Last week, Val and I went to see Girl Rising, a film about 9 particular girls in different parts of the world. The purpose was to tell their stories, the daily struggles and barriers they face just to receive an education or simply better themselves from the slums in which they live. Narrated by many famous people such as Liam Neeson, Freida Pinto, and Alicia Keys, the message was clear: educate girls.
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Hey everyone!
Well it’s been over a year since I last posted on here. I’ve really missed writing and I’d say quite a lot has changed in the last 13 months. I returned from Rwanda, lost and confused, unsure of what my next step would be. I became the nanny of my newborn niece (a job I loved everyday!) for about 4 months. Last May, I took a job as a Membership Specialist for Girl Scouts of Minnesota and Wisconsin River Valleys and moved to Northfield, MN with my partner, Val. Over the last year, we’ve settled in to this quiet little town and grown stronger, both individually and as a couple.
I’ve learned a lot about myself, reflecting of my time in Peace Corps. Not a day goes by that a memory doesn’t flash through my mind. I’ll be loading laundry in the machine and suddenly a surge of gratitude washes over me, still grateful for technology, electricity, and running water.
But now, it’s time to move on. Living in the present and enjoying every moment, I’ve found much needed peace in my life. The reason I wanted to come back to say hello is because I have launched a new site! If you enjoyed reading about my experiences in Peace Corps, I hope you’ll join me on my next journey…everyday life. I’ve realized that my daily observations deserve a voice. One of the biggest topics of conversation in my life these days is the physical, mental, emotional and spiritual transition of my partner Val from female to male. I hope you’ll join me; read, comment, and share with others.
So move over, africanwannabe…THIS IS LIZ.
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We all know the concept behind culture shock. It is very much expected when traveling, moving, living in or interacting with places and people different from what we are used to. But what many of us don’t think about is reverse culture shock. It is very strange to be fully immersed in a place that is entirely different from home, putting so much effort into adapting to that place and becoming part of it, while not realizing that the details of home are slipping away. They aren’t being lost, just pushed to the back of the enormous storage room or filing cabinet inside your mind. It’s difficult to completely lose these details, as they are inevitably engrained in you. So for the time being, they are simply stored for later in order to make room for the details of this new place. The details from home aren’t important to your daily life or who you are, and you don’t even realize some things are gone from your life or thoughts. But then you return home, to what is upsettingly called “the familiar”, and your life is somehow full of these old details, dusted off and shoved in your face. The memories are not stored or filed, they are now your reality. Confused yet? Following all of this? Overwhelmed with what the hell I am trying to explain? Yeah, well so am I.
So, what are these details, you ask? First, let’s start with reflections. In the states, we see images of ourselves everywhere. There are mirrors at home (in multiple rooms), in public bathrooms, restaurants, bars, in our cars…everywhere. Simple reflections are constantly popping up in our faces, showing us our hair as we open the door to a store, or how we walk when we pass a building with shiny windows, or if there’s something in our teeth when we look at the reflection in our phone. In Rwanda, I got used to not seeing myself everywhere I turned. It didn’t matter if my hair was too frizzy or my clothes didn’t really match…mostly because my neighbors already thought I was strange, but also because I didn’t ever see myself. Except for the small handheld mirror I brought from home, there was nothing else that showed me my reflection on a regular basis. Returning to the states, I am often shocked to see myself staring back at me. Are my eyes really that blue? How long has that freckle been there? What happens when I make THIS facial expression?
Beyond seducing myself with my own reflection, the visual images and videos that surround our daily life here in the states is overwhelming to me. I feel like a baby, seeing things for the first time. The other day I was explaining to my dad how I have no visuals to go along with the past nine months of news. In Rwanda, I listened to BBC World and BBC Africa everyday on the radio (and actually felt more informed on what’s going on in the world than I ever did in the states). I told my dad that I have no visual companion to all of the big news stories…the riots in London, tsunami in Japan, protests in Libya and Syria, Colonel Kadaffi, al-Shabab. Nothing. Therefore, since my return to electricity, cable news, and WiFi, I have become somewhat of a news junkie and dangerously obsessed with the infinite RSS 24/7 internet news feed, social sites, political shows…it’s bad.
