home again

I stepped off the plane in Cotonou last night and was overwhelmed by the sheer familiarity of the smell. The warm air touched my cheek like an old friend and I couldn't help smiling and breathing deep; surrounded by body odor and humidity and the faint hint of mothballs from best suits donned for the flight, I knew that I was home.

I wedged myself into the crowd at the baggage claim, threw elbows like the best of them and managed to reclaim my things. I smiled my way through customs, offering the occasional French phrase when my courage was right. Bonsoir seemed to do the trick, since my passport was stamped, my bags were waved through and I was propelled with the crowd through the doors and into a hall filled with brown faces, colourful cloths and a small contingent of Yovos. The white people were my friends, Liz and Sandra and Suey, and after a few hugs and several small shrieks of pure joy, we were settled happily into our Landrover, headed home through the streets of Cotonou.

Home. The feeling only got stronger when I saw the lights of the ship, pulled up alongside and made my way up the gangway. I was home. Friends from my Gateway course met me in reception, helped carry my bags, pulled out food to make me a grilled cheese, and let me shriek a few more times when I saw that they had made our bed for us, started unpacking the myriad things I had scattered across the ship, decorated our door, welcomed us home.

So I'm sitting here on the very same computer I used last year to write my first blog entry from Liberia. The floor is still moving underneath my feet, but more than last year, and the view from the porthole next to me is of an unfamiliar port and unfamiliar ships and unfamiliar waters.

But I'm home again.