Home.

I think twelve days is the longest I've gone without writing to you... I'm sorry, readers. Sorry, Mom. Today is a good day to write, though, because throughout the day today, I think I felt every emotion on the emotional spectrum.

The morning began normal enough; the clouds out my hut window a beautiful bed of pinks and oranges, coaxing the golden sun to wake up and warm the earth. I can't help but smile each morning as I pull my long sleeve tee over my head and stumble out the door to breathe the fresh crisp air.

December sixth. I didn't think it would come this fast. I remember back in September when I moved here and met all the kids. Back in September. Wow. Mama Rose told me that their school term ends in early December and then they'd be going back to their home villages. It seemed like so far away, and really it was. But here it is, and although I awoke this morning and smiled at the sunrise, I secretly dreaded getting out of bed; dreaded admitting that today really is the sixth of December already.

Still slightly groggy from dreaming, I walked towards the four houses where our 67 beautiful children live. "Good moooorning, Brynn!" I hear from Mercy House. "Good morning, Solomon," I wave back. He looks so sharp in his blue checkered button-up shirt and his clean shaven head. He comes to hug me, and notices the heart he drew on my arm yesterday. It's faded from my shower last night, and he looks concerned.
"Can I fix it?"
"Of course," I respond.
"Okay, you wait," he says over his shoulder as he runs inside his home. Shortly after he comes out and puts a small white heart-shaped piece of paper into the palm of my hand. I smile. This heart will last much longer than one drawn on my arm.

I walk over and Love House and find Faida, Abedkwene, and Ayaa eating breakfast. Their smiles are probably enough to make the sun shine for days, and although I'm so happy to see them, I feel tears welling up in my eyes. Do they really have to go? Janet comes out the door, and immediately says, "Don't cry."
"Janet, I will try. But when you say that I just want to cry more!"
She looks about to cry now too, but Solomon saves the day with his silly joking, "Okay, you cry! You cry! .... No but don't really..."

How I will miss these children, my brothers and sisters.

Finally, all 67 kids pile into three fifteen-seater vans. (This is Africa, folks). Hugging and saying goodbye to them all was draining enough; now we just have to wait and stare at them all until the drivers are ready to start their engines. (Again, this is Africa). Each minute seemed to cling for dear life to the one before it, so all the minutes bled together and the hour seemed like an eternity. It's not that I was ready for them to leave... it's that I had convinced myself they were leaving, and then they kept still being there.

Eventually, of course, the vans pulled away, little brown arms waving goodbye and beloved voices shouting "amari!" which means I love you. I love them, too. I hope they know it. My last image was Clinton's hand, and then the van turned the corner.

Suddenly, the compound felt like just that: a compound. No longer was it a home full of laughter and energy; now it was simply a compound, empty and doomed to wait patiently for "home" to return.

Drained and sad, I walked to the church and sat in the window, allowing tears to flow. I thought about how much I missed them already. I thought about how they don't want to return to their home villages, because some of them don't even have guardians to care for them. Many of them are going back to an empty hut; a place of hardship and bad memories. Then I realized I can't focus on that. I just spent three months with 67 amazing human beings! How blessed I am. How thankful I am that I was able to spend enough time with these kids to actually BE friends with them! They taught me better than to be sad at their departure. They taught me joy and peace, despite sadness and tribulation. They're living proof that God truly cares for and provides for his children. I have nothing to be sad about... I have everything in the world to be happy about.

I realized today, more than ever, that home isn't necessarily just a place. I've called this village home for the past three and a half months, but it's not simply the village that is home... it's the kids. My brothers and sisters; my friends. Home is also in Minneapolis, and I'm so excited to hug my mom and my dad and my sisters when I get there. Home is also in Milwaukee, and I have so many wonderful friends to look forward to there as well. Home will soon be in Spain, where my host mother Mercedes waits for my arrival.

Home isn't just a place. Home is where you can give love, and have love, and be loved. What a beautiful gift to embrace home where you are. To love. These kids taught me so much. I'll miss them incredibly.