While there is an abundance of media, technology, and images, there is an extreme lack of real people. Granted it’s winter in Iowa, but I still can’t get over how few people there are around here. The sidewalks and streets aren’t packed. Stores are never crowded. I haven’t had to wait in a line for more than 10 minutes for anything. One time in Rwanda I waited over two hours to see a doctor, only to have him leave before it was my turn and make me come back the next day to wait another hour. It is nice, though, that even at a semi-crowded event like a basketball game, I’m not being stared at, yelled at, followed, or asked for money. That is a huge relief.
There are a lot of tiny details that jump out at me randomly. They seem peculiar at first, and usually turn into gratitude for such luxury or convenience. For example, the concept of ice and free refills on pop (no, not soda) is genius. Carpet, hot showers, and ceiling fans are amazing. Coffee machines that you can program…brilliant. Chairs, couches, benches, pews, or whatever with cushions/pillows…freaking awesome. Pushing a button to do my laundry and returning an hour later when it’s done, without lifting a finger…priceless. Okay, now I sound like a commercial.
Walking into stores is still overwhelming. Walgreens, CVS, Target, Younkers…do we really need 40 different kinds of juice? Ten brands of gum? It took me 20 minutes to find the right socks because there were so many different ones. The fact that you can buy any fruit (other than pineapple and bananas?!) year round is incredible to me. Self-service check out lines confuse me. I have totally forgotten the PIN to my debit card, so that’s been fun. The other day I stood in awe at the numerous shelves stacked high with a huge variety of canned beans. I had forgotten that beans could actually taste different (still, I’m in no rush to eat them). Food in general has been an adjustment, a very enjoyable one. It took about a week for my stomach to adjust back to the richness of our foods, but I’m not holding back…cheese, chocolate milk, sushi, mushrooms, asparagus, orange juice, yogurt, pancakes, red wine, chai tea. I could talk for hours about my happiness found in food now that I’m home.
One of the best things about returning to the states is getting to drive again. Thankfully my parents didn’t end up selling my car like I originally asked them to, so it was waiting for me when I got home. The freedom to hop in my car and just go wherever I want, when I want, is something I will never take for granted again. However, getting used to driving in snow is another story and it only took one time for me to slide on the ice and land my car in the shop. At least the rental has heated seats…
Overall, I am adjusting to life back in the states pretty well. I am happy with the decision to come home early and absolutely love being surrounded by friends and family again. It is still a transition and will be a slow process as I work through everything that happened in Rwanda. My guitar and my sister’s dog have been the best therapy ever for me. I don’t know what my next step will be, but a road trip is in the works so stay tuned for more travel blogging from yours truly!
Because I am back in the world of super duper fast internet and Wifi, I have uploaded several videos and many photos from my service. Check out my Picasa site to see them all!
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This is definitely the hardest entry that I have attempted to write. Beginning to explain all that has happened, all that I have learned, and the reasoning behind it all, would require a psychologist, sociologist, priest, atheist, and comedian. Their answers would be conflicting, confusing, and never-ending. I assume my own explanations and reasoning would be as well. But I have decided not to analyze the fact that my biggest dream turned out to be, in many ways, a nightmare.
Only days after returning to my village, I knew in my gut it wasn’t right. I tried and tried to make it all work, to not give up, to find solutions and work through my problems. I struggled with the idea of giving it “enough” time, however there is a slight problem with the quantitative measurement of “enough”…it’s not a measurement at all. Throughout my service I had used this term to drive me, to keep trying, to lead me to the next day. Finally, I admitted to myself that enough is enough. Life doesn’t have to be continuously running your head into a brick wall for the sake of becoming stronger or learning about yourself. I think there are a lot less painful to ways to do that.
