ve also sorted through books, dishes, memorabilia, and everything else we own. At least four times over the last few months we’ve done a full sweep of the apartment, throwing everything we’re ready to part with in a cardboard box to donate or listing it on Craiglist (um…anyone want an antique sewing machine?). All of this in preparation for today – the car stuffing day of truth.  Each time we undertook a cleaning we found ourselves willing to part with more and more stuff. In January I wanted to keep that blue dress, for special occasion, you know? In February I decided it could go, I don’t attend a lot of those; but that really nice speaker system we never use? We might need that. Then in March: maybe a speaker system isn’t actually that useful on the road… Stuff is just stuff. Yet, for some reason, we emotionally attach ourselves to it. We avoid getting rid of things because so-and-so gave it to us, or it could have use some day, or we like to wear it maybesometimes, etc. etc. In my opinion, our emotional attachments to material objects could actually be considered emotional baggage. As a culture we’re drowning in the chaos of our material lives, in our anxiety about getting rid of anything we might possibly regret. For the record: I’ve never regretted getting rid of anything, no matter how worried I was before I pitched it. Usually, I just forget I ever owned it. Out of sight, out of mind – forever one less worry. Take a look around you – are you surrounded by things you never use? Really think about it. When was the last time you cracked open that book? Do you even remember what it was about? How often do you really use those cookie cutters? You have how many coffee mugs for two people!? Where did you even get that weird looking plant pot anyways? And those pants that are too big, too small, too short, or too hole-y? C’mon, you know the ones, the ones you haven’t worn in three years. Newsflash: you’ll probably never wear them again.

Get rid of it! All of it!

Note: Please sell or donate before throwing away. Unless it’s like underwear… or broken sneakers… or dish rags… throw that shit out (in the proper receptacle, of course). It’s rude to assume other people want that gross stuff. Every item we’ve gotten rid of has pushed us closer to our goal of independence on the road. Every item you do away with will give you that same sense of freedom – one step closer to a life without baggage.

transitions | on community vs. wanderlust.

I’m terrible at transitions. Horrible. The days leading up to one I’m a frantic mess, trying to tie up every loose end, say my goodbyes, and prepare for whatever is coming up. Then for weeks after I’m always an emotional mess and I always forget why.

There’s a reason for this that’s taken me years to figure out – transitions, in my life, are related to two very separate values I hold: community and wanderlust.

Community: Growing up in rural Maine, it’s hard not to have and hold this value as deep in your heart as any value can be. Growing up I always knew I wanted to live in small town. I love knowing people everywhere I go, I want the bartender or barista to already know what I want, I like having friends of all ages – from toddlers to the elderly, I need my family. The second I land anywhere my roots are already establishing. I travel deep, not far. I don’t like to sight see, I like to investigate cultures. My favorite part of traveling to Tanzania was delving into the small community around me: which people filled what roles, what people ate, what they did for fun, who their families were, the social quirks – and then finding my place.

Wanderlust: Again, growing up in small-town Maine, it’s hard not to dream of the world beyond Boston. Traveling has impassioned me since I was a child. A hunger to understand other cultures led me to raise my own money to send myself to El Salvador at 15. This life changing experience led me to attend the United Nations Conference on Climate Change in Durban, South Africa 3 years later, and then to study wildlife management in Tanzania the year after that.

 

“You can have roots and wings, Mel.”
– Jake, Sweet Home Alabama
(only the best movie ever created…)

As I prepare for our road trip departure on April 1st I feel the impending, and familiar, value-collision-stress. My roots are so deep in Carlisle that it feels like I’m going to college all over again – only this time there aren’t winter breaks. With an undefined plan that leads west I have to face the fact that I have no idea when I’m going to see the people and places here again.

Yesterday, I went to my favorite cafe for the last time. I got lunch with my favorite professor for the last time. I had my last waitressing shift at Andalusia. I said goodbye to the best regulars I’ve ever had as a waitress. Today, I said goodbye to the kids I babysit for the last time. In the coming weeks I’ll have my last day at work, say goodbye to some of my greatest friends, say goodbye to Dickinson, to my favorite bar, to the trails I frequently run, etc. etc. etc.

