Farewell: A HeartFelt Goodbye to louga

April 24 - Day 12

Today, we donned our custom-made Senegalese attire as we prepared to visit our prospective schools for one last time, culminating in a Farewell Ceremony. The thought of saying goodbye weighed heavily on my heart. As shirts were signed, certificates awarded, and gifts exchanged, I felt an overwhelming mix of gratitude and sadness. Each student handed me their homework—postcards written for my students back home. I blinked back tears, reassuring them that our conversations and learning would continue, bridging the distance between us.

As we made our way down the stairs, students followed us out of the building and down the sandy street, prolonging the difficult farewell. Our last stop was at CRFPE, the teacher training center, where we engaged in a Q&A with aspiring elementary school teachers. Their curiosity and intelligence shone through as they expressed a desire to make a difference, despite facing challenges like overcrowded classrooms and a lack of technology. I couldn’t help but compare their struggles to my own classroom back home, feeling a twinge of embarrassment at how I sometimes complain about the temperature.

As I was preparing to leave, a tall Senegalese teacher trainer approached me, asking if I was the American Writing Teacher in the group. His eyes were pleading as he requested my guidance. My heart broke at the thought of wanting to help but feeling helpless. He shared my goals—educating students while nurturing their humanity and empathy, all while preparing them for the future. It dawned on me that no matter where we are in the world, our dedication to students is what connects us.

CRFPE (Teacher Training Center)

After exchanging information and promising to stay in touch, we headed for our last Louga lunch—baguettes and spicy Senegalese beans. With the relentless desert sun blazing at a sweltering 108 degrees, we decided to venture out for a run. Was it the wisest decision? Perhaps not. But it was a much-needed release! As we jogged, a passerby yelled to us, warning that it was too hot. We smiled, grateful for the teranga, or hospitality, from a stranger.

After finishing our run and rewarding ourelves with ice cream, we returned to the hotel for a quick dip in the pool before dressing for a traditional Senegalese meal at Mansour’s house.

Upon arrival, his family welcomed us warmly, and we removed our shoes as is customary. Playing games soon became a theme of the trip—UNO made its appearance, and we all huddled on the floor, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. As we waited for dinner, children hopped onto our laps. My heart ached for my own children back home, but the warmth and trust from these kids made the impending farewell even harder. Mansour’s grandson cuddled in my lap while I played “This Little Piggy,” and his granddaughter, curious about the pictures on my phone, enveloped me in a hug and began snapping selfies. My heart was bursting with joy.

The family-style bowls of couscous, vegetables, and meat were served, and we gathered on the rugs to dive in. As is typical for me, I watched the joy on the faces around me, marveling at how easily we find connections when we are open to them.

After our bellies were full, the ritual of tea-making began. With nobody wanting the night to end, we shared another cup and settled onto the pillows, taking in every last detail of our time in Louga. I took a mental snapshot, imprinting this moment on my heart.

Tea Making

As the evening wore on, we realized it was late and time to head "home" to pack. Hugs were exchanged, and tears flowed as the children cried, whispering promises to see us again. It was a heartbreaking farewell, but I carry with me the love, lessons, and memories that will last a lifetime. Louga, you will always hold a special place in my heart.