In Transition: Life after Peace Corps

I just read an infographic that said to start a blog you have to have a unique or useful perspective. Well you, my faithful reader, have probably realized I have neither but you read because you are my mom or one of her friends. The entire concept of a blog like this is strange and a bit self-serving and for that I apologize. This particular milieu is an interesting product of my generation (or more accurately the one that followed mine)- our parents told us we were special, our teachers were legally forced to do the same and then Facebook happened and you get what we have today- a largely insincere product that we feel compelled to create from an intrinsic part of our psyche that is wholly convinced of our own perfect and beautiful uniqueness. Well here's my beautiful, perfect, new thought for the day...

As you may or may not know- Peace Corps is over. Fin. Complete. The end. Done. And a month has now passed since that time and a have a number of feelings about it. Mostly I try not to put words to them because they are unstructured, incoherent, and contradicting at times. The week following Ring Out (PC Zambia's closing ceremony), I felt like a confident force of nature- ending on a high note and most of all just happy to be moving on to the next thing. Peace Corps was an incredible and constructive part of my life. I learned things about myself and the world that I could never have known otherwise. However, there were plenty of personal struggles and soul-shattering moments that I will be happy to respectfully leave behind. I am grateful for every moment but I want to regain some of the purpose and joy I felt before I left. So, it's transition time again (which is ironic in its own right since the past 28 months have felt like one long transition). And, unfortunately, a side effect of transition is a prolonged feeling of suspension and one in which you are unsure of who you are. To summarize it better I'll quote Bob Dylan's Shelter from the Storm:

"I was in another lifetime one of toil and blood

When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud

I came in from the wilderness a creature void of form"

Now that you have a bit of actual good writing to tide you over...

Unlike nearly all of my Peace Corps compatriots, I did not use my final months to plan my future. I did not look for jobs nor did I apply for grad schools. I simply finished my projects and ended my service. I gave myself an arbitrary deadline of "after Christmas" to get myself together and get a job. When I tell people I'm not working right now I get one of two reactions- 1) "Oh don't worry you will find something soon!" or 2) "Oh great! You need a rest!" While both are equally well intentioned, neither reflect the rationale for this purposeful hiatus. I am neither actively looking for work nor am I in need of rest. I am quite rested. I'm cracker jack full of sleep. Nope, I am just jobless for a minute.

I would be lying to everyone if I said I am super happy with this decision. At the time, it made all the sense in the world. Scott's job pays well, so, I don't need to rush into a job just to make money and while Peace Corps provided a great deal of personal growth it did not leave me feeling prepared to take on the work force again and if anything I feel less prepared for the rigors of starting a challenging career. So, I said to myself, "Self, take some time and get back into the academic mindset, explore the options and see if this trajectory is even what you want anymore." But, being the competitive and achievement oriented person I am, I am finding it hard to take my own advice. After all, I am getting no outside validation from sitting around growing.

Perhaps the most troublesome side effect of this transition period is that I feel defeated by other people's success which is a feeling completely constructed by my own insecurities. It's hard to even go on social media anymore. Friends who I am cognitively thrilled to see thriving in the world make me feel like I am somehow failing in my static state. I find myself irrationally admonishing myself for not excelling above my peers, which I fully realize is a real dick perspective. It's hard to remember that Facebook and other platforms are carefully crafted to showcase only the best and most fantastic things about our lives. Regardless of reality, I still feel shitty. Perhaps I am really more upset that I am still on the same roller coaster of emotions I've been on for the past 2 years this time without the illusion of "changing the world" or "doing God's work" (common accolades people shower on Peace Corps volunteers). While I never felt deserving of these sentiments that were blanketly heaped on my work, it was still a protective barrier from the disappointment of failed projects and difficult counterparts and kept me from feeling like I was actually failing in the eyes of others.

