The Email That Changed Everything

I had written half of a blog post to update you all on LEAD Conference and a few other things but then I recieved the email that changed everything. The email that told me that whether I was ready or not I would be returning back to the US, back to Wisconsin, and back to my parents house where I would have to stay for 14 days without seeing any of my other friends and family upon my return. It was the email that informed me I had 72 hours to make my way back to my village from Lushoto, to say goodbye to all of my fellow teachers, my wonderful students and people in my community, to pack up my entire house and all my belongings in two suitcases and a hiking backpack, and to travel with all my things from my village to Lushoto town in order to say goodbye to all the wonderful friends I had made there. On Thursday me and the other Lushoto District volunteers had to travel from Lushoto town to Korogwe where we would spend one night before getting picked up by a private bus hired by Peace Corps to take us all to Dar es Salaam. In Dar I had one evening spending time with my fellow volunteers hanging out one last time, one morning running around filling out paperwork at the Peace Corps office and closing my bank account and then Saturday afternoon I boarded the airplane and left the country I called home for the past 9 months.

There are not enough words in the world to describe my feelings and emotions throughout that week, from recieving the news Monday morning to boarding the plane Saturday afternoon. Even now, today marks two weeks since recieving the news that Peace Corps was being evacuated from all countries worldwide, one week since I arrived home and I have been quarenteened in my parents house without seeing anyone aside from zoom calls and waving from a distance. It is crazy how your entire world can flip upside down in a matter of two weeks. I have now started to adjust to American food again, I have mostly overcome jetlag and am sleeping normal hours again, but I still don’t feel “normal”. Because what is normal. I put a smile on my face and go through the day to day motions, but it’s weird not being able to go see the family and friends I have missed the past 9 months, it’s weird how my home does not feel like home. I left a part of myself back in my village, with my students, teachers and friends. Tanzania will always be my second home and I hope I will be back there again soon.

Currently I am sitting in a chair in my parents living room trying to decide how much to write and how to put my thoughts and emotions into words. It’s not easy. Instead have copy and pasted some writings and thoughts from other evacuated volunteers that try to capture the emotions we are all feeling.

Written by a Tanzania PCV in my cohort:

I think I miss the carefree laughter the most or maybe the baby screaming and waking me up in the morning. The hundreds of birds at dawn. And the trucks full of lumber careening down the mountain slopes. I miss the sounds of my neighbors sorting beans and rice- filtering out the unwanted detritus. I miss the sound of people calling to one another almost a mile apart to say hello from one mountain cliff to another. I miss the sound of crackling fires and the goats eating the grass in my yard. The morning bell and the students gathering outside my door for assembly. I miss the sound of chalk as I write and the mosque calling everyone to prayer. I miss the hush that fell over the students as I started lecturing. And I miss the silence of sitting with neighbors as they sat on their chairs waiting for water to boil. I miss the eerie stillness of walking at night that would be suddenly interrupted by a wild dog or bush baby and send me running into my house.

Now I listen to cars and the fridge humming endlessly. Truthfully, I have birds in the morning and laughter from the neighbors, but it’s not the same laughter. It’s not the same birds. Some of the wonder is gone. But I hope I will find wonder again in America. I will again delight in the sound of the wind through the pines and the sizzling of food on the grill. I landed in a different America and I evacuated from a soon-to-be-different Tanzania. I worry about both places and all places in between. I worry about the new silences that fill the gaps of this new world. But I hope one day that we can help fill this planet with the joyous noise of healing again.

Written by a Madagascar PCV:

To the friends and family of recently evacuated Peace Corps volunteers: As most people know, this week Peace Corps worldwide made the difficult decision to evacuate and early COS (close of service) all volunteers around the world. Many of us only had a couple days to say our goodbyes while some didn’t even get the chance at all. The evacuation process isn’t easy and the processing of returning to America so abruptly is even harder. So many feelings and emotions are happening all at once along with the upcoming reverse culture shock. In general reverse culture shock is often the hardest part of people’s services and that is even when they have had time to prepare. This new group of volunteers were abruptly sent home and now we don’t know what’s up and what’s down.

With that being said, sometimes unknowingly our loved ones can also make this process more difficult. We know you all are excited to see us and I get that. We love you and miss you but we still had mentally prepared to be gone for much longer. So if we’re sad, let us be sad. If we’re angry, let us be angry. It’s not at you just at the circumstances. And as much as I know you want to help us in this transition, try to avoid projecting your own thoughts or feelings onto us for the way you think we should feel. For example, phrases like, “well at least now you can eat all the American food you’ve been missing, or aren’t you happy you now have xyz…?” don’t help us. You’re right, we had missed stuff, but right now most of us would rather still be back eating our traditional meals or using squatty potties because that means we’re still where we want to be, so those really are not comforting statements and can in truth be hurtful because it feels like you assume life must be better in the states than the places we served. And that’s a disrespectful belief.

