I expected that at this point in my Peace Corps service I would feel more of a sense of accomplishment and pride. I have been here for one full year now, and you’d think that should amount to something. A year, you say. Twelve months spent in a foreign country, learning to adapt and adjust and integrate and respect and speak and work and LIVE.
Instead of rejoicing though, and giving myself some credit for this, lately I’ve been beating myself up and feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt; feeling like I’m not doing all the work I want to be doing, and having a hard time feeling like I’m getting any work done at all. On top of that I feel like I am spending less time being social with my Senegalese friends, and seem to be falling behind in my correspondence to friends and family back in the States. I apologize to those of you whom I haven’t emailed back in many weeks, or perhaps months - but remind myself, and you, that this is one of the reasons I started this blog in the first place ☺. So I hope you’ll forgive me, as communication Stateside sometimes falls last on my priorities list.
As for work, I would have thought by now that I would be full-on gung ho about what I’m doing here, and it’s hard to admit that I’m not exactly. There are some things that I’ve done that have really been exciting, but others I am involved in that I feel like are just putting one foot in front of the other and keeping plodding along. I suppose that’s development work for you, though, it IS hit-or-miss, and sometimes it IS just about simply showing up and keeping encouraging people to do the same. It’s just hard to realize that, though, being so ingrained in my American ways, with our focus on results-driven work. I’ve had to realize that the word “work” is not always defined the same way here, and that “success” has different barometers and criteria.
I was warned before I came about the intangibility of much the work I would be taking on here, how physical, measurable results are not necessarily the usual end product of two years of Peace Corps service. But knowing about something and living it are two very different things. Working in education as my main focus here, I know I am aiming for long-term results, ones that may very well not be seen in the next year I’m here. Despite the warning, it’s a difficult reality to come to terms with.
Last week I was invited to go back to Thies to help with training of the newest group of Peace Corps (soon-to-be) volunteers. It was a peculiar feeling, to be the “experienced” volunteer, and to be asked questions like I was the expert, when I know now how much I still don’t know, and there’s so much I feel I haven’t done. But these trainees had been in country for just three weeks so far, so my scope of knowledge about Senegal and Peace Corps far surpassed theirs, which was again, surreal. This is the second group of new volunteers that have come into country since I did, but the last one six months ago didn’t have as big of an impact on me emotionally. They were exciting and fresh, but after six months me and my stage-mates were still just getting our feet wet.
This year mark is a strange coming-of-age, a time to look back, and ahead, to assess how far I’ve come, where I am now, and where I still want to go. The group of volunteers who were a year ahead of us and helped with our training a year ago are in the process of leaving the country now (COS’ing - Close of Service), and saying goodbye to them makes me think about how fast time has been flying. I just hope that a year from now, when it’s my time to go, I can walk away and say, “Yes, I did something too.”
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
365 days
This past Friday marked my 1 year anniversary of being in Senegal.One year ago I started this adventure, along with the rest of my training group. We came together for staging in Philadelphia, met each other for the first time, with all of our physical and mental baggage, with all of our optimism and dread, anxieties and excitement and eager naiveté.
I can still see the carpeted hallways of that Holiday Inn in the historic district, the pink hue of the conference room, and the flip chart paper we taped to the walls, with our hearts out there in the open, having been asked to draw our hopes and fears. We rode the bus to New York, checked in all our luggage, and boarded the plane. And after over 36 hours of being in transit, we landed in the still warm night of Dakar.
There were so many times in the last year when I thought I was surely not going to make it this far, when I doubted all the reasons I had for coming, and wanted nothing more than to go home. And I don't think that those moments of doubt are completely behind me - but I know now what to expect. I don't expect to encounter too many new challenges and changes over the next year. Just the same challenges, over and over, ad infinitum. That will be the biggest challenge perhaps: knowing what I'm facing, and keeping optimistic in spite of it. In spite of everything.
I still think this is the right decision for me, to be here, now. Yes, I do miss America and my friends and family there sometimes so much that it seems like my heart is just going to burst. But if I think about leaving here right now I am filled with an equally deep sadness, because there is still so much I want to try to do here before I would feel at peace with stepping away and moving on. I feel that here is where my life is now.
So I stay on, and look ahead. To this next year. May it be everything I hope it can be.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
dreamstate
I didn’t sleep well Wednesday night, through a combination of drinking too much water right before bed and it being unseasonably warm all of a sudden. Probably because of these factors, I dreamed, vividly. My dreams here in Africa seem to me to be more often than not transparently symbolic of my anxieties and neuroses of waking life, and this one was no different. The following is the actual, honest-to-goodness, true dream, as well as I can remember it.
