Goodbye sucks, and other revelations

Two plus years of service crammed into two bags plus a backpack

I can't believe it, but this blog post is being written in the USA as I am now officially a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. I finished my service in Peru on July 24th, I'm home visiting family and friends, and I've been back on US soil for a week. And it's weird. I really wanted to post one last time in Peru before I left because I anticipated there would be a storm of new emotions and things going on the second I left that would be stories of their own, but this will have to do. It's just too much for one post to talk about the end of one life and the beginning of a new one.

My last week in site was overwhelming and filled with parties and teary goodbyes, and I didn't even get to say goodbye to everyone I wanted to. It's so hard to just get up and leave from two-years of relationships and experiences, so of course it didn't go exactly as I wanted, but I left with my heart overfilled. I had a series of farewell parties thrown for me ranging from the high school, to a friend's host family in a neighboring town, to the municipality. The last week in my site was one big party filled with kind words, occasionally booze, and tears. Lots and lots of tears. (Pictures below--yes, even of the tears).

Of course some people were harder to say goodbye to than others. My host family, my really good counterparts who became my friends, my volunteer friends, and the kids from my health promoters youth group. Saying goodbye to 14 and 15 year-olds is hard because you just don't know what's going to be next for them. I can't be there for the graduation of my oldest students, I can't be with the other students as they get older and move closer to their graduation. Are they going to stay out of trouble? Are they going to finish high school? What are they going to do after high school? What is going to happen to them? I invested a lot of time and energy into relationships with these kids who are still very much in the development stage of figuring themselves out and anything could tip them in a different direction. The adult friends I made will probably have very few differences between now and the next time I see them, but the kids could become completely different people. 

This if course spun me off into thinking of all the things I could've done better during my service. No matter what you have done, there is always a way to do it better. My last week of service was filled with a lot of strong feelings and emotions, but battling off the feeling of regret was something I dealt with constantly. Did I do everything I could have? Did I try hard enough? 

Could I have ever done enough?

Like I said, it was (and still is) a battle, but I know I did what I could with what I had and what's done is done. Also, it helped to have people in my community tell me a lot of nice things I never expected to hear. A friend of mine who finished service before me said in the end of your service a bunch of people come out of the woodwork and you find out how people have felt about you and your work that you didn't know before. I've said it before, but being a volunteer is a pretty thankless job and you almost never get any sort of accolades. However in my last week of service I received more than I ever expected. Teachers whom I barely worked with told me with ernest how much of an impact I had on the students. Mother's from my escuela de padres told me how important my work was and how lucky their kids were to have me working in the school. People showered me with presents and kind words and it kept going on like that as people learned I was leaving.

But more than the kind words and presents I received as I was parting, the relationships I created in my last two years are a testament to what my time spent in Peru has meant. The people in my site and my host family will always be in my heart, and I think I'll be the same for them. Of course saying goodbye to my host family was extremely difficult. My host mom gets pretty emotional pretty easy (she always calls herself "llorona") so a lot of tears were shed there. My host dad stayed stoic to the end only demonstrating his emotional strife through excessive household projects that he worked on constantly up until the minute I left the house. He did leave me with various parting words, all of which came back to the same theme: I'm part of the family, and I am always welcomed (and expected) back at the house in the future. 

Saying goodbye sucks. And being separated from a life and friendships that you built from basically nothing over a two-year span in a foreign country is jarring and sad. Preparing yourself to leave and return home where people may not understand all of that is also hard.

All of this sadness in leaving just goes to show how much of a positive experience I've had in Peace Corps, and I really do think it goes both ways. One day I was sitting with my good friend Lupe, the obstetrician who worked with me in my health promoters youth group, and she was talking about how sad it was that I was leaving (Peruvians really like to drag out the "How sad that you're leaving. Oh how terribly sad, you're leaving a hole in our hearts, etc etc"). I was just nodding and agreeing and trying not to bawl my eyes out, and then she said something that I didn't expect but really stuck. She said, "Everyone is going to miss you so much. Did you know that everyone really likes you? I don't know a single person that can say anything bad about you. Before you came everyone thought [US] americans were rude, cold, disinterested people. But now that everyone has met you they can see that isn't true."

