Peace Corps

Mental Health in the Peace Corps

November 30, 2024 Elle Peace Corps

As a psychiatric nurse practitioner in training (circa 2024), I am *somewhat* qualified to talk on this topic. Even back while I was in the Peace Corps, I had some experience working in mental health as a psychiatric RN having graduated in 2017 with my Bachelors of Science in Nursing. So professionally, I had a clue. Personally, however, I had never experienced anything more than “stage fright” aka performance anxiety related to public speaking/ giving presentations/ drama club, etc., Who I am to talk about mental health in the Peace Corps.

So statistically speaking, mental health disorders affect a shit ton of people each year, and as you can imagine some of those people are Peace Corps Volunteers. I’ve wanted to talk about this issue for some time now, but until I’d been in the Peace Corps, and more importantly OUT of the Peace Corps, I didn’t really feel qualified to speak on the topic. But here I am, 6 months shy of having a whole-ass doctorate degree in Psychiatric Mental Health. I can confidently say I’ve learned some things.

WHAT IS MENTAL HEALTH?

According to MentalHealth.gov, “Mental health includes our emotional, psychological, and social well-being. It affects how we think, feel, and act. It also helps determine how we handle stress, relate to others, and make choices.” The Mayo Clinic says that mental health illnesses include depression, anxiety, schizophrenia, eating disorders, and addictive behaviors (to name a few). However, psychiatric disorders are not the same as medical diseases. Some doctors argue that the term ‘mental illness’ may be misleading because mental disorders are simply descriptions of observations as opposed to physical illnesses. Anxiety doesn’t show up on a blood test. An x-ray of someone with depression looks the same as the x-ray of someone without. There is no urine test that can diagnose anorexia, and someone with alcoholism doesn’t have a brain tumor to explain his or her addiction. Mental health rarely leaves physical signs, but that is why it is so sneaky. And it’s just as dangerous as a physical illness.

MY HISTORY WITH MENTAL HEALTH PROBLEMS

I have never been clinically diagnosed or taken medications for any mental health problems which means on PC forms I’m not lying when I say ‘I’ve never been diagnosed with ________”. However, I do have a reasonably traumatic personal history from earlier in life which I dealt with most of my life by avoiding it <——– [not the best way in life or in Peace Corps]. I’m reasonably self-aware so I’ve been able to straight up avoid a lot of situations that would cause me personal distress.

I’ve never been one to suffer with depression or anxiety –other than in situational circumstances.

My emotional support #notaPCpet rodent control some times house mate

PEACE CORPS’ APPROACH TO MENTAL HEALTH

Mental Health is something that PCVs become very aware of during their service. If not because of PC staff constantly reminding us, then because we deal with struggles in-country that we never faced in the States. Living in isolation from friends and family, in a village without constant electricity, running water, indoor plumbing, and Internet, where you most likely don’t speak the language of those around you, and witnessing racism, poverty, and abuse (and sometimes being subject to those things), can all take a toll on the psyche. Without proper coping mechanisms, PCVs can develop anxiety, depression, and other mental health issues. Some volunteers even develop addictions to cigarettes or alcohol as a way to cope with these newfound struggles.

Apparently, Peace Corps’ approach to mental health as changed a lot in the 21^st century. PC staff is now very hands-on in ensuring that every volunteer is mentally healthy and stable. During PST, PC medical staff holds sessions to teach PCVs warning signs of mental health problems and healthy coping mechanisms. In fact, medical comes to every training, even one year into service, to reiterate these lessons. Peace Corps has a psychiatrist on staff who meets with volunteers who are struggling at site. She also works with PCVs who have experienced assault and/or trauma. The PC psychiatrist serves all Southern African countries (she counsels PCVs over the phone or Skype if they are too far away to meet in person) but luckily for PCSA, she is based out of the Pretoria office. Another way that PCSA helps with the struggles of service is through the Peer Support Network, a committee made up of two currently serving PCVs from each cohort who are available for additional support (much like an RA in college). They are given extra money each month to buy airtime to call other PCVs, and they also help medical staff at our trainings. They also work with diversity in PC, specifically how diversity affects the PC experience (i.e. race, gender, age, sexual orientation, religious beliefs, etc.) During PST, each trainee is assigned a PSA member as his or her “mentor” of sorts, to help with the transition to village life.

Dr. Elite’s wise words or wisdom for mental and physical health

When applying to Peace Corps, PC Medical in Washington goes through your personal medical history with a fine-toothed comb. In addition to a myriad of doctor’s appointments, PC also wants a record of every medicine you’ve ever been prescribed. If you report any history of mental health issues (which you must if you want to continue on medication) they require even more information. Despite PC’s hesitation to accept volunteers with mental health problems, I think having health with some of these things before is a good thing and can enhance a Peace Corps’ experience. The coping mechanisms I developed over the years are easily transferred to coping with my new living and working situation. I cannot tell you how many PCVs have developed anxiety in-country and have been put on anti-anxiety medication by medical staff. Not only are they trying to adjust to life in a rural village, they now have to learn to live with a giant cloud of anxiety over their head.

