My Biggest Fear About Reintegration

Reprinted from the November 2011 Edition of Pasa La Voz

The Real Peace Corps, a universal experience?

I'm overdo for my own blog post, but for now, I want to share someone else's words that do an excellent job of summing up what the Peace Corps is really like.  We hear over and over again that everyone's experience is vastly different--which is most definitely is--but there are some major themes in common even across continents.  Required reading for anyone interested in joining.  Thanks, Waid!  (http://waidsworld.wordpress.com/2011/08/07/the-real-peace-corps/)

The Real Peace Corps

I feel as though I’ve done somewhat of a disservice throughout this blog. I’ve painted a picture of my time here that isn’t precisely accurate. I’m an emotional person, a romantic, optimistic to a fault. I like extremes and superlatives. I exaggerate in an attempt to draw the reader in, and to make sense of things I can’t make sense of.

I romanticize this experience as a function of my personality but also as a coping mechanism. Peace Corps is really hard.

So I want to write about the real Ethiopia. And the real Peace Corps experience. That way, if a future volunteer reads this, they understand what to expect, and won’t hate me for only showing sunset pictures and kids holding hands.

So what should you expect?

Nothing is the best answer. Expect nothing and you will be pleasantly surprised. Every experience is different. My friend Jon lives 80 miles away. Our lives could not be more different. His house has no floor save for the mud it was built on. He is lucky to have power one day out of the week.  My sitemate Dave lives 200 meters from my house and our experiences are entirely different.

So here are some observations, a look into what I do, and an idea of what your potential service will look like.

Peace Corps is defined by a strange dichotomy. Freedom and containment. I wake up every day with a blank slate. I can do anything. I can do nothing. And while the possibilities are only limited by my own imagination, the ability to do as I please is corrupted by a number of social, political, and cultural practices.

Case in point: Most volunteers assume they will run to let off steam in their new country. However, running here is a cause of stress more so than a release. You get stared at as a foreigner here. These are stares that know no shame. Stares that you can feel without seeing. They are honest and curious stares, but can crack even the kindest of spirits. But a foreigner in shorts? Running? That is unheard of. Running here means being followed by hordes of children, the last thing you need when trying to let off steam.

I want to export coffee to benefit local farmers and provide an organic alternative to the Starbucks mess we have back home. The bureaucratic structure here has destroyed those dreams. Disappointment is part of the PC experience.

Doing something like the Peace Corps will be your lowest of lows and your highest of highs. Highs that shatter your previous world views.  You will feel refreshed, walk in a forest and quote Thoreau. The lows can last so long that you need a fleeting moment of existentialism just to make it through the rainy season. Well, that, and a ton of movies. You will consider going home. You will count down the days until you leave. You will count up from the day you arrived.

“I can’t believe we’ve been here for a year.”

“I can’t believe we’ll be here another year!”

You will understand yourself, question yourself. Compare where you came from to where you are. I have days when I miss America. I have days when I loathe it. Why do people care about Charlie Sheen and Amy Winehouse? How many marines died last week? How many kids in the horn of Africa died of hunger? I can’t even imagine dying of hunger. When I’m hungry, I eat.

But I eat strange food. Ethiopian food is unlike anything else in the world. Sometimes it is delicious, but most times it is very mediocre. Other times, it is so incredibly bad that I consider burning down every plant that grows whatever the hell is in ‘gunfo’

Don’t try gunfo.

Universally, Peace Corps volunteers crave food. I have dreams about it. Vivid dreams where I belly flop into a bowl of ice cream off of a hot fudge brownie diving board. Sushi. I have a long distance relationship with Sushi and we are not communicating well.

As volunteers, we love to complain. We joke about our poop and our pooping locations. We laugh about smelling bad.

We smell bad.

We yearn for hot showers. But I think it’s just for show. Any volunteer, more so than food or showers, miss people and places. You will miss friends and seasons. During your service, you will be alone on the Fourth of July, Halloween, Thanksgiving. You will miss your family, your really hot girlfriend, and the contextual clues you associate with fond memories. I know what the Chesapeake bay feels like on thanksgiving. I can feel the football, and taste the sweet potato pie. I know what Glebe Park looks like, the green asphalt and the smell of cut grass.

You will be stared at 24/7 365. I understand what it’s like to be a good-looking girl at a frat party. Stay strong ladies.

You will develop an eerie sense of calm. I’ve spent 75 hours in the last two weeks on a bus. The DMV will be a breeze now. I’ve found new and embarrassing ways to entertain myself. I could watch paint dry and be perfectly happy.

