When I started this blog and packed my bags for Mali, it all seemed very temporary. 2 years and then I was done, back to living in America. I assumed as well that my blog would end at the two years - what else would I write about? I can honestly say that I had no idea that this was the direction I was heading at 'the beginning'. And in some ways, I still don't fully comprehend what direction that is. But my gut, my heart, or some other important organ is telling me that I'm not finished, so here we are.
I had little interest in blogging in the states, especially since I was so unsure of... everything. I considered turning this into a temporary food blog due to how much time I spent in the kitchen, but never found the time nor the energy. It wasn't until I sat down to write a bit of an introduction today that I realized that I have plenty to say, and that's only from 1 week here; who knows what the next year will bring. The following started at the end of June and leads up to today. Enjoy!
----- JUNE -----
They say that reverse culture shock (coming 'home' to America) is one of the worst parts of Peace Corps service. Considering how many volunteers are currently serving (9,095) and how many RPCVs (returned peace corps volunteers) there have been (200,000+), that is quite a generalization.
We are all changed, all somehow marked by our time - it would be impressive (yet also appalling) for a person to come out of 2 years in the developing world unchanged. We have grown. Still, there are many RPCVs who come back and want to kiss the airport tarmac because there IS a tarmac and because you don't go near it, you exit your large plane onto a fancy flyway. There are volunteers who come back and dive back into American life, ducking and blocking the blows of reverse culture shock. These are the RPCVs who dive into the wave, come up on the other side to swim on contentedly, a few more stories under their belts. I know those volunteers, and I am impressed by them.
But I am not one of those volunteers. I was reluctant to dive and found myself instead crashing into the wave. And, truthfully, I let that happen. I did not and do not want to come up the other side and swim on - I want the wave to carry me back. This is not to say I didn't appreciate coming to America. Jumping over a man's suitcase to reach my sister and hug her on an airport escalator after 2 1/2 years - that was amazing. Carpet. Sushi. Being surrounded by green. Personal cars. Good alcohol. Wanting something - whether it be a loofa and new soap, a bag of lime tostitos, or a new shirt, and being able to get it. The list goes on. But where I could have jumped into the fast-paced American life, gotten a job, and carried on business-as-usual, I dug in my heals. I applied to a few positions in Zambia and balked from the rest. "What's your backup plan?" people would ask. A legitimate question that I normally would have 5 answers to. Instead I smiled uncomfortably, responded vaguely. I didn't have one, couldn't create one. Leaving again was all I wanted.
How to explain that? In the simplest words, I'm not finished. I planned for a 3rd year and wanted it so badly that I now need it. I didn't prepare, didn't gear myself up to come back to America and now that I'm here, I find it jarring, lacking. I want to go back to a place where life is in constant motion and a constant assault on the senses, but where the pace of it is somehow slow and rhythmic. I want to go back to where generosity is natural, where people don't complain about the slightest affront and instead embrace the positive. I want to go back to a place where life is considered a privilege, not a right.
So now we come to the reason for this blog post. As I left Ghana, I did not intend to continue writing in this. But I've found that I have more to say and I know that in the next year I will have many more things to share with you. I considered sharing anecdotes about my time back in the US, but I think they will come out better in person. Ask me about the grocery store next time you see me. For the next 6 weeks, my energy is turned to the 27th of July, when I leave for a Peace Corps Response position in Zambia. I think that by then my wings will be tired of stretching, as it were, and I will be ready to live in this crazy, opulent country that is now only one of my homes. We'll see.
----- JULY -----
"And she's going back!" is a phrase that, I've found, makes people rather anxious. "No," I or my parents explain, "not to Mali, to Africa. She's going to Zambia."
"Is it safe?" They ask
My parents eyes dart to me, their tough 'proud of you' shell cracking. They want it to be safe, will it to be safe. "Well," I start, "Mali was safe. Mali was a solid democracy for 21 years and they were about to hold elections, and look what happened there."
This makes people uncomfortable as they look for the right words. After a few seconds, I save them, smiling confidently and stating with authority, "But I'm sure nothing like that will happen in Zambia." Everyone smiles back, relieved.
