Emergency Leave: 1

Margie was diagnosed with cancer about 6 years ago. She was in remission when I first came to Peace Corps, but that lasted for less than a year. We had talked about the possibility of me coming home on Emergency Leave if things were to get bad, and I had talked to my Country Director about how that would work… Still, you can never really be ready for that sort of thing.

Margie usually called me once a week. In late October, sitting in my little village, I realized that I hadn’t heard from her since my birthday, over ten days prior. I tried not to let myself be worried. After all, it’s not uncommon for people to try to call me and not get through. That night, I was sitting in my house mid-torrential rainstorm, reading, listening to music, enjoying the sound of the rain on my tin roof, when I got a call from my sister, Nicole. “Leah?? Leah?” I heard her say, but she couldn’t hear me answering. After a few seconds we got cut off. Again, I tried to dismiss the feeling that something was wrong. Maybe she was just calling to say hello… I couldn’t do anything about it at that point. I could only call her back if I went to the other side of the village, where I could get decent reception. And I couldn’t get there in the storm. So, I decided to call Margie and/or Nicole the next day, hoping to put my mind to rest.

Vic called the next morning. “I have some bad news,” he started. Nicole had emailed him, and asked him to contact me since she hadn’t been able to. Margie was in the hospital again, and things weren’t looking good. She didn’t have much time left. Maybe months, maybe less.

I got off the phone, contacted Peace Corps to inform the necessary people that I was heading to the city so I could contact my family, get more information, and figure out what I was doing. I explained to the people at the Mayor’s office what was happening. I told them I was going to Konni, possibly going to America, and that I wasn’t sure if I would be coming back. Stubbornly trying to comply with Nigerien cultural norms, I fought my tears as best I could (a loosing battle…). My best friend in the village, Rabi, sat with me while I got things organized. For a few minutes, we sat together in silence, as I waited for a text confirming that a Peace Corps car could come pick me up. Then, she looked at me with the most genuine compassion and with tears in her eyes, and she said, “Farida, I wish I could go with you. I want you to know that if I could, I would get ready right now and go with you so you wouldn’t be alone.” Peace Corps Volunteers are often bombarded with “I want to go to America!” “Take me with you!” but this… this wasn’t about her wanting to see America. This was about one friend, wanting to sit with another during a difficult time. It was in every way impossible for her to do so, but for her sentiment, I am and will remain inexpressibly grateful. Across culture, language, homeland: This is friendship.

Within two hours, I had packed up my most important belongings (pictures, bible, souvenirs, etc.), told those friends and neighbors whom I could find that I was leaving (maybe indefinitely), exchanged phone numbers with a few people, and was in the Peace Corps car, driving away from my home of a year and a half and heading towards my home of two decades.

A few very long days later, I was on a flight back to Boston, my fears that I might be too late partially eased, still unsure if I would ever see Niger again, unsure of everything except that I was doing what I had to do.