My only issue with PC’s approach to supporting mental health is the limit on therapy sessions. Med staff only approves 3-6 visits to the PC psychiatrist before they reevaluate your mental health and have to decide if you are mentally fit to serve. In their opinion, if you are still struggling at site after 6 sessions, more sessions aren’t going to help. In my opinion, ongoing therapy sessions aren’t a sign of weakness, but rather, strength. I believe I could see the PC therapist once a month and still be a successful volunteer. I understand their concern that therapy sessions take the volunteer away from their work at site, but I don’t think one meeting a month would be detrimental to success.As someone training in the administration of psychiatric medications and *some* forms of therapy, I wish the PC had the option available for people to have mental health check ins in a totally unbiased manner, but alas that is not the world we live in. Not in the Peace Corps and certainly not in the US Health care system.

Instant serotonin and dopamine booster for me. Ignore that look on my face because this was ice-cold

Good riddance to plumbing problems

October 7, 2020 Elle Hideaway Peace Corps

This time a year ago I was peeing and pooping in a hole. I had my own little house chamber pot cleverly disguised as a plastic bucket. And I regularly took baths by using a few liters of water and pouring water over my head with a cup. It was the Peace Corps and I was in rural Rwanda. Indoor plumbing was a pipe dream (see what I did there), and I now know the limits of cleanliness.

Now I am back in the US, living the indoor plumbing and refrigerated air (or mechanically warmed air) dream. Except when it comes to remodels. There were a few things I hated about my little house on the prairie when I moved in. The bathroom was definitely one of them (poor design, inefficient flow, things not working properly, ect). I spruced it up with some paint, new fixtures, and such and called it a day. But I still hated that bathroom.

House renovations problems

Moving right along. Monday started the demolition of said bathroom and I have never in my life been so excited to see studs. Out came the sink and cabinet. Out came the misplaced stand up shower, and out came the wobbly toilet. Up came 1980’s era linoleum. I was a happy girl. The downside of all this is that off went the water supply as well.

As with every remodel ever, things don’t go exactly according to plan. On Tuesday instead of installing floors and a new toilet, backerboard for tile and new sheetrock had to go up. I’m usually more of a do-it-yourself kind of individual. But I knew that for this project, I’d need extra muscles and with extra muscles comes working in someone’s timeframe–which I do not like. I’m more likely to be tiling at 10pm that 10am, but others don’t necessarily appreciate my ‘time management’ skills and so it leads to the conundrum of work cycles.

Despite my extra help or perhaps because of it, it is now day 3 of the remodel and still no water. I am not complaining as the extra help is doing things that I didn’t think about doing, thus ensuring a better outcome in the end, but it does create a little bit of a problem. I spent Monday and Tuesday at a friend’s house happily using their toilet and sleeping away on the couch. But as the old saying goes ‘Fish and houseguests stink after three days’ and I love my friends. I’m (pretty sure) they love me so I did not want to become the smelly house guest.

And so I returned to the prairie despite not having access to running water or indoor plumbing. I was able to eat leftovers (no water required). I could drink the bottled water I purchased last week when Target so thoughtfully had it on sale. And I brushed my teeth without worrying about contracting cholera, dysentery, or giaridia from the rain barrels I have placed thoughtfully around the house to catch rain run-off (usually used to water the plants, or the cats).

Flash forward to October 2020

We are having unusually hot weather for October (it is still 80 degrees at 10:30pm). I live on the prairie with way fewer neighbors than in Rwanda. This evening was a flashback to my previous life. I washed dishes with my roof water. I also put them in the dishwasher to sanitize when water comes back on. And I had a nice little sun-warmed bucket bath. At home. In the United States. Not while camping. And you know what, it was (mostly) enjoyable. My ‘important parts’ and hair are both squeaky clean. And as per usual, I am always amazed at how much filth comes off in the scrubbing. (I shouldn’t be amazed though. It’s 95+ degrees, and I’ve been cutting boards and sanding drywall. And wearing sandals.)

It’s rare that I miss Rwanda. I miss some of the people I met, but not the hardships of daily life. Here going without water for three days is a minor inconvenience. I know that I can hop into my car, go to the store, buy some and be done with it. Or stay at a friend’s house. Or go to the gym and use the pool (I also did ‘chlorine bathing’ in Rwanda). I could also get a hotel room. Most of those were options in Rwanda as well; they were just cost-prohibitive on a Peace Corps’ Volunteers budget. Not having water in Rwanda meant risking dehydration, catching one of the above mentioned bacterial infections, or possibly dying. It meant walking further to fill up a jerry can. Btw a full jerrycan of 20L of water weighs about 45#. Life without water in Rwanda was so much harder.

