Re-adjustment is like a Microsoft Word upgrade

This is probably my last post to this Peace Corps blog.  It is August 25, 2014.  I've been out of The Gambia now for over three months and only "home" over one month.

Transitioning has been rough.  They tell us so but it's still been surprising to me how tough its been.  I used up the Peace Corps 127-C counseling instantly.  It was nice but I think I used it too early.  I felt like I wanted to burn through those 127-C forms as quickly as possible to put Peace Corps behind me allowing me to pave the way forward. 

I didn't figure I could afford more counseling and looked up PTSD online and found that talk therapy and or drugs are the only way through it, if that's even what this was.  I've been working late at our local bar and have a ten mile plus drive home.  I tried "talk therapy" to myself on those drives home since I was still feeling anxiety about driving that quiet road in those quiet hours.

And, surprisingly, after just a couple sessions of talking it out to the omnipresent ether, I noticed a huge difference.  The big breakthrough was when I was able to find an appropriate analogy to explain why this was so difficult.

I found that you could make the argument that we are all writers of our lives.  To write you need software or a program.  Microsoft Word is one such program that allows you to write documents.  Back in the day, it had a much different look than it does now.  Until Vista made it's appearance and forever transformed how we use Word, prior users had become quite good and comfortable, even professionally so, navigating through the program performing fancy edits and formatting styles suitable to the document they were fashioning.  Then Vista changed everything.  It was supposed to be a cleaner, more visually appealing, user friendly format.  And perhaps it is.  But it took some adjustment and figuring out.  There was definitely a learning curve.  And while we re-oriented ourselves, whatever documents we were trying to write in the mean time took a little longer than maybe they would have back in the Word '97 days.

And such is life.  We figure ourselves out in a certain context until we become masters of our own existence in that time and place until... BAM.  Some transition.  Something comes up and throws us off our path a little bit.  Much like an upgrade, taking time to download first of all, and then, depending on the magnitude of the upgrade, forcing us to feel like we're back to square one.  Starting over in a program we've formerly mastered.  Such transitions can be anything from moving to a new town, going to or coming from Peace Corps or other long term overseas stent, marriage, divorce, children, a new job, loosing a job, etc.

What has helped me is knowing that I'm not starting over from scratch.  The software is there and I can still write.  I just need to re-learn where all the tricks are for the fancy edits and formats.  The ctrl+f and ctrl+z and ctrl+n.  I don't know why but for some reason just realizing that I'm not broken or damaged, just upgraded, helped make me feel tons better.  And two years of cultural experience from West Africa denotes a little longer upload time.  That makes sense.  This is something I can work with.  I'm just re-orienting myself in a system upgrade.  I've done it before.  And I can do it again.

Whether you are going into or coming out of, or even currently in the Peace Corps, be patient with yourself every step of the way.  Beginning, serving, and ending Peace Corps is like a microcosm of life.  While this side of it is a little disconcerting, I wouldn't have changed anything for the world.  Go forth and  wage peace and friendship wherever you go.  For it is only when we know each other and better understand each other that ignorance and hatred have no place to live.

Best of luck to you, wherever you are on your life journey!  ~Peace~

Peace Corps The Gambia- Night and Day, by Ryan B.

An amazing video by Ryan.  If you want to know what serving for two years in Peace Corps The Gambia feels like, this is the perfect representation.  Minus the down times.  But you only remember the up times anyway : )

To know or read more about the creator, check out Ryan's blog

Transitions; Re-adjustment in the Western World

 This post will be broken up into sub-segments organizing thoughts reactions and revelations from post service as well as travel tips recommendations and insights.

"Renewed" in the "New World"

Well, I thought all the tears had fallen.  I had a very interesting reaction once we had finally checked into our hostel in Barcelona (Urbany Hostel).  We had scraped a few hours of sleep here and there on our Gambia Bird flight (which was great!  They served us dinner and breakfast as well as freequent beverages.  A welcome change from the discount airlines we normally fly like Vueling).  We came back to Urbany because we were impressed with the location accomodation and staff.  Marta remembered us and it was nice to feel like we were seeing old friends at a place we only visited shortly over a year ago.