…….
The set-up: I was getting ready to go on a trip, with many other people. I was excited of course, and a little nervous, because we were going back to America. The trip was just going to be a visit, a week or so, not permanently leaving Senegal, so I wasn’t sweating it too much, but as we were advancing towards the security gate, I realized I didn’t know where my boarding pass was, or my driver’s license, or passport.
I started ransacking all of my bags looking for these critical papers, not coming up with anything even as the crowd thinned out and fewer and fewer people stayed nearby to help me search. My bags didn’t seem to be proper suitcases, just large plastic bags full of random stuff, but finally I turned up a scrap of paper on which I had scribbled in pen the flight information and my ticket numbers, and hoped that would suffice as a boarding pass. I continued to go through all of my things, which seemed like a ridiculous amount for only a weeklong trip, and as the minutes ticked by I became more and more certain that I was going to miss my flight. Somehow my mother was there too, my real American mother, and she offered to look through her baggage too in hopes of turning up something that could prove my identity. So we delved into her bags, together pulling out what must have been several kilos of large onions, until she had her hands around the biggest onion of all, which she pulled apart to reveal a few small books that she had tucked inside the cleverly-cut vegetable. I saw my monthly planner among her other closely guarded treasures, and reached for it, my hope rising. “I already looked in it,” she said to me. But I smiled, taking it from her and flipping the book open to its back flap, where the inside pocket divulged my coveted driver’s license, as well as the IDs of a few other PCVs, which I had apparently been holding onto for safe-keeping.
I sighed in relief, having feared my precious ID lost. But after a minute of calm, I looked around me, realizing everyone else was gone already. The hour continued to advance, and I still didn’t have my passport. My mother drifted out of the scene, and I drifted closer to waking, seeming once more to be alone, with no one left to help me search for the one last document I knew I needed to board the plane. I started to lose hope that I would be able to make this flight, and soon I woke, before I could find my passport, before I could go anywhere, my feet still on the ground here in Senegal.
…….
I’m not going to list the numerous links I can find here between my imaginative subconscious and its origins in reality (because they seem obvious to me, as I know myself so well) but I would be interested to know what you, dear readers, see, if you feel like commenting. Maybe the next time I will write about something actually related to the “work” I do here, Inch’Allah. Until then…
…….
The set-up: I was getting ready to go on a trip, with many other people. I was excited of course, and a little nervous, because we were going back to America. The trip was just going to be a visit, a week or so, not permanently leaving Senegal, so I wasn’t sweating it too much, but as we were advancing towards the security gate, I realized I didn’t know where my boarding pass was, or my driver’s license, or passport.
I started ransacking all of my bags looking for these critical papers, not coming up with anything even as the crowd thinned out and fewer and fewer people stayed nearby to help me search. My bags didn’t seem to be proper suitcases, just large plastic bags full of random stuff, but finally I turned up a scrap of paper on which I had scribbled in pen the flight information and my ticket numbers, and hoped that would suffice as a boarding pass. I continued to go through all of my things, which seemed like a ridiculous amount for only a weeklong trip, and as the minutes ticked by I became more and more certain that I was going to miss my flight. Somehow my mother was there too, my real American mother, and she offered to look through her baggage too in hopes of turning up something that could prove my identity. So we delved into her bags, together pulling out what must have been several kilos of large onions, until she had her hands around the biggest onion of all, which she pulled apart to reveal a few small books that she had tucked inside the cleverly-cut vegetable. I saw my monthly planner among her other closely guarded treasures, and reached for it, my hope rising. “I already looked in it,” she said to me. But I smiled, taking it from her and flipping the book open to its back flap, where the inside pocket divulged my coveted driver’s license, as well as the IDs of a few other PCVs, which I had apparently been holding onto for safe-keeping.
I sighed in relief, having feared my precious ID lost. But after a minute of calm, I looked around me, realizing everyone else was gone already. The hour continued to advance, and I still didn’t have my passport. My mother drifted out of the scene, and I drifted closer to waking, seeming once more to be alone, with no one left to help me search for the one last document I knew I needed to board the plane. I started to lose hope that I would be able to make this flight, and soon I woke, before I could find my passport, before I could go anywhere, my feet still on the ground here in Senegal.
…….
