I'm quickly approaching two months since I came home from my various travels. In that time, I've been applying to grad schools (a slow and arduous process), freaking out on a regular schedule of give or take once a week, and taking a few classes at my old alma mater, Wabash College.
I've been auditing two classes that I hope will help me get into grad school, but that isn't the sole reason that I'm here. I'm taking Microeconomics because just about every graduate school seems to require it in order to even be considered for a Master's in International Affairs. That was the primary reason I joined the class, but as the semester has gone on, I find myself more and more interested by what I'm learning. It's not so much the graphs and the technical aspects of excel, those I actually barely understand at all. (That's what happens when you take two or three years away from a computer. Things like Excel begin to look even more foreign than when you left.) Instead, I'm more interested in the analytic aspects of economics. I love the calculus behind it. I love the attempt to understand people through their subconscious, everyday habits. My old days as a math team member are coming back to me in the calculus part of it. Back in the day, we went four years without a loss; we pretty much dominated. But economics is more than simply math. Sure it's a social science, but it's also a guide to philosophy and life. Why do people make the decisions that they make? Why does history show us some civilizations succeeding and taking on new technologies while others lag behind? A lot of the time it comes down to an economic argument. Individuals know where their best interests lie, and it helps to explain why the question I saw in development, "Why aren't you doing it our way?" is better asked, "Why do you do it your way?" It's a subtle distinction, but one that's important for understanding different cultures and realizing the adaptability and ingenuity that make humanity amazing. It's a way of looking at the world not through our own personal egoism, but of honestly questioning another person's beliefs to reinforce or change your own.
It's maybe a bit of a deep thought for a basic economics course, but I've found that now that I've been away from academia for a bit, I'm more interested in why we study what we study. I'm taking another class about ethnic conflict and genocide, and because of my intense interest, I just pour myself into the readings. I've noticed though that other students don't. In both classes I'm taking, students fall asleep, don't do the reading, or don't try to fully understand why we're studying what we're studying.
I wonder if I was like this as a student. When I attended Wabash, I occasionally skipped readings, and I'm sure I fell asleep in a class or two. I didn't know how any of this knowledge was going to affect me outside of my own personal growth, and let's face it, personal growth can sometimes take a back seat during a reading of Aristotle. I had no clue what I wanted to do after I finished my undergraduate degree. I was there because it was expected of me. It's nearly impossible to find a job without a degree anymore, and in this increased demand for a degree of any kind, undergraduate education has become sort of like a continuation of secondary school. Sure you're a little more specialized, but you don't have any real idea why you're there other than to keep your "future" on track.
Now that I have a very clear idea of what I want to do, I am so much more focused in class than I have ever been at any other time of my life. I came into the semester four weeks behind the other students. In that time I had a lot of catching up to do, and I did it. It took me a solid week to get through all the readings in Ethnic Conflict, which is taught as a high-level political science course. In those first few weeks, I was basically teaching myself Microeconomics from a book, but I'm pretty sure I got most of it down. But what surprises me is that hardly any of the other students seem to have the same focus. I've been quite confused at times when a class suddenly seems to double in the few days running up to a major test. Where were all these other people, and why haven't they been coming to class?
I don't mean to make Wabash sound like the students are just completely uninvolved or lazy. They aren't. Wabash men make some of the most insightful points and ask some of the best questions I've ever heard from a kid born after 1990 (which is still kind of freaking me out, thinking about that age gap). But like students everywhere, they beg for extra credit, complain that something "wasn't on the study guide for the test," or whine that "there's too much work." I find myself on the side of the professor in all of these complaints. The reading is right there, you have it in your hands. The test isn't trying to trick you, it's just there to assess how much you've been paying attention. If you've read the articles and are interested in the material, your only complaint should be that you had so much more to say in a limited amount of time.
