The Beginning of Closure

To tell this story right, I need to flash back to March 2013, when Peace Corps reached out to me with an “urgent question”. To ask this question, Peace Corps wanted my phone number. For several reasons, I felt less than comfortable providing my number to this agency. I said I would consider answering the question via email.  After more than two weeks of waiting – clearly lacking urgency – Peace Corps opted not to question me and once again dissipated from my life. In March, it was the Country Director of Lesotho who reached out to me.

In August – on the 26^th – Peace Corps returned; this time the Regional Security Officer, a man based out of Pretoria, South Africa and the same man who sat through all the interviews before I was released from Lesotho contacted me. He asked for my phone number, and again I refused to provide it. Four days later, via email, he asked me to return to Lesotho to testify in the High Court. I had several stipulations for travel, my number one priority being that I would not travel alone. My conditions for travel were met on September 10. Mind you, in the interim, the third anniversary passed. Then the preparation began. On September 12 at 5:30 am I had a conversation with the prosecutor to address my questions (and those questions others helped me prepare). On Friday, September 13 – after work – I spoke with the Victim Advocate by phone. Then, on Tuesday, September 16, I went to Peace Corps Headquarters to meet with the Lead Security Specialist, the Chief of Overseas Operations in the Office of Safety and Security, the Victim Advocate, a counselor, and the Acting Director of Peace Corps. I was there for over two hours being debriefed on everything. At 11:45 am on Wednesday, September 17, not having heard anything, I reached out to the Lead Security Specialist. And it wasn’t until then – departure set for Friday afternoon – that I received confirmation this was real; Boyfriend and I would be traveling back to the Mountain Kingdom. So preceding this, I shared the news with extended family and friends.

The back and forth with Peace Corps was a blur. Fielding the countless emails and phone calls was a second full time job. I tried through all of this to give work – my paying gig – my best; I was busy prepping for an impending Government Shutdown. And when I’m on the clock, work is (as it should be) my number one focus.

Those final two days leading up to departure continued in a hazy manner. I remember there was a lot to get done. But mostly I remember breaking down a whole bunch. Over. And Over. Same story. I pulled myself together on Friday morning enough to function. I managed to write overdue thank you notes, sent birthday cards, and run some errands – bank, Whole Foods, Dunkin Donuts, and the library. Oh and I finally packed. Boyfriend showed up about a half hour before he arranged the taxi, a million hours too early. But I had zero energy to refute his bizarre airport etiquette. So I went with it. In tears. At the airport we browsed every store Terminal B had to offer… and then waited. I read Emily Griffin’s Love the One Your With, in search of true mindlessness. After arriving in Atlanta, where there were food and shop options for entertainment, we had zero to no time to move from Terminal B to Terminal T. If you know Hartsfield-Jackson, you know what a feat that can be. The plane was exactly what you’d expect a 15 hour flight to be – poor food, intermittent sleep, cramp-y legs. I read. Boyfriend slept. I slept. Boyfriend watched videos. And I vowed to never fly Delta international again.

Then we landed in Jo-Burg. And based on my inability to ID any suspect coupled with the fact three years of time has passed and I there was a single new piece of information I could offer, I wondered what the heck I was doing on the street of Africa… again.