I’m not going to list the numerous links I can find here between my imaginative subconscious and its origins in reality (because they seem obvious to me, as I know myself so well) but I would be interested to know what you, dear readers, see, if you feel like commenting. Maybe the next time I will write about something actually related to the “work” I do here, Inch’Allah. Until then…
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
February 28
It’s just past 7:30 pm, and as I come up to the roof of my family’s house to catch the last rays of light fading out over the ocean, I hear the dusk call to prayer sounding from the nearby mosque. Palm trees’ dark frames are silhouetted against the darkening sky and the cool evening wind carries the voices of children from up the sandy street as they kick around a ball. Half a block over there is a single lightbulb illuminating a foosball table, surrounded by boys, each eager to have a turn, and as the day turns into night the cloudless sky reveals the first sliver of a new moon. I look out at the sea, the horizon blurred now in darkness, and think about how many miles away is America, and how distant it seems from the reality I’m living.
I can barely make out the palm trees now, but the waves continue to break on the shore and the boys clack and conk their miniature footballers and a baby cries a few houses down. A megaphone mounted on a car passes by and fades into the wind, a sheep bleats, and a car honks from the road, half a kilometer away. And then, quiet. I look up to realize the power is out, only the second time that’s happened in the evening for several months. An almost daily occurrence in the rainy season, since the arrival of cool dry days we have become accustomed to having regular power again. But by the time I stop to think about it, I see the light in our courtyard, the street lamps power on, and the voice from the mosque loudspeaker calls the faithful for one last time today.
The wind is picking up, making me eager to go downstairs and put on a jacket, heat a pot of water to warm up my bucket bath and take a shower. Tomorrow is Sunday, a day I try to set aside to not do work, and I’ve been invited to lunch at my counterpart’s house. In the evening there’s a lutte, a traditional Senegalese wrestling match that I might go to, over at the middle school. I have a few lesson plans to look over that one of the teachers at the elementary school I’m working with prepared yesterday, and I might wash some clothes.
Brr! The breeze makes me shiver in my short sleeves and jeans, and I am enjoying every minute of the cold that I thought so many months ago was not even possible. What wonderful joy it is to step out of the shower these days and not immediately start sweating again! I missed actually wanting to wear layers of clothes. I know the hot season will come again soon, but for the time being I am reveling in my element, and laughing at the Senegalese who look so out of place bundled up like Eskimos in their puffy fleeces and gloves, at 50 degrees F. These hot season people don’t know what to do with the cold. “America is much colder than Senegal!” I tell them. But then it’s their turn to laugh at me, when they see me in my sweatshirt and jacket, hands in my pockets, elbows tucked into my sides. “Leegi miin naa tangaay bi!” I say, in my defense. “I got used to the heat!”
I can barely make out the palm trees now, but the waves continue to break on the shore and the boys clack and conk their miniature footballers and a baby cries a few houses down. A megaphone mounted on a car passes by and fades into the wind, a sheep bleats, and a car honks from the road, half a kilometer away. And then, quiet. I look up to realize the power is out, only the second time that’s happened in the evening for several months. An almost daily occurrence in the rainy season, since the arrival of cool dry days we have become accustomed to having regular power again. But by the time I stop to think about it, I see the light in our courtyard, the street lamps power on, and the voice from the mosque loudspeaker calls the faithful for one last time today.
The wind is picking up, making me eager to go downstairs and put on a jacket, heat a pot of water to warm up my bucket bath and take a shower. Tomorrow is Sunday, a day I try to set aside to not do work, and I’ve been invited to lunch at my counterpart’s house. In the evening there’s a lutte, a traditional Senegalese wrestling match that I might go to, over at the middle school. I have a few lesson plans to look over that one of the teachers at the elementary school I’m working with prepared yesterday, and I might wash some clothes.
Brr! The breeze makes me shiver in my short sleeves and jeans, and I am enjoying every minute of the cold that I thought so many months ago was not even possible. What wonderful joy it is to step out of the shower these days and not immediately start sweating again! I missed actually wanting to wear layers of clothes. I know the hot season will come again soon, but for the time being I am reveling in my element, and laughing at the Senegalese who look so out of place bundled up like Eskimos in their puffy fleeces and gloves, at 50 degrees F. These hot season people don’t know what to do with the cold. “America is much colder than Senegal!” I tell them. But then it’s their turn to laugh at me, when they see me in my sweatshirt and jacket, hands in my pockets, elbows tucked into my sides. “Leegi miin naa tangaay bi!” I say, in my defense. “I got used to the heat!”
the one-eyed man leading the blind
Or something like that... So a recent graduate from my university contacted me a few weeks ago to get some advice on Peace Corps, as she is getting ready to join in a few months and naturally wanted to get as much first-hand information as possible. After writing her back, I thought it
might be interesting to share, and she agreed to me posting this here, so here you go.