I guess I've got it pretty easy though as an older student. Now that I know what I want to do, what I want to study, and most importantly, why I want to learn what I want to learn, it makes it much easier to buckle down and get to it. I'm interested in what I'm learning. Even if a class is boring, I know that I'll need that information to make some other bigger step in the future. But so many of these students aren't like that. I know I wasn't back then. Maybe part of the reason that young adults seem to need a new age category, something between adolescence and adulthood, is that continued education has become almost a requirement at this stage of American development. A student is often shuttled from high school directly to undergraduate without any real-life experience. Uplifted from his/her parent's house to a dorm, a student doesn't have any better idea of how the world works or what they want their place to be within it. I guess I'm now a proponent of taking a gap year like so many Europeans do, taking time off to gain some experience or travel a bit, see and do new things. I wish I had taken one, but in retrospect, attending a liberal arts college like Wabash didn't hurt too much. I had no idea what I wanted to do, so why not get a little taste of everything? But I was a kid. I'd never even held a real job. It doesn't seem like we really enter adulthood until we start to have real responsibilities, and we don't get those until we finish undergrad, and by then, we're saddled with thousands of dollars of debt and little idea of what happens next. We've been taken care of and sheltered by institutions for our entire lives. Maybe it's time to stop asking young adults to act like their parents if we aren't ever going to expose them to the realities and responsibilities the world asks of it's citizens.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Teenage Idiots
I substitute taught today at my former high school. It’s a little extra cash while I’m at home, and the work isn’t too bad. But wow, can it take you back. I’m beginning to feel a distinct gulf between my 18 years growing up in rural Indiana and the seven years I’ve been away at college and in the Peace Corps. This is how my Dad must feel when my brother and I can’t remember watching Soupy Sales as kids. The kids in these high school classes were all born after 1990. In fact, they were all born after 1992, and it’s so difficult for me to conceive of that. I was already in second grade when these kids were born. I remember when the first Toy Story came out. It was in 1995. Think about how long ago that was.
It’s funny to observe these students and compare them to representative television high school dramas. Maybe it’s just the ratings, or maybe it’s the fact that I grew up in some patch of corn in the middle of nowhere, but high school kids aren’t that exciting. Instead, to my outside eyes, they all seem so innocent and naïve. Maybe I’m just projecting my own reality on them, the person I was a decade ago.
Wow, a kid just asked another, “Did you ever see the movie Space Jam?” I think, “Like that’s a movie you have to ask about?” I didn’t know anyone who hadn’t seen Space Jam when I was a kid. Hasn’t everyone seen Space Jam? Evidently, Space Jam has gone the way of Soupy Sales.
Whoa. Stop. Things haven’t got that bad yet.
Going back to school has definitely played into the time warp head trauma of living at home. High school is one of those places you shouldn’t ever have to step foot in again once you’ve left. I wasn’t one of those who were desperately in love with high school. I was quite willing to leave it all behind, the sooner the better.
I think one of the reasons is because I never really fit in to the machismo that’s inherent in high school boys. It’s funny to see it here from a position of authority. There’s an easily identifiable jockeying for position among these guys. It’s an opportunity to be stupid, challenge for position, question authority, and maybe get the attention of one of the cuter girls. It’s kind of like watching the chimps at the zoo.
It actually reminds me a lot of Niger. The one group that I didn’t really spend a lot of time with was the teenage boys. They were the biggest pain in the ass in the entire village. It was the same kind of stuff too. They hung out in groups, cocksure but really not all that confident, the act of immaturity and bravado without that much power. Teenage girls didn’t fall into the typical categories. The typical girl in Niger is married by fourteen and pregnant by sixteen. They’re forced into maturity rather quickly. The guys, on the other hand, usually have to make something of their futures before they can marry. They need to have property of their own to afford a wife, so they’ll usually keep farming the fields or go off to the coast to look for work.
It was always marriage that put the clamps down on these young guys. As soon as they found a wife, they settled down and became respectable members of society. You could hang out with them, play cards, talk about the weather just like the old men, but until they hit that age, they were the most infuriating trial of the day.
It’s amazing to watch the transformation. I feel like it must be something to do with the relationship with elders in a community. In Niger, a man isn’t a man until he’s married. Believe me, I heard this a lot. “You’re not married? But you’re 25? You must not have a penis.” Unmarried men were not yet adults, but they obviously weren’t still children. The gap of adolescence is much smaller in Niger, so men above the age of sixteen fall into this strange gap where they have no real identity in society. They’re no longer dependent, but they’re not really a productive, contributing individual. Men, I wouldn’t say regress, but I can’t think of too many other terms for it. It becomes their own little social circle, subject to its own power struggles but still subservient to the elders in society.