Daniel went down to use the restroom before we ventured out to seek out breakfast.  Both our tummies seemed a bit unsettled.  As I sat on the soft cushy furniture in the cool (in every sense of the word) atmosphere, I started to feel that all too familiar compulsion, the tightness in the chest, warm stinging feeling in the eyes, the catching of my breath as tears wanted to come.

It's funny, for most of my service I spent hours day dreaming to be anywhere but where I was, imagining it would be better.  I guess the grass truly is greener, even in West Africa (but literally greener and plentier in England).  It must have all hit me, and continued to do so in waves that it was really over and that we were back.  I think part of the tears was fear and unsureness of being back.  There were so many odd freedoms living in West Africa allotted that the West doesn't seem to.  Mostly the freedom of being an anomolie. No matter how hard you try, you are likely to stand out in any place as vastly different from your home as Gambia can be to the U.S.  After embracing the fact that you will always stand out and be a bit weird, no matter how integrated you become, there's a certain relief that you don't have to try so hard to fit in.  You are who you are and while you can't express every part of that in certain countries (dress, public displays of affection, etc) you have the peace of mind of knowing that and the comfort to share and hold back as you please.

We walked a block or two away from the hostel and had some breakfast.  I was a wreck.  The tears had come and continued to fall.  I felt like a fish out of water.  I didn't necessarily want to go back to Gambia but didn't know what to make of where I was or how to be.

But a balance of bridging that Peace Corps self and former self and post Peace Corps self comes together over time. 

London, Cardiff, and Edinburgh (stay out of the dungeons!)

We had there in London four days or so.  Cardiff two.  And Edinburgh three.  Seeing the green country and rolling hills by train as we came into town from Stanstead brought to mind only one word, idylic.  It really is.  Cute cottages, cottage fences, beautiful trees (even bamboo!), quaint farms and lovely flat boats on the canals or rivers that wind through the country like termite trails on walls.

We were supposed to meet my brother that day but circumstances and fate must have been against us.  Without phones, we were unsure of time (even though we were at a train station) and unclear where to go and had no smart phone to guide us through it.  But we caught up with him later in London which was fantastic.  He took us out to dinner at a pub near the Hard Rock Cafe which we originally wanted but it was too packed.

London was overwhelming to say the least.  We were met with grey overcast clouds and rain.  We bought an overpriced umbrella we never used and lost it on our bus to Cardiff.

We ambled through parks and busy famous looking streets.  Suppressed the urge to say "Salaam Aliekum" every where we went.  And treated ourselves to a night out in the theater.  We watched The Body Guard from cheapish seats.  A fantastic performance with outstanding vocals.

He hit up Soho, of course, and tired ourselves out well and good before reaching Edinburgh.

Edinburgh is lovely as well.  Kickass hostel was fantastic with an overly friendly and helpful staff.  A fun city to walk though more spread and more hilly.  But smaller and more manageable.  We checked out the castle from the admission free side, went on a free walking tour and checked out the Cafe famous for housing some of J.K. Rowlings first draftings of Harry Potter.

We ended with a Double Dead tour which I don't recommend.  It was interesting history but mostly the tour seems to exist to frighten you.  So if you want to be, you can maybe be.  It was a bit spooky but I'm pretty sure the ghost noises were sound effects...

Highlights:  The Holyrood 9A- A fantastic spot for a delicious burger and micro brewed beer.  Cozy pub-like atmosphere near Holyrood Castle

The Bongo Club was super fun.  Different styles of music in different rooms.  A small cover charge, especially when visiting with a pub crawl from your hostel.

Then for a nice whiskey tasting, try The Albanach.  Cozy, nice building on a cobbled stoned street.  They have food, apparently.  None that we tasted though.  We got there late on a cold rain spitting night but left warm from the service and whiskey.

Some tips for eating out-  I still don't quite understand the proper eating out etiquette in Europe.  In most places it seems that you go up to order for yourself, pay at once, and then bring whatever it is back to a table.  That's more for drinks.  With food there seems to be waiters and waitresses.  At the Albanach though we felt foolish siting at a table looking hopefully up to the kind people behind the bar.  Eventually we just went up to the bar and sat down where they were more than happy to serve us.  For the bill or check, you always have to ask.  Otherwise it never seems to come nor be offered.  Whereas my first dining experience in the states, we got our bill right after we got our food.... I think I like the European way better.  You feel less rushed and more welcome.

