Saying Good-bye

In the Third World we say good-bye often. In fact, at the tender age of just seven months I am already doing it for the second time and what I’m learning is that saying good-bye is a lot like getting a diaper change. At first, it is unpleasant and you soon come to realize that the whole experience really stinks. Tears are shed and some screaming is often required to move the process along. But then a new diaper comes, super absorbent and brimming with promise and it’s exciting to imagine all the fun you are going to have filling it up. Ok, so it’s not a great analogy but I don’t exactly have a lot of life experiences to draw on.

Naomi and me with Betty and Coly, our good friends and protectors

On the one hand, constantly saying good-bye weakens friendships; makes them temporary. Sure we try to stay in touch but when's the last time any of us sent a hand-written letter in the mail or made a phone call just to say hi? We're lucky if we remember to send an e-card once a year on our closest friends' birthdays. And when we finally do see an email from a long-departed friend in our inbox, it is more likely to contain the phrase “forward this to twenty people” than “I was thinking about you today.”

But ironically, these same bonds of friendship, beaten and battered though they may be, are the very thing that helps us adapt to a new place. Because those of us in the Third World must pull up roots so often, it is the friends we make quickly upon arrival that make our new home feel so much like, well, home. If you doubt my thesis, you need look no further than the smiles on our faces as we celebrated my sister's third birthday with all her wonderful friends in Dakar.

Ok, granted, part of the excitement was at getting our first Barbie doll, an event similar in many ways to seeing a space alien. Not only did she have an other-worldly form with bulbous head and withered limbs, but Daddy’s shock and revulsion at the invasion of this creature into our home had all the leanings of a government cover-up. We’re guarding Barbie closely to make sure she does not disappear -- the memory of her existence subjected to a campaign of doubt and ridicule.

A real friend shouldn't show up at a party wearing your outfit

Friends also help us through difficult times. Our peers can better understand the tribulations we face from those who would oppress us – namely our families. In my case, my family regularly subjects me to comparisons with the odd and odious Uncle Fester for my round head, fair complexion, and inability to grown hair. I sincerely hope they never find out that I can illuminate a light bulb with my mouth or I’ll never shake the nickname.















To those of you who have been a friend to me in Africa, I thank you warmly and sincerely. Please know that I will think of you from time to time, even if I do not excel at staying in touch. But rest assured I will never send you a chain letter.

Un beso,
Lainey