Author Note:

Geez, people! Back off! Some of us like to wallow with animated characters that sing and dance.

Seriously though, for all of you that were questioning Sharpay's coping mechanisms… just don't knock it till you try it. Disney movies have been life rafts for me.

Ya'll are lucky, two updates in one day! I saw an AWFUL movie tonight and so I spent most of it writing this chapter in my head. You lucked out. Thank Jodie Foster.

Thanks for being amazing reviewers. Please continue.

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"Troy, you are going to have to get off of my couch eventually."

"Your compassion overwhelms me, Gabriella."

She sighed deeply and continued to fold laundry. "Troy, it's been two weeks. I love you, but seriously."

I continued to flick through the channels aimlessly and finally shut the television off. "Listen, Gabi, I just…"

"Troy, we told you that you could recover here as long as you wanted but you haven't really moved off of the couch for a week and you're kind of starting to smell."

"Gabi…"

"I'm just saying that eventually we're going to have a baby in the house and we all know how much you love children."

"Actually," I said, "I kind of like kids now."

Finally she stopped and looked at me. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Well, we spent a lot of time with kids in Kenya and I really liked those, so maybe all kids aren't so bad."

She stared at me for a few minutes and muttered something under her breath.

"What was that?" I asked.

She sighed, "I said that I guess I didn't figure how much you'd change when we put you on the plane."

She had been a broken record for two weeks. Every time that I did something or said something that Gabi wasn't quite expecting, she'd remark on how different I was. But she had no idea at how deep the change went.

For the first few days, both she and Andrew were excited to hear all about the trip and then the excitement died down. My struggle to live in both the world that I left behind and the world that I was commanded to belong to became mindless whining and I could tell that they weren't that interested.

I tried to watch television, but the rampant consumerism and individualism just made me throw up in my mouth a little and actually vomit twice (I stumbled onto reruns of The Hills and those girls just make me want to die). I tried to watch movies, but I couldn't seem to actually care about any of the plotlines. They all seemed too small in the face of the stories that I had found myself in over the past month.

Then, beyond dealing with re-entry and just trying to be an American again, there was the whole Sharpay thing.

Because seriously, what the hell. The woman tells me that she loves me and lets me make plans and declarations and practically tells me that she has been in love with me since like the, what, seventh grade and then breaks it off and doesn't really give me a reason why? What the hell. When did I stumble into a bad episode of Saved By the Bell? Cue Zach and Kelly and the prom break-up scene. Seriously.

And for the cherry on top of that delicious sundae, Gabi was not really good at being pregnant. Or, I guess I should say that Gabi's body was not all that good at being pregnant. She was about four and a half months along and was having some pretty major problems. I don't think she's actually at a high-risk pregnancy yet, but she's miserable and hormonal and the rest of us are suffering right along with her.

My life equals amazing right now.

"Yeah, well," I finally answered her after a long silence, "I'm sorry that I'm not what you expected."

She looked at me strangely. "What?"

"You've been saying that for two weeks, Gabi, that I've changed and all of that. Obviously, you're disappointed and I just wanted to apologize."

I could see that something clicked in her head and she came and sat next to me on the couch. "It's not that, Troy. It's just, well, I don't know. I mean, I don't know how to love you right now. You've changed a lot and I don't know how much of it is temporary and the fact that you're still processing and how much of it is permanent and what to do with all of that. Seriously, Troy, you freaked out in the middle of Target last week."

"There was just so much food," I said softly. "So many things that we don't need that we buy that they'll never have."

She paused and placed her hand soothingly on my back. "I know."

I nodded and swallowed the tears that had been gathering a lump in my throat. Gosh, I felt like such a useless drone right now. But seriously, all I wanted to do was get back on a plane or just sit in my room and cry. I didn't have any energy to do anything else. I felt completely uncomfortable in my own skin and I had no idea what to do with any of it.

Gabi broke my thoughts, "Have you tried to write the article?"

Andrew had asked me last week to write a short article to go along with my photos for the next issue. He wanted it mostly to be a journal as there were actual reporters who were going to be writing the articles on the state of Sub-Saharan Africa.

"I've written the first line," I replied.

She smiled sadly. "When we got back from Bolivia the first time, I didn't want to talk to anyone because no one would understand, but I wanted to talk to everyone because I needed them to understand."

"Exactly," I said. "That's exactly how I feel!"

She nodded and got up off the couch. A few minutes passed and she came back into the living room and handed me my laptop. "Give in to the second one."

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As I sit here on my comfortable, safe couch in my comfortable, safe suburb, I don't know where to start. I could regale you with stories of adventures and how I found family an ocean away and how my beverage consumption has been changed. I could tell you all about bumpy African roads and how much fun it is to ride for six hours to the Mara while bracing yourself to not get concussions on the metal frame of the van. I could tell you about amazing coffee and delicious food and the satisfaction that comes from eating fish that had just been caught for you. But none of those things could possibly encompass our journey through Africa.

My journal is full of stories of smiling children who have no reason to smile - clutching my hand and leading me through piles of trash and rivers of sewage as we journeyed through the slums to their homes. Stories of women and men of faith who have been handed the death sentence of HIV/AIDS and said in quiet confidence that God always provides and that they were not scared. Stories of schools where teachers teach despite having no paychecks and students share school supplies because there are not enough to go around. Stories of genocide survivors who have chosen forgiveness instead of vengeance and have made any of my thoughts about the subject just cheap words.