Cardiff was wedged between London and Edinburgh.  We just went to visit a friend of mine I met from a CELTA class out of Prague four years prior.  Carol and Steve were tremendous hosts to us.  It was nice to get into the neighborhoods and stay in a proper home after the hostel. 

Greeting is good!

People in the Western world seem to be taken aback a bit when you genuinely greet them and ask them how they are.  We have been getting the most positive reactions from doing this.  Approaching people with a smile and "hi, how are you?" and meaning it seems to melt any social tension that existed prior to the interaction.  Some people brush it off of course but some seem absolutely lifted by the minor social subtle interest.  Maybe people are always only asked questions where all forms of "hello" have gotten lost in the rush of finding out what you need to know.  I'm not sure.  But greeting is good.  Just one seems to suffice.  It's sad to think how disconnected we all have become to each other in the West.  And seems to have some negative outcomes.  I'm not sure if the school shootings and what seems to be obsessive drug use is a result of lack of community but I can't help but think that's where much of the depression and social angst comes from.  Poorer people seem 50 times happier socially than what I see here in the West.

The Netherlands

Or Lowlands I believe.  Water is everywhere!  They are the true masters of damming and canal-ing in Holland.  It is so neat to see how they have been able to build a city on land that is mostly just above or just below sea level.

Amsterdam is a fun place.  We didn't smoke once which was kind of funny but had a fantastic time all the same.  We did touristy things like the Rijksmusem and canal boat tour, Hard Rock Cafe, and The Hague (tour of Parliament!). 

People in Holland seemed so happy, friendly, and nice.  It was quite refreshing.  Not that people in the U.K. weren't nice.  They were.  But they didn't seem as excited to answer questions and be helpful as they did in The Netherlands.  Although we met a couple of lovely and overly helpful gals in Edinburgh...

Liepzig, Berlin, and Frankfut

Liepzig is a little hidden gem of North East Germany.  We had such a blast being hosted by our friend Erin who is studying at MPI there.  Things are much more affordable this end of Europe (ice cream cone for one euro!), people are friendly, and it's beautiful.

Berlin is full of history, obviously.  The train system took some time to comprehend but after a couple of rounds we were getting to be pretty good at it.  You have the U lines, S lines, buses, trains, etc.. 

One of the best things we did in Berlin, I think, was the Third Reich Tour.  Sadie did a fantastic job passionately retelling the history of Hitler and Nazi occupied Germany, how it came to be, how it was, and how it could be again.  The tour took us to monuments erected for the people that lost the most in that time, historical buildings and sites, and ended appropriately in a neighborhood where three golden squares etched into the pavement mention the names of Jews that were taken from their former residence to be held and killed in concentration camps.  I highly recommend this tour for anyone.  It reminds us that hatred and intolerance still exists today and that if we aren't careful a scary megalomaniac could perhaps take hold again.  That it's sometimes too easy to keep quiet and protect yourself as is ones instinct and nature, while others are oppressed and wronged.  This happens everyday in fact in various places all over the world, including here in the U.S. as people turn away from people that are different from themselves.

Our last train to Frankfurt was rather sad.  Daniel , my travel mate and new-found best friend who I  had been serving and traveling together with on and off the last two years, were coming to an end of our adventures together, for now.  We treated ourselves and stayed in a hotel in Frankfurt our last night.  He left in the early morning and I followed later in the afternoon.

The flight was smooth.  After nearly 24 hours of being awake, I found myself in my Mom's arms after nearly 27 months apart.  It was a happy tear laden reunion.

Immediate reflections on being home

I was a bit jet lagged but seem to be OK after a day.  Any meal out seems to fill me up for 12 hours at the least... much more than what rice could do which seemed to last at most thirty minutes!

I find that I feel I need odd things that are hard to find to feel comfortable including instant nescafe packs and milk powder...

Greeting and a general interest in people still seems to go a long way here.

Driving everywhere versus walking is disappointing but the city of Phoenix really isn't built for walking.  But I miss it.  We walked everywhere in Europe.  Sometimes we took trains and trams but for the most part cities were quite walkable.  I think I'll miss that a lot as Fairbanks also isn't very walkable.

Portions in the States are HUGE.  Even a cup of tea can be a little kettle and 2-cup size mug!

