Diana pulled out two wooden carved key chains from her bag.  One said “Joana,” the other, “Dinah.”  She told us she wasn’t sure she had the spelling correct, but it didn’t matter.  We were so touched.  Later, we gave the family the little tokens of appreciation we bought for them, a copy of The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind for Papa, necklaces for Mama, Diana, and Bertha, and matching bracelets for their nieces Kevin, Patricia, and Martha.  Papa gave us bags of chombe tea, the kind we enjoyed for breakfast every morning and told us to bring Malawi home with us, and Mama gave us matching chitenges to wear to our goodbye ceremony and keep as yet another reminder of our Malawian family.  The truth is, there are no gifts that could possibly express just how grateful we feel for their hospitality, for their willingness to make us feel like their daughters, and for the special relationships we built over these past several weeks. But, I did take great joy in seeing their faces light up upon receiving our gifts.

More meaningful than the material things we gave were the handmade cards that went along with them.  Deena and I spent a solid hour with markers, construction paper and plain white paper decorating individualized cards for each of them and spelling out our sincerest gratitude with words.  We watched the girls sit, one at a time, with Papa or Diana as they translated them from English to Chichewa.

It was so important for me to tell them that we are bringing our memories of them home with us, I needed them to know how special they each are, how much potential they have, and how much I will miss spending time with them.  Similarly, Mama, Papa, and Diana needed to know that to me, they are among the strongest, warmest, most beautiful people I’ve ever known.

The next day, Patricia (pictured in the middle) gave us two of her own cards, my favorite part of which was “Presently, I have copied your morning exercises such that I cannot forget the moment you spent with us here.”  Later in the day, Kevin ran over to me hiding something underneath the hand-woven wool poncho she often wears when the temperature drops.  With a giddy Kevness-like smile, she pulled out two cards that she made for us, both of which resembled the ones we gave to her.  On the front of mine was a heart with the words, “I love you,” the same heart and words I wrote on the front of her card.  I read this note, which her Aunt Maryanna helped her to craft.  She told me how much she will miss me and never forget me in her lifetime, that she hopes to see me again, and reminded me to “keep loving children.”  And then I cried for the first time here.  Uncontrollably.

That day marked the beginning of a very difficult, yet bittersweet goodbye, a description of which is to follow.