I often feel defensive when people ask me how it's going even if there was no implication or judgment by the inquirer. I feel that I need to somehow get across that while I am jobless, I am not lacking in productivity- which is ridiculous. I like being a productive person and I have had to adapt that during my time in Zambia. But, I am learning that my self-worth should not be tied to my productivity which is a hard lesson to learn as an American. I'm in the act of getting my shit together and that is no small feat. In the past two years, I have gone through an unhealthy and unwanted adolescence. Without the resources to do the things that made me feel like me, I tried too many times to be someone else and have felt the emotional tearing of fitting into another person's skin. To become myself again I have to start doing the things that I know make me happy- being with my husband, eating better, exercising, doing creative work and thinking critically. Those things take time and energy and they are absolutely necessary. Once I start feeling like a human again, maybe then I can be the person I need to be to "start" life back up and I am lucky to be in a position not to rush it.

Although Misleading, This is NOT an Article about Ebola

While Ebola hysteria has died down a bit on the international stage, I thought I’d take a minute to add to the growing amount of smug people who think they know a thing or two about tropical diseases. Ebola is scary- mainly because it conjures up a lot of Indiana-Jones-style face melting images, where people just erupt into bloody, bursting puddles. The air itself seems to spur on some unstoppable, apocalyptic plague. Hazmat suits don’t help anyone think more rationally, either- if you want to scare a suburban housewife to death, pull out a hazmat suit. Yes, all of that adds up to some intense panic. Truth be told, it is a terrible and deadly affliction for the more than 25,000 people who have been diagnosed with the disease since the start of the outbreak in West Africa (CDC, 2015), but it’s nothing quite as violent as the images we create in our minds. And, unfortunately, it takes much of the spotlight away from the diseases that kill the most people. For many countries in West Africa, the outbreak has been devastating but that damage doesn't just lie in simple disease burden. As it turns out, the deeply felt impact of the outbreaks in Sierra Leone, Liberia and Guinea can be seen in the funneling of aid from areas of greatest mortality like malaria and HIV to the more publicized Ebola. Health officials now fear increases in Malaria, Measles, and HIV rates (among many other diseases) due to the siphoning of aid money and staffing from hard fought eradication programs. For instance, in 2014, a mass malaria net distribution campaign in Liberia was suspended along with health facility closures (as a result of stigma and transferred staff) as well as the suspension of malaria diagnostic tests, due to the frenzy surrounding the deadly but far less frequent Ebola. (For a short but informative article on the subject click here.

It’s shocking, but the diseases that do the most damage are the ones that don’t catch a lot of air time on the 24 hour news cycle. Can you imagine if headlines actually reflected the more common deadly diseases around the world?

“Poop kills 2,082 children today. Our analysts call poop the everyday 9/11.” (WHO, 2013)

“Wearing condoms correctly and consistently, could have saved over 14 million people from life-threatening diseases this year, but didn't. The world shrugs and keeps having sex.”(CDC, 2015)

“Tiny pelvis: Friend or foe?”

“Washing your hands, paisley jean shorts and other great tips for the everyday fashionista”

“Cooking: Asthma’s greatest ally in the war on women”

“Corn comprised 90% of a Zambian child’s diet today. 3 white people were concerned.”

“3.2 billion people at risk of a disease everyone kind-of-thinks-maybe-might-actually-be eradicated.” (WHO, 2014)

Can you guess what that last one refers to? If you guessed the true heavy weight of tropical disease burden- malaria, then you would be correct. And, yes, that statistic is correct. 3.2 billion people- that’s billion with a “b”- are at risk of acquiring malaria each and every year. If we are just to compare raw numbers, 10,477 people have died from Ebola since the outbreak began but each year an estimated 584,000 people will die from malaria. If you want that said another way: 

malaria = Ebola x 55.

It is one of the oldest diseases in the world. It killed Genghis Khan. Think about that for a second. The Jin Dynasty couldn't kill him. Mulan couldn't kill him (and she had a dragon). It took an assassin the size of a grain of rice to take down arguably the greatest conqueror in human history.

This parasite has accompanied our species throughout history, transmitted by the tiny winged vector that has plagued every back yard dinner party since the dawn of time- the mosquito. And, not just any mosquito, the Anopheles mosquito. Why is that important, one might ask? Because that is the only type of mosquito that carries Malaria and it only feeds at night. Night, as you might realize, is a very vulnerable time for us humans. We can’t see very well in the dark and we are often sleeping during the time most of these insects are out taking their nightly meal. BUT, it also means that simple lifestyle changes such as sleeping under a mosquito net can save thousands of lives (but we’ll come back to treatment and prevention in just a bit).