Memories

Today I can take a bucket bath on my porch and laugh about it. I know that by the end of the week, I’ll have a newly fully remodeled bathroom. I can go back to throwing dirty clothes in a machine, pressing a few buttons, and coming back an hour later to clean, clothes. No effort required on my part. Same for dishes. And same for me. I’ll no longer have to haul buckets of water around, delegate liters to each task, and pray for rain. Now while I do have a well and it won’t last forever without rain, it’s still light years better than catching roof water for all my water needs.

I’ll no longer have to worry about starting a fire to boil water, letting the water cool, then mixing in with non boiled water to achieve optimum bucket bath water temperature. I’ll no longer have to worry about the outside temperature (is it too cold to bath outside, should I just do it in the living room, thus giving the living room a good mopping along with me a good cleaning? These were actual decisions that needed to be made on a somewhat daily basis while living in Rwanda). Today I am grateful to live in an industrialized society where running water and indoor plumbing are the default. As always I am grateful for clean water.

Medical Separation and Worldwide Evacuation

April 5, 2020 Elle Life Peace Corps

If we are being honest I was simultaneously bummed and relieved to be medically separated from the Peace Corps. Bummed because I came to do a job and despite all the issues at site, quitting was never an option. Relieved because medical separation gave me an ‘out. Physicians and Physiotherapists in Kigali couldn’t get me squared away and neither could the ones in South Africa. They recommended surgery but couldn’t say exactly what they would operate on or the desired outcome. So off to PC Med Hold in DC. So imagine my surprise when DC surgeons said ‘you should have come a year ago.. I don’t think there is much to be done at this point and if we evacuate the lesion, you’ll have a depressed area of your leg.’ Cue anger, rage, and disbelief on my part.

Med hold made me cranky

At this point I was given the option to do nothing and go back to Rwanda and finish service (another 6 months), have surgery in DC and be medically separated since recovery would take about 3-6 months, be medically separated and have surgery in my own community (or do nothing in my own community). Either way, PC would pay for a consult with orthopedic surgeon.

What’s a girl to do?

Medical separation it is. While I’m bummed I didn’t leave on my terms or with my things (I made a iist of what I wanted from my house and it was gathered and shipped), it was the right decision. I wasn’t overly close to anyone in my community or to anyone in my remaining cohort [currently at more than 50% of volunteers have left for myriad of reasons]. So with more of a whimper than a bang my PC service ended January 7, 2020.

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Birthdays = Road Trips

Birthday 2020 [aka February] had me visiting my PC bestie in Washington, DC and exploring one new state/location– Rehoboth Beach, DE. I was able to wrap up any remaining PC tasks and also process it with other PCVs [PC Bestie also med sepped] because no one outside the Peace Corps can understand life inside the Peace Corps.

After my time in DC, I indulged in my favorite pastime of visiting beaches in winter. I like visiting beaches in summer too, but there’s something special about seeing them without all the crowds of people or worry about my skin melting in 100 degree heat. Then I chased horses on Chincoteague and Assoteague Islands in Maryland and Virginia. I visited my cousin in Virginia Beach, Virginia, and fiinished up my somewhat unplanned road trip by cruising all the way down the Outer Banks, North Carolina. I returned home late in the evening March 12. With an IKEA trip planned for the morning, I barely had time to catch a few zzzzzz’s before heading out to design my new kitchen. Little did I know that the world would shut down a mere hours later and Peace Corps Worldwide operations would pivot to evacuating the current 7000+ worldwide volunteers..

Worldwide PC Evacuations

Especially knowing that NO ONE in my cohort was able to finish service. I’m glad I got to leave when I did. Scrambling from being on HOLD FAST to catch a charter flight in Kigali was less than idea;. The flight that eventually went to Kigali–>Kampala–>Nairobi–>Addis Abba–> New York picking up stranded volunteers at each location. [Europe had closed its airspace by the time PC Africa sprung into action]. I honestly cannot imagine the stress level of the evacuated volunteers. At every cohort meeting, we joked that we were one day closer to being evacuated due to Ebola. No one could have guessed a full GROUNDSTOP of all PC operations.

What’s next for me? Well, I’m working as a psych RN. and I was accepted to graduate school starting in May. I made it out of IKEA with enough supplies to build a closet. So there are two things that will keep me occupied in the next few days. I returned to the same house and same job as pre-PC. Sometimes is seems the whole thing was nothing but a dream,.

“Have a good journey” Adios in one of Rwanda’s 4 official languages

The next steps

March 22, 2020 Elle Peace Corps

I guess by now you know that I left the Peace Corps; I was medically seperated from the Peace Corps due to an injury I sustained while at a Peace Corps’ training. I returned to Greenville, spent the night with my best friend, and made my way to my little country house where Miss Molly and Miss Lucy were eagerly awaiting my return [or maybe not… they are cats after all]. So you are probably wondering what’s next?

