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

Happy Peace Corps Day

March 1, 2021 Elle Travel

I bet you didn’t even know there was such a thing, did you? I didn’t, at least not until I was actually a PCV.

The beginnings

On this day, 60 years ago, John F. Kennedy established the Peace Corps. All over the world Peace Corps staff and Volunteers celebrate March 1st as Peace Corps Day.

My official start day with Peace Corps was June 4, 2018. The question I get the most is –What is Peace Corps’ Life like?

To be honest, some days drag on forever. I’m convinced that I’m living life in a time warp where time moves in reverse. But surprisingly, the weeks move rather quickly. Often when I’m bogged down in a day, I think to myself ‘just get through the day and it’s one step closer to COS’. Then it’s Friday, and I’m amazed at how quickly the week has passed.

As it turns out, despite the fact that I have a lot of skills, even life-saving skills, these are not necessarily the skills the Peace Corps’ wants nor are they the skills my community wants. Peace Corps’ or at least Peace Corps’ Rwanda is transitioning from the ‘strong backs’ building projects to the PC buzz ward of ‘capacity building.’ However, in a community that has had previous volunteers [at least one since PC returned to Rwanda] build things, many can’t get past the fact that I’m not going to be participating in any building projects which is somewhat ironic considering I spent my time at home ‘building things’]

I applied to Peace Corps because I wanted to be a PCV. If that seems simple, it’s because it is. PCVs are a special breed of people. There is no other organization that does what we do and lives how we live. It’s challenging, and it’s awesome, but sometimes it sucks. I’m awesome for enduring the ‘sucky’ parts when I know I have a complete life waiting for me in America.

Reflections

I’d be more modest, but it’s Peace Corps Day and I’m a PCV even if I am not actively serving. So let me reflect on my life as a Volunteer.

Little by little, I learned another language and spoke it on a daily basis [a language that I’ll most likely never speak again, but still]. I brought new ideas into a rural community. I taught basic first aid to school children and their teachers. I’ve helped combat childhood malnutrition, and a host of other childhood diseases. I made amazing friends. On a more introspective note, I learned to be more patient and to think critically when things did not go as planned [and things rarely go as planned]. I integrated into a new culture, took on new customs, and ate food I never knew existed. In the Peace Corps, I lived a completely different life, and how many people can say they’ve done that? I’m a new person, really. I even changed my name to fit in. It was so damn hard in the beginning, but the Peace Corps wouldn’t be the Peace Corps if it was comfortable or easy.

Next Steps

Oh, and did I mention that I applied for grad school while in the Peace Corps? Because I did. It’s not easy to study for the GRE from underneath a mosquito net while mentally blocking out the screeching of the roosters or the moo-ing of cows, and with the electricity cutting in and out. Or prepare oneself for said program by learning all the ‘common’ medical things’ I’ve forgotten while I’m here. But I did it. One day at a time.

And even more exciting is that I got accepted to a graduate program in a field I am truly interested in.

To be honest, I haven’t done much to celebrate today. After all, I don’t feel much like a PCV these days. Today Iwoke up late with the kitties snuggled by my side. I did a load of laundry in the machine. I went out for pizza with American friends. We drove around the city in my car. I spoke exclusively in English.

Being a Peace Corps Volunteer is something that I wanted to do for a long time. I am glad I did it, but I’m also glad it’s over.

Finally Peace Corps Volunteers at last. My best PC friend and me–at our swearing in ceremony in August.
photo credit Kerong Kelly

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

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 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

Leaving Early

December 22, 2019 Elle Peace Corps

Despite the title, I want to reassure everyone that as of today, December 22nf I am still IN the Peace Corps, and have no immediate plans to leave. Although this could change at the whim of the US Government, I could be heading home via airplane at any given moment. Just know that as of now, I am still in Rwanda, and I HAVE NOT left the Peace Corps. But now is as good of a time as any other for information about how one does in fact leave the Peace Corps.

After getting reassigned to Rwanda, my mantra was “It’s not prison. I can leave whenever I want.” Perhaps this is surprising to some who thought that maybe, while not prison, the Peace Corps was kind of like the army, where getting out is hard. It is not. If I want out, I’m on a plane back to the USA within a few days. I think.