One of the great things about Peace Corps is you have a massive amount of time to become a better person. The best advice I can give is to try and do something everyday to improve upon yourself. For some people this is writing or reading. For others it is teaching English or working out. Learn an instrument or paint. Do whatever works for you. You will stare at the wall. I stare at the wall a lot. I’ve had every thought someone can have. Probably twice.

Transportation completely sucks.

I just got out of a bus with 12 seats on it. There were 25 people on it. There were two chickens and probably 20 kilo’s of rancid butter. Here’s a quck letter:

Dear Ethiopia,

It’s ok to open the windows on the bus. I promise you won’t die from the wind. I promise it’s not that cold. Currently, sweat is running down my lower back and into the danger zone. My sweat is sweating. Fresh air is nothing to be scared of. Tuberculosis is. As much as I like saunas and the smell of chicken feces, can we please crack the window’s for 2 minutes? I will love you forever.

Yours truly,

Michael

There is no average day.

Last week, my Tuesday was crazy. I had a meeting with the tourism office about making them a website. I taught a man how to make guacemole and tortillas which he will sell in his store. I played basketball, added a layer to a clay oven and worked on the newsletter I am writing for Peace Corps.

The next day? I slept in, watched a silly amount of the show ‘Dexter’ and checked my fantasy baseball team while the internet was up. Yeah, I’m cool.

There will be times when, despite your pictures of you hugging little kids, you just want to tackle one of them and scream, my name is NOT,

“you you you!!!!!, give me money!!!!!!”

In America we ask for the time. Here, we ask for the month. It’s the most obvious difference. The pace of life here is slow, methodical, cyclical. Everything takes a long time. If you aren’t a patient person you will become one.

Life here is completely different. It is another world, lost in space and time. It is hard, and the little annoyances can manifest themselves into a black cloud. They certainly will, but it is important to make note of the small victories and the little moments. When I open my eyes I am reminded of why I am here. Just when I think a kid is running up to me to ask me for money, she tells me that she loves me and blows a kiss. But then I get on a bus and start crying. I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere with a busted engine. It’s getting dark, I have a chicken in my lap and personal space at this point is a distant memory. People are yelling into their cell phones, begging me to speak to them and take them to America. Oh and the only food in the town by the road is Gunfo.

Remember in times like this to take a deep breath. Peace Corps really is a roller coaster. An exhilarating and scary ride that completely sucks and totally kicks ass.

And when you are feeling down, just remember to go outside and let Africa save you.

"To the right, a flattened squirrel. Straight ahead, THE FUTURE!"

I was rather disappointed when I made the title of this post ("To the right, a flattened squirrel.  Straight ahead, THE FUTURE!") my Facebook status and no one understood the reference--or at least, no one commented on it.  It's a quote from one of the first episodes of season 1 of Daria, which I have been watching almost non-stop since I downloaded it last week.  While I wish I had watched it while I was still in High School, it's still classic, and I thought the quote was appropriate somehow.  Upchuck says it, but still.  THE FUTURE!

I've been thinking a lot about the future lately, and have finally made a decision that has been a long time in the making: I'm going to ET (that's Peace Corps for Early Terminate) within the next couple of weeks.  Exact date TBD.

It's complicated.  I don't hate the Peace Corps, I don't regret joining.  (Although I do regret not blogging more often, because if I'm not in the Peace Corps anymore, who will read this? Sad!)

But really, this has been a very tough decision.  I first thought seriously about ET'ing last year in August-September--this was after I had changed sites, or more accurately, when the magic of my site change was starting to wear off and I realized that while things had really improved, I was not really all that much happier.  But I told myself that I would wait until my trip back to the States for Christmas--I wanted to give Viru a fair chance, but if by the time my trip rolled around, if I wasn't happy I would take that opportunity to ET.

Of course, things did seem to be improving--I somewhat had a cocinas mejoradas project lined up to start when I got back, Greg got a job that would allow him to stay in Trujillo, I had yet another (my 4th!) host family that I liked, I got a sitemate, and I felt more acostumbrar'd/ comfortable in general.  So I enjoyed my trip home and came back to Peru with a lot of energy to get the ball rolling.

That energy very quickly fell apart.  Yes, I like my host family, but I don't feel like we have a great connection, and while there are a lot of Peruvians I talk to on a daily basis, I still don't feel like I am good friends with any of them.  I still get sick more often than I should. I started teaching computer classes, but they were hugely disappointing.  And the cocinas mejoradas project that kept me motivated towards the end of last year fell apart.

I had some ideas for how to start over again--I could work with the schools (the new school year starts the first week of March) on a recycling campaign and maybe start Pasos Adelantes (a sex-ed/AIDS campaign).  But for some reason I really really REALLY didn't really WANT to do any of that.  For weeks, I didn't, and I still don't.  I found myself dragging my feet even to have a conversation with my host family.  It started to dawn on me that I just do not want anything to do with the work available to me as a Peace Corps volunteer.  I think I would have realized this even sooner if there weren't a huge amount of guilt associated with that realization, but there it is (I'll blog about reasons to stay in another post).