I know it isn't much, but that is Peace Corps Goal #2! "Helping promote a better understanding of Americans." Somehow knowing that helped me battle back some of the regret. I told Lupe how that is one of Peace Corps' goals, and now I'm heading home to work on goal #3, to promote understanding of Peru to my fellow Americans. 

On paper that is Peace Corps; three simple goals, two years, one country. But it's all the stuff in between that makes a Peace Corps service, and it's different for every single person who has done it over the last 52 years. Do I think I'll ever be able to do it justice in writing? Will I ever be able to give a "five-minute elevator speech" that truly conveys what my service was about?

Simply put, no. But maybe I'm not supposed to. Nothing will change what my time in Peru has meant for me, and I can only do so much to explain things to others who have never been there. But if I can get my small Peruvian town to think US Americans aren't a bunch of jerks, then maybe I can get the US Americans I know to understand a little about Peru and it's people and what my life was like there. The beauty of it is while I closed the chapter of my life when I was a PCV, I will forever be an RPCV, so I have time. 

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The multiple despedidas thrown for me and the kind words said about me were more than I ever expected, and too varied to go into detail. Here are some pictures from a few of them.

My despedida at the high school. I'm sitting at the head table with one of my main counterparts and the director of the school. 

The students arranged some different performances for me. 

The back chalkboard was decorated and signed by all the teachers

Some of my favorite students dancing 

Dancing with my best teacher friends

Williams performed some songs

Another typical dance. It rounded out my experience at the school very well.

Lunch with my site mate Zack's host family plus friends (Kike and Sue!)

My health promoters youth group, Pasos Adelante, meeting one last time

One of the gifts made for me (by Gerardo)

A formal farewell at the town municipality

My host mom gave a very nice speech about me

Receiving ridiculously nice gifts I didn't expect

A plaque thanking me for my service in Mocupe 

Giving my teary farewell speech

Last dinner in site-- arroz con pato (duck and rice)-- my favorite!

My host family checking out my going away present for them-- a photo album with photos from the last two years

The host family at my host grandma's house. L-R- Host mom, host grandma, host uncle, host cousin, me, host dad, host brother, host sister

My host family! Our only photo of all of us together

That time I got really nervous about going back to the USA

This is it guys. Fourteen days until I leave Peru, eleven days until I leave site. Camps are all done, projects have been completed and closed, and all that's left is saying goodbye.

I am getting a lot of mixed reactions from people about coming home soon. Newer volunteers cheer and tell me how exciting it is that I've completed service and am finally going home. People in my site beg me not to go. People back home can hardly believe the time has finally come for my return and are planning visits. Volunteers in my group share the stressed exasperation of both being happy to return and sad and overwhelmed to pack two years of our lives into two bags and say goodbye to our communities. It's pretty safe to say, all of those reactions mirror every feeling I have about coming home. Overall, it's pretty emotional.

A couple weeks ago I was talking with an extended host family member and they asked me if there were a lot of differences between our cultures. And I kind of drew a blank and said, "No, there aren't that many differences." You know you've been away from home for a long time when you can't come up with at least 10 cultural differences between Peru and the USA. There are huge differences between Peru and the US. I had some of the worst culture shock I have ever experienced while adjusting to life in Peru. And the scary part is they always say, "going home is the hardest part." I'm not gonna lie guys, I'm nervous.

One of my biggest stresses about going home is how I will react to the reverse culture shock and how I will behave back home. So I decided to list several of the perceivably "strange" things I might do upon my arrival, or things that will take time for me to adjust to. Hopefully if you see this list before you see me you'll be prepared to handle any awkwardness.