Wiping with toilet paper alone isn't clean enough... I realized that in Europe too.  I'm going to have to keep up the habit of wiping with water.  It sounds gross, maybe, but I think it's much more hygienic.  Washing with soap and water thoroughly ought to undue any grossness there.

Why it's awkward...

Leaving Peace Corps is just awkward somehow.  The best guess I have for it is this-
joining Peace Corps is a bit awkward itself.  It takes time to learn the culture, Peace Corps culture even, and new way of life.  After some time you get into it and you aren't alone.  You go through this with all other volunteers you serve with.  Whether you like each other or not you have this community of support.  When you leave Peace Corps, you leave somehow changed.  You aren't who you were when you joined.  You are that plus the little things you adopted from your country of service.  And, you are without that strong network of support, so it feels.  You are diluted back into mainstream this or that without a strong sense of community which you had in your country of service.  Your community is there but maybe they are too busy for you because they are working or doing what they are doing.  Socializing is no longer a priority...

It's awkward also because coming back feels all too familiar.  It doesn't feel super weird which seems a bit weird.  You can easily fall back into it if you like but part of you feels like it betrays the PCV you became to just fall back into things.  But I don't think it is.  You are always that RPCV.  Your service is always in the background of your being in what you do and think without it being the forefront of conversation or the flashy clothes of your attire.

At any rate it can be difficult to find your place again after Peace Corps.  One can almost feel that the only community they really belong is the RPCV community.  But just as it took time to establish a sense of home abroad I imagine it takes some time to get back into that sense once actually home.

For whatever it means, I'm home for now.  May the adventures continue!  And may we continue to be friendly peaceful and tolerant of our fellow human beings no matter their traits, backgrounds, or heritage.

Peace.


Some other potentially useful travel tips and websites:

For cheap flights try, Momondo
For trains in Germany go to, Deutsche Bahn
For trains in UK try, Virgin trains
For buses in UK and Europe you have, Megabus
and National Express
Buses in Germany, Meinfern bus
Other travel options though we didn't try it, just heard of it: carpooling
Hostels and hotels: Hostel world
Also couches, Air bnb, and of course you can always try to see what's on Craigslist.

Do your travel research and enjoy your trip!

Ci abyong bi, On the airplane

Finally taking off from The Gambia was.... I''m not quite sure.  Somehow matter-of-fact-like.  The tears had been shed the week prior and tear ducts were spent, or as we like to say, tired.

I can't say that I never pictured the flight home from site a time or two, or three or four.... Especially within those last four months in the heat of the afternoon.  Imagining the clean crisp coolness of the plane.  The beverage cart.  And saying bye to Gambia underneath a golden sun set.  Happy and at peace.

As it was, we watched the sun disappear into the sky at the beach hours beforehand.  Surrounded by good friends as the waves rolled in and breeze blew cold.  Night fell upon us there.  Indian food was delivered.  We enjoyed music in the glow of a lit up water bag as we waited for the power to come on.  Shortly after the current finally flowed into the dull bulbs above, the speakers responsible for extracting the information encrypted in the iPod and emanating it as sound waves and lyrics and beats, died from low battery since I had neglected to charge them for a long time.

So we finished the meal without the accompaniment of Regina Spektor or whomever was serenading us.

As I sat in the plane taking it all in, that this was really it, I found myself reminiscing over many scenes of West Africa that colored my last two years in the fullest and brightest of ways.  Markets, transport, restaurants, village, attaya, gardens, farms, etc.

Shortly before the flight we were exhausting our Dalasi on overpriced tea and Pringles.  I took in my reflection and noticed my cheeks to be a bit more gaunt and sunken than they were when I came to the continent.

My service was definitely challenging.  But as challenging as it was I found my tired heart burst open for the people and the land and the culture of what I now consider and feel to be my far way second home.

"I'm going to really miss West Africa," I said to Daniel.  He answered with a sympathetic smile.  "Yea, it will be a long time before we see it again."  He said.

The tall dry grasses were a lit by the lights of the plane under the dark 1:00 am night sky.

"It will." I answered.  Feeling better about leaving with the sense or hope of a return if even far off in the future.

Exhaustion took us both over then.  My eyes stung briefly.  Then the tires lifted.  It was real.  We were leaving.  We were gone.  Two years... over and done.  Just. Like. That.