Is it like that with American boys? I remember high school as kind of a, well I shouldn’t write it, but it involves a bunch of guys and a circle. Among the guys (and I’m sure among the girls as well, I don’t know, I wasn’t part of that circle) there was more posturing than personality, more stupidity than substance. I never fit into that, and I still don’t when there are guys of that age about. I don’t think I ever grew into or out of it. I found my own group of friends and tried to ignore the stupidity at large. Of course, we as high school boys still did stupid things, but we kept it in check and didn’t try to dominate others. Must be something with the hormones; whatever we did, we needed an outlet for idiocy.
I might write more about this later, but honestly, I’m not that in to reliving my past, as least not the parts that I’ve tried to leave behind. Just another reason to break out of this box…
It’s funny to observe these students and compare them to representative television high school dramas. Maybe it’s just the ratings, or maybe it’s the fact that I grew up in some patch of corn in the middle of nowhere, but high school kids aren’t that exciting. Instead, to my outside eyes, they all seem so innocent and naïve. Maybe I’m just projecting my own reality on them, the person I was a decade ago.
Wow, a kid just asked another, “Did you ever see the movie Space Jam?” I think, “Like that’s a movie you have to ask about?” I didn’t know anyone who hadn’t seen Space Jam when I was a kid. Hasn’t everyone seen Space Jam? Evidently, Space Jam has gone the way of Soupy Sales.
Whoa. Stop. Things haven’t got that bad yet.
Going back to school has definitely played into the time warp head trauma of living at home. High school is one of those places you shouldn’t ever have to step foot in again once you’ve left. I wasn’t one of those who were desperately in love with high school. I was quite willing to leave it all behind, the sooner the better.
I think one of the reasons is because I never really fit in to the machismo that’s inherent in high school boys. It’s funny to see it here from a position of authority. There’s an easily identifiable jockeying for position among these guys. It’s an opportunity to be stupid, challenge for position, question authority, and maybe get the attention of one of the cuter girls. It’s kind of like watching the chimps at the zoo.
It actually reminds me a lot of Niger. The one group that I didn’t really spend a lot of time with was the teenage boys. They were the biggest pain in the ass in the entire village. It was the same kind of stuff too. They hung out in groups, cocksure but really not all that confident, the act of immaturity and bravado without that much power. Teenage girls didn’t fall into the typical categories. The typical girl in Niger is married by fourteen and pregnant by sixteen. They’re forced into maturity rather quickly. The guys, on the other hand, usually have to make something of their futures before they can marry. They need to have property of their own to afford a wife, so they’ll usually keep farming the fields or go off to the coast to look for work.
It was always marriage that put the clamps down on these young guys. As soon as they found a wife, they settled down and became respectable members of society. You could hang out with them, play cards, talk about the weather just like the old men, but until they hit that age, they were the most infuriating trial of the day.
It’s amazing to watch the transformation. I feel like it must be something to do with the relationship with elders in a community. In Niger, a man isn’t a man until he’s married. Believe me, I heard this a lot. “You’re not married? But you’re 25? You must not have a penis.” Unmarried men were not yet adults, but they obviously weren’t still children. The gap of adolescence is much smaller in Niger, so men above the age of sixteen fall into this strange gap where they have no real identity in society. They’re no longer dependent, but they’re not really a productive, contributing individual. Men, I wouldn’t say regress, but I can’t think of too many other terms for it. It becomes their own little social circle, subject to its own power struggles but still subservient to the elders in society.
Is it like that with American boys? I remember high school as kind of a, well I shouldn’t write it, but it involves a bunch of guys and a circle. Among the guys (and I’m sure among the girls as well, I don’t know, I wasn’t part of that circle) there was more posturing than personality, more stupidity than substance. I never fit into that, and I still don’t when there are guys of that age about. I don’t think I ever grew into or out of it. I found my own group of friends and tried to ignore the stupidity at large. Of course, we as high school boys still did stupid things, but we kept it in check and didn’t try to dominate others. Must be something with the hormones; whatever we did, we needed an outlet for idiocy.
I might write more about this later, but honestly, I’m not that in to reliving my past, as least not the parts that I’ve tried to leave behind. Just another reason to break out of this box…
Monday, October 18, 2010
Underwhelmed
It's been nearly two months since I came back from my various travels and my time in Africa. The cultural readjustment hasn't been as bad as I thought it would be mostly, I think, due to my long, winding road home. However, now I'm faced with the difficulties of living in a place so closely associated with my past and a person with whom I no longer identify.
