Reflection

In June 2012, I officially closed service and returned to America. I spent a few months in New York reconnecting with family and friends, and in September I moved to Sitka, Alaska, where I serve as an AmeriCorps volunteer working with emergency medical services. This will be my final entry in this blog.


 I miss Botswana. There, I said it, and I'm not ashamed. I live in a gorgeous place, surrounded by whales and eagles and ocean and forest, and I still find myself thinking wistfully about the dusty village I complained so much about.

 It's not that I'm longing to go back to weeks without running water, nights filled with boredom and loneliness and ant and cockroach killing, sweaty bus rides with no open windows, daily marriage proposals and harassment, and the frustration of caring passionately about my work and being met with ambivalence and obstinance. I haven't forgotten those things, and I don't think I'm in danger of remembering my time in Africa through a rose colored lens. It's just an occasional twinge- when a good memory surfaces, or when I start to realize how long it may be before I could possibly see any of of my friends there again. Peace Corps is cruel in a way. You spend over two years fighting to accept a new culture and to be accepted by your community and to build relationships there. This doesn't usually happen until your last few months in service, when it's like a key has turned and everything is different. You have local friends, you understand the culture and you've figured out how to work within it, and feel like you actually could fit in and maybe even get something done. Then, almost immediately, your service is over and it's time to leave. This is great in that it ensures that nearly every volunteer leaves feeling positive about his or her service and host country, but it's also deeply unsettling to the volunteer once the excitement of being back in America begins to fade. My friends who still live in Botswana- will I ever see them again? What about other RPCVs? Sure I'm more likely to see other volunteers again, but America is a lot bigger and busier than I'd remembered, and reunions will likely be few and far between. I no longer have daily or even weekly contact with anyone who can relate to the life I lived for 26 months. It's a big loss. If I let a Setswana phrase slip out, no one around me understands. I constantly have to monitor how many times a day I use the phrases "In Africa...." and "This one time in Botswana...." for fear of boring everyone around me and sounding like Peace Corps is all I ever talk about. But Peace Corps was my life for over two years, and probably the most important experience of my adult life so far- of course most of my stories revolve around my time there!

 I haven't experienced any of the anti-American feelings I've heard some returned volunteers describe. If anything, my service made me more patriotic and grateful to be an American than I ever was before. And I don't hold any romantic or idealistic visions of Africa, as it seems so many visitors to Africa carry with them and write about. But Botswana, for better or worse, was my home for over two years. My time there changed me as a person and how I see the world in ways that I'm sure my family and friends can't even see yet, and I don't yet have the words to explain. Somehow Botswana, with its donkeys and goats and acacia trees, and its long lines and early mornings, its bewildering clash of East and West, traditional and modern, and wealth and poverty, and its exotic creatures and landscapes and dry, dusty villages, and of course, its cheerful, occasionally frustrating, often blunt, but always hopeful people, has gotten under my skin and into my heart. While I will probably never miss being called a 'lekgoa' or being told that I am 'growing too old and must have a baby now now', I will certainly miss being able to make a taxi driver chuckle by being able to unexpectedly answer all of his greetings in Setswana, and having him tell me that I am "becoming black" like him. I already miss having friends who will come running to help me whenever I need them, whether it's to change a lightbulb or to spend time with me when I'm grieving. I hope that where ever they are, they know I'd do the same for them if I could. I may still be enjoying my rainy days here, but I know I will miss the blue sky opening wide above my head so close I could almost touch the blueness, and sinking into spectacular sunsets that show off all of the splendor of creation. I may marvel at the Northern Lights here, but I will never forget staring up from the bush at a blanket of stars that made me feel tiny, yet part of something much larger than myself at the same time.

I learned many, many things during my Peace Corps service. I learned how to eat steak without a plate or utensils, how to 'braii' without fancy barbeque equipment, how to kill a scorpion without getting stung, and how to cook mophane worms and phaleche. I learned how to do my laundry by hand and how to wash dishes and bathe with no running water. I learned that it takes 9 liters to refill my toilet when the water is out, and that it takes insects about three months to discover that a new tenant has moved in and is storing food in the cabinets. I learned how to take buses and hitchhike around Botswana, and I learned just how many people you can fit in the back of a truck, or even in one seat. I learned that I am impatient and that I am obsessed with schedules and deadlines, and that Botswana does not share my obsession. I learned what it's like to be a minority, and to be stared at because I look different, and to be expected to behave in a certain way because of the color of my skin. I learned never to take my education, my health, and the rights I grew up expecting for granted. I learned what it's like to represent my country and culture with every word and action, and I learned what it's like to be a minor celebrity and to have people I've never met greet me by name. I learned how to be alone and how to be independent, but I also learned what it's like to feel lost and insecure and wholly dependent on strangers for basic needs. I learned to rely on the kindness of others, and was rarely disappointed. I learned what it was like to fail utterly and to be laughed at and not taken seriously, but I also learned what it was like to gain trust and respect by proving myself day after day. I learned that if you remember to see the person in front of you and not just an obstacle, and you can make that person laugh, often the obstacle will melt away. I learned to remember humanity by looking people in the eye, greeting them, and shaking their hands.

 These are lessons I never want to forget. They have become a part of me as Botswana has become a part of me. No matter how far I go or how long I'm gone, I will keep the places I've seen, the people I've met, and the lessons I've learned with me for the rest of my life. I may never know if my service impacted anyone in Botswana, but for better or worse, Botswana has changed me forever, and I don't regret a minute of my time there.