I thought of my family in Jimbala.  What were they up to?  When would I get to hear from them?  Would the search the sky for an airplane?

And then, as memories and thoughts flitted through like a soundless movie screen, I slept.  Somewhat.

Bye Gambia.  Or, shall I see, see you later.  Inshallah.

Pick up

Yesterday on May 3, in late morning, the white land cruiser started to make it's way towards my house.  I lost feeling in my legs and made an effort to breathe and not pass out.  The tears I'd been trying hard to ward off started to stream.  I sat down on my concrete bed one last time.  My host mother seemed to lose feeling in her legs too as she was sitting on my stoop sobbing.  My host grandmother came out.  She only ever leaves her bed to relieve herself.  We looked as if in a football huddle grasping each others heads forehead to forehead, both sobbing and praying for each other in wolof.  She mentioned something about the sky or sun or trees...  I just couldn't tell.  I told her to think of me when she sees the trees we've planted together. 

Fortunately there were some other volunteers in the car.  Peace Corps likes to pair us for pick up.  My pair, Peter, and two other volunteers Sarah and Kara, were there to ease the tension and console me that if I wasn't crying and upset I probably did something wrong.  And also asking me how I lived in the house I did as far off the road as it was...

My host mom and I had our tears stop before I got in the car.  Before I knew it I was seated inside with all my things packed nicely and neatly in the car.  A crescent of some of the most amazing people were standing there with tears and waves.  I had to say goodbye to a family that unfortunately is so so far away from my permanent residence in Alaska.  All I could do was hold on to the hope of seeing them again but residing in the fact that I just don't know if that will happen.

I was glad I didn't pass out.  I hadn't eaten well the week prior due to stomach sensitivity.  I think in that case it was nerves to blame, not a protozoan or spoiled food.  Either way Peace Corps has a sample to send to their medical technicians...

It's a difficult process to describe anyway.  As tragic as it was there was also great relief.  The anticipation and waiting for the day just gets you and everyone down.  I can't believe those last two years of that chapter are told and finished.  It was an intense chapter.  I'm trying to sort through the remaining emotional fragments, continue to be present, and look forward to future chapter. 

Thank you Jimbala, and the people of Jimbala.  Thank you for teaching and giving me far more than I feel I gave you.  I wish you and your community lots of trees and honey, and fat crops from the soil you can try to repair from the compost thing we talked about.  May our farewell be a be bennen yoon, a see you another time, rather than see you rekk, only.

I did it.  I survived.  It was wild.  I'd do it all again.  Really.

On the other end of service

Twenty four months plus have passed as of this writing. Reflecting on it is wild.  All that has transpired.  All that has changed in my self, attitude, opinions, beliefs, and demeanor.  With less than two months to go, I feel like I'm standing in a busy train station staring down the other end at a giant clock.  All I hear is the loud and reverberating tick, tick, tick, as the sound waves bounce off the surfaces all around.  Trains and people and all sorts of other manners of life are going on around me but in fast forward or slow forward and on mute.  Soon my train will come and the clock will fall from it's stand and shatter in slow motion.  Then time will move normally again and the sound will start to blaze in full volume.  I'll get in that train (plane) that has come to take me away from my Peace Corps chapter of life.  And that'll be it.  Done.  Finished.  Sure I can call my host family from the states.  I can visit after I have some years and moneys under my belt (after recovering from the two years of not making any earnings).  But my days as a PCV in The Gambia will expire and I will place the R at the forefront of PCV and forever look back on it all as a series I've read on a shelf full of other finished books, their stories wearing with time.

It's weird.  There aren't many words that I can think of that can effectively communicate how this feels.  I don't think I'll know what any of it means until later.  And I'm nervous about going home and facing friends and family that I've craved and missed so dearly, and have them not really get it, any of it, either.  A lot of it, there just isn't a universal framework for.  Unless you've seen or experienced or done it first hand, my words about some of my experiences will be just those, words.  Maybe flimsy figments of images and scenes will be generated from the small information about West Africa that exists as common knowledge,but they'll be weak images at best without the first hand experience to support them.