That person is the old me, and I guess I shouldn't say that I no longer identify with him. It's very difficult for me to be sedentary. Before I left for Africa, I used to get restless, but I could usually distract myself in some way through television or video games, etc. Now, I can't bring myself to take hold of these former distractions. Living without them for nearly three years, I've forgotten how to live with them. As a result, my days have opened up considerably. Filling all those extra hours is the new challenge.
One would think that this is a good thing, and in many ways, it is. I can focus on really grinding through work for the classes I'm taking, buckle down on grad school applications, and get a little light reading and writing done in the spare time in between. However, the reality is that too much free time allows my brain to run wild.
I've had a lot of experience being completely overwhelmed by external forces. My senior year in undergrad, I applied for dean's permission to take six classes, two of which were senior capstone courses, one was a directing class that took up all my time both spare and the time I should have used for basic necessities like bathing, sleeping, and eating. I developed an eye twitch for the month we were in production, but I still somehow managed to walk away from that semester intact. I believed if I could survive that, I could survive anything. The momentum from that semester carried me through comprehensive exams and a double distinction. In Niger, I faced evacuations, dysentery, culture shock, corruption, and any number of other x factors with quite a bit of stress but no lasting side effects (caused by stress anyway, I'm sure the parasites left their mark). Again, if I could survive that, I could survive anything.
The point is that I can handle pressure very well. In fact, I thrive under pressure. It forces me to allocate my resources and really push myself to succeed. What I'm beginning to learn at home, however, is that I cannot handle the feeling of being surrounded by options but without any clear goal of how to take advantage of them. I feel like I'm completely underwhelmed at home, like I've just done all these things, reached the end of the road, and now I'm faced with a variety of paths but no clear idea of where any of them lead. It's frustrating, but worse, it throws my brain into overdrive trying to work out all the details of my options. My mind thrives on possibilities, gorging itself on them like a kid with too many sweets, and as one would expect, consuming too many sweets will eventually make one sick.
I've always overanalyzed, but usually the crazy part of me is held in check by the need to make a decision in some manageable time frame. Now, without any set schedule or itinerary, and stuck at home where I don't have to worry too much about material matters, I feel like I'm just drifting. Time is passing by, I can feel it, but I don't feel like I'm getting any closer to anything I want to do. I feel trapped by an imagined cycle of "If I want this job, I need to do grad school, but in order to get into grad school, I need more experience in the field that I can't get into because I don't have the degree." My brain kicks in and I start thinking about things that have no bearing on my present (like whether I want to study in New York or London, living opportunities, how I'll afford either, what the volunteer opportunities are there, etc.). All of these are future hurdles that I'll have to jump when the time comes, but I can't seem to differentiate present concerns with future. As a result, everything seems more pressing than it is. I get into these moods where my brain just starts grinding and grinding like a computer processor running too many programs at once. It's so busy with all these other things that it can't run even the simplest of tasks without crashing horrifically. Eventually, it's going to burn out.
All this wouldn't be too awful if I had people, events, exciting things to distract me. I love my parents, but I can't get too excited by hanging out with them. I need some peers as well as parents, people who I can relate to, people who share my interests. Unfortunately, there aren't any around. It's part of the fact that rural America has had huge problems with brain drain for years now. There are no jobs, no opportunities for students who've really pushed and excelled throughout high school and college. The only young people that I know in my community are the burnouts, those who've gotten married young, those who are already through a kid or two. I don't mean to sound elitist in any way, but how can I identify with someone with whom I share almost nothing? Just because we went the the same high school, grew up in the same small town, it doesn't mean much. We were already moving apart from one another when they separated the accelerated math and english classes back in junior high. The only thing we share is a background, and that background is only shared by someone looking from the outside. Within the community you have all those stereotypical high school roles. I was a nerd. All the other nerds are gone; they're doing things with their lives outside of rural Indiana. A lot of the burnouts, the ones who used to give me hell because my mother was a teacher, are still here. But we took our separate paths long ago.
I start to go crazy when there aren't people around. I'm like a puppy. I need lots of attention, or at the very least, I need someone around who I can chat with almost non-stop. If I don't speak my mind, speak it out loud, the words get trapped inside my head, and coherent ideas become jumbled as they whirl around in such a tight space. If I'm not writing or speaking constantly when my brain shifts into these high energy periods, I'm paralyzed by hours and hours of confused thought. It's not quite an anxiety attack, but I guess that's about as close as you can get. I've figured that I'm not writing nearly enough these days, so this entry is an attempt to fix that and give anyone who's interested an idea into what the readjustment process has been like for me: namely, I've been overwhelmed by underwhelming circumstances.