........................................................................................................................................................
Feb. 18
Hi Alexis,
...........................................................................................................................................................
Feb. 26
Hi B,
It sounds like you already have more experience than I did coming into
my Peace Corps service, with the Bucknell Brigade and visiting a
developing country. I had several friends while I was at Bucknell who
helped with the Brigade, though at that time I was not yet seriously
considering Peace Corps. Before I got here I had only been to Europe,
and not even close to any developing countries. My major at Bucknell
was a double, environmental studies and French, but like yours, I
didn’t feel (and still don’t) that that qualified me to do anything
specific at all. I didn’t want to teach French, and only had vague
ideas about working in the vast “environmental” field.
I graduated from Bucknell in 2004 and worked various jobs for a few
years, until the spring of 2007 when I decided to apply to Peace
Corps. I am glad that I had a few years out of college before I came,
but from my experience here, I can tell you that Peace Corps teaches
you just about everything you need to know to do your job. So don’t
worry too much about having specific skills before you come.
One of the things that pushed me to try and join Peace Corps was the
desire to do something useful and helpful to people, to really make a
difference. I think I was most hesitant about whether or not I would
make a good volunteer, whether I could “cut it”, whether or not I was
strong enough to live two years away from my family and friends and
rough it. I think if you didn’t have fears and doubts you wouldn’t be
normal! I didn’t dwell too much on my past experiences and knowledge
while I was in the application process, but when I got here I found a
range of people as my fellow trainees, some less and some more
experienced than me.
Honestly, there are many times here when I have felt inadequate and
not helpful at all. But I don’t think having an advanced degree would
have helped that. There are basic things you have to overcome, that
simply take time, patience, and determination. It is hard being an
outsider trying to make change, and it takes a lot of work to get to a
point where you are accepted and respected by your community, enough
that they will listen to what you have to say. It is a constant
struggle to feel like you are doing something helpful, and one of my
biggest challenges is changing my perception of what is “help”, seeing
that sometimes just being present is what matters. I work every day to
create structure for myself, since there is so much freedom in this
job, it is difficult to find focus. And every day I still meet people
who don’t know why I’m here or what my job is, and they simply dismiss
me, judging me based solely on the color of my skin. But perhaps the
biggest challenge is in fact feeling like what I am doing has some
kind of impact, and that all the months that I have been here are not
for nothing.
As for changes, there is no question that I am not the same person I
was a year ago when I was getting ready to leave for Senegal. The way
I look at the world now is forever different. It’s hard to say exactly
how, but I know that I like who I am now more than who I was when I
got here, and it’s true that ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you
stronger’. Often I meet new Senegalese people and they ask about what
I’m doing here, and one of the first things they assume is that I am a
student. “Are you learning?” they ask. And although that is not
technically what I am doing here, I usually answer “yes.” Because
every day I’m here I learn something new; about Senegal, about the
Senegalese, and about myself.
At this point, I do not hesitate to say that joining Peace Corps is
one of, if not the, best decision I have ever made. Yes, there were
times (and are still times) when I think, wow, what the hell am I
doing here? and all I can think about is going home. I’m not going to
lie about that. I don’t know a single volunteer who hasn’t at one
point seriously thought about going home. But the wonders, the joys,
the things you get a chance to be a part of here, the opportunities
you have to touch people’s lives, and to have your life changed by
others, I think it makes it all worth it. I feel like I have done more
‘living’ in the last year than in the three before it. I still have a
year left in my service, and there is a lot I hope to get done. It
takes time to get integrated into your community, to learn the
language, to find out where you belong and what you can do. So if I
can give you any advice, it’s that you need to be patient. And
forgiving. Not just of others, but especially of yourself.
I wish you the best of luck, and if you have other questions, feel
free to shoot me a note.
Take care,
Alexis
might be interesting to share, and she agreed to me posting this here, so here you go.
........................................................................................................................................................
Feb. 18
Hi Alexis,
Thanks for getting back to me! I'm excited to read the blogs--I find it helpful to hear about volunteers' experiences.
I was invited to go on a program in Sub-Saharan Africa this upcoming June, but am only finishing up my health forms now, so it looks like my slot will be filled by the time I'm done with the application process. I am not sure when my next program will start, but I do hope to go to Africa. I will most likely be working in community development/education.