There are smells that I will never forget - raw sewage mixing with rotting vegetables and human waste all roasting together in the African sun. The overwhelming smell of ugali and maize and rice - their main staples of food that made me gag, but that they are overwhelmingly thankful for. What the Mara smells like after it rains; just like new life and the promise of beginnings. The smell of the outhouse at Beacon of Hope when it had filled up and become covered in mealworms and the students had no where to use the restroom, so they found a concrete slab and used that instead. The distinct smell of Africa; not to mention the distinct smell of all of us who hadn't quite gotten a proper shower or clean clothes in quite a number of days.

The sights are emblazoned into my memory banks as well. The insanity of the market on Sunday. What it looks like to watch a lion stalk its prey. How overwhelming it is to stand on the overlook and view Kibera and know that about a million people live in abject poverty right there at your feet. The mist resting on the mountain tops in northern Rwanda. Driving along and watching the women carry everything they own on their heads with the utmost dignity and grace. The twisted and emaciated body of a woman who was ravaged with the virus. The photos of the genocide.

The sounds of the children calling out as we pass - "Muzungu! (White Person) How are you!" in their precious sing-song voices that drove me crackers a few times that we were there but that I would pay so much for to hear again. The rapid pace of languages that I can't begin to understand. Hearing children sing in Swahili or K'Rwandan and know that that's what heaven sounds like. The fast pace of sewing machines at Amani Ya Juu and Beacon of Hope and Widow's Might and knowing that those machines are providing sustainable income for women who would otherwise have no hope of it.

It is also full of yelling. How did any of this start? When did it become okay for both Orange County, California and all of its opulence and Kibera and all of its poverty to exist in the same world? When did an African life become of less worth than a British or American one? How do we begin to make a change? When does all the madness end?

I've been home for two weeks and two days and I'm discovering that these questions may never have answers. I'm also discovering that there is no going back to the man that I was before I went. I can no longer live as though I am the only inhabitant of the planet or as though I am entitled to be as wasteful and extravagant as I want. I can't ignore the tragedies in countries I can't name because I convince myself that they do not affect me. The truth is that they do affect me, or at least they should. Shame on me and us for believing that speaking English is a prerequisite for care.

I was once told that people often buried their hearts in Africa and that they would spend the rest of their lives looking for what they left there. Friends, that is a true statement. It's as though I have cut off a very important piece of my soul and given it the people who shared their lives with me. I will never regain that piece, I will simply now need to live life as an amputee. I am ruined forever for Africa. Ruined forever in the best way possible.

Please believe me when I say that I am not ruined forever because I pity them, far from it. I now pity myself. While I have experienced the depth of injustice and have seen what truly ugly things human beings can do to each other, I have also been a part of the true beauty of human love. The way that lives are lived for each other – in community – is far more healthy and more beautiful than anything I have experienced here. I know that my life is so empty. I have crammed it so full of my stuff and my junk that I have left very little room for life. It was Africa who taught me that. She has ruined me forever to live like she taught me. To live each day to the fullest. To love each person as though they were the most important. To treat each person with dignity and respect and love. To protect and provide. To live in a state of welcome. That this world really would be a better place if we were all nicer to each other, had more time for our friends and family and were less concerned about useless things.

I know that I will never have answers for my questions as I learn to live my new life as an amputee. However, I also know that there are changes that I can make to my life here. I can be kinder and more welcoming and more generous with my time and my resources. I can take the time to slow down and savor the moments that matter. I would encourage you to do the same and to find the beauty in being ruined forever.

I had been fiddling with my fingernails and trying very hard not to be nervous the whole time that Andrew was reading aloud. Now that he was done, I found it hard to make eye contact and it didn't really help that the whole room was silent.

Some of the senior staff at Footprints and their families had gathered at Gabi and Andrew's house for dinner to celebrate the launching of the first issue under Miller and my return from Africa. I had just finished showing a brief slideshow of my pictures and telling a few stories and Andrew asked if he could read my article out loud. The issue had gone to print that morning, so only a few people had seen it.

Now, I looked around the room to see everyone crying. Many were trying very hard to hide it, but they were crying. Gabi was grinning through her tears and when I caught her eye, she winked at me.

When Andrew and Gabi had first read the article, they joked that I had stolen their line. I pretended to not know what they were talking about, but then confessed to reading that note in the front of my journal almost every day. Of course, that made hormonal Gabi even more of a mess.

The party was exactly a month since I had landed. Which also means that it was one month and two days since I had last talked to Sharpay. I had written her two emails that I had never sent, but she hadn't done anything. I don't know why I'm expecting her to, I mean, she's the one who dumped me for no apparent reason.

I said the appropriate amount of goodbyes and then made my way home. I stared at the computer for a long time and then went and got ready for bed. I tossed and turned for a little while before getting up and turning the computer on. I logged onto my email and sent a quick missive.

Shar –

I've got questions. You've got answers. We need to talk.

I'll call your Skype account tomorrow at 10pm your time. I'll try every night at 10pm until we talk.

I'm not giving up.

I still love you.

Troy

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My computer dinged, letting me know that a new email had arrived. My heart started beating out of my chest when I saw the address, but it stopped completely when I read the message.

Shit.

He's calling?

Tonight?

Shit.

I am not ready for this.

Shit. Holy Christ on a Cracker. Shit.

I picked up my phone and sent a quick text message.

D – T wants 2 call 2nite. Help! S

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