That person is the old me, and I guess I shouldn't say that I no longer identify with him. It's very difficult for me to be sedentary. Before I left for Africa, I used to get restless, but I could usually distract myself in some way through television or video games, etc. Now, I can't bring myself to take hold of these former distractions. Living without them for nearly three years, I've forgotten how to live with them. As a result, my days have opened up considerably. Filling all those extra hours is the new challenge.
One would think that this is a good thing, and in many ways, it is. I can focus on really grinding through work for the classes I'm taking, buckle down on grad school applications, and get a little light reading and writing done in the spare time in between. However, the reality is that too much free time allows my brain to run wild.
I've had a lot of experience being completely overwhelmed by external forces. My senior year in undergrad, I applied for dean's permission to take six classes, two of which were senior capstone courses, one was a directing class that took up all my time both spare and the time I should have used for basic necessities like bathing, sleeping, and eating. I developed an eye twitch for the month we were in production, but I still somehow managed to walk away from that semester intact. I believed if I could survive that, I could survive anything. The momentum from that semester carried me through comprehensive exams and a double distinction. In Niger, I faced evacuations, dysentery, culture shock, corruption, and any number of other x factors with quite a bit of stress but no lasting side effects (caused by stress anyway, I'm sure the parasites left their mark). Again, if I could survive that, I could survive anything.
The point is that I can handle pressure very well. In fact, I thrive under pressure. It forces me to allocate my resources and really push myself to succeed. What I'm beginning to learn at home, however, is that I cannot handle the feeling of being surrounded by options but without any clear goal of how to take advantage of them. I feel like I'm completely underwhelmed at home, like I've just done all these things, reached the end of the road, and now I'm faced with a variety of paths but no clear idea of where any of them lead. It's frustrating, but worse, it throws my brain into overdrive trying to work out all the details of my options. My mind thrives on possibilities, gorging itself on them like a kid with too many sweets, and as one would expect, consuming too many sweets will eventually make one sick.
I've always overanalyzed, but usually the crazy part of me is held in check by the need to make a decision in some manageable time frame. Now, without any set schedule or itinerary, and stuck at home where I don't have to worry too much about material matters, I feel like I'm just drifting. Time is passing by, I can feel it, but I don't feel like I'm getting any closer to anything I want to do. I feel trapped by an imagined cycle of "If I want this job, I need to do grad school, but in order to get into grad school, I need more experience in the field that I can't get into because I don't have the degree." My brain kicks in and I start thinking about things that have no bearing on my present (like whether I want to study in New York or London, living opportunities, how I'll afford either, what the volunteer opportunities are there, etc.). All of these are future hurdles that I'll have to jump when the time comes, but I can't seem to differentiate present concerns with future. As a result, everything seems more pressing than it is. I get into these moods where my brain just starts grinding and grinding like a computer processor running too many programs at once. It's so busy with all these other things that it can't run even the simplest of tasks without crashing horrifically. Eventually, it's going to burn out.
All this wouldn't be too awful if I had people, events, exciting things to distract me. I love my parents, but I can't get too excited by hanging out with them. I need some peers as well as parents, people who I can relate to, people who share my interests. Unfortunately, there aren't any around. It's part of the fact that rural America has had huge problems with brain drain for years now. There are no jobs, no opportunities for students who've really pushed and excelled throughout high school and college. The only young people that I know in my community are the burnouts, those who've gotten married young, those who are already through a kid or two. I don't mean to sound elitist in any way, but how can I identify with someone with whom I share almost nothing? Just because we went the the same high school, grew up in the same small town, it doesn't mean much. We were already moving apart from one another when they separated the accelerated math and english classes back in junior high. The only thing we share is a background, and that background is only shared by someone looking from the outside. Within the community you have all those stereotypical high school roles. I was a nerd. All the other nerds are gone; they're doing things with their lives outside of rural Indiana. A lot of the burnouts, the ones who used to give me hell because my mother was a teacher, are still here. But we took our separate paths long ago.
