I understand why I didn't post the following entries. I was afraid of offending people. These entries are deep and emotional. I use my journal writing to heal, help understand a situation, and share with others.
It has taken me years to come to grips with leaving Zambia. Yet, I still feel something is missing in my life. I am searching for it. I hope I find it.
Another unpublished post I feel worthy of publishing. Written May 2016.
I completed my service on April 21st and left the African continent two days later for home. I feel funny calling it [the U.S.] home. My village was my home.
Since my return, I have been busy visiting friends and reacquainting myself with the place I've lived for most of my life. As a result, I feel like a tourist in my home town as if I'm seeing everything for the first time.
I visited a roller skating rink a few days ago with a friend who dance-skates. I went with the intent to watch the people demonstrate their skills to organ music. After observing for a while, I put on a pair of skates and skated around the rink several times; I didn't fall and enjoyed it immensely. I think I have found a new pastime.
Anyway, I was introduced to several people who learned I returned from my Peace Corps service. Finally, a woman welcomed me and said, "well, now you're back to real life."
Real life. What does that mean exactly? I've been pondering this question ever since. I could have stayed in Zambia. Would that have been a fake life?
Roller skating, vacations, paying bills, running the rat race, working nine to five...That's real?
Maybe for some, but for me, my life, no matter what I do, is real. Every experience a person has makes an impact on decisions from thereon. As a result, I view the world differently. I think of myself differently now. I am not the same person as the one before I served in Peace Corps.
I lived an experience that only I know intimately. I left the friends I had made in Zambia who watched me evolve into who I am now. They are the ones who know me. And I was happy there. Really happy. I still have that happiness, but I need to learn how to make it continue. I know that may sound funny, but I've learned that people in our lives help confirm our identities. So I need to rebuild my identity to accommodate my new life here. I will still hold on to my Zambian mindset.
I am happy to see my old friends again and catch up on what I missed. They are pleased to see me and learn about my experiences. But, believe it or not, our bonds need to be renewed. It's a part of the transition of beginning a new life.
This post was written on June 6, 2016.
I've been back in the States for two months now and feel motivated to move forward.
What a delight to come back during the full-fledged presidential race, with only five months left until the BIG DAY! Am I excited? Well, I will explain how I feel about this...
I rarely watched television while being away for two years. The only news source I relied on was Facebook news streams from NPR-like sources and my friends' comments on the goings-on back home. I maybe caught a glimpse of Trump two times on the television. That was enough for me, really, and to come home and have his name mentioned several times per day and his blabbering monologue continuing on and on; I realized this is a freakin' joke that has gone too far.
So, I came back home with the idea people would want to know all about my service. I spent two years living in a remote village in Africa - no electricity or indoor plumbing. I expected to be bombarded with questions about my life abroad, only to find few who are actually interested enough to ask specific questions about my service.
I want to let you know that I was at celebrity status in my village, living in Zambia with primarily black people. I would walk down the street hearing my name called out by children and sometimes adults, with them expecting a greeting or wave from me. My friends always welcomed me warmly, even if I had just seen them before. The presence of friends was always a gift. Friendship was not superficial in any way.
I came back from a place where I could strike up a conversation with just about anyone while walking down the street, even complete strangers, and sometimes make connections for future projects or friends who will be friends for life. I would also learn a lot from others. Women, children, men... It didn't matter who I spoke with. I would learn something new about the world I lived in.
Here is an example of striking up a conversation with just anyone: I was in Livingstone for Christmas vacation, visiting Victoria Falls with some friends. I debated whether to leave early the next day because my money was running short.
As I was hiking up a trail from the bottom of the falls, I passed a man. He and I talked about being fit enough to hike fast up the hill we were climbing. Eventually, I asked him where he was from. He was from the Copperbelt and getting ready to leave for home the next day. He had a car. I wondered if I could come along to forgo taking the dreaded crowded bus ride that takes 12 hours and ride in a comfortable car with great conversation. It worked out. Just randomly speaking with a stranger would make the most significant difference in my life at times, usually in a positive way. If fact, I take back calling people I don't know in Zambia strangers. We aren't strangers; we are people who are open to being friends with one another. The word stranger has a negative connotation to it. There is nothing negative about people you don't know in Zambia.
Here in America, I have to go back to keeping to myself and regarding most people as strangers. I have struck up conversations with a few and learned many things from those people, something I would never know otherwise, and I made a friend. But, of course, I would never get a ride with a person I just met that way. It is different here. Very different.
What a delight to come back during the full-fledged presidential race, with only five months left until the BIG DAY! Am I excited? Well, I will explain how I feel about this...
I rarely watched television while being away for two years. The only news source I relied on was Facebook news streams from NPR-like sources and my friends' comments on the goings-on back home. I maybe caught a glimpse of Trump two times on the television. That was enough for me, really, and to come home and have his name mentioned several times per day and his blabbering monologue continuing on and on; I realized this is a freakin' joke that has gone too far.
So, I came back home with the idea people would want to know all about my service. I spent two years living in a remote village in Africa - no electricity or indoor plumbing. I expected to be bombarded with questions about my life abroad, only to find few who are actually interested enough to ask specific questions about my service.
I want to let you know that I was at celebrity status in my village, living in Zambia with primarily black people. I would walk down the street hearing my name called out by children and sometimes adults, with them expecting a greeting or wave from me. My friends always welcomed me warmly, even if I had just seen them before. The presence of friends was always a gift. Friendship was not superficial in any way.
