The New Guy

When it comes to work, I don’t like being the new guy and detest learning the ropes.  I very much prefer being the friendly and wise sage-like senior staff member who makes the new guy feel right at home.  I like when co-workers bounce ideas off me and come to me for advice.  I like knowing how to work the finicky and ancient coffee machine.  I like knowing everyone’s name.  As such, changing careers and accepting a job closer to Antarctica than to my mother’s house and agreeing to function in a language that I don’t speak has presented a handful of personal challenges.  These personal discomforts, separate from the weird bug bite/missing the flavor of cheddar cheese sort of discomfort, I doubt will ever fully disappear.  They have, though, started to feel a bit more comfortable.

Recently, someone suggested to me that in Paraguay, the days crawl, but the months fly by.  Seeing how swiftly October snuck up on us, I couldn’t agree more.  It’s odd to think that we’ve been residents of our town for over two months.  We’ve gone from strangers to strange neighbors and those projects which felt so far away at the beginning of August have started to emerge. 

Some newly christened volunteers receive assignments where they have a clear objective from the day they step foot in site.  Occasionally communities, especially those where a new volunteer takes a site over from a previous PCV, have active projects where they slip into pre-ordained roles upon arrival.  Other communities have never heard of the Peace Corps or met anyone from the United States.  In these cases, the volunteer constantly has to explain themselves and the PC. 

We all face different challenges.  The volunteer who walks in the front door with a clear idea of his or her future work, may spend the next two years in constant comparison to the previous volunteer- an especially harrowing (or at least annoying) situation when that previous volunteer married someone from the area.  (PC Paraguay has one of the highest rates of volunteers marrying other volunteers or host country nationals of any PC post in the world.)  Volunteers who struggle with work may integrate well into their communities personally.  However frustrated over failed projects, they leave having formed deeper bonds and relationships than they initially expected possible.

Our area, though not unfamiliar with the Peace Corps, has not seen a volunteer in almost a decade.  Some of our neighbors remember these volunteers fondly and kindly associate us with them.  Other people think we’re spies.  Community leaders request volunteers through a lengthy application process.  Usually, these folks have a firm grasp on the PC experience.  The rest of the community, generally, does not. 

Although we did not walk into any active projects, our community already had a number of long term goals which (supposedly) our training should enable us to assist with.  Still though, walking into a new place charged with the task of supporting something intangible- building civic participation in youth, for example- feels overwhelming.  In many ways we interview for the job with every conversation we have- except that we don’t bring our resumes door to door to talk about the weather.  We both fully accept that we will get nowhere before our community places a certain amount of trust in us, our abilities, and our mission.  (And yes, a childless married couple does arouse suspicion.)

Our site presentation helped.  Representatives from the central office came to our town and shared the goals and mission of PC with over sixty of our neighbors.  Our bosses also used this opportunity to explain how they match volunteers with communities.  No, the US government didn’t just send two random Yankees and assumed they would do well simply by virtue of birthright.  We were asked to join this community because Kevin and I have specific skills that compliment the long term goals of the populace.  I know we have something to share and I feel exceptionally fortunate that many leaders within our community listened to the presentation and have since approached us to collaborate on plans.

However, I knew before we even arrived in Paraguay that I would take with me far more than I could ever leave.  I guess, though, I didn’t expect to feel quite so lost.  Please don’t confuse this with sadness or distress.  I love it here and feel happy most of the time.  There are just some days where I have no idea what’s going on or where things will lead.  It’s like right before a blind date.  Your friend promises so and so is great and you two will hit it off smashingly.  The couple days leading up to the big night, butterflies flutter through your stomach and daydreams fill with “what ifs”.  Except that mix of nervous excitement is every day of my life.  Like blind dates, some days go well.  Some even turn into something wonderful.  Other days go horribly, terribly wrong.  And despite the direction the evening goes, a story forms and we remember something for next time.

Any press is good press...

Peace Corps spends a lot of time talking about expectations.  From the first inquiry, applicants, then nominees, then invitees, then trainees receive the same advice: lose your expectations.  We gathered loads of other advice too, but this particular piece Kevin and I chose to internalize.  While our potential placement moved through every continent where Peace Corps serves, we both felt relief that we conscientiously elected to keep an open mind and refuse to create fantasies surrounding our future service.  As we begin to settle into the town that we’ll make our home for the next two years, I realize that we could have never dreamed up a situation like the one we now live in.  I haven’t had to worry about our assignment meeting my expectations, but I never had any.  I never felt let down, because I didn’t know what to expect.  So far, we have met a series of wonderful (and sometimes wonderfully strange) surprises.

However helpful I have found this piece of advice, I should have meditated on the following addendum a little longer as well: lose your expectations for privacy.  Coming into this I knew that the privacy I have come to love, cherish, and savor in Chicago would disappear as soon as we arrived.  More precisely, I knew this intellectually, but I didn’t even come close to understanding.  Personal space: gone.  Personal time: extremely limited.  Personal information: everywhere.

Before arriving in site, Peace Corps volunteers receive instruction to spend their first three months getting to know their community.  In place of projects and traditional work activities, volunteers take the time to get to know their neighbors and assess the needs and wants of the populace.  I admit that, as someone who finds meeting new people utterly exhausting, I approached this task with some dread.  After stressing myself out with pep talks and running through introductory scenarios in my head, we threw ourselves into the deep end.  And, of course, all my fears faded as we made our way through the town.  I had built up the process of meeting our new neighbors into an unachievable feat, when really we just needed to put ourselves out there.  Our success, however, had little to do with our sparkling personalities and natural ease.  Really, we have our lack of privacy to thank.  Meet one person and the whole town knows you.

When I hobble through town on my big man’s crutches, I stand out.  I mean really stand out.  In an oddly positive turn of events, people will come out to the street to say hello and ask to hear the story from the source.  And I can’t get away with a simple, “I fell.”  This turns into Where did you fall?  In the shower.  I don’t understand how you hurt your heel in shower.  Didn’t you hurt your butt, too?  No, I when I slipped my one leg turned under me.  How does that happen?  I was washing my feet at the time.  And now I get to mime the whole messy thing out.  At least- as long as I use the crutches- no one expects me to get back into the splits.  This happens every time.  Every time. 

In Paraguay, lack of privacy extends beyond gossip, too.  This past week I started physical therapy in the next town over.  During my second appointment, I shared the room with another patient.  While she stripped down to her skivvies, she approached my table and asked me all about how I ended up needing treatment.  Notice I did not mention a screen or partition.*  She actually made eye contact a few times as she undressed in front of me.  As she started her treatment, she explained to me that she has a problem in her abdomen.  She went on the chronicle the ages, occupations, and current locations of each of her five children, the health of her mother, and how she was married but her husband ran off with a younger woman and now they have two kids but she and he never got a divorce so she’s still his wife but she’s done with him anyway.  At this moment, a conflict arises.  On the one hand, I would not have interest in hearing this story even if the storyteller had her pants on.  On the other hand, I felt pretty pleased with myself for understanding her entire sorted tale.  After about fifteen minutes, I welcomed a break from the banter and we both drifted off as sounds of the neighbor’s barking dogs and heavy cumbia beats wafted in through an open window.  Don’t worry- we both have eight more appointments.  Surely we’ll have the opportunity to chat some more.

So, here’s to two years without secrets, but at least understanding the gossip we create.

***My physical therapist’s office, though under construction, looks very similar to set-ups I have seen in the States.  Since this visit, a partition between the beds has gone up.  I have, however, the utmost confidence that this story would have played out exactly the same way with or without a six foot long three-quarter wall dividing us.