And it’s not just Carlisle. Leaving the east coast means moving further from home. This past weekend I saw my best high school friends in New York City. We had an amazing time together in the big city, and I know for certain I’ll see them again, but it could be years before the four of us are all together at the same time. In two weeks I’ll spend time with my parents before, again, I have to say goodbye for the foreseeable future.

I’m de-rooting again, and it hurts. But at the same time – I’m so ready. I hate repetition. Adventure is always on my mind. This road trip is everything I want and need right now. Wanderlust has me tight in it’s grip. After seeing so many other countries through my education I’m ready to see America up close and personal – deep, not far.

But even though I’m bad at transitioning, I also love the raw emotion it brings up. I’m forced to face how much I love the community around me, and how much it loves me. I’m reminded of how much work and love I’ve put into my life here. Then, I get to look at my future and be proud of my decisions not to settle, to live fully, and embrace being young. I get to look forward to putting roots down somewhere else.

Communities in my life so far:

BFFs.

Extended Family.

Tanzania Community.

Theater Project Family.

Treehouse Family.

My Family.

Climate Mosaic Community

Idea Fund Community.

Farm Family.

I’m back! 2015.

Heya! I’m back.

In January I did something I’ve never truly done – I set new year’s resolutions. I was inspired to do this by my favorite lady, Kelsey Raymond, on her spice & dice blog. Two years ago she decided to change her own life. So she did, surprising herself by accomplishing what she didn’t think she could. How did she do it? Simple. She set real goals. Achievable goals. Then she blew them out of the water. Pride and admiration sent me following in her footsteps (not a new thing). Then, two days later, she actually wrote a post about setting goals! My intuition beat her to the punch.

I know, it’s February. It’s been a whole month since New Year’s. It’s also been a whole month since I’ve been “in the real world.” After I graduated from Dickinson in May I spent six beautiful months on the Dickinson College Organic Farm as their livestock apprentice. Then I took a trip to Seattle to visit my aunt’s, Liz and Jessica, for three amazing weeks. Then it was Christmas. Then, BOOM. 2015. The first full year of my adult life.

I decided I need some direction.

Emily’s 2015 Goals

1. Restart this blog.

This blog got me through my time abroad, it helped me fully process and appreciate all that happened to me. When I stopped writing I found that I spent less time thinking, less energy processing my day to day experiences. As I enter this next stage of my life I want to reconnect with that way of living.

2. Pay off one of my loans. 

Loans, loans, loans. I hate talking about them, I hate thinking about them. But they’re there, and I’ll deal with them. But to kick start the process off right I’m going to pay one of them off in the first year! It’s the small one… but it all counts, right?

2. Run 26.2 miles. 

Gotta have a physical goal, right? Well, signing up for marathons hasn’t been working for me. Injuries, nerves, whatever it is. So I’m just going to run 26.2 miles, on my own. I can say I did, I don’t have to pay for it, and I can do it whenever I want – my kind of running.

3. Go on a road trip. 

David and I decided we’re making a change. So April 1st we’re headed out of central PA (on the first full day of my 23rd year). After visiting a bunch of family we’re going to explore the southwest and find a new place to live (ideally with employment). A big part of re-starting this blog is to document our experiences and update family/friends along the way.

Oh, and we bought a teardrop.

CHECK THIS THING OUT:

2015 has a lot of potential. Financial realities were a huge shock to the system this month, but I’m determined to live my life fully and true to my values in community and sustainability. Right now I have the privilege to work with some amazing people in the USDA Natural Resources Conservation Service (NRCS) in Harrisburg, PA, but past April my plans are very grey. How the year will pan out has yet to be seen, but stick along for the ride (literally) to find out!

best,e.

sperry enlightening.

