I couldn't bring myself to say anything at first, because it was too hard. But it's been nearly 3 months, so if you read this and you haven't seen my facebook, I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news. My best Guinean friend, Slac, died on Sept 22, early in the morning. Kidney failure. At the MSF hospital in Conakry that is also an Ebola ward, so I have to wonder if he is a secondary casualty of that terrible event. I miss him terribly, every single day. I was privileged to have known him and to have been able to call him my brother. There are very few people that you meet in this world who are as joyful, honest, and accepting as Slac. I have no idea why he took me under his wing so immediately and so selflessly, but I wouldn't have made it through without him. We talked weekly when I came back. For a full year, which any PCV will tell you is impressive. I still can't believe that I'm never going to hear his laugh over the phone. I still can't believe that when I return to Guinea, maybe with a family of my own, I won't get to meet his family. Instead of laughing with him and drinking tea, I will visit his grave site and remember all the memories we shared. I have no bad memories of Slac. Even in my darkest times, he was my support and a ray of lightness and laughter.
I thought this story was closed. I suffered, I came home, I healed. In the novel version of my Peace Corps, the end comes when I stepped into the counselor's office in Georgia. Happy ending. Protagonist survives, finds tools to be whole and healthy, epilogue about keeping in touch, maybe a scene of her return to her village.
Alas, life isn't a balanced novel. Slac is gone and I'm learning to live with a hole in my heart. I'll leave you with this poem by Victor Hugo, entitled "Demain, dès l'aube."
