Marathons

Tomorrow I am going back to Malobi for the last time. The next time I get on a boat to come into the city will be the last. My time as a Peace Corps Volunteer is quickly coming to an end. For the most part I am excited, but there are occasional bouts of shock and sadness mixed in with the oh-my-gosh-i-just-can't-wait-to-get-back-to-America feelings.

I cannot say it enough, but I am so grateful for those of you that have been reading my blog, praying for  me and my village, and sending your letters and packages full of support and delicious treats. These last two years would have been even tougher and less fulfilling without you. Thanks. Gaantangii!

I don't know exactly what the next steps will be, aside from coming back to Mississippi and spending time with people I love, but I am ready to find out. I do know that it's going to involve a lot guacamole, cheeseburgers, and craft beer. And so, for that reason (and a few more) I have committed to run 26.2 miles for St. Jude on December 7. Running a marathon has been on my mind since I ran a half marathon in 2010. You can check out my fundraising page and donate to the children of St. Jude here.

Peace Corps service has been a marathon. It has tested both my mental and physical strength, as well as my endurance and my confidence in my abilities. I am stronger and better for it. I know the road to running 26.2 will be just as hard at times, but, just like Peace Corps, I cannot wait to say, "I DID IT!" And just like Peace Corps, I cannot wait to see the difference it makes in my life and the lives of others.

Next Steps

The past few days have consisted of me being in Paramaribo and writing final reports and such in preparation for closing out my service. It’s overwhelming to say the least. I thought it was going to be a piece of cake, but it's been tough.  I have learned and accomplished so much as a PCV, but translating  and consolidating all of that down to about four pages, as well as something a potential employer will recognize as valuable, is hard. The truth is, I have learned a ton about project design, grant writing, and implementing projects, but those are not the things that taught me so much during my service. In fact, those were most often the things that caused stress and frustration.

Let’s be honest, the reason Peace Corps Volunteers are completely terrific people is not a result of grant writing and brushing shoulders with ambassadors, it’s because we take the time to get to know the people that the first world so often forgets about. We learn their language. We hug and kiss their children. And, until we are comfortable enough with the language to politely decline it, we eat their food until it hurts. We find new friends in a tiny corner of the world that most have never heard of, ourselves included before that invitation to serve came from D.C.

And so, moving forward, it’s hard to quantify this experience down to a few bullet points and snippets. I have no doubt that all that grant writing, project design, and stressful project implementation is going to help me land a job, and for that I (and my parents) are so very thankful. But when I think about all that I have gained during this experience, more times that not, it’s the faces of my friends that pop into my head. It’s sitting on my porch braiding my little buddy Zameni’s hair for school the next day. It’s my neighbor Polo singing and playing his guitar as the sun sets. It’s Beta hugging me every single time she sees me. It’s the lady that lives behind me coming over to see if I cooked anything delicious that she can ask me for. It’s watching those precious twins lie in my floor looking at books and making up their own stories, twisting my heart into something that’s going to hurt when I have to say goodbye to them.

Okay, let me just take a sidebar and talk about these kids. I have never been around kids this much. I’ve had babysitting jobs and whatnot, but nothing like this. I have never seen babies learn to walk and call my name. It’s powerful stuff. I’ve held babies before, but only when people gave them to me. I never sought them out. Now, it’s like a reflex. A mother comes to talk to me and her baby is in her arms? I take it. My arms just lift themselves up. When I went to Mississippi in the fall, I had to sit on my hands on the flight from Miami to New Orleans because something told me that the white lady across the aisle from me did not want to me to take her cuddly, squishy baby away from her. It was probably the fact that my arms were held in a position to receive a baby that was not being offered to me. That reflex. 

Another side note, PCVs really should have, like, a card or something to hand to people that we do weird things in front of. It would say, “I’m in the Peace Corps. Sorry I just did that weird thing.” "Also, my mother taught me better."

Back to the babies and kids, but mainly those twins I love so so much. I’m sure I’ve mentioned them before, but Dia and Dio (I know, right?) are six years old and the loves of my life. If I’m home and they’re not in school, they are probably at my house. It blows my mind when I think of how much I’ve come to know them these last two years. Dia is so shy. Most of the time she just wants to be near me. She’s totally content just sitting in silence as I cook or read a book. She has fallen asleep so many times in a chair in my house this way. Dio is all boy and that smile of his melts my heart every time he flashes it my way, which is pretty much every time he looks at me. He loves to climb trees and he sticks his tongue out when he’s being strong or doing something tuff. I look at both of them and think, “Gosh, y’all have no idea how much I love you. Y’all have no idea how much you have changed my life. Y’all have no idea how much I will miss you and pray for you when I am gone.” Will they remember me? Maybe, but it won’t be the same. If I come back in ten years, they’ll be teenagers. I won’t be the Lobi Mai that they wanted to hang out with and look at books with and hug. They’ll be grown up and they won’t need me. One of the toughest parts of closing out service and leaving your country of service, I think for a lot of Volunteers, is being okay with what you did and knowing that what you did was enough. I pray all the time that I have loved those kids enough. It’s going to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done when I climb onto that boat and leave them.

Whew, okay.

So yeah, preparing for the next chapter is tough. When I’m trying to write really intelligent things on my description of service and my resume, it feels like my service isn’t being validated for what it was. Also, living in the jungle and learning another language does something funny to your brain, so it’s tough to pretend to be intelligent. I swear it’s like jell-o most days. I guess maybe that thing about my service not being validated isn’t totally true. Like I said, all that project writing and implementation and working with locals is going to be so crucial to whatever comes next, but sometimes I just want shout, “Hey! I hold babies now!” and, “Oh yeah, that last time I saw a tarantula, I totally did not throw up in my mouth!” (I lifted my feet off the ground as I wrote that). “I can kill tiny fish with my bare hands!” "And braid your hair." "I own a machete and I know the proper way to use it so that I don't cut my foot off!" “Are these skills that would benefit your organization?” "Will you give me a job?" Probably not. However, all those cute boys that are going to take me on dates when I come home will fall instantly in love with me, right? Oh yeah. 

I’ve said it a few times, and I’m going to say it again: I am ready. Despite the days and moments when I know life back in America is going to be frustrating and tough, I am ready for it. I will miss the faces here that I have grown to love and they will miss me, but our lives have always been destined to be different and I cannot stay here. My time in Suriname will end and I will leave accepting that the work I did here was enough. I will leave knowing that so much more was given to me. My Peace Corps service will end, but the lessons I’ve learned will always be with me. The twins’ smiles and hugs will stay in my heart, and I will continue to not vomit when I see spiders. Jobs are important, and I will find one. The thoughts and memories of being loved and conquering fears and learning things I could never have learned without this experience are crucial, and I already have those. As I prepare to leave Suriname and return to the States, I do it with confidence and hope that whatever the next chapter holds will be rewarding and fulfilling. It will be rewarding and fulfilling because of the lessons I take away from this experience and because of the new ones awaiting me. And also because I am going to eat so much Mexican food.