Close of Service (COS)

I write to you now as a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer (or RPCV) and, although I’m not “returned” just yet, not back in the United States, it is an official term meaning that I am finished with my service. Done.

I spent the last days in my community preparing to leave, emptying out my house and saying goodbyes. Last Friday I went to school and gave back some items that the school had lent me for my house. A good amount of the teachers weren’t there, but the present ones were having an early lunch. They invited me to join them for fried fish. During lunch they said a few nice words and gave me a few parting gifts. My last day was Sunday, Feb. 23rd, when I left my community with nothing but two bags, a large hiking backpack and a normal school backpack. My host mother had been preparing a friend and me meals, since I had given away all my leftover food, refrigerator, and electric stove. As breakfast was finishing up and I was going to check on the truck out, I asked her if she would give me the honor of taking a picture with her. She refused, saying it would make her too sad. She started to cry, which of course made me cry as well.

It was the first of many tearful goodbyes.

Volunteers spend their last week of service preparing for Close of Service, or COS. It’s a ton of running around, getting blood drawn and getting last minute prescriptions and turning in grant forms and filling out lots of paperwork. There were certainly moments where I cursed the organization and bureaucracy in general for making the process so difficult. In the end, though, everything worked out. When one of the staff members who reviews our checklist to ensure everything has been done said I was finished, she congratulated me as many others had done. I felt so incredibly light, like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

I made it. Despite all the times I wanted to give up and go home, I made it through. I persevered. And I’m so glad I did.

Volunteers spread out between a few different hotels and hostels, but we do our best to maximize the amount of time we spend together. Last night we all went out and had a great time, taking over a bar and playing our own music from a volunteer’s iPod. The end of the night, as has happened throughout these past few days, brought with it inevitable goodbyes. These are people with whom I have struggled and triumphed. They are my best friends because we shared so much together, far beyond just two years of service. It’s hard to think about, but it’s going to be a while before I see some of them. I refuse to believe I will never see them again, because it’s too depressing to think about.

I commemorated the end of my service with a haircut. Catherine, one of my best volunteer friends, had talked about taking me to a roadside barber to get my hair cut Panamanian style. Faux hawks are popular, and a lot of young men get them done with all kinds of extra decoration on the sides of their head, stripes and stars and other crazy designs. After politely refusing or brushing it off I relented and went with her yesterday to do it. It was a great choice. I’ve never gotten so many compliments. Looks so ridiculous, yet so great.



This will not likely be my last post on this blog, but it certainly is as a Peace Corps volunteer. We'll have to see what comes next. For now, it'a bit of travel. See you all in Colombia and Ecuador!

An Open Letter to All Volunteers

This is an article I wrote for the volunteer quarterly newsletter. Some of the frustration stems from having fellow volunteers try to make me feel like my service wasn't as relevant as theirs for reasons I was unable to control. I hope you enjoy it.

Dear everyone,

Service in the Peace Corps involves enduring hardships; it's one of the core expectations. It's important, though, to keep in mind that hardship comes in many forms. For some our main hardship is lifestyle, adjusting to different, usually lower, standards of living. For others our main hardship is work, difficulty collaborating with counterparts. Often it's a combination of the two.

However, no one outright chooses his or her own site. We are placed in our site and are expected to work. We put forth our best effort based on where the office has placed us. For some reason among volunteers, placement in a more developed site is grounds for light ridicule. Volunteers somewhere in the world coined the term Posh Corps, as if to suggest that a particular place could be something other than a 'real' Peace Corps site. This mindset is simply displaced anger at the reality of our own life onto the reality of another, at those who live in what some might consider an "easier" site.

The last La Vaina had a feature with this quote: "I took hot showers in site...I COS'ed on July 26th, but the guilt still persists." Why should taking hot showers by boiling our water be a luxury in which we're not allowed to partake? If a volunteer wants to warm up water for himself, no one should tell him he can or should not. Why is having electricity and Internet access worthy of scorn? We all live differently based on our sites, and even within that range of sites each volunteer can choose to live his or her own way. Sometimes we wash our clothes in the river or by hand, other times in a neighbor's washing machine or our own, and yet other times we treat ourselves to full service laundry at the nearest provincial capital. We all know better than to draw attention to ourselves by living extravagantly, but a hot shower or some peanut butter does not constitute extravagance.

The real problem is not that this mentality of martyrdom exists, but rather that we all preserve it. By making jokes, we become complicit in perpetuating that fallacy. It is preposterous and downright unhealthy to place suffering on a pedestal, to suggest that living isolated and never leaving the most remote site with limited access, having no cell phone or Internet service, eating little to no food, having little to no amenities, and engaging in absolutely no indulgences is somehow a more "real" Peace Corps experience than any other.

