Diabla wanted to go home the day we arrived in Suriname.  She hated it the entire time we were there.  It made me enjoying it difficult.  One day, I decided to make peach cobbler.  I looked at the firepit and we were out of wood.  We had to conserve gas.  Making peach cobbler became this unfathomably arduous challenge and I questioned what the hell I was doing.  I wasn’t helping the people.  They needed an agriculturist, or sanitation, or nurse…not a Spanish teacher.  I could’ve taught them English, but why?!  So I gave in and said we could go home.  I had to cook up some story to tell the villagers and the Peace Corps.  It was a mess.  They could’ve kept us, and transferred us to a less remote place, or even in Paramaribo, where my skills would’ve been better suited.  But they had our tickets waiting.