Yet, I hated the idea of not overcoming all of the challenges that go along with being a volunteer. Of giving up on the commitment I made. Of accepting the fact that maybe my dream was bigger than myself. I didn’t understand how or why I turned into a different version of myself the moment I entered my village, but I knew it was true and took it as a fact: this isn’t a good fit. Even with all that I had learned and worked through so far, gaining new coping skills and strategies, I decided to do what would make me happy. Waking up each day to a world that I couldn’t appreciate, where my smile seemed forced and living felt like a chore, I knew something had to be done. What service would I be to my village if this is how I live each day?
One day I looked at my situation as two open doors. The first one was all of the possibilities within Peace Corps. I had the freedom to do what I wanted, develop projects, work as hard or as little as I wanted, travel, become fluent in the language, share new ideas and aspects of American culture with Rwandans…continue on the path of the PC experience with the hope of things getting better but dealing with the reality and magnitude of my struggles. The other open door led me back home. Yes, it was the safety net I mentioned in a previous post that I am privileged to have. Yes, it was admitting that the decision I made to return to Rwanda led me to where I started. Yes, I felt ridiculous for flying half-way across the world only to realize within a week that I had made the wrong decision. But even with all of those things weighing on me, the idea of getting out of my current situation made me excited, happy, and motivated to move on to whatever the next step may be. The infinite possibilities awaiting me at home looked incredibly more appealing than those I stood face-to-face with in Rwanda. I didn’t want to suffer for two years only to come out on the other end saying I did it, with little contribution to show for it and the possibility of resenting those around me or losing myself in the process.
With support from PC staff and my family back home, I decided enough is enough. The technical term is medical separation, a fancy way of saying I’m leaving Peace Corps. Unfortunately the one time PC is efficient with logistics, it is when sending a volunteer home. I had three days to pack my house, explain that I was leaving and not returning, visit my host family, and say my goodbyes. Not to mention the work required by Peace Corps before leaving the country. It was hectic to say the least, but once the decision was made, my world became brighter again. Although saying goodbye to my host family, my best Rwandan friend from my village, and fellow PCVs was hard, I was finally happy again and able to enjoy my last few days in Rwanda. I am glad I left on a good note. I viewed the free champagne on the plane as a toast to my service, accomplishments, and ability to make a decision. Oh yeah, and the fact that it was Christmas day.
So, this means that I have been back home for a couple of days now and in the words of Nelson Mandela, “There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered”. With the days, weeks, and years to come, I am sure I will realize how this experience has changed me. Beyond the jetlag, this transition will be another process for me to discover. I thought the next two years of my life were planned out, but if I learned anything, it is the ability to throw the plans out the window. The key is to enjoy the path of whatever may follow. Ok, so maybe I haven’t lost that idealistic nature that led me to do Peace Corps…but this time around, I think I have the sense not to be blinded by it.
Written on 15 December 2011
I have exciting news for all of you interested in the wondrous space-time continuum…I have discovered the time machine! Don’t believe me? Ok, well, go travel from a third world country to the developed world…and back again…within 4 weeks. Now tell me your answer. It’s weird how much you forget about one world when you are living in another. That can be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on what it is you forgot. For example, developed world: carpet=good, 35˚F=bad. Third world: fresh fruits and veggies=good, people thinking you died because you were gone for a month=bad. Okay, so that last one was mostly my fault. I left so abruptly, with barely enough time to pack my bags, that I didn’t explain to anyone where I was going. I also had no idea how long I would be gone.
I didn’t know what to expect from my village upon my return, but I had prepared a response to the inevitable question, “Wagiye he?” or “Where did you go?”. Many people assumed I went to America and would not return, but didn’t know why. Some thought I was in the hospital. A few literally thought I had died…apparently the only reason why I my phone wasn’t working. One person asked if I had met a husband and ran away with him. Ha!