But before we delve into how one leaves the Peace Corps let’s back up: Most people imagine that one leaves the village, tearfully, after serving 27 months [in actuality it’s about 23-25 months], in which the village has erected a permanent [at least for the duration of the remaining tenure in said village] shrine to said volunteer. There is a ceremony of sorts where the volunteer is gifted some local [but often meaningless] trinket, and the volunteer cries and promises to come back after some period of time.

THIS IS A MYTH. FAIRY TALE. WISHFUL THINKING… Although in some [very few] cases it could/does happen like this; the truth is more complicated and there are lots of ways people leave. Here are the main ones:

Close of Service: The “normal” way. In PC | Rwanda Health cohorts, COS conference occurs in March, and actual COS can occur anytime between June and August. This conference occurs 21 months after having arrived in country. The reason for this is the month of April is an official/unofficial month of mourning for the entire country and at the government level NOTHING is scheduled or gets accomplished. So March it is. Everyone remaining from your original cohort gathers for a final conference to discuss reentry into post-Peace Corps life. You get information about what your post Peace Corps benefits will be [a months’ worth of medical coverage, a bit of “re-settlement” money that should fund a security deposit on a place to live and if you’re lucky dinner and a movie]. You decide if you want Peace Corps to buy you a ticket back home or if you want cash in lieu so you can travel on your own or find a cheaper ticket and pocket the extra cash. Then people head back to their sites for a final two months or so and, regardless shrines and trinkets, say goodbye to their communities. There are exceptions of course. Some get permission to leave up to six weeks early if they have a pressing reason–job, grad school. Conversely, some attend the conference but aren’t leaving: they’re extending service for six to twelve months to finish up a project or start a new one; or they married a local and decided to settle here.

Leaving early, you say. I don’t think so–Sadie Mae, probably

Administrative Separation: “Admin Sep” happens when you screw up and get caught breaking the rules. There are big rule breaks like possession of, buying of, and selling of drugs or leaving the country without permission ‘ie crossing into the Congo just because‘, but it can technically happen for relatively minor violations of PC policy like riding a moto without the PC approved helmet or traveling [to the next town or even your banking town] without telling the Peace Corps where you are going. Depending on the rule(s) you break, you might get booted right away or be put on a Corrective Action Plan and then booted after several offenses.
Medical Separation: “Med Sep” is when a volunteer gets sick/injured in a way that can’t/shouldn’t be dealt with in country. Sometimes it’s automatic but sometimes you and the medical staff have a longer conversation about the pros and cons. No one from our cohort has been med sep’ped yet, but if things keep heading in the direction they are heading, I might be the first. Sometimes it’s an automatic thing and sometimes much deliberation is required. I guess I’m in the much deliberation required category as here it is almost four weeks after the original injury and I’m still in limbo.

Early Termination: ET’ing is probably the most common way to leave early. Why just leave? Maybe Peace Corps just isn’t for you. Maybe you need a little more direction in your work activities. Maybe you need a little less harassment [sexual or otherwise in you life]. Maybe you’ve decided that pizza is the true love one for you. There’s a million reasons, most of which you don’t figure out till you’re actually here. Maybe the mismatch is with PC or maybe it’s with the specific country you’ve been sent to. Who knows? I do know it happens all the time and it’s okay. It’s not easy to go from one of the most privileged societies the world has ever known to living in developing nation. Despite beliefs to the contrary you’re not on vacation and the daily stress of living in a new culture shouldn’t be underestimated. You might also ET because stuff happens at home that makes you rethink your commitment. Or maybe something bad happens here. You’re going along fine but then get robbed and no longer feel safe in your community. A site change is possible but ultimately you might think “Screw it. The pay’s not high enough to put up with PTSD.”Or you could ET for positive stuff. Like you got a kick-ass job or accepted into your dream university for grad school. Basically, I’ve heard a lot of different stories. What leads one person to ET leads another to shrug and keep going. If you do decide to leave, PC generally pulls you out pretty quickly and you’re home within a week.
Interruption of Service/Evacuation: Sometimes civil war breaks out in a host country. Sometimes the U.S. makes foreign policy decisions that are unpopular in a host country and Peace Corps thinks they should move volunteers out of country while things cool off. Sometimes Ebola breaks out and PC decides for the safety of all to evacuate the country. Or the methane deposits under lake Kivu decide to explode. Ideally this doesn’t happen a lot. But it does happen. For the record, if they evacuate Rwanda for civil unrest or Ebola, my time in the Peace Corps is just over. I don’t see myself signing up for a new 27 months somewhere else. I recently heard that the Interruption of Service can be given for a few other reasons as well like if your spouse is Med Seped and you want to join him/her at home. These different labels matter because they relate to your post-PC status, benefits you might accrue, and how easy it is to rejoin the Peace Corps at a later date, etc.
Crazy combinations of things: Oh the stories I have heard. Any and all of the above can combine in ways that you would not expect. A low-level stomach upset has been plaguing you for months. Your best friend has a baby while you are away. Your best friend here in the PC gets mugged which makes you feel unsafe even though nothing happened to you. And while none of these things by itself is enough to send you home, you start to think maybe sticking it out isn’t that important. So you ET or you ask PC to med sep you and they agree or they give you some other label that sends you home with some other status that I’ve never heard of. And depending on when in your service you leave and what label they stick on you, you may or may not still be able to claim the label of RPCV.

