City Bed Bugs vs Village Sticky Hands

I spent the past week in the city with American families who were evacuated from the village because of the Ebola epidemic. The week pasted slowly full of guilty pleasures of good food and real toilets. By the end of the long drive back, I sluggishly fell out of the car and twirled the knob on my door as if it were second nature. I waited for the wave of “you’re home finally” to wash over me but the musty air hung silent around my sun burned shoulders. I unpacked with care knowing that the bed bugs from the city bed were probably crawling all over my luggage. I awoke the next morning and with a heavy tread, made my way to the babies’ home. As I entered the gates, I heard my name being shouted, “katee, katee, katee”! It was like a symphony of angels singing welcome home. My feet seemed to fly as I raced to hug each little one with a passion I didn’t know I felt. I ached to weep as each child tried in one breath to tell me everything I had missed and ask if I had been lost for the past week. I just kept nodding, not understanding 75% of it, but it didn’t seem to faze them as their tiny sticky hands grasped every inch of me. Through out the day as I was stopped by a number of people, all asking if I had been lost for the past week, I was struck with the realization that I had genuinely missed the people. Fort Portal has become home.