Beyond their initial inquiries, many people seemed happy that I was back. Bear in mind the culture, and happiness is represented with a brief smile accompanied by a few chuckles of laughter. Then it’s back to whatever they were doing before I came to greet them, and maybe a couple village news updates….like how the shopkeeper now has two wives. Scandalous! A few people were actually angry or extremely upset with me for leaving without an explanation. I felt awful and explained the best I could. Knowing Rwandan culture, I had the Mecca of all excuses: a new baby in the family! This is a celebration everyone here can relate to and understand. I only wish it was true that I was home for the birth of my beautiful niece, and not just landing in Kigali. Regardless, I am an aunt! Congrats to my brother and sister-in-law on their beautiful, health baby girl, Evelyn Leigh! I couldn’t help be mad that I didn’t wait a couple more days before returning. Of course, thanks to wonderful technology, we were able to Skype only hours after she was born. And shortly after that, I found myself at a local co-op, purchasing what I imagine will be a steady supply of African gifts. No, I don’t think of it as spoiling her. I call it cultural education. It’s just a coincidence that they decorated the nursery jungle themed and I happen to have access to quality, original jungle themed crafts and art…and clothes…and toys…and…
So beyond the questions and reactions of others, I still have me, myself, and I to deal with during this transition. Several reasons led me to return here to Rwanda, some may be better than others. I truly wanted to give PC another shot after gaining a new perspective and learning a few coping skills. Giving up is not easy for me. I have to know that I tried everything I could to make things work (aka I make life much more complicated than it needs to be). It also got to the point in D.C. that I felt like I was spinning my wheels. Being frustrated with the (lack of) treatment I was receiving, I decided to just take control of the situation. Finally, knowing how I left so abruptly, I owed my friends and neighbors an explanation after they have done so much for me already. And selfishly, I’m the kind of person that needs closure…
Returning was my goal all along but I’m not going to lie, I was very hesitant. I still am. Walking right back into the place where I hit rock bottom scared the hell out of me. It took me several days in Kigali to get enough courage to buy a bus ticket to my village. Part of me knew I was just psyching myself out. The other part of me believed I had good reason to be freaking out. Back to being alone and disconnected? Back to being stared at and asked for money? Back to not understanding 75% of conversations surrounding me (or even those I’m engaged in)? Back to bucket baths?! Yep, Liz, you’re nuts.
And yet, here I am. I would love to say things are amazing and I am thrilled to be back, but we all know things are never that easy, despite what all those Disney movies taught us. I guess they decided not to show us Simba’s mental breakdown after losing his father or Ariel’s decline into depression due to her burning desire but inability to walk on land. Yeah, I would love to see the uncut versions of those childhood favorites making headlines. Beauty and the Beast and her schizophrenia! Sleepy Beauty’s secret addiction to Lunesta! Cinderella’s therapy tapes reveal the truth behind her abusive childhood!
If my life were a movie right now, it would be the awesome montage part. There would be clips of me laughing with kids, cooking over a charcoal fire, speaking Kinyarwanda, digging a well, climbing a mountain. All of this would of course be set to an uplifting, energetic song…I’m thinking Eye of the Tiger. Then it’s one minute and thirty seconds later and I’m halfway done with my PC service. All that hard work in 15 second bytes paid off and miraculously I come out on the other end stronger, happier, kinder, and with better hair.
And I digress…
The truth is, it is hard being back for a multitude of reasons. My mind is still slowly processing all that has happened in the last couple of months. I am taking it day by day, even hour by hour, trying to be patient with myself as I figure things out. Some of you may not understand why I’m putting myself through all of this. Many times I ask myself the same thing. All I know is that life is about choices. There is no sense in questioning your decision once it has been made, so why not see where it takes you?
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Before I begin, please read this article:
What the Peace Corps Taught Me About Failure
This fellow volunteer has put into words that which many of us PCVs fail to express about our experience. And there’s that word again…fail. Failure. To be unsuccessful in achieving one’s goal. The action or state of not functioning. To break down, cease to work well.
According to these definitions, I have failed.
