March 16 I am just realizing I may have jinxed myself with my last blog post. I mentioned I want to go home, but it was a passing thought. I still have a lot of work to do here before I can go home to the States. My standards have gone downhill. I just flicked mouse turds and crumbs, from who knows what, off the bed I'm laying in. Pretty nasty but this is life now.  This morning I woke up thinking it would just be another day in Mayo-Darle. Man was I wrong. I woke up to 2 missed calls and a SMS from Peace Corps. I read the SMS in a daze and woke up quickly. It said I was being evacuated from my post and a car from Peace Corps would be there to get me later in the day. I shot out of bed unsure what that meant. I went to the bathroom and got a backpack out to pack. I started throwing stuff in my backpack in between wandering my house, still in my birthday suit because it is so hot in Mayo-Darle, all the time. I decided clothes were a priority because if I close my window all my light is gone and I can't pack in the dark. I splashed some water on myself to get "clean" and got dressed. Finally dressed, I continued throwing things in my bag and on the floor around it. What does the Peace Corps mean when they say "only bring the essentials"? I got my money, passport, and anti-malaria meds, but I'll need clothes too, right? How long will I be gone? Where am I going? Why do I have to leave? When I'm finally put together enough, I open my door to my village. I start hot water for coffee and realize I need to do dishes and take my garbage out before I leave. When will the Peace Corps car arrive to take me away? I forget about coffee and go wash dishes at my neighbors well. As I start washing dishes I decide I need to tell everyone I'm leaving since I don't know when, or if, I'll be back. How will I explain this in French? I don't even have all the information.  I start my goodbyes with my neighbor in a mode of shock and denial. She looks like she may cry. I tell her I hope I can come back. I take my clean dishes home and continue my goodbyes with my other neighbors and friends.  One neighbor is like a family to me. The mom is so sweet and real with me and the kids are so happy and forever helpful with whatever I'm doing. The dad is not in the compound a lot but when I see him he is always kind. He even plays with the cats and gives them food.  I continue with the "men's quarters" next to my house. It's a compound of young men and boys with one older "mama" and a daughter, often with a random baby I don't know. I don't find anyone and walk back out on the road. I find a few people there and then walk across the street to explain to the "Hadja's". They are three widows (all of the same man) who live in a large compound with many helpers, kids, and young men and women who come in and out. My friend - a young woman - lives there with her 4 kids after losing her husband last year. I struggle to form correct French sentences while explaining the situation. They are all talking to each other in Fulfulde and they ask if I'm already going back to America. I assure her I'm not and try hard to stress I want to come back but it's not me who decides. I walk to my anglophone friends house and tell the husband and the two wives. The second younger wife is not super upset - or at least doesn't look it - but tells me there will be a lot of angry people and that it is better if I come back. I agree and ask to see the first older wife who has been so kind to me since the moment I met her. She's shown me how to make some food here, she takes me along to her women's group, and she is happy and easy to talk to. I tell her and she doesn't know how to take it. She grabs my hand and leads me back into the house and sits in silence for a few moments. The second wife brings me fish and rice and the first wife gets a bottle full of yummy coated peanuts for me to take on my voyage. I can't eat the fish. The first wife tells me I have brought her very bad news and there are tears in her eyes. I explain more and more that I want to come back, especially because I haven't even started doing real work yet. I can't leave my village like this. I finally get up the guts to tell them I can't eat right now after taking a couple bites and give the first wife a Cameroonian style hug/kiss thing. It's like you're shaking hands and then touch cheeks one, two, three times. It was my first time initiating it but I just wanted to give that mama a big hug so I settled for the next best culturally appropriate option. I make it home while reality sets in. I start to get sad and realize I need to come back here. I can't just leave like this. My friend and community host are waiting for me outside my house. We just sit outside and talk about Nigeria and me coming back. Soon there are 5 or 6 of us just sitting outside talking solemnly about what this means.  