I left my heart in Kponya

Seven weeks in a village called Kponya has just passed. I remember the faces, the sound of the voices, I remember the nurturing and I won't say mistakes, but learning the hard way, above all I remember the laughter and the sound of my name, I don't remember the time. I had become accustom to my new home and now I found myself away from that for three months. When did it start and why did it finish? I know I am only okay right now because I know I am going back in March. The promise of a week visit is keeping me on my feet allowing me to put one foot in front of the other until eventually it leads me back to the village behind the mango tree. So until that mango is back in my hand I have to survive on what I remember. What I don't remember is when I was hit so hard that the impact lingers deep down in the darkest and most secret parts of my heart.