first goodbyes

she sat on the moonlit concrete oustide of her restaurant, making gumbo for the next day's lunch. she saw me approach, and she called me by my endearing nickname:

"Noumice," she asked, "how are you?"

her hands moved methodically over the grain and water, making little cous cous bits as she worked

"just less than four months," i said, "it's so strange."

she says before i knew you there was no problem. before you came here and i didn't know you i was fine. but now you'll go, she says, now you're my friend and you come here every day and now you'll go and my heart will hurt. if you go, she says, i'll miss you. it wouldn't be hard if i didn't know you. but now i do and now it will be hard. if you just stayed in mauritania then i could come visit you, greet you. but america is so far away and i don't have money or a visa or a ticket. but if i did i would come visit you. noumice, she says, my heart hurts.

and i say you are my best friend here. you understand when i can't say what i feel in pulaar. you understand volunteers. you know it's hard here, and sometimes i miss home. you're my best friend and my heart will hurt more.

it's quiet.

"Four months?" she asks.
"four months." i say.

we sigh.