We are all real Peace Corps volunteers. We all earn our humble living stipend. By American standards we are paupers, but by local standards we are much closer to kings. We can choose to do with our money and our resources what we will. There is no reason to feel guilty about that. Volunteers give their time and their treasures. We struggle no matter where we live, how we live, or where and how we work on a daily basis. EH, SAS, CEC, and TE (note the implied ranking of sector from most difficult to least difficult site placement), we all face challenges.

To suggest that one volunteer is more legit than another only serves to perpetuate a stereotype that our lives in country are pitiable. It paints a picture of abject poverty and misery. It suggests that, in order to truly experience Peace Corps, we have to starve ourselves on a strictly rice and plantain diet, isolate ourselves by never leaving site, and not shower for days at a time. When in Rome, right? Wrong. The reason some of our community members live a certain way is because it is all they know, often all they can afford. Instead of humbling us, forcing that lifestyle only gives us a twisted reason to brag. Furthermore, this mindset distances us from our host country nationals. It erroneously assumes that all people who live a certain way fit into a certain category: sad, poor people. Yet, we all know better than to think people in our sites are depressed. What can happen is this: we return after our service and tell tales of our lifestyle, of how we lived two years like a poor campesino. Instead, we should be telling tales of that poor campesino's work ethic, bravery, or kindness. We potentially marginalize the same people we are supposed to serve. Our service is meant to help build a bridge between nations and remind us that we are all one people.

A lauded rendering of a difficult life does not change it in any way. Drawing comparisons to those who live differently, construed as better, and scolding them for doing so, is only an underhanded way of complaining about one’s own situation. We can only grow as volunteers when we stop complaining. Service in Peace Corps is not, nor has it ever been, a pissing contest over whose life is hardest. Remember that it's not the amount of hardship that matters, but how we choose to react to that hardship that defines our service.

Winding down

My inevitable departure is becoming realer with every passing moment. As of today I am three weeks away from my COS (or Close of Service) date: February 28th. At this point I am scrambling, trying to finish up last-minute projects and emptying a house I will be leaving in two weeks.

The main project, the giant camp (or two camps, technically) is over now, but I still have to close out the grants, which the office placed partially under my supervision. It means a responsibility hanging over my head before I go. Then from there I will be assisting with another training, and then giving seminars to teachers during their preliminary planning week before school starts. That last one is during my last week in site. I feel like I should be in my community, saying my goodbyes and explaining my departure, much like I had to explain my arrival (and purpose) when I first arrived. And, honestly, I would like to check out, much like I was able to do in high school and college: peacefully reflect on my experience as I coasted to the finish line. I have no such luck this time. It's funny...I say I thrive under a bit of stress, and then I complain about it. Sounds like business as usual.

Here a few pictures from the first camp back in mid-January:

Every morning we started the day with a bit of exercise. I got a bit off the rhythm here.


During the sexual health portion of the camp we taught and then practiced the proper use of a condom. Then we let the kids have some fun by blowing up their condoms to see just how much they can stretch.


Here I am, leading a call and response stepping activity to grab their interest on the first day.

The other task on my list is clearing out my house. Actually, I have slowly been clearing out my house for the past few months. I go through my belongings every now and then and make a pile of what I think I don't need or use, and then I throw it all into a bag that ends up on the street corner to be burned another day. (That guilt will likely be the reason why I will work so hard to recycle and compost later in life.)
Perspective about your house changes so drastically in only two short years. At the beginning of our service we go from host families to living on our own. In that moment we try to fill our temporary, foreign, bare houses with things, but what we're really trying to do is fill them with significance, markers that it is our true home, even if only for two years. Then we get to the point I'm at and want to purge. I want to try and give things away to ensure they'll get some good use after I'm gone, but I have no qualms about throwing anything away. I just want a clean break and be able to leave without anything pending back here.

Also, much like I did when I was leaving the States, I keep adding "last" to everything I do: Last Regional Meeting, Last GAD Camp, the Last Time I See So-and-so. Everyone talks about bittersweet. On any given day I usually feel only one of the two. Right now it feels sweet. I am quite ready to go back home to a life without so much backward thinking. Tomorrow could be different, though.

How funny that way back when I was just starting two years seemed like so long. Now that it's over, it doesn't seem like enough time. It's a common sentiment among volunteers. For a twisted reason I actually am trying to hold on to a few negative memories, the ones that frustrate me the most. I know for a fact that time will wipe them away and I will look back on this with rose-colored glasses of nostalgia. In my opinion I have to remember a few of the sad stories to remind me that it was real, that it wasn't rainbows and butterflies for two years. I also will use that frustration as an indicator of my own direction in life. If I don't when people do certain things to me, then I should avoid doing it to others. Hopefully I can learn from all the bad things that happened, and not just all the great things I describe in such detail here.

Hopefully I will continue to blog after I finish Peace Corps service, when I go traveling with one of my best Peace Corps friends, and beyond. Don't worry, though. No matter what, I'll be sure to sign off with style.