Technology and pop-culture baffles me
Thanks to Facebook and the internet I haven't been completely behind the times on everything, but that doesn't mean I'm by any means up to speed. Before I left for Peru I had a handful of friends who had iPhones and iPads, and now it's apparently the new norm. Everyone is talking about apps and things like Instagram and Snapchat and using acronyms like YOLO and smh and I literally have to look it all up online or ask a friend back in the US to explain it to me. So, if you refer to something and I give you a blank stare, remember I've been living under a rock called Peru. But if you have any questions about cumbia music or what happened on Al Fondo Hay Sitio last week, then we can talk.

Claro, I can hablar en Ingles
Despite English being my mother tongue, I have really lapsed in being able to use it well in regular conversation, especially without Spanish sprinkled in. All of my interactions all day, every day, are in Spanish. All of the volunteers live this way, so when we spend time together we're on the same page linguistically, I guess you could say. It's safe to say the Peace Corps Peru official language is Spanglish, as any conversation we have together is completely filled with Spanish and words that are neither fully English nor Spanish but some weird hybrid. It's the fastest, easiest way for us to talk. Sometimes I can't even remember what a word is in English, I can only think of the Spanish translation. Así es. So I may tell a clerk "gracias" or talk about how I'm going to aprovechar a restaurant buffet, and I may just sound like I'm speaking gibberish.

Don't swear, it sounds like sh*t
One of my favorite things about living in Peru is my ability to say whatever I want in English wherever I want without anyone (well, the majority of the time) understanding me. It's like having a secret language. And the result of two-years of unfiltered conversation with my friends in public is something that may be shocking, rude, and inappropriate for US standards. Those of you who knew me back home know that I have a tendency to swear like a sailor. Well, this scalawag has been away from shore a bit too long, and my regular conversations with friends make an episode of Deadwood look like a chat over coffee. In fact, that is what our chats over coffee look like. This also includes talking about personal issues (like how much diarrhea you had last night) or mentioning that the person sitting at the other table looks attractive/ridiculous/funny/etc. Essentially, anything that pops into my head is coming out of my mouth. And I can already see my friends back home saying, "Wait, she could get worse?" Yes. And it is. And I'm afraid for what I might say.

No cutting!
I think I may actually be really happy about this change-- people actually form a line while waiting for a service of some sort in the USA. In Peru it's pretty much a free-for-all with elbows flying and what we refer to as the "Peruvian shuffle" as someone slowly and not-so-discretely squeezes in front of you in line. However, I may not be used to forming a line. If you see me cut an entire line of people and push my way to the front, I'm sorry. Just add it to the list of embarrassing things you will endure with me.

Look Ma! This bathroom has toilet paper!
I'm going to be really excited about really little things. I mean, really excited. When my friend Becky came to visit we went to a grocery store in Lima where they typically have more diversity in products and upon seeing a shelf with almond milk I gasped and screamed, "ALMOND MIIIIILLLKKKK!!!!!!!!" because I hadn't seen it in a year and a half and had practically forgotten it existed. And it's going to be like that with everything. Toilet paper and soap in a public bathroom (and being able to flush the toilet paper!). Clean water that comes straight from the tap. A grassy lawn that I can sit on. The ice cream section of the grocery store (actually, any section of the grocery store). Streets without trash covering them. Healthy dogs (that aren't stray). Cheddar cheese. Hopefully within the first week I'll get over most of these things, but be prepared for some seemingly un-necessary ceremonious celebrating over little things.

Pass the Pepto, and give me a plate of rice
One of the things I've been literally dreaming about since the first week I left the USA in 2011 is food back home. God, I have missed it. And it was quite the adjustment to Peruvian food at first. In fact, in one of my first blogs on the food here I made the statement of how I didn't like it all that much. Well, the tables have turned. I love Peruvian food. I have no problem eating a ton of rice. In fact when I go on the rare and few trips to eat "American food" I usually end up sick afterwards and just wish that I could have something simple like a plate of rice and a fried egg. American food is rich, too rich for what my body is used to now. Not to mention I think I've become slightly lactose intolerant from my low dairy intake. So while I am still excited for food back home, I'm probably going to be sick for awhile. Odds are I'm also going to complain about prices/availability of produce.

