The Most Precious Place

March 24

Two days ago marked eight months that I have been in Bolivia.

Today marks two months until I will be heading home.

Home as in my family in America, because I will be leaving this home far behind. Well, physically speaking. I’ll be taking all these little humans back with me in my heart. I promise you that.

It seems like both yesterday and a lifetime ago that I was lying in my tent those first couple weeks. I had the screen tightly zipped shut as to prevent any creepy, unknown creatures from entering. And I would stare up at my ceiling, which is actually just the green material of my tent, counting down the months until I would be back home. I dreaded my cold showers. I refused to walk anywhere barefoot. More than anything I just wanted a nice big plate of lasagna and doughnuts and yellow curry from Thai Rain. And I understood a whole lot of nothing when it came to Spanish.

I didn’t know how I would make it here so long. There was a big part of me that just wanted to call it quits and get on that plane ride home. It seemed surreal that almost an entire year of jungle living and foreign language and separation from my family lay ahead.

And now, well, here I am. Counting down the days.

That’s about how fast it flew by.

And I think back on my self and laugh at the things I thought were oh so big and oh so important.

I have a gaping hole in my tent that gets bigger every day. I throw a skirt over it at night because a tarantula could probably creep in. But it probably falls off some nights and you know. It’s literally whatever.

I walk around barefoot all the time. Well, except for in the bathroom. That, my friends, shall never happen.

Um I love rice. Rice is seriously so yummy. And this morning I ate plain tomatoes just because I wanted to.

Also cold showers are probably the most refreshing things in the world.

And, well, when it comes to the language? I’ve come pretty far actually. Yeah I am far from fluent. But I can communicate and understand and I’m so thankful for that because

the things these kids say.

My goodness. They are the most clever, hysterical, precious little beings in the world and

my word how I love them.

This week Candace, Ashley, Kevin and I are in La Paz for a mini-vacation. Familia Feliz is on a one and a half week break and so we headed out for six days of traveling and relaxing and, well, just taking care of ourselves for a little while.

It was a really spare of the moment decision. We decided to do it for real Monday, and Tuesday night we headed out.

Jahel is staying at Familia Feliz all of vacation. I had promised him I would take him to town, which I still will but later than expected. Also he’s just my boy and comes over to visit all the time. When I told him I was leaving he grabbed me and said, No. No. No. I’m never letting you go. You’re not going to La Paz. He sat with me, holding my hand, for at least twenty minutes afterward.

Amy came up to me, Teacher Darian? Will you take me with you in your backpack?

My little Josue cried when I told him I was leaving. Josue, I’ll be back in six days. I promise.

Eliseo came running over to me, asking me for my phone number so we could message over break.

Fabiola looked up at me when I told her I was leaving in complete silence. For the longest time. And then she hugged me. And my word that girl. If someone in this world has a heart of gold, it’s Fabiola.

I was running super late. I wasn’t even all the way packed but everywhere any of the four of us went, we were swarmed by kids hugging us and begging us not to go.

Begging us not to leave.

I finally made it to my house, Alan tagging along. He sat with me while I threw my last things together and helped me carry my bag to the road because that’s just who he is.

And when I made it to the road, there waited so many of the kids.

So many.

And they stood out there with the four of us as we waited for the taxi.

Hugging us goodbye again and again and again.

All I did for that thirty minutes was hug children and tell them goodbye just one more time and tell them I love them and take pictures with them and hear them tell me they love me and think

oh my goodness. How in the world. How, of all the places, am I here right now? With you? And I don’t even speak your language perfectly and you know I’m only here for a short time and I come from such a different background than you and

sweet children why in the world do you love me so much?

Finally the taxi came. Well, more like a little motor trailer thing. But you know, it works.

We hopped on and, as we drove away, I saw all those kids standing there next to the Familia Feliz sign, waving goodbye.

And I’m telling you, I don’t know how I’m going to do it in May.

Because I love being here in La Paz. I love the hot showers and the nice hotel room and the relaxing and the good food.

But oh my goodness I cannot wait to be back with those kids again.

So tell me how I am going to be able to say good-bye in May, when the separation ahead is far more than six days.

I picture those last goodbyes. I picture Jahel throwing his arms around me and looking up at me with his big brown eyes that one last time and I think of something else because I can’t go there.

Oh and then I think of my little boys. Little Rodrigo or Fermin or Hugo or any of them and their little bodies and picking them up and hugging them and thinking

Who’s gonna tuck you in tonight?

Who’s gonna give you bandaids even though you don’t really need them?

Who’s gonna laugh at the silly things you do and say?

And I think of something else.

I think of Fabiola, who calls me Mami Darian every time she talks to me, and what it will be like to leave my daughter so far behind

And I think of something else.

But I would not give this up for a thing in the world. Nothing could compare.

And I think back to eight months ago. I think to myself lying in my tent counting down the months till I would be out of here.

And now I find myself dreading the goodbye. Unable to bear the thought of it.

But my goodness I have two months ahead. Two more months with the most precious children in the world.

And so I’ll do my best not to think of the good-bye.

Instead I will treasure every day, every moment

because I swear

this place I used to want to leave

has become the most precious place in the world to me.

At the road waiting for a taxi.