No Computer, No New Blog Posts

Updating my blog has been a pretty difficult task this month. Mainly because my computer blew up a few weeks ago, leaving me with nothing to type on and no way to keep everyone updated. It was traumatic at first (loss of technology here almost always is). But ultimately, it's been a bit of a blessing. It's freed up time to finish reading those last lonley books left sitting on my shelf, visit friends and say my goodbyes.

Seven weeks is barely any time.

Work is slowing down, but my life has still been remarkably busy. Two weekends ago a few volunteers and dozens of learners traveled to Swakopmund for the Lucky Star Marathon. I've always been one to get emotional during road races (I cried while working a water station at the New York City Marathon), and this race was no different.

Except that it was.

Instead of top althletes in performance gear, it was hungry, barefoot, learners running against a strong headwind as mac trucks blew past them on a busy (still open) road. These 13 and 14 year old kids passed more professional looking runners with a smile on their face, bright-eyed and breathing heavy. The race is designed to be run alone, as a full 26.2 miles (which most adults did); as a team, where each partner runs a half (which most volunteers did); or as a 4x4 relay (which most of the kids did). Every learner looked so proud! We hitched a ride with a group of learners from Usakos that had already finished and one of the boys told me he couldn't talk about how happy he was because he'd probably burst. And one of my favorite girls from Camp GLOW was a part of the winning relay team.

It was inspiring. And emotional. And a highlight of my Peace Corps service.

Most of the following week was spent in Windhoek going to doctors appointments and visiting the dentist (no cavities!) as part of our Close of Service. It's hard to believe two years is coming to and end, and while so much has changed, I can't help but look back at those early blog posts and realize I'm in the exact same spot--trying to stuff my life into a single backpack and embark on a new adventure in some other part of the globe. I'm sad to say goodbye to this place I've grown to love and now call home, but I'm also eager to see what else is out there and begin a new chapter of my life.

Two years sounds like a long time. But as it draws to a close, I find myself wondering if it's really enough time. Katrina, Tu-o and Emma spent the afternoon at our house yesterday and while their excitement in having us "catch" their photos made me laugh, it also made me sad. They'll keep growing up, only now, I won't be here to see it.

Saying goodbye to your family--even an adopted one--is never very easy.

The Pot is Broken. We Can All Go Home.

There’s an old Mexican saying that when the pots have been broken, we can all go home.

Earlier this week, the remaining members of Nam 27 got together at a four star hotel in Windhoek (with hot showers, real beds and huge buffets) for our Close of Service conference. We talked about what we would do in our last three months of service.

We talked with RPCVs about adjusting to life back in America. We filled out as many exit forms and as much paperwork as we did to get into Peace Corps. We talked about resumes and grad school applications, the most memorable moments of our service, and the reasons why, even when things got tough, we decided to stick it out. We said goodbye. And then, we broke our pot. The one we’d signed and decorated and filled with our hopes and aspirations nearly two years ago.

And now, we can all go home.


Nam 27

It’s hard to believe that in three months my time in Namibia will be over. Two years, said and done. And while I’m certain I’ll be able to recreate something similar to my former life back in NYC, I know that recreating this experience—the friendships I’ve formed, the adversities I’ve overcome, the personal growth I’ve experienced and the tragedies I’ve faced will be impossible.

It’s a "once in a lifetime".

And one I’ll be eternally grateful for the opportunity to have had.


Celebratory Springbok Shots Before We Say Goodbye

Peace Corps Expansion Act is Rejected

The Peace Corps Expansion Act was up for approval last week. It would have increased Peace Corps’ budget by more than $33 million in 2010, and gone a long way towards increasing programs and services, and supporting the work of volunteers like me.

Unfortunately, it didn’t pass.

It didn’t pass because while the Peace Corps mission has remained the same since 1961, the world has changed. And Senator Patrick Leahy, chairman of the Appropriations subcommittee that funds foreign assistance programs, thinks it’s time we change too.

He’s right. The world is different now. It’s become more of a global community. So it sickens me to hear that Leahy believes there “are hundreds of volunteers serving in countries with little if any strategic importance to the U.S. Government.” At a time when the health of others—particularly in terms of drug resistant TB and HIV—greatly impacts the health of many, Peace Corps volunteers are doing their part at a grassroots level to increase awareness, educate the people and prevent the spread of disease. In one sense, we are fighting against a global epidemic. And we are doing so with few resources and very limited financial support.

Leahy’s suggestion that Peace Corps make moves to serve only in countries that will ultimately offer financial benefits or natural resources to the American people goes against all that Peace Corps stands for. It suggests that the main objective of the organization should be to offer volunteers and their services in return for something greater than a strengthened global community.

I’m in favor of expanding Peace Corps; of enlisting more volunteers and starting programs in additional countries. That’s one thing Leahy and I have in common. But what he fails to recognize in his quest to increase presence in Muslim countries (undoubtedly a move to strengthen foreign relations), is that their governments must be stable and perhaps more importantly, they must invite Peace Corps in. Sadly, in many of these places—particularly after the last eight years—America is not always welcome.

A letter from Senator Patrick Leahy:

Thank you for contacting me about funding for the Peace Corps. As Chairman of the Appropriations subcommittee that funds foreign assistance programs, I have recommended $373,440,000 for the Peace Corps for fiscal year 2010, which is equal to the amount requested by President Obama and is $33,440,000 above the fiscal year 2009 level.