Another huge push towards leaving was that I heard through the far-reaching Peace Corps grapevine that I was on the Office's radar for being out of site too often.  My immediate reaction to that news was anger--I have been visiting Greg a lot in Trujillo, but I have never in my experience as a volunteer ducked out of responsibilities to my community to take a vacation, and why does the Office care so much more about time spent in site than they do about actual productivity?  Happy volunteers are more productive volunteers, so everybody wins, even if some extra time out of site is necessary to achieve that happiness.

And then reason struck and flipped that argument on it's head because I remembered that, hey, I'm not productive at all right now.  Nor am I particularly happy...  

I'm still working it all out in my head, but that's the background and spark that ultimately led me to this decision.  I should be heading down to Lima in about 2 weeks to finish all of the requisite paperwork and medical exams, and then I'll be heading back home to Schaumburg, where I will be both short- and long-term job searching (coffee shop in Schaumburg --> paralegal in NYC is my current ideal).

I'm really relieved, to be honest.  Sad to leave Peru and Greg and other volunteers (I will miss you!!), scared absolutely shitless to make such a huge change and move towards so many unknowns... but still relieved.  THE FUTURE!  I've been writing my resume and looking at job opportunities, which on one hand stresses me out a little (a real job?! what!!! I've never held a REAL JOB in my LIFE!!!!!) but at the same time I'm finding it almost soothing.  I take that as a sign I'm making the right choice.

--to be continued--

Wish list

4 February 2012 

Does 24 mean that I’m now mid-twenties instead of early twenties?  Crap.

My birthday wish list:

1.  Cake! (Which my host family already made me yesterday, and I’m looking forward to another cake from Greg later today…)

2.  Bling!  (Which my host family also already took care of—with REAL rhinestones!)

3.  Booze!  (Looking forward to some of that tonight, too)

What about my tampons?

31 January 2012

Last week on Thursday, my purse was stolen.  Greg, Brian and I went to Kachito’s for some pollo a la brasa for dinner.  I had my purse on the chair next to me—a woman at the next table caught my attention to tell me it had fallen off, and I thanked her, putting it back on the chair, but closer to me this time.  I pulled out my wallet to make sure I had enough cash to pay for dinner and saw that I only had 20 soles—enough for dinner, but I’d need to go to the bank afterwards.  Purse went back on the chair.

We ordered and then a man tapped Greg on the shoulder, bending down to pick something up off of the floor.  He handed it to him—a business card?  What?

We all looked at each other, confused.  Something about that was weird.  Then I realized my purse was gone, along with the man who had been sitting alone behind me.

Well, f*ck…

The most valuable thing I’d had with me was my camera, so sadly I am going to be sans photographs for a while—I’m still not sure if I should buy one here or try to get the same one I’d had sent to me from the States.  I’ll decide when I see how much money I get from my property insurance (best $70/year ever spent!).  I also filed for the purse and wallet themselves, the memory card that was in the camera, my USB memory stick, and my prescription sunglasses.  Thankfully all of my photographs were already on my computer.

I’m still angry.  In my mind, I head over the “used” (but everyone knows it’s “stolen”) electronics market in Trujillo and steal back my own camera.  And for some reason I really want to explain to my robbers that I’m not the obnoxious rich tourist they probably assume I am—I want there to have been something in my purse that says, hey, you just robbed someone whose job it is to try to fix your screwed up country, how dare you? 

Not that tourists deserve to be robbed, even if some of them do wear filthy genie pants or walk down city sidewalks with walking sticks.  I think I’m picking up a little superiority complex from completely unrelated day-to-day incidents, like everyone assuming I don’t know where I’m going or that I must be going to Huanchaco or that I want to buy their tour packages or that I don’t know how much the cab ride costs so they can charge me double.  Smiling at me like, awww, look at the lost little gringa.  I’m not LIKE those other tourists, dammit!  I LIVE here!  The only proof I had of that was the residency card tucked inside my passport—I have to get a new one from the American embassy the next time I go to Lima.

And what about my other stuff, that I can’t claim on my insurance settlement but still valued?  That’s what makes me feel most violated, and insulted, even, since I know they just threw it away like trash.  The mini $1 hand sanitizer and the mini hand cream my Aunt Mary gave me, and one of the sunscreen sticks Tommy got me for Christmas.  My two favorite lip glosses were in there, too (Side note: why do I also have multiple lip glosses with me??).  And tucked inside my purse’s little secret pocket: tampons!  What did they do with my tampons??