Last month I was back working at the same job I was working at prior to me leaving for Rwanda. I won’t lie; the learning curve was a little steep. A lot has happened in American health care over the last couple of years [Covid-19, anyone?], but working with supportive, helpful individuals made that transition a lot easier. I’ve also accepted a full time position working with adolescents–which is my favorite patient population. And later this year I will start a Nurse Practitioner program which has been a goal of mine since entering nursing school in 2014. These 12 weeks back in the US prior to starting grad school are like a gift, much like the 12 weeks I had between my original departure to Madagascar and my eventual departure to Rwanda.

I do not regret leaving the Peace Corps [even if it wasn’t my decision to leave; it was my decision not to return]. It took me quite some time to realize that leaving would not be the end of the world. In fact, around 33% of all volunteers actually leave service early for a variety of personal reasons. It would not ruin my future career goals nor would it mean that I would be shunned by the Peace Corps community. It took me several heart to heart conversations with many people to come to the conclusion that it was okay that I left, and then one day it clicked–my life is not in Rwanda. I MAY be in Rwanda, but my life is in the US. I have a house, cats, friends, family all back in North and South Carolina and Tennessee, and that’s where I should be. The injury just made accepting that a lot easier.

adios 1000 hills

Throughout all of my decision making, this quote strongly resonated with me:

“Respect yourself enough to walk away from anything that no longer serves you, grows you, or makes you happy.”- Robert Tew

And so I began the process of walking away from something that no longer served me.

I had to close out my Rwandan bank account [I’m leaving the country with about $300 cash which is more than I had when I arrived]. Next up, was exit interviews, language interview, and medical interviews. Next, getting signatures from all the appropriate people and returning all the appropriate things [wouldn’t want to be absconding with government property], and finally, thirty six hours after being told I was being medically evacuated, I was on a plane back to the US. The final paperwork about a month later telling me I was medically separated was the final nail in that coffin.

BUT I am so ready for the next chapter of my life.

I got a new kitty cat

I had THIS waiting on my when I got back

My bestie had a baby in 2018 and made me an auntie

Your’re Confused; I’m confused

February 23, 2020 Elle Peace Corps

Wait? Are you still in Rwanda? The Peace Corps? The short answer to that question is no. No, I am not.

As of February 3, 2020 I left Rwanda for what I think will be the absolute last time, but I’ve learned to never say never. Earlier this year I was medically separated from the Peace Corps. No hard feelings there, but as medical separation goes, it is a bit of a cluster-fuck. PC rarely gives you warning that you are being medically separated, therefore there are a lot of unresolved issues that crop up. Rarely is there the opportunity to say good-bye to your cohort, let alone any friends you may have made in other cohorts, and even worse, there’s no opportunity to say good-bye to your community, or pack up what ever of your belongings you want to take with you.

I was medically separated on January 4, 2020. I was medically evacuated a week or so prior. I lived in the infirmary at Peace Corps Head Quarters in Kigali for 36 days. I left my little house on the corner on November 17, thinking I’d return in just over a week thanks to a Peace Corps training. But I never did return owing that to an injury suffered while at said training.

However, I already had Peace Corps vacation plans for the month of February so upon arriving back in the US, I did my laundry, organized my stuff, and prepared for returning to Rwanda [I KNOW!], this time not as a Peace Corps Volunteer, but as a private citizen with a still somewhat banged-up leg. I arrived to Kigali on January 22, spent the night in Kigali, shot down to Butare and hung out with friends. Made my way to Nyungwe National Forest… which was just as amazing as I thought it would be. Then I scooted up the coast of Lake Kive to Kibuye and Gisenyi, did some hiking on the Congo-Nile trail, crossed over into the DRC, scooted over to Musanze, made a run for the border and made my way to the ‘Equator’ sign in Uganda, and had a short but memorable safari at Akagera National Park. Finally it was onward to Kigali once again for the originally scheduled flight back to America.

So to recap: GSP–>ATL–>BRU–>KIG–>[11 days in Rwanda + 2 days in Uganda]–>AMS [7 hour layover in Amsterdam where I went out and explored the city]–>WAS–>GSP and in a month’s time I’ll go GSP–>WAS–>PAR–> LON–>ATL–>GSP. 6 weeks of a true whirl-wind exploring parts of Rwanda, the Netherlands, France, and England.

So what’s next?: After my injury, I did some contingency planning and applied to a couple of grad school programs. I just found out that I’ve been accepted to at least one of them. Starting tomorrow, I am back to work at the same job I was at before leaving for the Peace Corps [I’m not sad about that; I loved working there and my co-workers]. I still need some time to process everything that has happened in the last 9 months, but one day I hope to be able to look back on my time with the Peace Corps as a positive time where I did my best to help the people of the community of Mbazi. That time is not today, but I think with time, it will come.