I swore to myself and slammed the refrigerator door in the middle of my dessert selection process. I forgot to feed the pigs. It was getting dark and starting to rain. I tossed aside my daily sandals, rain in mind, and grabbed my old Sperrys from the back of the closet. I pulled them on as I hopped out the door and headed for the wooded path to the pen. My bare feet slide into the leather shoes – instantly, a wave of familiarity flooded through me.

My Sperrys are old and falling apart: the soles are smooth with use, the leather wearing, the stitching has even unraveled on one of them. To be honest they aren’t even real Sperrys. I never wanted boat shoes, but when my Birkenstocks fell apart the Goodwill Sperry mimics in our spare closet were my only immediate option. The shoes have been loved despite my aversion toward them.

The next two years of my life are etched in their wear and tear – winters and summers both. I never did buy new shoes. When I went to Tanzania I regretfully closeted them. Bringing them wasn’t practical. Six months later, hurrying to do chores, I slipped them on absentmindedly. Unknowingly, I slipped on more than shoes. I slipped on a version of myself I had forgotten – a self from six months ago that I suddenly understood is no longer me.

Senses have a way of stirring up old memories you forget you have. Usually it is smell that triggers mine; every person, place and thing has a specific aroma I will always remember. But when I slipped my Sperrys on I experienced the same sensation through touch: my feet tingled with an acute awareness long forgotten. The memory I conjured wasn’t a thought, perception or attitude. It was the memory of a feeling. I simply relived how it felt to be me before I went abroad; a mixture of anxiety, insecurity, pride and love.

When I got back to America I wrote a multitude of journal entries, spent hours reflecting, experienced countless epiphanies – all that normal cultural transition stuff. Yet, it took a pair of shoes for me to understand. My Sperrys showed me exactly how Africa changed me: for just a few seconds I became who I had been, as a result I learned who I have become.

best,e.

the much loved Sperrys on vacation at the Falcon Ridge Folk Festival last summer.

note: transitioning.

Hey everyone!

So this blog post is the last to conclude my blog about Tanzania and the first to begin my blog for the summer. Before I get into that, however, I want to thank each and every person who followed me through my experience. I know I have said this a million times but keeping my blog was an amazing way for me to process my trip and maintain my emotional stability, but truthfully it meant even more because I realized people actually cared to listen. So thank you for reading, commenting and asking me questions – it far beyond exceeded any expectations I had for this project.

On that note, since I enjoyed the blogging experience and want to continue honing my writing skills I have decided to continue this website but section off into a new blog, one I am calling “cultivation.” The title is meant to embody two parts of my summer, first, the amount of time I will spend literally cultivating on a small scale farm in Bowdoinham, Maine; second, what I will personally undergo this summer as I transition back into America and realize exactly what I experienced in Tanzania, therefore cultivating a new perception of the world for myself.

I understand completely if you signed up to get email notifications for the duration of my trip and do not wish to continue receiving emails from me. If that is the case I promise I won’t be offended! Honestly, I have no idea how to reverse it but if there is no option for you do so yourself then let me know and I will see what I can do to get you off my email list. Trust me, I won’t be peeved – I probably hate automatic emails more than you do.

Again, thanks everyone so much. I hope you will enjoy my new blog as much as I plan to enjoy keeping it.

Best,

emily

the last week.

being mzungu.

I had only been in Tanzania for a week, everything was new – Swahili, Catholicism, the colorful patterns of women’s kangas and kitangas, and most of all the staring. As we joined the migration to the church I was uncomfortably aware of the glances, the giggles and the blatant stares. During the service I tried my best not to notice the turned heads. A little boy, no more than two years old, sat in front of me. He continuously shifted to look at me, wearing a blank expression. I made faces in an attempt to get a reaction out of him but he just stared intently. Then, half way through the sermon, he reached out and grabbed my hand. It wasn’t a gesture of acceptance or appreciation but rather one of a quizzical nature. He took my large white hand in his little black one and turned it over, again and again, grabbing at my skin in confusion.

