The Real Low Point

August 24, 2008

This entry I almost thought about not sharing because it is embarrassing and makes me disappointed in myself. But I am also writing for people to know what life is really like for me here- what I feel- so I decided to be honest. A friend of mine, who is an RPCV told me in an email that being in the Peace Corps is like a roller coaster ride of ups and downs and I couldn't agree more. I have received texts from many of the people in my group saying they feel bipolar, or like they are going crazy... we all do. It is almost impossible to grasp the stress placed on one all at once when they join the Peace Corps. Mental Stress- with the language and cultural learning. Physical Stress- carrying water, putting possibly contaminated/different food into your body, malaria meds, lack of sleep, etc. and Emotional Stress- Being away from home, friends and family. I know many RPCVs and there is something very unique or special about them and I think one of the things that is different is their ability to deal with this compound stress and be successful.

Another point I should make before going on is that I am on some pretty heavy meds for malaria, that include some pretty crazy side effects. I would like to blame this whole entry on them, but I probably shouldn't, although I have undoubtedly experienced some of them- dizziness, insomnia, loss of appetite, hair loss, bruising, nightmares, paranoia and the works. But I hear getting malaria is worse so I am diligently taking them despite that my region has basically no mosquitoes... oh well. Another thing that makes me sound stupid during this time is I hadn't eaten or drank anything for two days- I was feeling very hopeless and not taking care of myself during this time. My cell phone was also dead, but Jess had told me to make it to the main road to meet Josh so I could get some help. I felt like it was urgent to get out.

Anyone who really knows me knows that I am directionally challenged to say the least. My sister, Shannon, was always the navigator when I was driving, she somehow got the "direction gene". And I hadn't paid much attention on the way to my village, so I had no idea how far the main road was. But I started walking anyhow, in my Africa sandals, backpack on- one foot in front of the other. I asked people as I was passing if I was going in the right direction and I got a variety of answers. But mostly they asked me why I was walking. I had no water and no idea how far the main road was. After a while there were no more houses, no more farms, and I realized it was just me on the road walking. It was about after the first hour of walking that I started to get real with myself. I should say that I am in the Southern Highlands, high elevation, and you can't walk more than a few feet without going up or down some major incline. There is no flat- and in the middle of the day with no water this was a workout. Alone- I started thinking- what was I doing? What am I trying to prove? Most Americans rarely travel out of the U.S. and Europe, much less live in another country, why am I putting myself through this? These were the justifications I was trying to make.

I thought for a bit about the girl with the blond curls and the blue beads who like to play dress up and wondered for a minute how her life led to this desolate road on the African continent. The sweat began to gather behind my backpack as my long skirt waved in the wind. The skirt was my mom's from the 70s- it had probably seen happier days then- maybe been worn at an outdoor concert with my dad. I thought of an outdoor concert I went to when I was young with my family. It was at the Portland Zoo, it was either Arlo or Woodie Gutherie- the son- I can never remember which one is the son. Anyways, I pouted and threw a fit at the concert and I thought about how that was unfortunate. And that it is unfortunate that I have thrown fits most of my life and decided that when I get home maybe I won't throw fits so much. Maybe things won't seem like such a big deal. Maybe I will get used to not getting my way.

After a while, the blisters had grown. There were eight in all- one even on the bottom of my foot- damn the African sandals. I put on wool socks and despite the heat kept trudging on in the dust. Then I thought of lions. I thought of how it was always a big joke with my PC group of how desperate I was to see a lion and scanned the grasses on every bus ride, looking for the pride I knew must be just blending in. I thought of if I lion came right now it might eat me and I was not sure I would put up much of a fight. Why fight? It would have been a good story, anyhow. Then I thought, "You are crazy- lions don't live in the Southern Highlands." And then I became fearful that I was losing my mind. I have yet to see a lion in Tanzania, much less a man- (or woman) hungry one. Soon out of nowhere a boy appeared behind me- probably no older than 5 or 6- I greeted him in Kiswahili and then in Kibena- he said nothing but just kept pace behind me. At this point I started crying, silent tears streaming out of my eyes. I could feel my big toe nail breaking off and swimming around in my shoe. When I would stop, the boy would too- but never coming close or speaking. Just following. I thought of all the people at home who I love- I thought of my brothers sound asleep in bed at home while I was walking. I thought of turning around as it was almost four and Josh's car was supposed to get to the junction at 3.30, but nothing in Tanzania runs on time and I had already walked so far... I was very very thirsty. This moment was one of the lowest that I have ever felt in my life- defeat so encompassing. When suddenly- there was the road. I sat next to it and tried to imagine asking an African to sleep in their home if I was unable to meet Josh. I pictured curling up and sleeping on the side of the road. I wondered what night there would look like. Fortunately, the dala had been late and I was able to hop on. But this inner fear nagged on- I am just an average girl, still trying to find my place in the world.