Readjusting After Medical Separation

February 23, 2020 Elle Advice (that you probably shouldn't follow) Peace Corps

There’s a long version and a short version of what happened.

Short story: I was medically separated from the Peace Corps on January 4, 2020 after being evacuated on December 23, 2019. I was shipped out of the country just before the government shutdown started. PC’s theory was, and it seems plausible, that the impending government shutdown would impede my departure if we waited until the official required separation date. Only 3 people in the USA knew I was coming home which allowed for surprise reunions with some of my favorite people.

The kidless were glad I was back in the USA

Long Story:

On November 19, I was walking to meet some fellow volunteers at a restaurant, and tripped and fell on some rocks lining the sidewalks. I stumbled, almost regained my balance, but couldn’t and resigned myself to falling. I fell. It hurt. I didn’t rip my jeans so I thought everything would be OK… a bruise, but nothing major.

I was wrong. So very wrong.

I managed to make it to the restaurant, but I could feel my leg swelling rapidly. Another volunteer was headed back to our hotel so he and I walked back together. I cleaned the wound the best I could with the materials I had, and talked to one of my friends and told her to come check on me in the morning because I was concerned that I might not be able to walk.

The next morning I could walk, but my leg was definitely swollen. I sent a quick text to the PCMO who was scheduled to be at training later that morning anyway. It read something like ‘I fell last night and have some significant swelling in my left leg. I can bear weight, but walking in painful.’ NBD.

Later that day, the PCMO thought that I should have x-rays even though she didn’t think anything was broken.

And she was right… Nothing was broken, but I had a ‘soft-tissue injury’. I was put on ‘conservative therapy’ ie leg immobilization and bed rest for a few days. The prognosis: I’d be back to normal within a few days.

The truth was I never left med hold until I was leaving the country. I never expected a ‘bruise’ to be a injury Peace Corps’ couldn’t handle. I never expected to be medically separated for a bruise. A few days turned into a week and a week turned into three weeks. After three weeks, still having difficulty ambulating, I had to push the PCMO to order a MRI on my leg. I finally got the MRI on December 17, had a consultation with an orthopedist on December 18, and began physical therapy on December 19. All of this happened after I insisted on consultation with the other PCMO. And then the decision was made to send me back to the US on December 22 after only 3 PT sessions. I’m not sure if the PCMO took umbridge with someone questioning her medical decisions or what, but despite making progress in PT, it was decided that Peace Corps’ could no longer treat my injury in country.

Moto riding and leg injuries are mutually exclusive

I figured I’d have to get used to American English, flush toilets, driving, and winter, among other things. I’ve heard about how much harder ‘reverse culture shock’ is from regular culture shock. The the readjustment to fast-pace American life is a much more difficult transition than the transition to rural ‘African’ life. But I was prepared for that. As far as American life goes, my pace is much slower than the average American. I live in rural South Carolina and while it’s not quite the same as rural Rwanda, there are a lot of similarities. What I was not prepared for was dealing with medical separation during a ‘partial’ government shutdown; I was sent out of the country where I was receiving adequate treatment to a country [my own] where I’m unable to receive medical treatment because of a pissing contest between the two major parties of the American government.

Long-term med hold sucks

You see, medical evacuation and separation is fiercely different than a typical COS, or even an ET. Most PCVs have weeks or months to wrap up projects, pack, and say goodbye. I had two hours. Most end their service with world travel. I ended mine with uncertainty. Most PCVs get to prepare for life in the States again, looking for jobs and finding a place to live. I was on a plane 36 hours after they determined I would be leaving for good.

I had no idea the emotional toll of all this. I was prepared to serve as a health volunteer to the best of my ability for the entire 27 months. Despite the difficulties [Newsflash: Peace Corps service is hard]. Despite the hardship. [It‘s not the spotty electricity or the non-potable water; its the overwhelming loneliness that will get you.] And despite any other difficulties that may have popped up.

Rather than simply dealing with life back in the States, I have had to deal with being torn away from my job, my home, [not]mycat, and my friends, then be sent back to friends and family who just can’t understand it all. Because you can’t understand it unless you’ve been through it.

I’m still readjusting. Every. Single. Day. Some days I still feel homesickness for my life in Rwanda. Not every day, but more days than not. My guess is the longer I am here [in America], the less I’ll miss Rwanda.

I know my life has been fundamentally changed through my experience with the Peace Corps. I know some things will never be as they were before I left. I have changed. But in some ways, I am still transitioning back. It’s taken longer than I ever thought it would.

