Goodbye Africa…for now

Three weeks of solo traveling in West and North Africa ends today, and not once did I feel lonely.

I spent evenings eating dinner alone and savoring the quiet time. I rode piggyback hour after hour, mile after mile on a motorbike, not saying a word, just watching the scenery unfurl around me. In French-speaking Senegal, where English is almost absent, I fumbled through hand signals and Google Translate. And despite all of that, no loneliness.

But now, sitting in the Dakar airport waiting for my flight home, I’m hit with a wave of sadness.

My brother’s death a month ago created a fracture in my family that feels as wide as the miles I’ve just traveled. I’m acutely aware that there wasn’t anyone checking in on me, asking how I was doing or wondering if I was safe. My contact list for Thanksgiving messages was short, and the ones I received back were even shorter.

In my book, Getting Lost on Purpose, I wrestled with these feelings — the loneliness I built through years of walls. Travel has become a hammer, slowly cracking them. But sometimes the wall feels impossibly deep.

And now I’m left wondering how to go back to my life. A job that pays the bills but isn’t fulfilling. Feeling resentful that I have to stop moving. Relationships that feel like work, and the intimate ones — physically, mentally, emotionally — always just out of reach. And family that feels like strangers, the differences between us stretching a little wider with every trip I take.

I’m sharing this because pretending I’m fine isn’t helping. And I’m not totally sure what else to do.