Kwa Heri

The final week of teaching at Yamba school was a strange experience.  It felt like there was something hanging in the air that noboby wanted to acknowledge.  Lessons continued with the same enthusiasm but still that heaviness was present.  On the Wednesday we distributed gifts to our classes, stickers and felt tip pens.  Their faces were a picture, such awe and amazement and overwhelmed by the choice.

On Thursday, our last day with the pupils, I had a few things left to give out.  Prizes for the best students and for those who had made good progress.  My standard 4 class got balloons to play with.  I did not have a balloon for everyone so I blew them up and threw them to the class.  One girl, Maria, said to me when she did not catch the balloon "teacher, you do not give me balloon".  My heart sank.  Later she came into the staff room and I said holding out my hand to her "Maria, gifti, secret" and handed her a pink balloon.  She smiled knowingly but I don't think it was a secret for long.

"I love you bibi Lucy"

Final day with my standard 2 class was heartbreaking.  After our lesson I gave them some sweets.  They were big wine gums and I don't think they realised they could eat them until I said.  The children sucked the end of the sweet and put it in their pockets or on the desk.  There were enough sweets for each child to have 3 each.  I heard Charles say as he recieved sweet number three "I love you bibi Lucy"  I was touched and so thrilled he said it in English!

Then I went round each pupil and shook their little sticky hand and said goodbye in kiswahili.  There were tears in their eyes and rolling down some childrens faces.  My eyes filled up and I could no longer speak.  This was one of the most profound and moving moments of my life.  Some of the boys would not shake hands and would not even look at me.  It was as if they did not want to believe it was happening.

On Friday the 6th April we left the village and descended the mountain for the last time.  At Kwemshi we hugged the housegirls, Teresia and Stella, and said goodbye.  There were many tears.  I shook hands with the villagers and children gathered there and I saw my pupil, Jemsi, both hands clasped on his face looking bewildered and as if to say "I don't believe this is happening, you can't leave"  As I said goodbye to him there were tears in his eyes.  I will never forget his face.  It broke my heart to leave him, to leave Yamba and all the children and friends I had made.

We were sobbing in the car for a while as we bumped down the rocky road.  Eventually we calmed and thought about the three days we had on the beach before the long flight home.  Waiting at Segera in the heat was draining and the bus arrived over an hour late.  We were all in a reflective mood and emotionally drained.

When we arrived at Kipepeo they didn't have us booked in for that night so we had to go to the Sunrise resort and all share an executive banda.  Well, it was like a Spanish villa and we were very glad to relocate to Kipi the next day to the basic bamboo bandas that we were familiar with.

Relaxing on the beach was probably what we needed.  A bit like limbo but preparing for the final departure.  Yes, I am sad to leave but I am sure, quite certain that I will return.