Seven months I’d be gone, to not just another country but another continent. In my mind all sorts was going on; what if my friends forgot about me or moved away? What if I hated the country or didn’t get along with the people? What if I found it too difficult and had to come home, and disappointed everyone who had helped me raise the money? What if my dog Pippa got sick and died? Or worse, what if I didn’t come home?
As silly as I feel now for getting myself worked up, they’re all things I couldn’t help but worry about. Seven months in one of the poorest countries in the world, living in a rural village with street children, having been told at the training about all the different diseases, parasites, and of course HIV and AIDS which we would have to deal with; it was all so much, I asked myself what the hell was I doing?
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