No fork? No knife? No problem
Just thought I'd add, my eating habits aren't quite as "proper" as they once were. All you really need to eat in Peru is a spoon and your hands...and a lot of times I opt for the hands. I apologize if the way I eat ruins your appetite.

And the list goes on...
There are many, many more things I have gotten used to here that I know will be different back home. I'm sure a lot of the adjusting will be internal and not so easily seen by everyone around me. It's going to be hard to deal with leaving my host family, work, community, and friends here in Peru. I have a life here that I'll never be able to return to. It's going to be an adjustment to return home where everyone's lives have continued on without me and finding where I fit back in. Just remember that I've been gone a long time and we all have a lot of catching up to do. Luckily I have awesome friends and family who are understanding and love me no matter what. It's all part of the big adventure, and now we're sharing it together.

A gift you can't keep

You know what the problem is with writing about Peace Corps? There is just too much to say. Way too much. It is overwhelming, especially when, like myself, you are coming to the end of your service and trying to wrap everything up in a nice cozy little package and say, "Here ya go! Here it all is, complete closure, loose-ends tied, nice and tidy."

A large part of me wants to bring all of this full-circle, bring closure to my blog in the next short 5 weeks, and to in some manner actually explain to all of you what the heck is going on in this brain of mine.

The problem is, it's not tidy. It's a mess. Peace Corps is messy, life is messy, and cleaning it up and writing it succinctly is a task that I want to take on but feels almost impossible. Life does not always have closure, so I can't expect Peace Corps to be any different.

So let me just start with this quote:

"As to the kindness you mention, I wish I could have been of more service to you then I have been, but if I had, the only thanks I should desire are that you would always be ready to serve any other person that may need your assistance, and so let good offices go around, for humankind are all a family. As for my own part, when I am employed in serving others I do not look upon myself as conferring favors but paying debts."
-Benjamin Franklin

And do I have a lot of debts to pay...

When I was in my first months of service and starting my new job of working with Peruvian youth, I couldn't stop comparing my own adolescence to those of the kids I was working with. I immediately became hyper-aware of all of the opportunities I'd been given and lessons I'd learned from adults in my life. I wanted to write every single one and thank them for the lessons they'd taught me (note to self: you should probably still do that). I couldn't (and still can't) help but feel overly privileged.

If you knew the town I grew up in, unless you spoke in terms of natural beauty, you probably wouldn't immediately call it a community of the overly privileged. A lot of people thought the community I grew up in was gravely lacking. I mean, a town of 900 people isolated in the mountains of central Idaho, surrounded by wilderness, two-and-half hours from the closest "city" doesn't always have access to all of the resources available. As one of my co-workers once stated, my hometown of Challis, Idaho has "everything you need and nothing you want." It is a rural ranching community filled with cowboys and hardworking people-- and I am pretty sure more cows than people. For my entire childhood there were no street names, you simply gave people directions via landmarks. There's no movie theater. No stop lights. The first and only chain was a Subway in a local grocery store, and that happened in the last 5 years. I couldn't even get cell-phone service at my parent's house until 2009. When I got into high school and started making friends from larger towns and cities they would make fun of me asking if we had indoor plumbing or a TV.

But it is a close community where everyone knows your name. You couldn't get away with playing hookie because whoever saw you would surely call your mom or the school. Something as simple as a high school basketball game will bring many people out of their homes on dark winter nights even with ice on the roads. The high school maybe didn't have the fanciest technology or a wide variety of clubs and groups, but I was involved in everything from sports to yearbook club. I will still say I had some of the best teachers a high school could give. Sadly, it wasn't until I was much older that I could fully appreciate being in a beautiful place with a community of people who invested in my future. To say my town was lacking is to say it didn't have the excess and material wants our society craves.

