The First Goodbye

If someone had asked me a month ago whether I would recommend applying to Fulbright, I would have immediately answered yes. There’s no doubt in my mind that being an ETA has been the most rewarding and most challenging experience in my life, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. But if that same person had asked me on July 19th, 2024, the exact same question, my answer would be completely different. I would have said never apply for a Fulbright. It is the most heart-wrenching, agonizing, harrowing, and piteously bittersweet experience I’ve ever had. And I would have said it through a fountain of fresh tears, because July 19th is when we said our final goodbyes to COAR Pasco, never to return again. 

June passed me by without a second glance, so immersed was I in the daily routine of teaching, cooking, coping, sleeping, reading, repeat. So when July ambled around, I was surprised to discover a thick ball of dread appear in my stomach, knowing that I only had two weeks left in Oxapampa before I would leave for good. So of course I spent my last two weeks revisiting all my favorite places in Oxa/Chontabamba: the river near our house, the gelatería we frequented at least three times a week, Cafetería Heidinger, which has the best view and best coffee in Oxapampa, even Cheyenne, the local discoteca with its overpriced drinks and strobe lights.

Ana, our head English professor, took it upon herself to accompany us as much as possible, and we spent many nights eating out and sharing stories. Our last weekend in Oxa, we visited Yanachaga National Park, and climbed through dense forest for two hours to a lookout that provided an incredible view of the mountains. I even saw my first toucan in real life! It was a whirlwind but it was perfect. But as the days ticked down, I felt the dread squeezing my heart tighter and tighter, because even in such a short time you grow used to a place, a routine, the people, and it becomes difficult to remember you ever lived anywhere else. I entered to as many classrooms as I could in the COAR, and spent every recess with the kids, playing volleyball, giving out stickers, and talking and joking with students. I wanted as many opportunities as I could get to hang out with them and play one last “volleycito” with the teams that had slowly established themselves over the months of my stay. 

The way our Fulbright experience works is that our 9 months abroad are divided into two placements, one semester for each placement. July 19th was the end of the first semester, and therefore signaled the end of our time in Oxa. We knew we would be placed for the second semester in Chalhuanca, in Apurímac, about 991 km and 22 hours away by car. The most devastating part of the Fulbright for me, other than being away from my loved ones, is the fact that we eat, live, and breathe our COARs for four months, meaning we establish roots in the community and with the students. It’s the best and worst part of teaching as an ETA, because I get to know and love my students, and then all too soon I’m forced to leave. Worse, I don’t know realistically if I will ever see these kids again. I have no idea when I will next be in Peru after my grant ends, let alone in Oxapampa or Chalhuanca, two incredibly difficult places to get to (both 6 hours from the nearest airport). Even if I did return, these kids are on the cusp of graduating. The quintos (5th graders) will be gone by the end of the year. The cuartos and terceros only have a year or two left in the COAR before they, too, leave to pursue their ambitions in different parts of the world. The chances that I see them again are incredibly slim.

And it didn’t fully hit me until I was entering each class for the last time on the 19th, my voice breaking as I told them how grateful I was for having had the privilege of being their teacher. I expected to be sad, but I wasn’t really expecting to cry in front of them.

But the minute I said goodbye to the first class, and had them storm me afterwards with hugs and notes and pleas to stay, it was impossible for tears not to bubble up. I even had two girls ask me if they collected enough signatures, would the COAR be able to hire me permanently? These kids had been my life for the past 4-5 months, and with all of us knowing it would be unlikely we’d meet again, I felt incredibly desolate. I know you aren’t supposed to have favorites, but one of my favorite students hugged me so hard I swear he squeezed the tears out of me, and he looked so forlorn as I was saying my goodbye it broke my heart. Another student asked me if she could call me sometime to practice her speaking abilities in English. I had another of my favorite students write me the sweetest note, saying that I wasn’t only a teacher to her, but a role model, a friend, and an older sister-figure, and that she would never forget me. I feel that melancholy tug in my heart writing this now, hoping they’re still thriving in their classes and looking at the joyful side of things. And practicing their English, of course! 

So this is my goodbye post to Chontabamba and Oxapampa, my goodbye to the bike rides to the hidden bridge, walks along my favorite path past the cows, buying ciabatta from the local panadería, mototaxi rides into Oxa watching the scenery pass me by, sunbathing by the river, playing volleyball at recreo with 4D and 5B, walking down Chontabamba’s main street to buy groceries and coughing up dust as cars flew by, lunches with our core group at the menú down the street, two scoops of gelato every Saturday in Oxa and then sitting in the plaza to eat it, navigating the crowded fruit market every weekend, and coming home with bulging bags of mandarins and pineapple. Goodbye to watching the townspeople play volley in the stadium after dark, the ducks that swam in the ditch beneath my bedroom window when it rained, the stray dogs I knew by heart from my walks to and from work every day, the deep purple and soft pink sunsets between the mountains that made my heart happy, and the backroad where I would run past the same three horses and try desperately to coax them towards me, arm outstretched to pet them. Goodbye to the small red-and-black butterflies that alit on the pavement, the skinned chickens on the metal plate at our usual tiendita, heads lolling and yellow feet sticking up next to the register, the clumps of papaya trees throughout the town, my cozy cabin bedroom, having late-night lonches with the directora and her exuberant daughter, Majito, cooking meals on our tiny stove and shoving the oven door closed as hard as I could while the rusty hinges whined and squealed in protest.

Goodbye to looking out at the backyard and seeing the white and grey dappled mule with black marks over its eyes like a raccoon, watching the calves stretch to get milk from their mamas while they swished their tails to rid themselves of flies, the green, green, delightfully sunny green grass, the cool nights where stars showed themselves off proudly, or the moon gazed down full and ripe, the misty mornings where the thick fog of dawn draped across the woolly green mountains like a scarf, and blazing-hot sunny days with clear azure skies. Goodbye to the students marching with their umbrellas every day from school to residence for lunch at noon, the brightly painted and often half-finished murals that decorated the stucco walls of the COAR buildings, the roosters who crowed in the morning and all the rest of the day, too. Goodbye to the small wee lamb that our neighbors let graze in our front yard while they harvested the crops from their chakra, the tiny chicks scurrying after mama hen through the grass, the little boy who lived next door chasing them gleefully trying to catch them, and our landlady Sandra threatening him to stop terrorizing them.

This is my goodbye to a place that became a second home, a place where I spent many afternoons exploring its paths, and many nights alone in my room, missing my people but still so grateful to live somewhere so beautiful and new. There are so many things about Oxapampa and Chontabamba that I can’t even begin to describe, but I hope you can see how wonderful it was for me through the few descriptions I’ve provided over the last few months. Estás en mi corazón siempre, Oxa.