There are certain key moments during the course of a life that fan the flames of nostalgia. A milestone birthday. Traveling to a land full of distant, fond memories. Receiving news that monumental life changes--moving to a different city for a different job--are being imposed by the powers that be.
Sometimes these moments and the nostalgia that accompanies them are spread over the course of months or years. Other times they tumble on top of each other over the course of 8 days. I know from experience...
Recently, I celebrated a 'zero' birthday. This does not happen often in one's life--perhaps 8 or 9 times with good genes, healthy eating, exercise, and luck. I celebrated the day quietly with my darling wife. We ate hummus and falafel and visited the farmer's market during the day, and invited some friends to our apartment for drinks and conversation in the evening. (They were unaware that it was my birthday until halfway through the evening, and even then it wasn't mentioned until I brought it up just before they left. I said, "Whether you knew it or not, you just helped me celebrate my birthday. Thank you." They had been told while I was fetching drinks, but spared me from any extra attention or singing.)
I was easily able to recall my previous 'zero' birthday. The world had recently entered its "Post 9/11" phase, although none of us really knew what that meant. War with Afghanistan appeared inevitable, and I spent much of my first semester of grad school filling my hungry brain with new theories and discussing the implications of terrorism, extremism, war, etc. My darling wife (not my wife yet at that point), was due back from Peace Corps soon. Life was full of questions, but I had youth and hope on my side...
Soon after my birthday a couple of weeks ago, I found myself in a holding pattern waiting several frustrating days for my passport to be released by the Ministry of the Interior. My passport was being returned to me via FedEx with a new Ghana visa, and apparently ministry officials required 5 days to determine it was an authentic document that did not pose too severe a security threat. Thanks to the scrutiny of my potentially explosive passport, my departure to Ghana was delayed by three days, and I joined the workshop I was supposed to be co-facilitating at lunch of the 2nd of 4 days.
But I was happy to be in Ghana. I spent two weeks in Ghana in 2000 with two very good friends when I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Mali. We traveled overland through Cote D'Ivoire, first spending a two nights in Abidjan while our Ghana visas were processed. Our first stop in Ghana was Busua at the Alaska Beach Resort, where we frolicked on the beach, ate freshly caught lobster, and visited a nearby fishing village. From there we spent several days in Kokrobite at Big Millie's Backyard. Finally, we took a bus to Kumasi, stayed at the Presbyterian Guest House, and visited West Africa's largest market on a Sunday, when 95% of the vendors stay home or go to church.
This most recent trip to Ghana didn't compare in fun or relaxation, but after spending two formative years in West Africa--mostly Mali--I was happy to be back in the bosom of the Motherland.
The trip was too short--no time for the beach or lobster or the market--and soon I was back at Tel Aviv airport waiting for security personnel to determine that neither me nor my passport posed a credible threat to the Holy Land. While in the holding area, I switched on my phone and saw a text message from my bosses' boss. He told me that a phone call had been scheduled for the next day and that I should look at my email. While I was in Ghana, several emails had been exchanged regarding contingency planning as we waited for US Congress to lift its hold on funding to continue supporting USAID's development work in West Bank and Gaza. As was (and still currently is) the case for USAID funded projects here, including mine, the budget freeze means drastic measures needed to be considered. I figured the phone call scheduled for the next day would be an opportunity to discuss options and strategies. When I returned home at 4:30am, I turned on my computer to check my email as requested in the text message. I read the email slowly. Then I re-read it. And then told my darling wife, who had settled back into bed after greeting me upon my return, "I think we're moving back to Baltimore." The phone call a few hours later confirmed that options and strategies had already been discussed and that my time in Ramallah would be cut short, and I would return to work in Baltimore starting in early November.
So, although it has only been 9 months since I arrived in Ramallah, I have started anticipating nostalgia for this crazy place. At the same time, I've started thinking ahead to the return to Baltimore and have experienced nostalgia for people, places, and things that occupied my time there for nearly 6 years before crossing the Atlantic with my darling wife and a container full of possessions.
Over the course of 8 days, I got noticeably older--at least on paper--returned briefly to a friendly & familiar land, and learned that the timetable for my time in sweet little Ramallah was much, much shorter than I expected or wanted. Oh what a difference a week (and a day) makes.
But I have three more weeks to enjoy life in the Middle East before moving back to the East Coast to collect more opportunities for future nostalgia. And that's what I intend to do.
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For more information on the turn of events that has shifted my life course, see below:
"Palestinians Feel Effects Of Frozen U.S. Aid"