PC Besties for life reunited in DC

February 9, 2020 Elle #HistoryNerd Peace Corps

Peace Corps’ friends are a different breed of friends. They start out as government issued friends. Over time and sometimes due to proximity, they become lifelines. Meet-ups in the local regional hub when you just can’t handle village life anymore–PC bestie is there. WhatsApp calls for speaking in English when the 8-hour time difference to the US means friends and family back home are always doing something else when I have free time. Additionally, no one quite understands Peace Corps life like other PCVs.

I think it was the universe talking when I got medically separated and my PC bestie also got medically separated–not quite at the same time, but pretty close together. So imagine my delight when our schedules lined up just perfectly for me to spend a few days in DC with him before heading back to ‘Rwanda’.

We explored various cultural eats… Mexican street tacos, Vietnamese pho, Laotian samplers, authentic Chinese, and American Brunch. So many noms that aren’t available in my tiny South Carolina hamlet are available everywhere in DC.

I, of course, did some touristy things and explored the popular spots such s the Lincoln Memorial

Hit up some of the FREE museums such as Smithsonian, the Botanical Garden, and a little known one of the National Parks and Forrest Service where I got to meet my hero, Smokey Bear and his side kick Woodsy Owl. I even got Smokey’s business card.

Next steps

I took care of some close of service and medical separation paperwork at the DC Peace Corps’ headquarters. On one hand, I’m *slightly* disappointed that my Peace Corps’ service ended early. However, I felt my time on site was largely ineffective. As my village’s 5th PC volunteer in 10 years, there wasn’t a lot for me to do. Mbazi’s 1st volunteer showed up in 2008. Several building projects later, PCVs (meaning me) were kind of looked as a walking bank account. I wrote a grant for the health center. The Ministry of Health funded that so that’s cool. But when comparing myself to schools and water pipelines, a penile circumcision grant wasn’t really all that special.

But alas, my PC service is over. My besties completed his service too so it’s time to figure out what’s next. But before all that, I’ll head to continental Europe in the form of Paris and London with my mom. We’re shipping out on February 26 and headed back on March 12. It’s her first time and I’m excited to show her some of the things I’ve seen in my last 10+ years of travel.

Things I don’t miss about the village: Muzungu

February 2, 2020 Elle Peace Corps

This may not be the most politically correct post I’ve written. If you are easily offended, you’ve been warned.

Back when I worked in the hospitals, occasionally some misguided soul would yell out ‘hey, respiratory,’ as I walked by. I’d continue to walk on by. And then the misguided soul would continue ‘hey, I’m talking to you’.. I’d feigned innocence, and say ‘oh you’re talking to me? I had no idea.’ and the conversation would continue with ‘I called your name’. Here’s where I’d get all passive-aggressive aggressive and say ‘No, you yelled ‘respiratory.’. That’ not my name; it’s my job title. You want me, you yell my name. It’s Michelle, in case you don’t know. I don’t answer to respiratory.’ Most people only did that once, and the ones who did it more than once were assholes.

Something similar happens in Rwanda [and Uganda. And Tanzania. And Madagascar. And I imagine every other African country where foreigners aren’t common] every.damn.day and it irks me to no end.

In Rwanda, especially Rwandan villages, white people are not common. And should you happen to be white, it’s assumed that you are French [or Belgium] both because Belgium was the motherland–the former colonial power, and most foreigners in fact speak French. When I lived in Mexico, people though I was from Spain. And when I lived in Moscow, people thought I was English. And when I traveled throughout South America, it was back to being from Spain. And let’s be honest, even in America no one ever really thinks I’m from South Carolina upon first meeting me. So, it’s not that people not knowing where I’m from that’s bothersome, it’s not that someone is essentially calling me ‘white foreigner’ bothers me, it’s the fact that no one calls me by my name or even a local version of my name that bothers me.

In Rwanda, it’s ‘hey look at what that muzungu is doing‘ and it’s essentially like saying ‘hey, look at that nigger [or wetback or chinc or whatever other ethnic derogatory term one can come up with].’ It’s not as if they don’t know that calling someone ‘muzungu’ is being offensive because Every.Single.Volunteer.Ever has told them some form of ‘hey, that’s not nice’.

So, the greeting that most people give a white person is “bonjour muzungu”. Or, they call out to you “ Muzungu!” And I just keep on walking. Some PCVs think the term “muzungu” is insulting. To some it is–because it means that everyone is being grouped together with all other white foreigners simply based on our skin color. I really don’t care that they are calling me white, pink, or purple. For me, it’s the simple thing that if I take the time and effort to learn their name, they should do the same. After all, there are many, many more Rwandan people in town for me to learn their names; and I am the only white person in town so learning Michelle or Mishel or even a Rwandan version of Michelle should not be that hard.