The part of the world I am currently in, has the most to fear from this silent killer. 90% of malaria deaths occur, here, in Sub-Saharan Africa. Most deaths occur in children under the age of 5- to be more shocking, a child dies every 60 seconds from Malaria (that’s one baby every minute- whoa). Zambia considers it such a pervasive issue that the government has its own department devoted to handling this ancient, deadly disease. In Zambia, malaria is responsible for 45% of all hospitalizations, 40% of all under 5 deaths, and 20% of maternal mortality. If severe malaria doesn’t kill you, it can leave you in a coma or effect brain function for the rest of your life (severe cases have even been known to drop IQ points in children).

I don’t want to be responsible for another vast mischaracterization of a disease, either. While these numbers might send you screaming indoors and swearing off the Dark Continent altogether, most people, here, are not that concerned by it. It is “Africa’s common cold” as one counterpart phrased it. At every malaria talk I give, I usually start out with the question- “who here has or knows someone who has had malaria?” Without fail, nearly every hand gets raised. The problem is that most people are misdiagnosing themselves daily giving a very serious disease, a very toothless reputation. Every sneeze, every cough (both of which are not actual symptoms) are erroneously attributed to malaria, taking away much of the fear that should be associated with the disease. But, truth be told, a great many Zambians have had the disease at one time or another and lived to tell the tale. Thus, prevention becomes an afterthought in the hierarchy of things that are pressing in most people’s lives even though there is a very real chance that it will kill someone close to them.

As part of Malaria month (April) and World Malaria Day, Peace Corps Volunteers around the world take part in raising awareness about the disease. We often work in areas with the greatest burden and spread health messages to anyone who will listen. These tasks include health talks that support early diagnosis and treatment, behavioral changes like wearing long clothing, sleeping under a bug net, and eliminating standing water (Anopheles mosquitoes breed in clean, standing water). These changes often have cultural components that pose the greatest challenge to eradication such as not taking all prescribed medication, having the primary bread winner (i.e. mostly men) sleep under nets- leaving the most vulnerable (i.e. children and pregnant women) out in the open, among many others. While health talks and community campaigns are important, many volunteers also hope to raise more awareness among individuals at home who are indirectly and sometimes directly responsible for donor funding of malaria eradication campaigns around the world. The more you know… and all that. So, the next time you see an eye catching headline, take a minute to think about the ones you may not be seeing because they may actually be impacting the most people. Happy Easter and Happy Malaria Month from Zambia!

Want more facts about malaria and other underwhelming deadly diseases? Of course you do!

WHO- 10 facts about malaria

WHO- Diarrheal Diseases

HIV/AIDS in Zambia

Old Thoughts

It's hard to imagine what my Peace Corps life is really like. It's easy to think it is all "changing the world" and epic life experiences. What you don't see is the isolation, the fear, the crippling self doubt. There's a reason this job is hard but its difficult for an outsider to know the realities when every picture has smiling faces- a life airbrushed by Facebook. 

I was going through some old writings and found a journal from October 2013 (one of my first months at site). The scene is me house/dog-sitting for a neighbor while Scott was away for work (which was just starting to happen at that time). I think it encapsulates some of the roller coaster of emotions you feel when you are just beginning to start real life in a new place. Enjoy.

"10/28/13

I sit staring blankly at a white wall. The paint is cracked and chipping. I need something to help me express the stifled frustration I feel but every wave of creativity crashes impotently against a dam instead of the shore. 

Foreign crickets sing a familiar song outside the bars on the window. Each sound makes me jump. Everything is foreign. Everything is unnerving. Even the dog sighs in frustration- bored with the walls, bored with the crickets, bored with this waiting. 

I want to write a story. I want to paint a picture- to do that, however, requires an idea and paint, all of which I don’t have.

