Today marks 17 days until my stay in Shianda, Mumias, Kakamega County, Kenya comes to an end. It means I’ve been here for just over 5 months. And as I press each key to write my blog, all the memories crowd my mind, eager to rush out like birds at sunset.
A month ago, Mohammad and Mattia left; a week ago, it was Emma who departed. Today, I’m the only one left in the big house that was once home for the five of us. Now, it’s just me. The house I came to, which was part of a small, already established family, now only holds ghosts of those days.
“How can you stay there alone?” is the question I hear every day from local acquaintances, friends, and colleagues. “Aren’t you afraid?” Not really. I’ve never struggled with solitude. It’s harder to manage the absence of those who were once here. But like everything, there’s always a positive side—their absence reminds me that all of this happened, that we learned from each other, supported each other, and lived through this experience together.
I even feel privileged to be the last one to leave. I get the chance to see the film until the very end, following each character's arc and even getting a glimpse of the sequel’s trailer. It’s a gift to be in this position.
At the same time, I have more space to finish my projects in the way I want it. I was very happy to present the photography workshop to the young mothers at one of the schools. Being able to focus on this and the project to help them generate income from it fills me with satisfaction.
I also have the chance to spend a month with the new volunteers, supporting and guiding them because I understand how tough those first weeks can be. And I can see a light in the sustainability of the initiatives we hardly work on with my fellow volunteers over the year.
In summary, the countdown has begun. And though nostalgia is present, satisfaction finds its way in. It’s a balance that brings calm, much like the starry night I witness at this moment.
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