I came back from a place where I could strike up a conversation with just about anyone while walking down the street, even complete strangers, and sometimes make connections for future projects or friends who will be friends for life. I would also learn a lot from others. Women, children, men... It didn't matter who I spoke with. I would learn something new about the world I lived in.
Here is an example of striking up a conversation with just anyone: I was in Livingstone for Christmas vacation, visiting Victoria Falls with some friends. I debated whether to leave early the next day because my money was running short.
As I was hiking up a trail from the bottom of the falls, I passed a man. He and I talked about being fit enough to hike fast up the hill we were climbing. Eventually, I asked him where he was from. He was from the Copperbelt and getting ready to leave for home the next day. He had a car. I wondered if I could come along to forgo taking the dreaded crowded bus ride that takes 12 hours and ride in a comfortable car with great conversation. It worked out. Just randomly speaking with a stranger would make the most significant difference in my life at times, usually in a positive way. If fact, I take back calling people I don't know in Zambia strangers. We aren't strangers; we are people who are open to being friends with one another. The word stranger has a negative connotation to it. There is nothing negative about people you don't know in Zambia.
Here in America, I have to go back to keeping to myself and regarding most people as strangers. I have struck up conversations with a few and learned many things from those people, something I would never know otherwise, and I made a friend. But, of course, I would never get a ride with a person I just met that way. It is different here. Very different.
Drafted 11/20/2018.
Two years I've been back. It's been a rough two years. Readjusting back to the place I called home most of my life may sound strange to those who have never left. It's true, as we were told by the trainers, the most challenging part of Peace Corps service is going back...I hesitate to add 'home' to the end of that sentence.
What makes returning hard?
The culture change: wasteful, lacking simplicity and community, but what about showers and all of the conveniences? I had gained 30 pounds in three months.
I see things differently. Where I came from, there wasn't gun violence; people didn't watch television.
What makes returning hard?
The culture change: wasteful, lacking simplicity and community, but what about showers and all of the conveniences? I had gained 30 pounds in three months.
I see things differently. Where I came from, there wasn't gun violence; people didn't watch television.
No one to tell my stories to. No one understands.
I am more sensitive to veterans and their difficulties when they come home. There is a belief among Americans that America is the BEST PLACE IN THE WORLD!!!!!! Is this place really home? What makes a place home? The people who care about you? The people who listen? Americans think they do all this, but they don't.
My kids are grown, I lost my best friend...my value for survival is diminished. No husband.
I'm not looking to start a family.
I am more sensitive to veterans and their difficulties when they come home. There is a belief among Americans that America is the BEST PLACE IN THE WORLD!!!!!! Is this place really home? What makes a place home? The people who care about you? The people who listen? Americans think they do all this, but they don't.
My kids are grown, I lost my best friend...my value for survival is diminished. No husband.
I'm not looking to start a family.
I'm still trying to figure this out. I'm only speaking for myself. I see others who served with me; they seem to be doing well since they returned. I'm sure not all of them, though, are doing well. I just feel different. I'm another person. I need to get to know this other person I've become.
A couple of months before leaving my village in Zambia, I felt I should stay. My gut told me I should stay. But I resisted. I told myself I would go home and see how I felt, and then if I thought I needed to come back, I will. Well, I need to go back. I need to go back more than ever.
After waiting 30 years to go and live in Africa, why would I think it would be OK to come back? Why did I think that? I didn't give it any thought. Then, finally, two years were spent making a new home in a new place...and I thought I could come back to the States with no problem.
I remember the first night back, I had a dream of my village. I saw the children. When I woke, I had a sob fest. I can't remember ever sobbing before. I've cried but not sobbed. Sobbing is different.
From then on, I struggled to get used to everything. It took a while to get used to or tolerate going to the supermarket. I never watch television. I can't stand it anymore. I feel like I'm in the spotlight. It's funny because that's how I felt when I first went to Zambia. And I really was in the spotlight. Everyone watched and stared at me. But, I got used to it in Zambia. Over time people got used to me, though; they knew I was still there. I'm not stared at here, but I don't feel like I belong. I feel like I stand out. But no one notices. No one notices I'm even here.
A couple of months before leaving my village in Zambia, I felt I should stay. My gut told me I should stay. But I resisted. I told myself I would go home and see how I felt, and then if I thought I needed to come back, I will. Well, I need to go back. I need to go back more than ever.
After waiting 30 years to go and live in Africa, why would I think it would be OK to come back? Why did I think that? I didn't give it any thought. Then, finally, two years were spent making a new home in a new place...and I thought I could come back to the States with no problem.
I remember the first night back, I had a dream of my village. I saw the children. When I woke, I had a sob fest. I can't remember ever sobbing before. I've cried but not sobbed. Sobbing is different.
From then on, I struggled to get used to everything. It took a while to get used to or tolerate going to the supermarket. I never watch television. I can't stand it anymore. I feel like I'm in the spotlight. It's funny because that's how I felt when I first went to Zambia. And I really was in the spotlight. Everyone watched and stared at me. But, I got used to it in Zambia. Over time people got used to me, though; they knew I was still there. I'm not stared at here, but I don't feel like I belong. I feel like I stand out. But no one notices. No one notices I'm even here.
