A Farewell Letter

Dear Ghana,

I've been home for a week now and have been meaning to write. But I've just been at a loss at what to say. I miss you? It's been fun? Obviously those trite words can't really express what I've been feeling.
I was ready to come home, let's be honest. I was sick of your heat, sick of feeling like my face was melting off. I was bored of rice, rice, rice. Tired of guiltily laying around my room, waiting for to time to pass when I should have been sucking up the last days with you. Annoyed by the constant obruni calls, something I used to find endearing. And mostly, I just missed home. I missed my family, my friends, the normalcy of Urbana and Kirksville. I missed my own room and the quiet and privacy that implies. I missed my dog and her new senile habits of old age. I was ready.
Then the goodbyes started.
We went out that last night, the whole group. We went to Jerry's, our somewhat new locale, where the music was good and the drinks were cheap. Our plan was to stay out all night, to come home with the sunrise, something I have never done (still), but as the night progressed, we could tell that the mood wasn't right. It was like we all felt it was ending. Outwardly, we laughed and danced and had a good time, but inwardly, we could all feel it. At one point, I had to sit back down because the sadness of it all had suddenly washed over me.
The next morning, the first person left. I woke up kind of late and suddenly realized that she was supposedly to leave early. I called her immediately and found out she was still in the parking lot. I ran from my room (remember: I don't run.) to catch her, and when I fell into her hug, I knew that day would be rough. I had to leave before the tears started.
Most of my friends were on the same flight, so there weren't too many goodbyes right away. But I was prepared, and even did some goodbye hugs in the airport in case we were separated once we got to Heathrow.
As I buckled my seatbelt and the plane taxied down the runway, I realized with surprise the one goodbye I hadn't prepared myself for. Saying goodbye to you. Yours was the only one that actually had tears rolling down my face. Because I knew that I might never see you again. I've never had to say goodbye like that.
It was wondeful finding my family at the airport. Grandma Jipson came as a surprise. Katie was a sobbing mess, just as she warned me she'd be. Mom gave me a huge hug only moments before commenting on my sunburned face. Dad handled my suitcases like a pro. And it was just so normal. Being with them.
That's how this whole week has felt. Normal. Like I've never been away. It's like you're some sort of dream and it just took four months to wake up. I have all these souvenirs around my room, daring me to say that it didn't happen, but even they seem like props from a movie or something. I find myself trying to convince myself that I was there. You were in Africa a week ago. AFRICA.
People keep asking me if it was life-changing experience. And I'm sure that it was. But right now, I just feel normal.
Nevertheless, I want to thank you for four months unlike any other that I will ever experience. Thank you for opening your arms to me without condition, for welcoming me and holding me through every strange and ridiculous moment. You are beautiful and I feel so grateful to have you as part of my memory. As part of me.

Love forever,
Emily