I start to go crazy when there aren't people around. I'm like a puppy. I need lots of attention, or at the very least, I need someone around who I can chat with almost non-stop. If I don't speak my mind, speak it out loud, the words get trapped inside my head, and coherent ideas become jumbled as they whirl around in such a tight space. If I'm not writing or speaking constantly when my brain shifts into these high energy periods, I'm paralyzed by hours and hours of confused thought. It's not quite an anxiety attack, but I guess that's about as close as you can get. I've figured that I'm not writing nearly enough these days, so this entry is an attempt to fix that and give anyone who's interested an idea into what the readjustment process has been like for me: namely, I've been overwhelmed by underwhelming circumstances.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Turn and Face the Strange
What did you expect? I already had a post titled, "Changes," so I just needed to go along with the next part of the famous line by Bowie. Turning and facing the strange may be more of a commentary on America after three years gone, but in this case, the "Changes" will refer to me. It's interesting to see how other people look at you after such a long time away. When I returned home, I hadn't seen my parents in over two and a half years. When I left, I had just turned 23 and was setting off for something completely unknown. Until a few weeks earlier, I hadn't even heard of Niger. Now, at 25, having lived in this previously unknown country for two years, and traveling all of West Africa in the meantime, I'd returned to my home town, to my old house, to my old room, to my old bed.
The bed still squeaks. The house looks exactly the same. The room still has posters up from when I was in high school, and the town, well, there isn't much that can change on you in rural Indiana. But had I changed? Everyone said I looked taller. Did you grow? How tall are you now? Boy, they must have been feeding you good in Africa.
I don't really think they were. Was I taller? I still haven't measured myself properly since I've come home. Personally, I don't think I'm any taller. Don't we stop growing after a certain age? Hadn't I passed that age? Who would have been able to really tell me? My friends in Niger had never met me before January 2008, and we'd all grown together. Any obvious change in personality could be chalked up to Mefloquine, and any physical change, well, that could probably be attributed to any number of intestinal parasites or the recovery from said parasites:
"Wow, you look like hell."
"I have giardia and three types of intestinal worms previously unknown to science."
"Nice job, biological pioneer! You want a beer?"
"I'm not supposed to drink on these meds, but yes, yes I would love one."
"Hey! You look great!"
"I know! I just got rid of my tapeworm last week!"
I don't think I'm any taller. However, I think that once you've completed something arduous and personally challenging like the Peace Corps or any kind of voluntary service, you come back projecting a bit more confidence. As humble as I've tried to be, playing down living in another country, dealing with scorpions, snakes, heat, sandstorms, bush taxis, angry market mamas, internal parasites, mosquitoes, Mefloquine, corruption, disruption, terrorists, corruption, poverty, hunger, feeling blessed by smiles, song, children, tea, tradition, Tabaski, teaching, learning, sharing, speaking, and ten thousand other things that are impossible to relate to someone who's never experienced it, you project all these things and more. You've pushed through the bad, held onto the good, and it raises you up in some small way. My friends in London didn't notice a difference, but that's because they only knew me for a short amount of time, and that had been nearly four years ago. But my family, the people who had been with me from birth to toddling, running cross-country to running off and joining the Peace Corps, could tell that something was different. Something had grown, and the easiest way to chart that growth was through a possible increase in height.
It's hard for me to chart the changes myself. Leaving Niger, I left behind a whole group of people, less than 100, who know anything about my time in Africa. Now they're spread out all over the place, and I feel as if I'm a bit spread out with them. It's hard to go home, that's for sure, and I feel as if home is this disconnected place that doesn't even really apply to me anymore. Home will always be home, but I feel as if I've been transplanted here, and, like any other transplant, I feel a bit weak after being uprooted from my life as a traveler.
There are few in Carroll County, Indiana who have ever left the country. There are even fewer who have lived abroad for a significant amount of time in a developing country. I don't fault them that in any way, but it's difficult to connect with people. There are the rare ones who just have so many questions that the day becomes a blur as stories buzz through the air, but even with those who are most interested, I feel like I'm holding back. It's hard to know if telling the dysentery story is going too far. It's impossible to try to recreate a culture totally foreign to the listener without getting bogged down in ethnicity, history, and language, things that took me months to learn and be able to differentiate. Things that become common knowledge, words like "Maigari," "dala gu," and "solani," suddenly get blank stares. It's incredibly isolating, being unable to get into the heart of an experience. I often feel like I'm only skimming the surface of all that I would like or could say. But then I run up against a personal boundary of not wanting to be "that guy," the one who's always trying to dominate conversation with his experiences in Africa, the insufferable friend who keeps talking about poverty and hunger when all you want to do is order a pizza.
