Clouds of Bricks

Looking back at old photographs and videos I’ve saved on Snapchat in the past has reminded me just how much my entire life has changed in one year. On the 9th of August 2016 my parents drove me to John Wayne Airport for my 4am flight to Peace Corps Staging in Houston, Texas. On the 10th of August 2016 I arrived in Managua, Nicaragua with around 40 other bright-eyed, courageous, and determined individuals. Tonight, one year later, as I sit at my desk, in my sun-worn plastic chair, my 6 week-old puppy uses my right arm as a pillow. The year that flashes by in those photos and videos seems simultaneously so long and so incredibly short.

If I really take the time to think about everything that’s happened, I start to wonder how I even got to the one-year mark. I have to admit that May 2017 was the most miserable and angsty month of my 23 years of existence. Nothing seemed to be going right. Nothing seemed to be happening. The entire month felt like a year in itself. I spent more days in bed doing nothing but waiting for the day to be over more times than I can count. I cried everywhere, in the city, on the bus ride back to town, in the shower, on my bed, while I ate the food my host mom prepared me, and while I talked to friends about how nothing was happening in my life as a volunteer. It may seem a bit dramatic, but this month was absolute misery. There were a lot of reasons everything felt so wrong, but what most weighed on me was that for the first time in my life I felt like I was failing.

First off, people I was meant to be working alongside with wanted nothing to do with me in the workplace. It often felt like as a young female I wasn't respected and despite my best efforts was ignored by certain colleagues. I’m young so I can’t possibly have anything of value to add during lesson planning or in the classroom. And I’m a female, so what must I know about working in a vegetable garden or working with compost? At work specifically, I spent 6 months trying to convince some of the more hesitant people to work alongside me and share our cultures. I spoke to them about the benefits Peace Corps Volunteers bring to the classroom, and they eventually agreed to collaborate. But when time came for us to prepare a lesson, or for me to give a presentation, they’d canceled on me without telling me. They’d not answer my texts or calls. They’d then give me a cold shoulder, but make vague promises that we could try again. It was startling and frustrating to say the least. Not only had this school requested a volunteer, they had been briefed repeatedly by my program staff before I ever even arrived to Nicaragua. I couldn't understand what was going on. By May, month four of this ridiculous back and forth, I was done. I stopped trying.

One person in particular, who is usually a volunteers main source of support in their community, seemed to have no interest in my being there and at times, appeared to actively undercut my work. Peace Corps volunteer success depends on almost entirely on our local counterparts, especially if any work is to be sustainable. Without support from the community, I knew that nothing meaningful could really be achieved.

Hence the intense feelings of failure and confusion that overwhelmed me last May. I had never experienced anything like it before. The explicit machismo, people judging my abilities based on my sex. If it had happened in the past, at least no one had never been so blatant about it. I had never felt so useless and unwanted. I had never experienced such failure at my job. I had never not been able to accomplish what I set out to do. One of my friends captured the experience so well. She said, “We put in 100% of the effort, but usually only end up with 30% of the final product.” Because no matter how much effort you put into planning and executing anything, and no matter how many scenarios you prepare for, nothing ever turns out like it’s meant to. Nothing is successful, at least not in the way Americans are used to thinking of success.

Two things happened in June. First, May was finally over despite it dragging on for eons. And most importantly, I flew home for my brother’s high school graduation. Though I did think it was important to be present for that, the truth was that I needed to get away from everything in Nicaragua. The more I tried to fix my professional relationships (or lack thereof) with certain people, the worse they seemed to become, and the more hopeless and frustrated I felt. I needed an escape before I lost my mind and said things or acted in ways I knew I’d regret.