Also, avoid asking us what comes next. We’ve literally been through the hardest, most exhausting week of our lives where all we could think about was putting one foot in front of the other as we make our way back to the states which has not been an easy route due to this pandemic. We don’t know what comes next. We are leaving what was supposed to be a set job for two years to now entering foreign territory. Give us time to adjust. Give us time to recover. Give us time to feel what we need to feel before moving on.

We know you’re happy to see us, and we wish we could be equally as happy to be back, but as a volunteer we developed a new home, new friends, new family, new ways of life, and we’ve just left that all behind uncertain if or when we will return. Be patient with us. We’re sleep deprived, emotionally and physically drained and completely out of sorts. Ask us how we can be supported. We all handle things differently so ask first what you can do to best support us. Give us time and space to process but also ask meaningful questions. Remember this was not a vacation or just some trip we took. We completely immersed ourselves into our new country and culture and constructed a new life there. Which also means don’t expect us to be the same person we were when we left. Get to know this new person returning and don’t make assumptions about who we are now. We most likely see the world much differently than we did before we left.

We’re sorry we can’t feel all the same emotions our loved ones are probably feeling with having us back, but remember we love you and care about you but right now many of us are broken and will need some time to repair and for each of us this process could look and feel differently. Be patient. This evacuation came as a surprise for all of us and so now we must learn how to adjust.

Posted by fellow Peace Corps Tanzania volunteer in Lushoto:

To my fellow Peace Corps refugees, I hope you are healthy and comfortable. (if you’re not, what else is new?) I don’t know about you, but I am tired, I am emotional, and I am disoriented. This is not how I thought my service would end, or what coming home would be like, and definitely not what I thought life in the United States would be like.

I don’t think I’ve ever experienced so much uncertainty, either personally or in the world at large. I don’t know what I’m going to do for work. I don’t know where I’m going to live. I don’t known when I’ll be able to see my friends and family again. I don’t know when this pandemic will subside. And I don’t know when things will resemble a sense of normalcy. I just don’t know. Underlying all of this is a question I keep asking: What are you going to do?

I asked this question a lot during service. When transportation failed, when I ran out of water, when I was sick, when I was scared. When something went wrong, and then another, and another. Everytime: What are you going to do?

I don’t know what I’m going to do yet, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to figure it out. I did then (most of the time). We are all going through a lot right now, but we’ve already been through a lot. We are all capable, adaptable, and resilient people who have proven that they can live through extraordinary circumstances. I think we’re going to figure it out.

Right now over 7,000 Peace Corps Volunteers are returning to the United States - thousands of volunteers scattered across the country who are dedicated, skilled, and compelled to serve. Our service ended abruptly but I don’t think that means any of us are going to stop serving. I think things are weird right now and they’re only going to get weirder. Our communities are going to need us and I take solace in knowing that you are all out there. I am honored to have served with you.

This has easily been the most stressful week of my life. I had to leave my home, say goodbye to friends and loved ones, and I had to flee a country. Compared to some I feel like I had it relatively easy. Everyone is feeling crazy right now, but our crazy has an extra level of crazy to it. There are few who understand this crazy and it is so hard to be away from the people who understand this crazy the best. I feel so fortunate to have a community I can share that crazy with. We’re through the looking glass and we’re all mad here. Tupo pamoja (We are together)

Posted on the howapcvputsitgently Instagram account:

I wanted to say how incredibly proud and honored I have been to call myself a Peace Corps Volunteer.

Regardless of country, sector, status, we all know what it is to love someone for who they are at their core. I have seen us all fall in love with our host countries and communities. I don’t have words for it other than unconditional love.

I have seen us look past differences in political beliefs, stereotypes, age, culture, background, and language to have the privilege of loving others.

I am proud to be part of this community. One that accepts. One that works for the betterment of the whole (and shout out to our amazing counterparts). One that appreciates all the little things, because they aren’t really little. One that loves and loves and loves with no end. One that will be there for each other at the drop of a dime. One that is empathetic. And above all else, one that sees the inherent worth and good in every human.

For me, being a Peace Corps Volunteer has meant pain and sorrow at many times. But it has also meant unimaginable joy and unconditional love at many many more times. And I would do it all over again for the privilege of loving and being loved by my community.