"And she's going back" is truly a silly phrase for us to use in this situation. I am going back to a continent. Imagine you just came from Norway and you're now going to Greece. Or you ended a assignment in Mongolia and are jetting off to Laos. Going back? That's not really possible. To use a more correct phrase, we should say "And she's moving forward!" but no one says that, it sounds somehow ridiculous. Still, that's what this is. My assignment in Zambia will be to manage a pilot program for malaria prevention and control. I spent the last two years working to find and create my own projects; a lot of time went to reading in my hammock. Now, instead, I will be partnered with an organization - PATH MACEPA - and will have assignments, jobs, direction. I will act as a liaison with health authorities, manage and help direct a program, work to solidify and better the program. I do not feel like I am 'going back' anywhere, but that I am starting down a new road, one that I didn't realize I wanted to take 2 years ago. Funny how everything can change.
Some people told me that I was different when I came back to the states, that I'd grown up. I assume they based this (unconsciously, most likely) on my haircut - I look older, more mature with short hair. The first thing one of my closest friends said was "you've grown." It was true - I grew less than an inch. Maybe that's why everyone thinks I'm now grown up. Besides, everyone changes when given 2 years. Still, I have noticed changes within myself since coming home. Mali taught me that I have something to give and that I should be confident in myself for that. Among the many gifts Mali revealed to my inner self, one of the biggest was a shift toward self-satisfaction in what I am doing and where I am going. I'm bad at decisions - the question 'what if...' enters my mind often. I never felt truly secure in my life plans and goals, what if I was choosing the wrong thing? Then what?This may partly be from being (almost) 24 rather than 21 and just-graduated, but it has slowly appeared to me that I no longer worry about that. The details, yes (what school, what program, when to go), but the direction doesn't worry me, it just feels right.
----- AUGUST -----
When I received my flight details, the date was still 6 weeks away. I lamented to my mother that it would take forever (have I told you how much more patient I've become!?) but when I looked at a calendar, I suddenly only had a few days left. Leaving for Mali, my excitement was met and shadowed by my trepidation (anxiety, really). Leaving for Zambia, I was almost exclusively filled with excitement. The shortened time frame probably help - 1 year is not nearly as daunting as 2. Landing in Lusaka, the dust in me that had kicked up when we suddenly left Mali started to settle. Based on 1st impressions, it will continue to do so.
If I'd come straight from Mali, I don't think I could have embraced this experience in the same way. I was still heartbroken over our exit, longing for my village - I would have tried to turn this experience into closure for the last, which truly wouldn't have done justice to Zambia. Having time in between, I can start my service knowing I am here because I want to move forward and do (learn) more, not because I'm trying to recreate Mali. I will inevitably compare Zambia to Mali, but I will try to do so in a constructive manner, building a framework of how things change in different cultures rather than pouting because the grass is surely greener in my favorite hot-as-hell desert country.
Coming as a Response volunteer, a few things are different. I applied for this specific position working with another organization rather than a general pool application. I did not 'stage' with Peace Corps in the US but met my new PC program director at the Lusaka airport. And I trained only a week with PC, rather than 2 months. During that first week, I met with the people I will be working with at PATH-MACEPA, my partner organization. My breath caught and my heart sped up as Sally and I stepped into the PATH office. Don't screw this up, I told myself as I steadied my hands in the waiting room. I sat down to 'chat' with a couple very intelligent people about the program and my role in it. My eyes must have widened, my mind trying to wrap around a caliber of language I had rarely used in the last 2 years. I tried to form intelligent, poignant responses, but I just said 'OK' a lot. I was rusty. Between that and the accelerated learn-what-you-can-in-a-week language lessons, I felt like I was dragging my brain behind me, little bits giving up and falling off.
Peace Corps service is difficult in a peculiar way. On the one hand, you aren't doing the 9-5 grind and you have a lot of free time. On the other, you spend that free time shitting in a hole and repetedly explaining that you came to work with poeple, not to give them money (which can really dissapoint them). Then you have to find something within yourself to motivate you and your village to work together on a project. This can feel like casually hunting for mushrooms or like going down a shaft into a coal mine labrynth in search of a diamond. You find yourself bipolar, oscillating between exhasperation and exhileration. OK so maybe you don't oscillate, but isn't it a great word?
Still, you have plenty of time to read and 'work' includes things like going to a clinic to chat or painting a mural. It's the Minor Leagues. As I walked through the PATH office, it dawned on me that I was no longer in the minor leagues. I'd been given a year contract with the big kids and I was terrified that I'd screw it up on the 1st day. I made it through without sounding too brain dead, and am now getting into training on my program and on malaria itself. So, in short, here we go again. Soon, when I have more of an idea what I'll be doing, etc., I'll let you know.
Peace & Love
Elyse