The reason for my month-long gap in blog posts was not due to lack of electricity or internet. Unable to process or admit what was happening to myself, I had few things to say that were positive. Without realizing it, I was slipping into a state of not functioning. I began to think I was unsuccessful in achieving my goal. I eventually ceased to work well and broke down.
You may think I sound like some malfunctioning piece of machinery. Just call the mechanic, tinker with my gadgetry, squirt some oil in those cracks and I will surely get moving again. Unfortunately the workings of my brain and intricacy of my emotions are slightly more complex than that of a Xerox. Of course if you have ever been on the receiving end of a glitchy copier, you may argue my point…
Anyway, as many of you know, Peace Corps has been a goal of mine for several years. A dream. It encapsulated my desire to serve others, be challenged, experience new cultures, live abroad, learn, grow. The perfect way to jump into the world of international development. Yet, I was blinded by my optimistic and idealistic nature. Like planning for a wedding and neglecting the reality of the marriage, I was slowly losing myself to the many challenges one faces when living in a foreign environment. Language barriers, isolation, unwanted attention, being treated like a child, not listened to, being homesick, lack of independence, not having a defined role at work, feeling guilty for not doing enough…the list feels endless. Yes, I was learning a lot about myself, but one day I simply did not recognize myself. Something had to change.
This may come as a surprise to some of you, as I have tended to keep my posts optimistic and even humorous at times. Because you have all supported me so much, I want to be honest with you. I have been in Washington, D.C. for a little over a week now receiving support and care from Peace Corps. First of all, I could write an entire entry on what it is like to go from the tiny dusty village roads to the shiny marble columns of DC in less than 48 hours. Talk about culture shock. It was like Back to the Future Part IV, only I couldn’t find Michael J. Fox.
I am still trying to process everything that has happened and even though the jetlag has worn off I still feel like I’m in a dream. Or that the last seven months were a dream. Anyway, the technical term for my situation is “medevac”, or being medically evacuated from country. This gives me the chance to regroup, explore my options, find solutions to my challenges, and ultimately decide what is best for me. Being back in the states, and in DC specifically, has given me a new perspective about being a young, white, American woman living in the rural hills of Rwanda.
With time to kill between appointments, I have taken the time to explore many of the museums and landmarks here in the area. One of the most profound exhibits I encountered was on the idea and history of race, especially in the U.S. I feel so ignorant. What I am going through as a PCV in Rwanda is what millions of people go through their entire lives here in the states. Maybe without the cultural or language differences in some cases, but still with all the other challenges that come along with being a minority. I have been privileged my whole life without thinking or understanding what life might be like for my Hispanic classmate or my black neighbor or my Korean coworker.
I would like to think that in theory I understood how life could be different for them. But how could it ever have resonated with me unless I experienced it myself? What times in my life have I been an outsider, a minority, or unaccepted? And here I am, a minority in Rwanda, yet I am still privileged because in this case, people want to be the minority that I represent. I have the option, no—the privilege, to remove myself from the situation and go home to a place where I am comfortable, where I understand the conversations surrounding me, where nobody stares at me, and where I can be whoever I want to be. In what other situation does a person of a minority have that option?
This safety net allows me the privilege to fail. The privilege to not just put my toes in the water, but jump head first into the deep end knowing that an oxygen tank awaits me at the bottom. Because if things get so bad that I am drowning, I can take a deep breath and be transported back home. I wish all of this wasn’t true. I wish that the concept of minorities based on skin color didn’t exist. I wish that people wouldn’t act differently or treat others differently because of it. Obviously I’m not the first to think this, but facing these realizations head-on has made me even more determined to go back to Rwanda and overcome those many challenges I listed earlier. There are many things in this world that I cannot change, cannot control. However, I can control my attitude and my actions towards those things.
In the words of William Ernest Henley:
I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.
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Tagged culture, fail, medevac, michael j. fox, minorities, Peace Corps, race, Washington DC, william ernest henley, xerox
