Under the Milky Way

Reality began to set in as I shoveled food into my mouth and the peace corps lounge got dark and empty and lonely. The shuttle to the airport was wildly unexciting, and I think I fell asleep at some point (so many nights of bad sleep combined left me desperate for some zz's). I awoke as we were pulling into the dark airport -recognizing it by its shadowy darkness and immediately was reminded of the night when we arrived in Liberia just a little over 2 months ago- nervous, luggage-less, and not sure what to expect. With no one to help me from this point on, I groggily pulled my two backpacks on me. I tried to use the crutches I'd been given, but I couldn't balance with all of my bags. So I just hobbled my way to the entrance carrying them in my spare hand.  The airport in Liberia is itty bitty, feeling like an old warehouse divided into sections. Despite its size, I struggled to find my way from place to place with the lack of signage as this Atlanta gal is use

I hadn’t run in three days after a weekend bout of stomach issues. I had decided to go for a short jog down my favorite path just to get my blood moving. When I started running, I felt my sluggish legs working underneath me. Instead of trying to push through it, I just allowed myself to slowly jog down the path, trying to re-center my mind, forget my daily frustrations, and enjoy the lush, jungle setting of my own “gym.” Somewhere in the slogging, I tripped over something and smacked into the ground, sliding forward on the loose gravel and grass. My hand, which was inches from my face when I fell, caught a lot of my weight, and I feared that it would be gushing blood when I flipped it over to look at my palm. Quickly I did just that and was surprised to find only a few faint scratches on it. I rolled my body over, stood up, and looked at my knees. “FU*!,” was my only reaction. I repeated this over and over again as I assessed the damage. My right knee was already dripping