In the end, PC loses a lot of volunteers every year. I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing. The process to get into the PC is long and involved and while I am sure there is always room for improvement, it’s not like they just let anyone in and then shrug it off if it doesn’t work out. I do think that sometimes the PC probably manipulates its drop out rate to make it seem lower–which is not helpful to anyone involved.

By the numbers: Medical

December 15, 2019 Elle Peace Corps

1: # of x-rays taken

2: # of MRI’s taken [one of my head and one of my leg]; also number of instances I’ve been on med hold.

3: # of weeks I was on ibuprofen for the pain; 189 number of tablets actually taken during those three week. 0 number of times it helped.

7: # of visitors from my cohort who visited my while in med hold… I also had visitors from ED 8, ED 9, and ED 10 in addition to Health 9.

30%: Percent of ‘functionality’ I have in my left leg at my first physical therapy appointment

33: # days on med hold before

*** *** ***

it just a few scratches

What’s Next?

The short answer is : Nobody Knows!!! Basically I’m living in the great state of limbo. Which I hate.

The long answer is a bit more complicated that that, and since I have no actual answers, it’s pure speculation on anyone’s part.

Mr Wendel

June 16, 2019 Elle Featured Post Peace Corps

On the surface Mr Wendel actually has nothing to do with this post. However that is one of the first songs I remember hearing played on the radio, It’s all about poverty. In the US. Not some rural village in Rwanda.

Wealthy

When I worked my last shift at the hospital on June 2, 2018, I didn’t have a sudden feeling of insecurity when I pulled out of the parking lot around 7:30 because I was suddenly unemployed. Even though I knew I was choosing poverty, it didn’t hit me then. That came about a month later when my first disbursement was paid to me… in cash. 47,000 Rwandan Francs (about $50) which was to be enough for two weeks of living with my host family in Rwamagana.

A lot of that 47000 RWF was spent at the Rwamagana market on lunch and supplementing breakfast and dinner.

As I pulled out of the parking lot for the last time I mentally calculated how long this last American paycheck would last in Rwanda. Having this money in the bank allowed me mentally prepare myself for the poverty to come It was measured in months, not days like in the USA. The cost of living is significantly less and my expenses are less too, but my income is much, much less as well. My monthly living allowance in Rwanda was nearly equivalent to ONE 8 hour shift at the hospital–without any shift differentials. I knew that by choosing to join the Peace Corps’, I’d be choosing poverty.

Then Not

Much like in the US, I spend a lot of my Rwandan income on food. But instead of going to restaurants, I’m going to the markets. I’m what I call a ‘Village Vegetarian.’ Meat products are too expensive and too raw to consume. I occasionally buy UHT shelf-stable milk in 500ml bags, but other than that, no dairy. Eggs are pricey (proportionally) 100RWF each, and I walk a lot to avoid paying 500RWF (or more!) for short moto rides. These little relatively small amounts are what we call being ‘nickel and dimed to death’. On their own, it won’t break me, but added up, over time, my monthly Peace Corps income diminishes rapidly.

Rwandan pool days keep me sane. Even if the water is made of icicles.

