Yesterday, Thursday November 15th 2011, marked the completion of my first six months in my site. This is an important date in the Peace Corps Costa Rica world, its the date when all volunteers are officially allowed to move out, and its the date when we are able to apply for grants for external funding. It also means that I have 18 months left in Gallo Pinto. Which boils down to 1 year 6 months. A quarter of the way through. An accomplishment indeed!
How did I celebrate, you ask. Well- I scrubbed the floors in my house, went an entire day without eating rice and beans, attended my daily quota of town meetings, and chatted with a fellow volunteer. Nothing exciting, no balloons, cakes or confetti. Nobody sang, and honestly nobody really noticed. But it feels pretty big. It means for (6 months in site + 2.5 months of training) 8.5 months I haven't seen my friends or family. For 8.5 months I have lived in another country, spoke another language, eaten another traditional cuisine and accepted new ways of living. I have moved three times, I have become a member of a family and a member of a community. I have dealt with public transportation, medical issues, administrative conundrums and I have defined my job from scratch. I have done all this - more or less - alone.
I am overwhelming grateful for the support of friends and family throughout my journey. Which makes that last line- that I have achieved 8.5 months alone- quite a bit untrue. Your phone calls, packages, emails and thoughts have made my 8.5 months a million times more bearable. You have made me less homesick, less uncomfortable and you have reminded me too many times to count that I am loved and supported. Thank you.
But one of the realities of my Peace Corps experience (that perhaps I anticipated, but anticipated without fully understanding the reality) is that choosing to live in another country, in my case, in a very very small community, can be extremely isolating. I have made some wonderful friends here. My neighbors who invite to me dinner, taught me how to make rice and beans and take care of my home when I am away. The girls on the women's soccer team who always pass me the ball even though I am God awful at soccer. The little kids who invite me to go on bike rides with them and bring fruit to my door because they know that I like it. The women who runs the small town store who lets me pay her the next day when I am short a few hundred colones. The old bus driver who waited at the bus terminal an extra 15 minutes so that I could make it home. All of these people have become part of my new life. And I am grateful that in a town of 50, there are so many kind souls.
At the end of the day though, there is no one in town that I can tell how frustrating it is to plan meeting upon meeting and have two people show up. Or present a new idea to a group, only to be met with stares of confusion because no one understood my Spanish. Or to train a group in new organizational techniques, have everyone show up for the meetings, and then watch as they plan their next event or activity with maybe less organization than ever. Or how sad I am that my puppy got lost, and how much I miss his companionship. Or that I miss my family and friends so much sometimes it makes my heart hurt. All of these and many other challenges I can't confide in people in my town. Either because gossip runs rampant like wildfire here, or because there are cultural differences that mean I just wouldn't be understood.
Luckily, I have a few very close volunteer friends that I do confide in, who are endlessly supportive. Because even though we all live in different towns, we all face similar challenges. We are best able to understand each other. I am grateful for their support. But on those really bad days, a phone call just doesn't do it. I need someone here, in my house, to tell me in person that it will be okay. That today is just today, and who knows what will happen tomorrow. Someone to distract me with fort-building, or no bake cookie making, or a movie and popcorn. And sometimes I am lucky enough to have my friends visit, and sometimes I just have to call them, and pretend like that's enough to make me feel better.
And sometimes I just have to remember that this is a choice I have made. And that the rewards (although sometimes hidden) are just as present as the challenges. I have to look around and appreciate the unique way of life that I get the privilege of living for two years. Being able to wake up at whatever hour I please. Having free time to exercise, cook, read and write. The beauty of spending an evening listening to a radio show and crocheting or a Saturday afternoon fishing down at the river. I have to stop thinking about how much I hate getting up at 4:30am to walk an hour to the bus stop, and stop and marvel at how beautiful the sun looks when its rising, or how serene it is to walk for an hour in complete silence and not see a single other person. Or remember how excited I was to have a job where I get to make the decisions of how I spend my days and what are the best ways to go about effecting change. The adventure - which means that after an all staff meeting I get to go bungee jumping with friends. Or spend the weekend at a Costa Rican beach.
For me, Peace Corps has been a combination of all of this. I am grateful for the people I have met, the people who have supported me, the lessons I have been given the opportunity to learn and the year and a half that I have left.
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