A couple of weeks ago, I almost quit Peace Corps. I had my phone in my bra (the one truly African thing I’ve picked up) and I was just planning on what exactly to say to staff when I called. I thought about who I should call. Would I call my program supervisor? Would I call the director? Wow, I thought, this is the kind of stuff that I should have been trained on. I was baffled.
I even went as far as visualizing how I would pack my belongings into my two bags. I thought about the things that I would leave behind. I thought about what I would say to my fellow volunteer friends. I tried to pick the best way to tell them. Text? Phone call? Should I whip up a few tears? Maybe a group email when I’m already gone. Poetic.
As I pondered this I analyzed my situation. I was in school. I was surrounded by eleven children that only understood me when I said one of three phrases: No, Stop, and Tsamaya (Go). It was barely 10 a.m. and already I’d almost cried twice. I had to entice myself to get out of bed by dreaming about adding cocoa to my morning instant coffee (not necessarily my first choice of coffee additive but, hey, you use what you have).
After breakfast I got spit on, wiped Paul’s nose every five minutes, got kung-fu kicked in the shin by the new kid that magically has just shown up in class, and got burned a little on the hand by a feisty child who has learned how to operate a lighter. Oh, and I counted to five about 50 million times for the kid who is really excited about learning how to count to five.
That’s when I decided to quit Peace Corps.
I…can’t…do…this…anymore.
Just when I was about to do it, take the chance and just do it, I get beckoned for a meeting with the principal.
On the way to the principal’s office, the educator, Selena, tells me that I have probably gained a few kilos (Ok, so I’ve been adding cocoa to a lot these days) and criticizes the way I chew my gum.
It’s 10:10 a.m. and I’ve almost cried three times. A new personal record.
I sit down and the principal asks me for The Report. I gulp and stall for time by pretending to think of the right thing to say but instead just try not to laugh at her silly new wig-like thing and purple mini-hat. Ah, well at least I don’t want to cry anymore. Progress.
So I tell her all about my magical trip to The Other Side, a.k.a.
Like I said, magical.
I was truly in awe of Christi and everything that her Peace Corps experience has brought her. True, it hasn’t been easy for her. She deals with race issues everyday due to the diversity of races that still haven’t quite figured out how to co-exist with each other peacefully. But the opportunities that are available in her area are much more vast than anything my itty-bitty village has to offer.
But her school. Her school has resources. It’s full of color and materials to help the children. It doesn’t look like it’s on the brink of completely falling apart. The educators at least seem like they’re there for the benefit of the children, not just to receive a paycheck and drink free tea and eat free food. The children even looked happy. Sure, they have similar disabilities that the children at my school have, but they looked like children that were cared for at school and not treated like servants. In the two days that I was at the school, I didn’t see one child fetch tea for an educator.
It was so hard to watch and although I felt so completely and totally happy whilst there, the looming knowledge that I would eventually have to leave felt like a dark cloud looming over my head. I divulged everything to Christi in one long uninterrupted conversation where I talked about my four months at site and Christi listened. She understood me. A year and a half ago, she’d been dumped into the same situation as me and had no idea what to do. Peace Corps was no help. At the time, she was the only volunteer in
Christi’s advice? Get out. Get out now.
As I pondered her advice, I considered how I would feel moving to a new place, maybe a place like Vryheid. I could picture myself walking around downtown in the spring, getting pizza at Debonairs, actually buying the groceries that I wanted, not just the ones that I thought would last me two weeks till my next shopping trip or I could carry home on the taxi, and not feel like I have to keep my head down so I can pretend that nobody is staring at me as I walk down the road. Perhaps I pondered this too long, because before long, I almost started believing that this could be a reality for me.
But, alas, it is not to be.
Before I knew it, I was climbing back into the Van of Death (aka my school’s van driven by Selena who absolutely should not be allowed to have a driver’s license) and was heading back to Pankop.
As we got closer and closer to Pankop, I could feel the happy feelings from the week in KZN being left behind and the black cloud grow larger and larger until it completely consumed any optimism I had once felt. Near that point, I thought of my options:
1. Deal with it.
2. Go home.
So I had nothing to lose. I turned to Selena and word vomited everything that I’d been feeling in the last few months. I told her I wasn’t/didn’t want to be/couldn’t be a “educator assistant” (aka babysitter) and I honestly had no idea why Peace Corps placed me with Mantjedi (the school). I told her that despite all that, I had some ideas for the school and that it was fine if the school didn’t want to change, but that I wouldn’t sit around anymore. I couldn’t.
When I was done, I turned away and we sat in silence for awhile.
After a couple of minutes, Selena told me that I had to tell everything I just said to The Principal (my scary supervisor) on Monday. She said that The Principal was the one that was holding back the school. She said it several times:
It was the principal’s fault.
It was the principal’s fault.
It was the principal’s fault.
I figured that this was my bolder. Save the principal, save the school. I could do it. I’ve fought scarier people than her before and have come out triumphant. I could do it.
So here I am. On the verge of tears on a Monday morning being told I’m fat and chew my gum wrong.
What the hell was I thinking? I shoulda ET’d when I had the chance.
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