I remember I need to go to the market to get my water bottle my friend borrowed. I walk there with my community host, trying to discuss any unfinished business we need to take care of. I grab my bottle and explain to the owner of my regular boutique what's happening. While in there, Peace Corps calls to tell me they have arrived. I'm not ready, I can't leave yet. I stop their car in the market and explain they can go get the other nearby volunteer and come back for me. They don't seem bothered by that and drive me to my house so they know where my house is. I guess my hand drawn map to my house wasn't good enough. I get out of the car and run in my house to make sure I have everything I want. They say they will be back in an hour. I sit in my house for a bit, talking with neighbors and friends until I get a call from Peace Corps, much too quickly, that they are waiting outside. I tell my friend to go tell the women neighbors the car is here so they can peak outside their compounds to wave goodbye. There is no need. By the time I reach the car the neighborhood has gathered around it to send me away, after just 4 months. I say goodbye to everyone one last time and I'm doing okay until I reach the group of kids. The youngest kiddo who is at my house often is handed to me and I give him a little hug goodbye and then put him down on the ground and say "bye bye." He grabs my skirt and says "uh uh." I feel myself tearing up and force myself not to pick him up again. My neighbor picks him up to hold him away from the car. I slowly climb in and wave goodbye and say "see you soon" in Fulfulde. The car starts driving off and I feel immense sadness. This place I just worked for 4 months at making a home in is suddenly behind me. All my friends and neighbors and potential work partners are standing in the dust of the car. I can't believe it's happening. I'm in shock and just think, I'll be back, I have to be back. I haven't done anything productive for my village yet.  We are silent in the car as we drive to the next two villages. Holding tears back and unsure what to say or talk about. We take two more volunteers away from their homes and dogs. It is a sad and gloomy trip. No one tries to speculate that we won't be back, even though that's on all our minds. Maybe if we don't say it out loud it won't happen.  Eventually we loosen up a bit and enjoy the comfort of each others company. We listen to music, take calls from worried friends, locals, and Peace Corps administrators. We are safe but have two days of travel ahead of us.  We stop in a city for the night. Eating and drinking cold beer. We all debate if we are calling our families or if we are waiting to know what is going to happen. I decide I need to at least tell my sisters because I'd be mad if it was them in another country, keeping information from me. I wait to call my parents because I don't want to rain on their vacation. By the morning my older sisters have over ruled that and I call my parents to inform them before someone else. Everyone takes it surprisingly well and I am impressed by the empathy from them. Did they get some kind of training on what to say? How do they know what to say? Would I be as gracious for them if the situation was reversed? The night in the hotel on the way here (Bamenda) is restless and full of anxiety. I turn the light off and try to ignore the fact I'm sleeping in the house of a mouse. I'm back up in a few minutes, lights back on, pacing in my room. A few minutes of that and I try again to shut the light off and lay down in bed. I leave the bathroom light on in hopes it will let the mouse know I'm taking the bed tonight. I'm only asleep a couple hours when I wake up thinking about my situation. I force myself not to get up since it is only 4 am. I wake up at 5 and 6 with the rooster alarm. Shortly after 6, I give up on sleeping and take a cold bucket bath, shivering and gasping in the cool morning air. I go downstairs and order some Nescafé and find another volunteer has been struggling to sleep also, even though we all went to our rooms exhausted.  We eat some beans and beignets for breakfast and hit the road again. We are finally safe in Bamenda. We have no news of future plans. We are enjoying Internet, electricity, running water, and the anglophone region.  I hope within a week we will have more information and answers for all our questions, but it is not unheard of for volunteers to live in limbo like this for a month or two. After two days, I know I can't do a month of this. I want to go home, back to Mayo-Darle. I am motivated to work and hope I can prove that.  This life will get old fast and walking around the city is limited by my leg. It starts aching quickly from my burn. I am trying to stay positive but some moments it is difficult, near impossible.