In fewer than 100 days I will complete my service as a Peace Corps volunteer. As the end of service becomes a more distinct point and not some abstract idea out on the horizon, I've taken to more reflection about what my time here has meant.
I've realized how much of my time has been defined by seemingly unsuccessful projects. Against a backdrop of my initial expectations for what I thought I could accomplish in my community, the results seem meager. Attempts at health education were met with confusion, attempts at organization with indifference. And in this context, I began my descent down the rabbit hole of self-discovery.
I began questioning myself, my efficacy, my world view. My optimism and overall mood ebbed and flowed. You come into the Peace Corps with this conglomerate image of the successes in the developing world and living the day-to-day felt a lot like finding out Santa Claus doesn't exist.
Much as the seven-year-old learns to define Christmas without St. Nick, I've learned how to define my time here as a success. My self-deprecation is unfair to everyone. It overshadows a reality of excited community members. In a culture buttressed by fatalism, I see hope. In an region still new to the idea of breaking from family groups, people are coming together to organize as a community around the common goal of bringing water to the people. In an area where the government drags its feet, half from limited access, half from prejudice, we're building and maintaining water systems.
I've learned to leave the "appropriate technology" and "Millennium Development Goals" back in the air-conditioned office where they were first hatched. I've left behind the lofty vernacular for simpler "indicators". It's the kids that were once scared of the giant gringo who now run down the trail just so they can hold my hand and walk with me. It's the muchachos that come by to listen to Bob Marley and talk about girls. It's the moms that love me for reading with their kids. It's the dads that beam with pride for having shown me how to cosechar in their fincas.
In hindsight, I took coming from different worlds too personally. The misunderstandings and challenges were symptoms of something much larger that my self-perceived ineptitude. While many of my ideas haven't blossomed, I can't pretend to know what may have taken root. And, at the risk of corniness, at the very least, I can always say I helped till the soil.
It's tempting to wish I would see more in place by the time I leave, not as a monument to myself, but to be able to come back home and say the stories from Hollywood and our collective consciousness were true. One really can go abroad and do all these incredible things. And while some do, for the rest of us, this is only a half truth. The full truth is something more complex, but it's this complexity that gives it its richness.
It turns out the truth is rounded by mutual growth. The gap is filled by laughing about our differences. It's something intangible, yet palpable. Part of it is progress, the slow change, but more importantly, it's the sharing of the human experience.