I miss my husband. The strange thing is that if he were here I would never get a word out. I’d never experience this frustration and boredom that plagues every other volunteer. I’d watch a vapid movie, make a kissy face and go to bed. Is this feeling a plus? It’s not- I know it’s not. But it does give me something besides happiness and contentment to feel which is at least a new experience and that’s something to grow from.

We got a package today. It was like Easter morning. Jean is really a fantastic gift giver. One of her surprising talents. It’s probably because she asks people for exactly what they want even when they don’t realize it.

The faint and familiar beat of Rhumba music thuds in the distance. What should be growls and bird calls are just another of the same 12 songs that always play at this point in the evening. It’s a Monday night, but I guess that’s little worry for many Zambians who have a completely unstructured workday.

I talk about Zambians too broadly. It’s racist. I keep saying “they do this” “they like that” when I’ve seen many Zambians who have never fit that mold. It’s the same thing I rail against. I stereotype to make it easy, but that’s just backward and more importantly wrong.

Mangoes keep hitting the roof. I think, “Is that someone jumping over the fence to weld off the bars on my door, slit my throat and take my laptop?” No- it’s just a mango. Go to sleep and quit being an idiot.

When Scott’s not around I’m a much more negative and critical person. When he’s around everything is better and that’s not just blowing smoke, it’s just a fact.

Someone throws trash in the pit outside. I self-consciously realize I don’t know the number for the police. I do have a dog and for about 3 minutes that will make a difference until they stab or shoot it. I should really stop thinking about it.

I took a cab from Choma today. On my own. I am strangely proud of myself anytime I am outside of the house by myself. I feel like a kid on the first day of school. I have no idea who my friends will be or who will try to take my lunch money. Most of the time I’m all too comfortable staying in and being frustrated and bored. That’s not okay. I blame the hard knock life of the "city" but if I were to be honest the village would be just as intimidating- although I’d have a host family in my corner telling the other villagers, “Nah man, she’s cool.” Here, I’m just Muzungu.

I’m surrounded by things I should be doing but don’t.

A car door slams. My heart pounds. Then I worry about my heart. Why does my chest hurt so much? Probably because you’re a ridiculous hypochondriac. I think most people who are prone to anxiety and have any medical knowledge should be. Maybe if I became a medical doctor I’d quit fearing things and just smile bemusedly at people like me who think they know something but obviously have no clue. I’d probably be an arrogant dick like that but I’d mask it because I do genuinely care about people.

Was that a rat? What could make that noise besides a rat? A stuck handle on a faucet?

I watched City of God last night. It was a gritty movie about hard people living hard lives. It made me a little more nervous that 1960/70s Brazil happened on the same planet as me.

I ate lunch with a new PCV yesterday. It was a bit awkward and kind of felt like a date. I feel like I have to somehow be prove my worthiness as a mate through conversation. Which is, in all lights, ridiculous.

I really want to write a book. They say write what you know but who wants to hear another PCV story? It’s pretty much rehashed in about a million different ways at this point- left all that you know to find something you didn’t expect. I can hear the daytime Emmy nominations now. Julia Roberts will play me in the movie and I’ll just shake my head because, really, she looks nothing like me. Her skin's too nice.

It’s almost Halloween but it doesn’t feel like it. Even if I got a costume, dressed up and ate candy, I’d still feel like I was in a play because there is absolutely no context for it. I live in a vacuous time without holidays. There aren't really seasons here, so, it just makes it feel like one long summer vacation. Even cold season is just less hot season or not quite rainy season. I want a pumpkin and people to appreciate it. I want to realize I should have brought a jacket. Or get in an automatic car and drive…anywhere. I hate driving, by the way, but I want to do it for at least a little bit until I realize how much I hate it again or realize how I never gave it a fair shake.

The dog wants me to pet her belly. When I don’t, she gets up to breathe in my face.

I’m reluctant to get up from my post near the entrances to the house to take a shower and/or sleep. This, too, is crazy since I’ve stayed here several times alone without any indication of insecurity. Mood changes without stimulation or evidence from the environment is certainly a sign of insanity.

Stream of consciousness writing is a much more effective way to journal. I’ll remember more of how I feel moment to moment rather than how I remember feeling in general years later. Maybe Faulkner was on to something. Maybe… he was fucking crazy though."