I don't think I need to go into all of the disparity in Peru and what teenagers here have to deal with, but just to get an idea: getting a full day of basic classes (approx 5 hours) in which capable teachers show up to all of their classes almost never happens on a daily basis. Teenage pregnancy and high school drop-out rates are jaw dropping. Public schools have very little in the means of resources, updated materials, libraries, computers, extra-curricular activities, and a whole slew of things we expect out of our public schools. Then there is gender inequality, issues at home with domestic abuse, illiteracy rates in parents, malnutrition, etc. But while I noticed the stark differences between my teen years and development compared to the kids I was working with, I also saw a lot of similarities. My Peruvian community is not unlike the one I grew up in. It's small and relies mostly on agriculture. Generations after generations live here, and everyone knows everyone. The kids complain about the small town and talk about how much they want to leave and live in the city. In fact, despite all the differences, it feels a lot like home. I started to see bringing kids to Camp ALMA and Camp VALOR like when my 7th grade Science teacher chose to take me to Idaho Youth Summit, a Drug-Free Leadership camp that I could easily credit for shaping much of who I am and consequently my assignment as a Youth Development Volunteer. When I started doing my Health Promoters group and vocational orientation classes I thought of all of the people in my life who talked to me about my future, family planning, goal setting, higher education, etc. The list goes on and on.

I don't need to tell you, teenagers are little shits. And I'm sure at times I was a little shit, too. I do not take it lightly that so many people in their own way passed on their wisdom to me and told me they believed in me. And now I have my kids (all of us volunteers seem to throw that phrase around--"my kids."), my youth group kids, and I see so much potential in them. I am often distraught with the disadvantages they have, with how unfair it is that life decided I be born into privilege and that they are born in a developing country where the cards are stacked against them. I want them to rise above their situation and to be happy and successful, in whatever form "happy" and "successful" is for them.  And I suppose the ultimate goal is that someday they will pass it on. And to be perfectly honest, I don't feel like I did enough to ensure that. In fact, I don't know that I did enough, period.

There is this weird thing that happens when you become a Volunteer where all of these people suddenly see you as a saint. You feel anything but saint-like, and yet everyone is so proud of you and your service-- for giving two years of your life to help others. I always hear, "you have made a difference." I will be honest when I say much of my decision on joining Peace Corps was based on the idea of everything I would get out of it. I wanted the life lessons, the experience in another culture, the language. But things changed. Once I realized the great bounty in which I had not only been given gifts my whole life, but everyday of my time in Peru, I couldn't give enough. It could all be better, it could all be more. Like Ben Franklin, "I wish I could've been of more service to you then I have been." I have received more than I could ever give while in Peace Corps. And as for my service, I see now that I was not "conferring favors but paying debts" to all those who have given to me, past and present.

Our society, US society, is all about freeing ourselves of our debts and being independent. Striking out on your own, making a name for yourself, being free of obligations to others. And I would be lying if I didn't say I joined Peace Corps under this notion of being independent, of pushing my own limits and testing myself. And yet what I have learned while I've been here is how important obligation is. How important it is to be indebted to others. Obligation is part of being in a community, part of working with others towards a common goal. Continuing the cycle of giving and receiving is part of communion with others. My Peruvian community has shown me in so many ways, through kindness and friendship and bringing me in, just how important that community bond is.

In "The Toe Bone and the Tooth" Martín Prechtel says, "The idea is to get so entangled in debt that no normal human can possibly remember who owes whom what, and how much. In our business dealings, we keep close tabs on all exchanges, but in sacred dealings we think just like nature, where all is entangled and deliciously confused, dedicated to making the Earth flower in a bigger plan of spirit beyond our minds and understanding."

Life is messy. Life is filled with unknowns. I may never get closure on my Peace Corps service or know the extent in which I have helped others, but I know in my heart how they have helped me, and because of that we are eternally bound.

May the exchanging of gifts continue, and may we all remember our debts.