Budgeting

Just like being in the US, you learn to cut corners. What is necessary vs what will be nice to have. A nice push broom with a long handle vs a standard Rwandan sweep broom. For example, imagine something breaks. Let’s say a handle on a bucket. Some big and some small. Back home I would have just gone out and bought one the next day. But here, it’s not so simple. If I buy a bucket then I have to cut out something different, likely a more luxurious food item like potato chips or apples. When a hole developed in my favorite skirt because the laundry detergent is really that strong, I had to do without.. Because having one made would cost about 20,000 RWF, and 20,000 RWF is equivalent to my food budget for the week.

This may sound alarming to you, and sometimes it is to me too. Rwanda is in transition from a third world (or subsistence) country to a second-world (or middle-income) country. Village life is still quite cheap. If I never took a moto, walked everywhere I needed to go, only bought the ten items sold in our local market, I could live like a king, but alas, escaping the prying eyes of village life is as much of a necessity to me as apples. Thus, I escape to Huye every chance I get.

And while Huye is not Kigali, it is not cheap. Food costs more. Motos cost more. There’s a swimming pool (two actually), and hotels with decent (read fast) wi-fi that one can hook up to and surf the net to one’s heart’s content as long as you buy Something. And for me that’s usually a Fanta Citron.

A fancy coffee milkshake… while tasty, quite expensive on a Peace Corps’ budget

Choosing Poverty

It is easy for it to be about me every day. Worrying about what I can and can’t buy. Worrying if I am eating healthy enough. It has no importance when I compare myself to my community members. Because this is a choice for me. (And I also get care packages containing vital amounts of protein in the forms of American peanut butter and tuna fish). When I took the oath to be a Peace Corps volunteer, I knew that for the duration of my service that I would select to live below a means that I have been accustomed to my entire life. And that when that time is over, I will walk out of poverty and back into (relative) luxury–real luxury compared to my Rwandan neighbors and co-workers.

I won’t have to work hard for that to happen. I have a furnished house and driveable car waiting for me upon my return. I’m almost certain I can return to the same job I had before I left as soon as I set foot on American soil. I will go back to working in the hospital for 30-40 hours a week and in that amount of time make more than my Rwandan neighbors make in a year. I will still have more than 100 hours of ‘leisure’ time each week. Time where I will not have to do back breaking manual labor such as washing clothes by hand or dig in the the hard Rwanda red clay with hand tools.

If I do laundry, it will be in a machine with the accompanying dryer. Dirty dishes will also be done by a machine. If I work in the garden, it will be a choice–a stress reliever–not as a means of survival. I won the citizenship lottery just because I was born where I was born. My neighbors in Rwanda cannot even comprehend the level of freedom I have.

The 1%

We don’t realize in America that being the 99% (as in the not exorbitantly wealthy 1% of Americans) still puts us in the 1%. In comparison to the rest of the world, we all all rich. We don’t see how even a lower-middle class lifestyle is so excessively over the top as compared to how billions of other people are living. And it is hard for me to wrap my brain around it even after living in the midst of the 99% here in my village. Even with my modest little Peace Corps living allowance, I am in the top 10% in my community.

What I have in my American savings accounts is more than what most people in my village will make in a decade or two. To them, wealth is having a concrete floor or land for a cow (and a cow). To us, it’s having 3+ bedrooms and a corresponding number of bathrooms. Wealth is marble or granite countertops and a 2+ car garage. It’s fancy electronics and that extends into the bedroom with the advent of adjustable base beds. Here, even having a mattress signifies wealth. And even though RwandaFoam is a company that boasts of its quality mattresses the fact is its foam flattens out in about six months. Here, I am wealthy because I can afford a 47,000RWF mattress just for me. I am wealthy because I alone live in a two room house.

I chose to join the Peace Corps and move to rural Rwanda. According to the numerical standards used in the US, I live below the poverty line. Poverty is a choice for me. I used to feel ambivalent about my ‘friends’ protests and rage about being the 99% in America. Now I am pissed off by it. It exposes our lack of exposure to the rest of the world and the conditions they live in. The real 99%.

What does this mean for you? I don’t know. I’m not saying everyone should choose poverty. I am not that you should feel guilty or motivated to take drastic action. I am sharing how amazing I think it is that I chose when to be poor and when to stop being poor—relevant to the rest of the world. What does this mean for me? It means I won’t ever take my choice for granted. Because to me, that is the respectful thing to do after I thrust myself out of poverty.

Shout out to Arrested Development’s Mr Wendel for this post’s title. As a side note, this was one of the first CDs I ever bought.

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