In my months of considering the program, I have created many personal fears and doubts. I feel inexperienced since I have yet to specialize in a specific skill (my major was International Relations). Hence why I considered going back to school first to get an advanced degree. Furthermore, I struggle with the fact that I don't want to go on just a two-year self journey, but rather make a difference and create change. I guess I have felt those feelings from my past volunteer experiences (I did the Bucknell Brigade in Nicaragua and spent last summer filming a documentary in Nicaragua), where there were times I felt inadequate and not helpful at all. Do you feel this way at all? Were you hesitant to join?
Thank you for sharing your experience with me, I appreciate it. What are your biggest challenges? Do you feel like you have changed a lot?
B.
...........................................................................................................................................................
Feb. 26
Hi B,
It sounds like you already have more experience than I did coming into
my Peace Corps service, with the Bucknell Brigade and visiting a
developing country. I had several friends while I was at Bucknell who
helped with the Brigade, though at that time I was not yet seriously
considering Peace Corps. Before I got here I had only been to Europe,
and not even close to any developing countries. My major at Bucknell
was a double, environmental studies and French, but like yours, I
didn’t feel (and still don’t) that that qualified me to do anything
specific at all. I didn’t want to teach French, and only had vague
ideas about working in the vast “environmental” field.
I graduated from Bucknell in 2004 and worked various jobs for a few
years, until the spring of 2007 when I decided to apply to Peace
Corps. I am glad that I had a few years out of college before I came,
but from my experience here, I can tell you that Peace Corps teaches
you just about everything you need to know to do your job. So don’t
worry too much about having specific skills before you come.
One of the things that pushed me to try and join Peace Corps was the
desire to do something useful and helpful to people, to really make a
difference. I think I was most hesitant about whether or not I would
make a good volunteer, whether I could “cut it”, whether or not I was
strong enough to live two years away from my family and friends and
rough it. I think if you didn’t have fears and doubts you wouldn’t be
normal! I didn’t dwell too much on my past experiences and knowledge
while I was in the application process, but when I got here I found a
range of people as my fellow trainees, some less and some more
experienced than me.
Honestly, there are many times here when I have felt inadequate and
not helpful at all. But I don’t think having an advanced degree would
have helped that. There are basic things you have to overcome, that
simply take time, patience, and determination. It is hard being an
outsider trying to make change, and it takes a lot of work to get to a
point where you are accepted and respected by your community, enough
that they will listen to what you have to say. It is a constant
struggle to feel like you are doing something helpful, and one of my
biggest challenges is changing my perception of what is “help”, seeing
that sometimes just being present is what matters. I work every day to
create structure for myself, since there is so much freedom in this
job, it is difficult to find focus. And every day I still meet people
who don’t know why I’m here or what my job is, and they simply dismiss
me, judging me based solely on the color of my skin. But perhaps the
biggest challenge is in fact feeling like what I am doing has some
kind of impact, and that all the months that I have been here are not
for nothing.
As for changes, there is no question that I am not the same person I
was a year ago when I was getting ready to leave for Senegal. The way
I look at the world now is forever different. It’s hard to say exactly
how, but I know that I like who I am now more than who I was when I
got here, and it’s true that ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you
stronger’. Often I meet new Senegalese people and they ask about what
I’m doing here, and one of the first things they assume is that I am a
student. “Are you learning?” they ask. And although that is not
technically what I am doing here, I usually answer “yes.” Because
every day I’m here I learn something new; about Senegal, about the
Senegalese, and about myself.
At this point, I do not hesitate to say that joining Peace Corps is
one of, if not the, best decision I have ever made. Yes, there were
times (and are still times) when I think, wow, what the hell am I
doing here? and all I can think about is going home. I’m not going to
lie about that. I don’t know a single volunteer who hasn’t at one
point seriously thought about going home. But the wonders, the joys,
the things you get a chance to be a part of here, the opportunities
you have to touch people’s lives, and to have your life changed by
others, I think it makes it all worth it. I feel like I have done more
‘living’ in the last year than in the three before it. I still have a
year left in my service, and there is a lot I hope to get done. It
takes time to get integrated into your community, to learn the
language, to find out where you belong and what you can do. So if I
can give you any advice, it’s that you need to be patient. And
forgiving. Not just of others, but especially of yourself.
I wish you the best of luck, and if you have other questions, feel
free to shoot me a note.
Take care,
Alexis
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