What has the world come to?
I’ve been reflecting on the past year a lot. I was talking to a coworker recently whose close friend had returned from serving in the Peace Corps in the spring of 2005, a few months before I left for Cape Verde. When asked recently if her experience was a good one or a bad one, my coworker’s friend said, “It wasn’t a good experience, and it wasn’t a bad experience. It was just an experience.” And I know exactly what she means. Although I would characterize my Peace Corps experience as a positive one and something I would do all over again, I still feel conflicted about so many things. I still feel anger and outrage and frustration and guilt and sadness, along with the excitement and exuberance and amazement and joy. I remember how amazing it felt to dance in a sea of throbbing drums, how full my heart felt when I was surrounded by my homestay kids from Sao Domingos, how exhilarated I felt at the sight of the lush, vibrantly green mountains during the rainy season. And I remember how enraged I felt almost every single day at school, the unadulterated hatred I felt when entire classes blatantly cheated on their exams, when students refused to do their work day after day, when they played their GameBoys under their desks, listened to their mp3 players, locked everyone out of class, talked back to me, mocked me, gave me the finger, and repeatedly communicated their utter disdain of learning English or having me as a teacher.
I also remember the students who showed up every day, the ones who raced to complete their class exercises, the ones who legitimately excelled on their tests, the ones who actually wanted to learn English. Maria dos Anjos, Felinto, Fernando, Domingas, Jessica, Angela, Romila, Laurinda, Ana Isabel, Alzira, Nareida, Zigue. I used to think about what it would be like to take these students, this handful out of two hundred, to a library and let them roam for hours. These kids had so much potential. And they still do. They’re still excellent students, and they’re still going to do well regardless of whether or not I was there to teach them a year of ninth-grade English. I wish I could’ve known them longer and better and taught them more. But I couldn’t, and that’s okay. I knew that the best thing for me to do was to remove myself from the overall unbearable teaching environment that I was in. I was starting to unravel mentally, emotionally, and physically, and I knew that if I didn’t get out of that situation, things would get very bad. And that is why my blood still boils when I think about Peace Corps’ response to my decision to early terminate my service: “It’s too bad we are thinking about ourself [sic].” I couldn’t believe it then, and I still can’t believe it now. If anything solidified my belief that Peace Corps administration cares more about its image and its bottom line than about its volunteers, it was that single statement. I was told that I would be leaving my students to suffer and that I should reconsider my decision. When I explained why I felt I needed to leave, another Peace Corps administrator and two school administrators were then instructed to make me change my mind, regardless of my reasoning or explanation or simple desire to leave. I spent several days arguing with those in charge, and although I felt as if things were respectfully resolved in the end between most everyone involved, I still cannot think about the end of my Peace Corps experience without a tinge of bitterness.
I still don’t regret going to Cape Verde for anything. I still would do it all over again. And I still fully believe in my decision to come home when I did. Was it a good experience? Was it a bad experience? I can’t filter the whole thing down to such a black-and-white description. It was simply an experience.
