I have only been at my new site for a few weeks, but I already think my site change was probably the best thing that has happened to me since I arrived in Peru. Except sometimes it almost feels like the worst, or at least much more complicated than the good decision that it probably was.
I started out my service eager to start, but a little terrified, too. I quickly found out that very few things were going to work out exactly as planned—I was stood up for a meeting my second day in site and had trouble finding Peruvians who were willing to accompany me to complete my encuestas. Sound familiar? Whether or not you can touch your toes, Peace Corps volunteers are bound to be some of the most flexible people on the planet—it’s a survival skill. And through a cocktail of sheer force of will, a well-stocked external hard drive, and the rare Pinkberry opportunity, we survive and even triumph. We are so, so strong.
Eight months into my service, Peace Corps has already changed my perspective on what is OK (Oh that kid is chewing on a balloon? At least he isn’t sticking his fingers in an electric socket!). For better or worse, I’m not sure I have any idea what “normal” means anymore. So baring a security threat or other major event, how do I know if my daily struggle is a typical part of a very abnormal job, or something that merits a change? We may all threaten to quit after a particularly bad day, but when it comes down to actually deciding to move host families or sites, it is an entirely different game.
* * *
When my APCD visited my site for the first time, I was a little nervous, worrying that the mayor wouldn’t show up to our meeting (he didn’t). But I was relatively content with where I was, so a few days after the visit I was shocked when I got a call from my PCVC Frieda asking me where I stood on my site change. What site change!? I had at that point absolutely no intention of moving. My APCD, however, thought that my site had seemed depressing and that I would likely want to move to a bigger site (which he did not, as Frieda assumed when she called, mention to me during his visit). But the thought had never really occurred to me, especially since Peace Corps is supposed to be really difficult, right?
I kept at it, completed a bunch of surveys (by myself because my socio never did show up) and prepared a pretty kick-ass community diagnostic presentation--which only 5 people showed up to see. Things didn’t really avanzar, work or integration-wise, and on top of that, I wound up having to move host families. I had high hopes that a new living situation (this time with a toilet!) would lift my spirits, but I unfortunately did not connect with the second family very well, either. Then one week my entire town had dark turbid water, and not only did no one besides myself seem to mind that the water was too dirty to drink or even wash, I could not get straight answers or even honest conversation out of the mayor or the 2-man water “committee” that was responsible for the system.
That incident felt like a last straw: I did not want to be at site when my so-called socios wouldn’t even tell me the truth (let alone work with me to fix a very obvious problem), I had very little motivation, and my only project was a secondary one that interested me a lot less than more watsan-related projects would.
But then, doesn’t everyone feel that way sometimes? And they deal. In a job that is far from normal even when it is typical, anything goes. So I struggled to be as flexible as possible. If I could just motivate myself...! Since I was the only thing I really felt able to control, I focused on what I was doing, rather than my site, which is essentially what any inspirational quote will tell you to do in times of struggle. I thought I had the right attitude, so why was I still so unhappy? Looking back, I wasn’t just “accepting the things I cannot change,” I was blaming myself for too much and probably starting to go crazy. And I completely forgot my APCD’s impression from his first visit.
* * *
Finally it dawned on me that changing sites would make much more sense than having myself wack-evacked. My greatest reservation, though, was that I would have to start over completely—a new host family, a new community where I would again struggle to integrate, another community diagnostic. And I was just finally starting to get to know people, to almost make friends. I wrestled with the decision for about a month, making pros and cons lists and everything, but finally had to just follow my gut. Although my gut may betray me sometimes when I get adventurous and try to eat those tasty-smelling anticuchos from the cart on the street, I had to trust it when the site change started to feel more “right” than anything else.
Once the decision was made, I would up being very excited to be leaving my old site behind. I had too many negative feelings associated with the place. But then, I wasn’t sure that I was ready to going through the “beginning” process again.
Little did I know, I wasn’t starting over with an entirely clean slate—I brought a lot of stuff with me. Whether that stuff is baggage or wisdom depends on the day, really. While I am much more optimistic about being able to accomplish more with my new socios, I am also sometimes more pessimistic about how much they are really invested. My suspicion of Peruvian men continues to make me a little paranoid, even though my new municipality is in all aspects much more professional. While I am extremely grateful for my much nicer house (not only is there a toilet, but this one even has a seat!), I miss the sometimes warmer feeling I got from the far poorer families where I used to live. And any time a problem arises, I still find myself wondering at the cause: is it my lack of motivation or misunderstanding of some cultural nuance, or is it Peru’s fault?
* * *
From training, I remember Kathy Hickey using a tinted-glasses metaphor to explain our limited ability to truly mentally integrate into a new culture—if Americans have blue glasses and Peruvians have yellow, we may someday learn to see in green, but never pure Peruvian yellow. I would add that this color combination can also sometimes be incredibly confusing.
As I struggle to integrate my own perspective with that of Peru, my sense of what is “normal” completely evaporates. Someone “blue” might appreciate one thing, someone “yellow” another, but what does a “green” person see, or even want? Happy or frustrated, trying to see through new eyes that have not yet learned to focus seems to heighten every emotion until I feel like I’m back in Jr. High having some sort of “z0mg guys, hormones!” episode. I can’t decide anything!
So how do I feel about my site change? Super excited for one-- I have more work to do now, yay! But then when I think about how I am still working on a diagnostic and get to feeling like I am very behind, having been in Peru for almost a year with very little to say for it, my negative reaction is likely worse than it would be in another situation outside the ‘Corps.
Sometimes a typical day here has so many highs and lows that just answering the basic question “How are you today?” could take hours! I wonder if what I am trying to say here is that the Peace Corps quite literally takes us back to Jr. High and makes us a little bit insane. But then, it also pushes us to grow in so many fantastic ways. Says the wise p90x man: “Ohhh I feel that in so many fantastic places!”
Beyond forcing us to come up with creative ways to stay in shape, Peace Corps tests our limits to the point that I sometimes feel like I can deal with just about anything. Someday I hope to be able wear my green-tinted glasses without so much internal conflict, lending a unique and fresh perspective to anything I set out to do. Of course, first I have to figure out what that is… but I have another year to agonize and confuse myself over that decision—Peace Corps style!
Meanwhile, I have to remember to keep trusting my gut. Every site may be different, but so is every volunteer, so there is little point in getting caught up wondering what “normal” means. Even with our confusion and cultural homelessness, our instincts are valid and every experience makes them stronger. In the absence of any well-defined perspective, they are likely the best thing we have to guide us through difficult days and complicated decisions.
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