It's bittersweet.  On the one hand I am ecstatic and jumping for joy inside.  I made it!  I did it!  Wooooweeeeee!  There were countless times I didn't think I was going to or could.  From internal to external complications doubts or interruptions.  Political strife.  Illness.  Structural complications at my residence.  Fear of Ebola pandemic.  Etc.  But I did make it, at least up until this point, and it feels amazing.  I really do feel ready.  I've spent some good time.  I've made it as much as I could with what I had.  But I am absolutely devastated to say goodbye to the friends and family I've found here.

I'm nervous that the world I'll return to will be full of people glued to their smart phones or ipads, tv's etc.  While I've learned to sit still and socialize or sit still and just be, for hours on end.  I'm nervous that the go go go pace of the states will be jarring and inharmonious with my own personal beat and rhythm.  And I fear hearing insensitive ignorant comments about peoples perception of West Africa.

I'm excited too though.  About good and plenty foods.  About movies and movie theaters.  About cold cheap and tasty beer.  About clean and well maintained cities and neighborhoods.  About clean feet and hot showers.  Bed sheets without dirt or sand or dust.  Sleeping without a mosquito net and without the buzz of the mosquito in your ear and the itchy bites that follow.  And ending the malaria prophylaxis and nasty vitamin routine.  I'm excited about being in temperature controlled environments but also in a way I've enjoyed living in "god's" controlled outdoors, hot as it can get (sometimes into the 130's Fahrenheit).

I'm excited to catch up with friends and family.  I'm prepared to filter and limit the number of times I'm allowed to mention Peace Corps and West Africa.   I worry I'll be lost in conversations about popular culture.  I don't know any new shows or music or movies.  Not really.  What I do know that seems recent to me is probably fairly dated.  I can talk about lots of books though!  String theory anyone?  Austen?

Current stresses in country aren't really about work anymore.  Whatever we can do from here on out would be great but if we don't get anything done that's ok too.  I'm more stressed about the souvenirs and gifts and pieces of Gambia to take home with me lest I forget something and regret not having it once I'm stateside and can't get it anymore.  Some items I'm thinking of bringing home include and is not limited to:

-local tea pot and tea glasses (attaya set, barada and cass yi)
-local oil container (bidong)
-local tailored African Dress (complet)
-paintings
-tie dye and batik fabric
-locally made hats (beanies)
-locally sold hats (beanies) that are probably made in China
-A prayer mat
-Juju's (Koranic prayers for protection, health, or good luck)
-jewelry (Fula anklets, bracelets, earrings)
-medium sized mortar and pestle
-wooden bowl
-fabric
-other tailored clothes
-fun gifts supporting current PCV community members (will be surprises!)
-bush tea
-local spicy coffee (cafe touba)
-stickers used on the local transport vehicles (gelle imam stickers etc)
-local honey (from BeeCause)
-scarves
-leather key chains
-etc

But for now I can only take it day by day.  I try to turn the focus from the giant clock to what's going on around me but it's hard to divert my attention when the clock is so loud.

Re-entry and readjustment doesn't sound fun or easy.  I'll be mourning my Peace Corps self and experience.  My Gambian and Peace Corps friends and family.  But I'll enter into the RPCV world on the other side.  I'll find my way back into the life I left just like I found and established a life here.  I'll try to adhere to the advise of the RPCV's at my COS conference and be patient and gentle with myself.  Taking it easy and not pushing too hard, allowing myself to make mistakes.

The clock's about to fall. I must get ready now.  As I stand here, on the other end of service, my entire being is at ease.  I am fully comfortable.  My heart is full of love for this country and the people that live here.  It is fulfilled by the meaningful work we try here and the meaningful relationships we make. 

It has adjusted to the beat and pace and rhythm of The Gambia.  To the hot hot loud loud slow slow these things.  The sunsets and stars and simple foods.  The sounds of birds goats chickens donkeys and cows.  Children playing.  People discussing.  Laundry swish swish swishing.  It's these fond and beautiful memories which bubble to the surface.  The other ones fade away or get lost as they can't fit in such a full and happy heart.

Thank you Gambia.  It's been my greatest pleasure.  You have been the cause of so much heartbreak and joy.  Here's to the final chapter in one of the greatest stories I've ever lived.

A blurb about my beekeeping work in The Gambeezy

SNRE Science & News student's beekeeping project stimulates interest in forestry in The Gambia, West Africa