Thirty Days 'til I Arrive in the Promised Land of Milk and Cheese

The land where yogurt is a snack instead of a drink, milk is a liquid instead of a powder, and cheese doesn't cost an arm and a leg.  A place where I don't have to iron my socks and underwear, where ice cream doesn't come in a plastic bag, and I'm not automatically wrong just because I'm young, poor and only have one degree.  Snow, family, and holidays await.  No malaria, no squatting, and no constant trail of ants in the bathroom.

But there also won't be chickens running down the road, people dressed in bright colors everywhere I turn, or crowds of people pushing to get into church.  Nobody's going to accidentally buy cans of peas instead of bottles of sodas (though my mother may tell us to put them on the bushes), we won't weigh our chickens with the feathers still on, and my chances of actually meeting any of my favorite musicians are about nil.

Each place has its own things that make it special and wonderful.  And it's now, now that leaving Africa again seems so soon, and arriving home seems so far, now is the time that I can really appreciate what's wonderful about both places.  The things I'll miss about here and the things I can't wait for about there.  Now is when my heart begins to really feel torn in two.