I strongly support the mission of the Peace Corps, which can be as relevant today in promoting American values abroad as it was when it was founded almost a half century ago. But the world has changed significantly since then, and the Peace Corps needs to adapt to the 21st Century. However, past efforts by the subcommittee to encourage the Peace Corps to reform and make better use of resources have been ignored. A new Director with a new vision, who recognizes the need for reform, supports transparency, and seeks a constructive relationship with Congress, is urgently needed.

I am aware that some have called for a large increase in funding above the amount requested by the President for fiscal year 2010 in order to send volunteers to new countries. Very few of such countries are safe enough or otherwise ready to host volunteers, and there are hundreds of volunteers currently serving in countries with little if any strategic importance to the United States who could be used more effectively. At a time of intense pressures on a limited budget, each volunteer costs the U.S. Government $50,000 a year. Each dose of vaccine for measles, a virus which threatens hundreds of millions of children in poor countries and needlessly kills 200,000 children annually, costs a few dollars. This is but one of the many difficult funding choices our subcommittee faced, yet the recommendation for the Peace Corps is the largest percentage increase in the Peace Corps' budget since 1993. I and other members of the subcommittee believe that reform, not dramatic increases in funding in a single year, is the Peace Corps' most urgent need.

I expect to recommend additional increases in funding to support the goal of doubling the Peace Corps, including sending more volunteers to countries with large Muslim populations, once it is clear that a new Director is providing the leadership that the Peace Corps needs.

Again, thank you for contacting me.

Losing a Year (But Gaining a New Perspective)

A handful of Nam 27ers discovered the album, NOW That’s What I Call Peace Corps! just before swear-in. It was a play on the yearly Top-40 compilation some American music label puts out. Only the songs on this album were hand selected by our predecessors in Nam 26. It was somehow tongue and cheek, but the titles hinted at what we were in for over the course of our service:

Chain of Fools
It’s a Great Day to Whoop Somebody’s Ass
Where the Streets Have No Name
Hanging Around
Losing a Whole Year
Halfway Home
Time of Need
Run
Little Victories
I Will Survive

Some titles made us laugh. Others made us seriously question what we’d gotten ourselves into. But one in particular really got me thinking: the song Losing a Whole Year.

It was something I’d seriously contemplated before joining the Peace Corps—something I think almost all of us had. Everything we’d miss. (Perhaps it was even this fear that prevented me from serving straight out of university.) It was something I thought of when I left home for D.C., and it was something I thought about even more as I prepared to swear in and commit two years to life in Namibia.

One of my final stateside blog posts touched on this subject. Not losing one year—but losing two. I’d contemplated the friends’ weddings I’d miss (they’ll be three more this year), the babies I’d meet only after they’d become toddlers (three and counting), the holidays I’d spend away from family (four major ones and another two more to go) and the milestones I’d miss out on while living in a foreign land. There were the jobs I couldn’t have. The stories I couldn’t write. The money I couldn’t save.

And at the time, it all seemed a little overwhelming. Was Peace Corps worth all that I’d be giving up?

I now know the answer.

Yes.

But I didn’t realize why until a couple of months ago, when a fellow Nam 27er was sent back to the states to be treated for a medical condition Peace Corps couldn’t handle in Namibia. She wasn’t ready to go. And like many of us, felt there was too much left to be done. There was regret and frustration. Anger and I’m sure some tears. But when our Country Director sat her down for one final talk, something else became clear. Sure, she said, there was more to be done. And of course we’ll always leave feeling like we haven’t done enough. But our work here is lasting, and regardless of how much we’ve managed to change in Namibia, we can without a doubt, measure the things we’ve changed in ourselves. One of the most important things we’ve gained, she said, is the true understanding of the value of a year.

In my American life I measured my years in bylines and paychecks. In articles written and stories scooped. I measured my year in failed relationships and in pounds lost or gained. In fashion trends that worked (and those that didn’t). In new addresses and in old friends. So it was no surprise that when I boarded the plane for Africa, these were the things I worried that I’d miss.

But 17 months later, I see things differently.

A year is more than dollars and cents. More than the number of stories written, weddings attended or minor milestones achieved. It’s about being touched by the kindness of strangers. About family and old friends who keep relationships strong even from an ocean away. And about new friends who understand almost exactly what I’m facing. It’s about seeing places I never thought I’d go and living a life I never imagined I’d have. It’s about overcoming obstacles. About learning to work within a mixed-up system, instead of always trying to fight it. It’s about hitchhiking and clicking. About fitting in. About laughing (mostly at myself). It’s about love notes from learners and hugs from kids. Gaining patience and killing time. About having friendships here that are as real and as important as the ones I left at home. It’s about measuring my own successes in the faces and deeds of those around me. It’s about 2,000 kids who now have toothbrushes and 1,000 teachers who now know their HIV status. It’s about finding a second home in a place I never imagined I’d fit in.

But mostly it’s about valuing life more because I’m living better. About realizing that, even with the smallest pay check of my life, I’m able to live more richly than I ever have before.

Maybe the 26ers were right. Perhaps we are losing a whole year—even two. But our Country Director was onto something. What we’re gaining is so much more:

A new understanding.
A wider perspective.
And a greater appreciation for the true value of a year.

Check Us Out!

New Era magazine recently interviewed a couple of PCVs (including two honorary members of the CATJAR--Juice and Jeffie B) for this story about life in Peace Corps, in Namibia, and in Nam 27.

Riding a donkey, secondary projects and little victories? Sounds about right. (Although that part about Juice being white and Filipino? Not so much.)