Huye Mountain coffee was one of my favorite places in my district. They never called me Muzungu

PCVs work hard to integrate in the local communities, and so being called ‘muzungu’ means that people don’t understand what I’m doing here and why I’m different. I am always reminding people that I’m not a tourist and I’m here to help. After all, if I were a ‘muzungu’ like they usually see, why would I be studying Kinyarwanda? I wouldn’t be; I’d be paying someone to fetch my water, do my laundry, and shop for and cook for me. Yet, I do all these things, often alongside of my neighbors.

The thing is, I know that for kids here, it’s hard to wrap their heads around the fact that there could even be a foreigner who isn’t French. To many of them, it’s ingrained in their heads from an early age that any time you see a white person, they are a muzungu, and you say to them “bonjour muzungu”. [As a side note they also seem to pick up the phrase “Donne-moi de l’argent” or ‘Give me money’ fairly young, too, because I get that a lot. Did someone tell them that demanding money impolitely in French or English and holding out their hand actually works?

And sometimes, just to fuck with them because I’m wired like that, I’ll speak to them in Spanish or German or Spanish-Russian and they stare at me like I have three heads, and I go on about my business ignoring them because as I’ve mentioned before, I’m not French nor do I speak it.]

I’ve seen, on multiple occasions, mothers teaching their babies the word “muzungu” by pointing at me. Depending on my mood, I’ll kindly inform them that no, my name is not “muzungu”. It’s Michelle, or I’ll roll my eyes and walk away. These days I get especially frustrated by it because even though I live in a larger village, you’d think word would have spread somewhat that the white woman who walks around carrying a funny looking helmet, who shops in the market, and fetches her own water is American and in fact does not speak a lick of French.

As much as it bothers me to be called ‘muzungu’, I’d be remiss if I didn’t comment on what life is like here for Asian- and African-American volunteers. To start, for many Rwandan village people it’s unfathomable that someone could be American but not look white. African-Americans often get the assumption that they’re Rwandan (which can be a good thing). However, when they say they’re American, people still ask “no, but where are you from?”. The fact that you could be dark-skinned but be from America is hard for a lot of people to wrap their head around here.

It’s similar for Asian-American volunteers, who are unfortunately subject to the type of comments [you have slant-y eyes] that would be considered horribly rude and offensive back home. Here are just simple commentary– not meant as an insult, just an observation. So volunteers who are American but not Caucasian have a different set of challenges to overcome.

So, the ‘muzungu’ issue is something that will continue to be a challenge for me much like ignorant co-workers calling me ‘hey, respiratory’. I always hoped that I wound cease to be a novelty. I know that I’ll never stop getting called ‘muzungu’. Some days it affects me more than others. Somedays I can turn these situations into ‘teaching opportunities’. Opportunities to teach people about what I am doing here, why health matters, why washing hands is important, why checking babies’ weight is a big deal, and how I’m different.

And, that my name is Michelle, not ‘muzungu’.

Things I do and do not miss about village life

January 19, 2020 Elle Peace Corps Travel

A List of Things I Do and Don’t Miss about village life

long commutes (my Rwanda house is less than a five minute walk to the health center; my SC house is a 40 minute drive to the hospital)
sitting in front of a computer at a desk all day for work
housing prices (so much sadness and makes me miss my Rwanda house)
stark boundaries drawn between work and home/social life (I almost never see patients from the hospital outside the hospital)
bringing work home with you (I do not do hospital work at home, but I did so much PC work away from the hospital)
dating apps are pure hell (I don’t use them in either country)
shopping *all the time* (market shopping sucks the life out me, but so does Target and Publix)
spending money (I don’t spend a ton in the village, but stepping out of my SC house costs like $100)
Lines–(I don’t like to queue, but I appreciate the fact the North America and Europe respects the queue. Rwanda generally does not but is at least better than a lot of other countries)
$12 salads (need I say more)
South Carolina’s crumbling, antiquated transportation infrastructure (made worse by Hurricane Helene)
not using the metric system (come on, America)
FOMO (The Fear Of Missing Out)
Parking (and driving)
“Keeping up with the Jones'” mentality
waking up really late (I like getting up at 6am now??
being afraid of active shooters
holidays centered on getting drunk [ 4th of July, cinco de mayo…]
watching the news all the time [blissfully unaware is sometimes ideal]
tipping
really rude strangers [oh wait, that’s everywhere]
people putting 120% into their job/work/career
American xenophobia
paying off student loans
American drinking culture
Traffic
driving my car
driving my car *with a good playlist*
cooking [yes, I know I can cook here, and I do. But it’s definitely not the same]
restaurant service/hospitality
the thing your cat does when you get home at the end of the day

Don’t all cats jump on your car to welcome you home, or that just Pete?

really good food
National parks, state parks, county park, city park [Don’t take the US park system for granted, people]
food shopping [yes, really. Trader Joe’s, Whole Foods, farmers markets… so much better than markets
my friends
wearing active sportswear when you’re not working out
bagels, burritos, hummus pretzels , pizza, tacos,
not being stared at *all the time*
not being asked for photos
being understood or being able to articulate myself
the coldness in the air when summer turns to fall
leaves turning in the fall
wearing a coat and scarf
Yoga studios
Camping
Museums
having people over
being close to the beach

Things I Won’t Miss About the Village: Lack of Anonymity

January 12, 2020 Elle Peace Corps Wanderlust

Small town life

I have lived most of my life in South Carolina [other states include North Carolina, Virginia, and Tennessee] — a state with roughly 5 million people in it, and just prior to departure, I moved back to the area I grew up in. The town I currently reside in has approximately 800 people in it, and yet I still have my anonymity.