I’m not African. This I knew from the beginning. I’m a mzungu, through and through. There is no fooling anyone. Despite this knowledge, when I first arrived in Africa, I found myself hyper-aware of my skin. I wasn’t used to standing out, to being different. I was uncomfortable going places with lots of other students and nervous about speaking Swahili. I cringed when kids screamed “jambo” and “mzungu” at me from inside their houses. The first time I met the Maasai a teenage boy asked me for money, when I told him I didn’t have any he replied, “but you’re a mzungu.” I didn’t want to be American. I didn’t want to be perceived as rich and oblivious. I was uncomfortable in my own skin. I wanted to blend in.

As the semester progressed I adjusted to being different. I stopped noticing the stares. I learned to return the sass. Learning Swahili and making African friends helped this transition immensely. I quickly fell in love with Tanzania, with the culture. I learned quickly that knowing Swahili earns you immediate respect and vowed to learn as much of it as I could. I spent increasing amounts of time playing cards, cooking, talking and playing soccer with new friends from town and the staff. I learned about Tanzanian culture, about how people treat each other and how they perceive the world.

My love for Tanzanian culture quickly turned in to jealously. I became frustrated with being American. I felt like I was on the outskirts looking in on a community more intricate than I could understand. My African friends make up a group built on appreciation, love, support and kindness. Everything people do is based around the needs of others. It is a community structure I hungered for, a way of life I wanted to adopt. I was fascinated by the concept of having a tribe as part of your identity. The hardest part of the semester was realizing that no matter how much I wanted to I couldn’t be a part of it, not truly. Instead of wanting to blend in I found myself wanting to fit in, but because I am American I felt this could never be achieved.

Then things started to change. First I started to miss my family. My whole family. I started calling my parents more, I reread letters from my grandparents over and over, I talked to my baby cousins on the phone, I started chatting with my brothers online. Then I started talking about them, all the time. When it was my night to present something about myself I chose to present about my family, showing pictures I hadn’t looked at in years. Then I started talking about Maine. I missed the ocean, the forest, running, swimming. I spent hours showing pictures of my home to my friends, African and American. Finally, I started talking about American culture. I found myself explaining why we shave our legs, why we have factory farming, what organic is, how our school systems work, what folk music is, why we run. The funny thing was, despite how absurd half my explanations sounded and the number of times I said “America ni kicha,” America is crazy, I found myself speaking with a tone of endearment.

America might not be perfect, but it’s mine, it’s who I am. In Tanzanian culture you are not only an individual but part of a tribe, part of a team. There are traditions and values that you are born into, that you willing surrender control over. This group identity gives Africans self confidence and strong senses of identity. In western culture this concept seems constraining, controlling. Yet, I wonder if the western idea of individualism has lead to a higher prevalence of insecurity among our people. If you are ashamed of your past you are ashamed of yourself. During this semester I learned not only how to accept who I am and where I came from but how to embrace it. The culture I come from is not only a part of my past but a part of who I am in a way I can never change whether I like it or not. I learned to recognize it and revel in it, to be proud of everything that has made me, me. Because of this I know I can now fit in anywhere even if I can’t always blend in.

note: home.

When I said I would post a blog per day despite stresses I neglected to consider the stress of leaving. First, I would like to apologize for the recent lack of blogs. I have sketches and drafts to post from each of those days but will not be able to finalize them until I return to America. Currently, I am sitting the Kilimanjaro Airport patiently waiting for my flight. Twenty-five in-air hours and numerous layover hours from now I will be home, via Virginia, and I can’t wait to see everyone and share all of my stories. Thank you everyone for supporting me during this trip. Delayed posts will be coming in the next few weeks.

In addition, I want to say that leaving Tanzania may be the hardest thing I have ever had to do, and I am beginning to think that re-assimilation may be even harder. I realized today that while I am headed home I am simultaneously leaving home. Every single person, american and east african, that I met here changed me. I know that I will return to America a new person but in ways that far exceeded any expectations I had when I landed in this very airport. I am beyond excited to see my old home through different eyes despite the challenges I know may result.

Tanzania, nitakumisi sana lakini tutaonana tena.

America, I have missed you infinitely in unexpected ways, and I can’t wait to come home.