Home of the Brave

One of the comments I got most from people when I decided to join the Peace Corps was, “You’re so brave!” I think most volunteers get this from people back home at some point and I think most volunteers think, as I do, that it’s a funny choice of adjective. None of us feel particularly brave… a thick-skinned variety of crazy perhaps, but really that’s all it takes to deal with the big bugs, the lack of amenities, the weird food and the challenges of learning a new language and culture. Many of these, once you get used to them, also offer their fair share of joys… even the bugs. So “brave” doesn’t feel quite right. No one considers himself brave unless he’s trying to be a hero, which I think very few people are. But, humility aside, I’ve come to realize that “brave” isn’t so far off the mark; it’s just that the bravery that Peace Corps service requires is so much more mundane than most people realize. It’s nothing more that the courage to endure a bad day and find the love.

I’ve had plenty of bad days over the last two years and most of the time they come and go so quickly that I hardly ever make note of them. But sometimes I have several in a row and then I end up feeling so wretched and angry and desperate that I start to wonder what I’m even doing here. I think it’s pretty common for volunteers to do this, to turn our knocks into nostalgia for America. Homesickness is a predatory emotion and it preys primarily on sadness and frustration. We forget that bad days happen in America too; it’s just that there we have a wealth of coping mechanisms, while here we have so few. In the states you can always go home and relax with a cold beer or a nice glass of wine or a good strong margarita, depending on the kind of bad day you just had. Indeed you can, within reason, drink, eat, watch or do whatever you want, go wherever you want, see whoever you want. And these are just the tangible differences one can put a finger on. I bet you don’t even realize how nice it is that your bad day at least unfolds in your own language. I don’t mean to imply that I am without my comforts (a nice long walk in the woods is just as curative here as back home), its’ just that they are few and they are small and so I don’t depend on them for much relief. My method now is of the “buck up and deal” variety, and this is where you could say the bravery comes into play. There’s no real escape from a bad day in Saré Pathé – I live and work, eat, sleep and relax all in one tiny village and the population expects a certain level of cheerfulness and gregariousness on my part. Sometimes it’s this expectation in and of itself that is the cause of my bad mood, but how could I possibly explain this? Two years ago Nafi was a baby, barely able to express herself. She developed into an out-going, curious and loveable child. Unfortunately she is lately going through an angst-y teenaged phase. She is grumpy and wants to be left alone sometimes, not asked if she is sick or if she misses her mom in America or if she is mad that we are having leaf sauce for dinner again. It can be hard to buck up when you don’t know what you are bucking against.

After some reflection I’ve come to think that this moodiness I’ve been feeling in village is the poorest of the poor man’s coping mechanisms. It is starting to sink in that in a few months I’m going to have to say goodbye to these people who I love so dearly and that there is a good chance I may never see them again. This is heartbreaking, to say the least, and I’m not able to think about it without welling up. So a happy Nafi, watching Wiyé make himself dizzy and fall down giggling quickly turns into a misty-eyed, broken-hearted Nafi. If I am a pill, if I withdraw from my host family into reveries of burritos and close-toed shoes, I don’t feel the heartbreak. But I also don’t feel the joy and love that makes this experience worthwhile. I didn’t come here to be a hero or get badass points for braving the big bugs and the hole in the ground that is my toilet. I came here for the love. So I am resolved to go back to village with the courage to face those bittersweet feelings that are going to dominate the next four months of my life. It will be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I just hope it’s enough to push teenaged Nafi into adulthood before we have to leave SPB for good. Besides, who can help but be in love when this is the kind of thing that happens right outside your hut?

Peanuts stretching in the sand - Baby Cibyl and Tiyo

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