I blend in mostly due to my race [it’s all either black or white] or my speech [I do have quite the southern accent when I let my guard down]. I’ve been putting purple streaks in my hair for a few years, but it’s so subtle that no one hardly notices until I am in the sun or under a light. I enjoy my peace and quiet–I have three sets of neighbors within a mile radius and a hay field across the street. It’s a quiet, somewhat predictable life.

Even with brightly colored hair, I blend in whilst in London.

Living in a small town creates lots of privacy, but little anonymity. If you’re not careful, everyone will know your business. You can’t cry in public or curse at anyone because chances are, you’ll see these people again. Even if you don’t want to.

There’s no clubs for dancing or bars for drinking in my little town, and only two of what we call restaurants. Being seen at one of these becomes fodder for gossip especially if anything untoward happens.

Despite all that, I blended in. Mostly.

I blend in at work–even whilst wearing my pediatric-centric tops.

Village Life

I’ve spent the past year [plus] living in a village even smaller than my town, speaking a language that I’ll never speak again once I leave the country. Despite knowing all about small town life, in this village, I am the other. I’m different because of my skin tone, much, much lighter than anyone else’s. I’m different because of my accent–my tendency to speak Spanish not French when I can’t think of a word in Kinyarwanda. Traveling to other countries also makes me different. My American passport makes me different. I’m different because I’m unmarried and childless. Most of my village peers are both married and are mothers. I’m different because I have no real desire ever have kids. My short, but fast growing, soft hair makes me different.

Even among my fellow Peace Corps volunteers, I’m different because I’m older than most, but not yet at that “I’m retired; I think I’ll go join the Peace Corps stage.” I’m at an age where friends are having babies left and right. Some are getting divorced and some are getting married. Again.

Any of these would have set me apart. In combination, they ensured I would never be completely able to blend in… never enjoy the anonymity I love. It’s not the first time I’ve been a visible minority, but it was the first time I’d been one for such an extended period [and it gave me newfound respect for people who are “The Other” for their entire lives].

Even before I landed in Rwanda, I suspected that would have to change something, but I don’t think I fully anticipated the degree to which it would. I went from a mostly anonymous local to instant celebrity in a matter of days. It was strange, and I hated it. I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to blend in with the crowd, and here I was–on display for everyone to see. I felt eyes on me all of the time. I carefully considered every word that dropped from my mouth. Actions required thoughts before I did them.

Rwanda village life

I learned that in Rwanda people will frankly comment on your physical appearance as a matter of course, and for me, that was a constant reminder of my paleness, my size, the strangeness of my straight, short [mostly] brown hair, my lack of makeup, my choice of dress.

To integrate into my community, I had to eschew anonymity. I hid certain parts of myself. I hid the me that sometimes liked to dye my hair strange colors. The IDGAF vibe I sometime give off–put away–for now. As a Peace Corps Volunteer, I was always myself, just a different version of myself from before. In my village, I will always be Mishel. Mishel never wore anything cut higher than her knees. More often Mishel wore pants. Every woman wears skirts in the village. Mishel never, not once, drank alcohol, despite its availability. She always waved, smiled, and greeted people appropriately according to the time of day. Mishel never flirted with men. Rejected those who flirted with her, never cursed, and never went out after dark.

I might be making this sound like play-acting, and it was and it wasn’t. We all play roles over the course of our lives. Mine was true to myself and consciously chosen. I realized that one of the deepest impacts I could make in my community was to be a role model to young people who needed one desperately. At times it felt exhausting and overwhelming, a weight of watchfulness and potential gossip I shouldered daily.

I am back in the USA for now, most likely for good. I am back to blending in when I want to, and being noticed when I want as well. It’s one of the odd parts of service that people do not talk about too much–the readjustment period. To be honest, it hasn’t been that difficult. I have adjusted well to flushing toilets, comfortable beds, and running, potable water. Driving myself around to wherever I need to be is a lot easier than waiting for a Moto. I’ve adjusted well to having indoor kitty cats again. I’ve adjusted well to not haggling over every little thing I want to buy. The grocery store is still a bit intimidating. But in all fairness, it was intimidating before I moved to rural Rwanda.

Musical accompaniment provided by Frankel’s Anonymity is the New Fame

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