I guess what I have to learn, and what I've actually learned quite well as I moved through West Africa into Europe and back home, is that the experiences that I have will never leave me. They'll always be there, and every once in a while, I may be able to talk with a friend from Peace Corps and relive some of our shared experiences. Skype is great for that. But now that I'm away from Niger, it's kind of like that moment when you're a teenager, and it's time to put your old toys away. You keep them around for old time's sake, but you always kind of hope that you'll be able to bring them back out again. For now, I'm content cataloging my memories through my journals and blogs and hoping that I'll be able to relive them in the future and make new memories if I ever become a field worker for an international organization. It's not the exact same experience, but you need to mix it up every once in a while, right?
The bed still squeaks. The house looks exactly the same. The room still has posters up from when I was in high school, and the town, well, there isn't much that can change on you in rural Indiana. But had I changed? Everyone said I looked taller. Did you grow? How tall are you now? Boy, they must have been feeding you good in Africa.
I don't really think they were. Was I taller? I still haven't measured myself properly since I've come home. Personally, I don't think I'm any taller. Don't we stop growing after a certain age? Hadn't I passed that age? Who would have been able to really tell me? My friends in Niger had never met me before January 2008, and we'd all grown together. Any obvious change in personality could be chalked up to Mefloquine, and any physical change, well, that could probably be attributed to any number of intestinal parasites or the recovery from said parasites:
"Wow, you look like hell."
"I have giardia and three types of intestinal worms previously unknown to science."
"Nice job, biological pioneer! You want a beer?"
"I'm not supposed to drink on these meds, but yes, yes I would love one."
"Hey! You look great!"
"I know! I just got rid of my tapeworm last week!"
I don't think I'm any taller. However, I think that once you've completed something arduous and personally challenging like the Peace Corps or any kind of voluntary service, you come back projecting a bit more confidence. As humble as I've tried to be, playing down living in another country, dealing with scorpions, snakes, heat, sandstorms, bush taxis, angry market mamas, internal parasites, mosquitoes, Mefloquine, corruption, disruption, terrorists, corruption, poverty, hunger, feeling blessed by smiles, song, children, tea, tradition, Tabaski, teaching, learning, sharing, speaking, and ten thousand other things that are impossible to relate to someone who's never experienced it, you project all these things and more. You've pushed through the bad, held onto the good, and it raises you up in some small way. My friends in London didn't notice a difference, but that's because they only knew me for a short amount of time, and that had been nearly four years ago. But my family, the people who had been with me from birth to toddling, running cross-country to running off and joining the Peace Corps, could tell that something was different. Something had grown, and the easiest way to chart that growth was through a possible increase in height.
It's hard for me to chart the changes myself. Leaving Niger, I left behind a whole group of people, less than 100, who know anything about my time in Africa. Now they're spread out all over the place, and I feel as if I'm a bit spread out with them. It's hard to go home, that's for sure, and I feel as if home is this disconnected place that doesn't even really apply to me anymore. Home will always be home, but I feel as if I've been transplanted here, and, like any other transplant, I feel a bit weak after being uprooted from my life as a traveler.
There are few in Carroll County, Indiana who have ever left the country. There are even fewer who have lived abroad for a significant amount of time in a developing country. I don't fault them that in any way, but it's difficult to connect with people. There are the rare ones who just have so many questions that the day becomes a blur as stories buzz through the air, but even with those who are most interested, I feel like I'm holding back. It's hard to know if telling the dysentery story is going too far. It's impossible to try to recreate a culture totally foreign to the listener without getting bogged down in ethnicity, history, and language, things that took me months to learn and be able to differentiate. Things that become common knowledge, words like "Maigari," "dala gu," and "solani," suddenly get blank stares. It's incredibly isolating, being unable to get into the heart of an experience. I often feel like I'm only skimming the surface of all that I would like or could say. But then I run up against a personal boundary of not wanting to be "that guy," the one who's always trying to dominate conversation with his experiences in Africa, the insufferable friend who keeps talking about poverty and hunger when all you want to do is order a pizza.