But after vacation, I came back stronger than before and determined to change my current situation. Well, at least that’s how I felt for about a week. Because one week of being back was all it took for people to remind me that nothing had changed. July us when I began to think back to all of our medical training during PST. We had been told we had access to counseling if we needed it for our mental health and I started to think it was time to reach out for some help. At first, I was unsure if seeing a psychologist was a step in the right direction. What I did know though was that I couldn’t continue allowing myself to feel so miserable. Talking to my fellow PCV friends always helped a little. I would regain perspective: Everyone is having trouble with their projects too, no big deal. Doesn’t really matter, it can’t get worse. But it was when I was alone that my conscious began eating away at me, reminding me of how much I wasn’t doing. How much I felt like a failure because of my work.

My anger and frustration left me feeling impotent. On top of that a different problem continued lurking in the background. Young men catcalling me in the evening irritated me. But when a group of young men began yelling at me to, “Espeak Espanish, no Ingles, pinche gringa,” and “fuck you, gringa” as I walked by them, I was filled with fright. There is also something extra creepy about men using my name around town in their catcalls. Knowing they went the extra length to find out what my name is, and then hearing it come out of their mouths leaves me feeling nauseous every time. When another man on the bus pushed himself closer and closer to me until his arm laid over mine, flashing his imperfect smile on his sun-worn face only inches away from my own I was furious, but ultimately left powerless to act in self defense. I stayed quiet; afraid I’d make a fool of myself on the yellow public school bus that travels to my site. With a population of less than 2,000 people, my town always seems to know everyone’s drama. And if I had said something right there and then, on the quiet bus, people would have heard about it, no doubt. It was either contain myself or burst with rage. I thought ignoring him and waiting for everyone to exist the bus before I did would be the solution to avoiding him, but I was wrong. There he was, 2 feet away from the bus, waiting for me as I walked down the steps and through the door. This time he called out to me, clearly his confidence had grown now that we weren’t completely surrounded by others. “No me hables, no me mires, no me toques!” I yelled at him. These acts by men that are so unaware of personal boundaries and respect for people, only added on to what I was already facing in my work environment.

In total, it took 3 months for me to let go of whatever pride I had, pick up my white and red chiclero, and dial the Peace Corps medical office to talk to a doctor about getting counseling. I was so ashamed of the little progress I had made and feared looking like a failure to my sector and medical staff that I had put off getting help for so long. The day I finally went to Managua for help left me emotionally drained and with puffy red eyes that burned when I blinked. Finally being honest and open about my emotions and every moment that had irritated me to tears for the past half year with the people that helped me that day (the doctor, counselor, and our assistant country director) left me weightless. My feelings were validated, my situation was understood, and I was reassured that I wasn’t to blame. I was told time and time again that I wasn’t a failure. The cloud of bricks that seemed to follow me atop my head and shoulders wherever I went were removed from my being.

Some of those bricks still exist, but now Im using them to build a set of steps that are helping me get to where I need to be. With the help of our wonderful staff, I’m learning that it’s okay to work with what I was given. Some volunteers are partnered with local counterparts that are super motivated and ready to work with volunteers, others manage to motivate their counterparts, and some have to work around what they were given and make the most of a not-so-great situation.

In the past couple of weeks my life has taken an unforeseen turn for the better. Thanks to the encouragement of sector staff and their guidance, I’ve found new counterparts that are excited and motivated to work with me, work on a school garden, and start a tree nursery. They’ve welcomed me into their school and classroom with open arms. The generosity and curiosity of the Nicaraguan people hasn’t ceased to amaze me.

I have learned many new things about myself and the world during my first year of Peace Corps service. Im so grateful that one thing Im starting to understand is the importance of mental health and the power (not shame) of reaching out to others for help. I am not a failure, and when I stop to examine this past year, I can see that more clearly. With the support of my staff, I’m no longer focusing on all the negative circumstances that come my way. Im learning that even when one unfortunate thing happens, a greater more positive experience diminishes its negativity. And no matter what happens, my puppy Pua will always be in my arms at the end of the day to shower me with love and cuddles.

A look at the last couple of months since my last post