I remember way back when . . . during the time of my Peace Corps nomination but still months prior to my receipt of the actual invitation . . . I was advised by all the PC publications that concluding one’s service was equally or perhaps more difficult than adjusting to the cultural differences of arriving in-country. Little did I believe it. After all, I am extraordinary. Or . . . maybe not so much.

These days I carry tissue (Lotus) in my bag not so much for emergency toilet use as to wipe away the tears from my eyes. Leaving Burkina Faso. It’s getting way too real. One day I’ll be leaving little Pô and little Victorine. In a 24-hour period I can go from supreme delight in every minute of village life . . . not wanting to waste one minute of time in my hut (and for those of you who know me best, you know how odd this is) . . . to utter depression with refusal to leave the hut. This is the roller coaster ride, with no apparent explanation . . . because the time to leave Pô is still months away.

Once upon a time I worked at an HIV foundation . . . I thought I’d see what I could offer those good folks. What I discovered was that I offered them virtually nothing. Nada. Zip. However, what they gave to me was immeasurable. Working in Burkina Faso is much the same. I came here in an attempt to do just a tiny bit of development work. Just a smidge would have been rewarding. In fact, I’m finally realizing that I’ve done some amazing work. With that said, what has been given to me by the good folks in Pô, and indeed by the entire country, is also immeasurable. I’ve been helped far more than I've helped. I've embraced the ça va aller attitude so much that I wonder whether I’ll ever be able to plan anything in advance. Learning to live in the moment has been very much a learning experience, and very rewarding. And yet some measure of planning is required by our American culture. Nay, it’s demanded!

My head spins. My brain is boggled. I’m here . . . the time is nigh . . . the time when I must decide and plan simple things. My flight home. Travel between here at Dallas after I leave Pô. And I’m riding the roller coaster between total paralysis and near-constant obsession over what I should do about simply getting home. This doesn’t even address future career plans once I arrive back in The States.

The Burkinabé have a marvelous fatalistic approach to life. Que sera sera. What happens happens. I now get this. Yes, this once-OCD planner who stressed over totally insignificant things such as where the cheese platter would be placed on the table for the Bastille Day party, has let go. I want my OCD back. I never want it back. I need it back . . . it was my security blanket. I never want back that lunatic woman!

This planning gene that I seemed to have inherited is especially boggling here in Pô. Pô, the parallel universe where things change in the blink of an eye. That takes planning, right? Or does it?

A few days ago Leon decided that our courtyard needed a new outdoor living area. HGTV arrived in Pô, via Leon’s design skills; and voila, we have a new concrete terrace . . . complete with raised retaining walls (or what could be described as curbs, at the very least), and complete with drainage slots to keep our banana trees watered. But wait, there’s more . . . because rainy season is on the way, and that means mosquitoes, and that means malaria, and that means illness, and that means . . . . See! I'm already weeks down the road and not living in the moment. But I'm not toally alone. 

The very nature of placing a large concrete terrace over what was once sandy earth means that water will accumulate. Water . . . the breeding playground for malaria-carrying mosquitoes. The answer? Leon planned a lost well. Planned! These may look like ordinary rocks, but they’re far from anything so simple. This is a well-planned and well-executed lost well. Pardon the pun(s). A lost well may be created in any naturally-occurring depression in the ground. Stones are places over a layer of small rocks placed over a layer of small pebbles. So there’s no water accumulation. No mosquito nursery. And Leon did this without three months of excruciating planning. Just woke-up one morning to get 'er done.

So how am I suppose to leave this place? How am I to readjust to America's demand for planners? Will I return for Victorine’s fifth birthday party? Is it too early to start planning for that? We can only speculalte.