I guess what I have to learn, and what I've actually learned quite well as I moved through West Africa into Europe and back home, is that the experiences that I have will never leave me. They'll always be there, and every once in a while, I may be able to talk with a friend from Peace Corps and relive some of our shared experiences. Skype is great for that. But now that I'm away from Niger, it's kind of like that moment when you're a teenager, and it's time to put your old toys away. You keep them around for old time's sake, but you always kind of hope that you'll be able to bring them back out again. For now, I'm content cataloging my memories through my journals and blogs and hoping that I'll be able to relive them in the future and make new memories if I ever become a field worker for an international organization. It's not the exact same experience, but you need to mix it up every once in a while, right?
Reboot and Underway
Alright, so I neglected this blog a bit when I went from Africa into Europe. I completely abandoned it when I returned to America, and that's probably the biggest shame of all. Because I've basically finished a story without an ending, and the thing I've realized being home is that this story probably doesn't have any kind of ending. The narrative arc tends to wind around on itself, and I don't know if it will ever come back to connect with the person I was when I left for Africa nearly three years ago now. I don't know if anyone will be interested, so I'll kind of be keeping this blog for myself now and for anyone else who is interested in how I've readjusted and recovered, with particular insight into how I've changed in my time away, how America has changed, and every once in a while, I'll try to recount a crazy story or two that I might have missed in my time without internet.
But for right now, a short update. I've been home since August 24th. I'm currently living at home (slowly losing the battle every day not to jump off the roof), auditing a couple classes at my alma mater, Wabash College. I'm applying for graduate school, limiting my choices to New York and London, because the path I've found for myself involves international human rights advocacy, and, let's face it, all the organizations I would want to work with (Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International, Global Witness, etc.) are all based out of these two cities. So I'm hoping I'll be able to intern/volunteer at one of these organizations while I'm studying. I'm applying for a master's program in human rights, and I hope to focus on human rights, international advocacy, corruption, gender, and post-conflict societies. It's a little broad at the moment, but that's the issue you face when you have too many interests. Really it's a human rights program, and within that I hope to focus primarily on corruption and post-conflict issues. But if there's one thing I've learned through my travels and the readings I've done since, it's that everything is tied up in everything else, so that liberal arts education really pays off when you start looking to connect the dots.
I'm also currently applying for a few jobs and looking to get away from home by the new year. I'm thinking of going international now, for all of several reasons that I may list in this blog at a later point. In the most concise terms, I've found it very difficult to be in America again after being away for so long. Plus, I want to travel more. I don't think anyone could have pegged me for wanderlust when I was a kid (I remember very definable boundaries that we never crossed, afraid that if we got too far from home we wouldn't be able to find our way back), but I've since been infected by the need to keep exploring and pushing my comfort zone, and I intend to follow that urge.
So that's all for now. Watch this space for updates from America and hopefully some insightful writing. It's one of the many things I'll be doing to keep some modicum of sanity while I'm living in a place I left so long ago.
But for right now, a short update. I've been home since August 24th. I'm currently living at home (slowly losing the battle every day not to jump off the roof), auditing a couple classes at my alma mater, Wabash College. I'm applying for graduate school, limiting my choices to New York and London, because the path I've found for myself involves international human rights advocacy, and, let's face it, all the organizations I would want to work with (Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International, Global Witness, etc.) are all based out of these two cities. So I'm hoping I'll be able to intern/volunteer at one of these organizations while I'm studying. I'm applying for a master's program in human rights, and I hope to focus on human rights, international advocacy, corruption, gender, and post-conflict societies. It's a little broad at the moment, but that's the issue you face when you have too many interests. Really it's a human rights program, and within that I hope to focus primarily on corruption and post-conflict issues. But if there's one thing I've learned through my travels and the readings I've done since, it's that everything is tied up in everything else, so that liberal arts education really pays off when you start looking to connect the dots.
I'm also currently applying for a few jobs and looking to get away from home by the new year. I'm thinking of going international now, for all of several reasons that I may list in this blog at a later point. In the most concise terms, I've found it very difficult to be in America again after being away for so long. Plus, I want to travel more. I don't think anyone could have pegged me for wanderlust when I was a kid (I remember very definable boundaries that we never crossed, afraid that if we got too far from home we wouldn't be able to find our way back), but I've since been infected by the need to keep exploring and pushing my comfort zone, and I intend to follow that urge.
So that's all for now. Watch this space for updates from America and hopefully some insightful writing. It's one of the many things I'll be doing to keep some modicum of sanity while I'm living in a place I left so long ago.
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