11:45, turn out the light, close my eyes and try to fall asleep.

Hear cars driving past on the rain-soaked street not so far from my window and door, some of them louder and faster than is probably appropriate for so late at night, on such a rainy night. Think about how I could walk outside my door right now and immediately be on a church’s lawn. And imagine the children who might randomly run around that lawn, the sides of my house, my room, my window.

But this isn’t the Gambia. Children don’t run around so willy-nilly here. In the Gambia, children would literally climb our compound walls, hang onto the gate and call out our names, wanting us to come out and play with them. But here, children aren’t supposed to run after people they don’t know so well, they aren’t supposed to go knocking on doors and running around yards of people they don’t know, except on those designated holidays that make it okay.

And oh, the compound. What I realize tonight I truly miss. When my bedroom was on the ground floor but I still found comfort in those compound walls, never having the thoughts I have tonight about people poking about just outside my window. Knowing that if I heard someone outside my window, it was only Sainabou or Haddy or Mohammed, or perhaps a family member or good friend of theirs, never a stranger. And when my home was situated off of a main road, a street cars didn’t too often drive down, and even if they did it was so rocky and sandy that they had to drive at a turtle’s pace.

It’s not even that people have even been around that church lawn, near my window and encroaching on personal space (and funny, because personal space was something I had so much less of in the Gambia, yet I didn’t really mind that it was always invaded), but it’s a thought that still crosses my mind.

Last Saturday in the Gam, the seven remaining toubabs flag down a truck to drive us to the election house. We clamber into the truck bed and huddle around each other. All I could do for those five minutes was gaze at my friends and the stars in the sky, smiling all the while. “You guys,” I said to them, “this is the most perfect moment.”

I miss you, Gambia and Club Toubab :(

It’s the day before I leave the Gambia, and I can’t believe that soon I’ll be back on the other side of the Atlantic, in a place where it rains regularly, where I’ll experience four seasons, where you don’t haggle for better prices and where men don’t push women out of the way for a seat on the bus.

What I’ll miss…

• The weather. Until this past Wednesday, I hadn’t seen rain in months, and it didn’t feel weird at all. Now, even though I’m happy that I can say I experienced the beginning of the rainy season, we are all super uncomfortable with the humidity. I had forgotten how much humidity totally sucks, because five months of dry heat was actually kind of fabulous. And now I have to go home to humidity? Boo! But I love that I’ve never really needed to check weather.com to know how to prepare for the day. I can always expect the sun to shine here.
• The people. I’ve loved chatting with my fellow students at UTG, getting their perspective on things that I used to never think twice about. I’ve loved meeting new people everywhere I go. There’s a reason that The Gambia is called the Smiling Coast of Africa, and for me it’s not only because everyone is smiling and friendly everywhere we go, but also because every day and almost everyone I meet gives me a reason to smile.
• My regular venues for hanging out. I’m not gonna lie, I love going places and knowing the people who work there and chatting with them. There’s a reason we keep going back to so many restaurants and stuff: because the people are wonderful and make us feel welcome. And what’s not to love about that?
• Fresh fruit. And actually, just the food in general. I love being able to walk down the street and get an omelette tapalapa or mangoes or peanuts. I love visiting places and getting cashew fruit right off the tree. I adore domoda and could probably eat it every day, and I’m sad that if I ever do try to make domoda myself it won’t be nearly as amazing as Haddy’s.
• Hitchhiking. Why is hitchhiking illegal back home? Because I’m kind of in love with it. It’s economical, you meet interesting people, have strange or fascinating conversations, and it gets you to where you need to go. I think it needs a revival in the US. We all just need to be a little bit more trusting, and a little bit more trustworthy.
• The market. Though I’m certainly not the best at haggling for prices, I love going to the market, searching for awesome fabric (which then gets made into wonderful clothes—another thing I love: the tailor! clothes made just for me! yay!) or jewelry or whatever my heart desires. You can find literally anything in the markets here, and it’s pretty great how it’s set up, how crazy it can be, how fun it is to just walk away from someone when you don’t like their price and have them come after you saying, “Okay okay, your price.” Why can’t shopping at the mall be more like trips to Serrekunda Market?
• Club Toubab. In five months, I have come to adore the people that I live with, and I think that I am most sad to leave them and go our separate ways. They’ve been my lifeline here, and I don’t think I would have had nearly an amazing experience if it wasn’t for them. Even though most of us will be returning to Pennsylvania in the fall, who knows when we’ll all get to see each other again? Maybe if we’re lucky someday we’ll all find ourselves back here in the Gambia, reminiscing about this semester.

I was going to do a list of things that I am fairly excited to return to back home (movie theaters, air conditioning and hot showers, having consistent power), but to be honest, when I think about going home, I just get very sad because it means I’m leaving here, I’m leaving amazing people and all of my new friends, I’m leaving a place I’ve grown to love in all its imperfections. For someone as neurotic and shy as me, this place has been a true lesson in personal growth and what my own capabilities are. Gambia, I’ll be back someday, I promise. <3