Goodbye, El Salvador

I left El Salvador.

I spent the past 30 minutes deciding how I should write that out, but now is not the time to be crafty or funny. I think simply is the best way to tell the world that my experience is over, done, terminated. 

It might come as a bit of a shock for my blog followers. Sorry. I've really been avoiding this. My blog has been with me from the start and ending it feels like the final nail in the coffin. I hate that I'm writing this even now, but I want to tell you all what happened and why I decided to leave. 

The month of March was particularly brutal in El Salvador. It was also a devastating month for my community. While we are no strangers to violence, the events of March proved to be different. There was a definite change in how the community saw itself and how we interacted. As if the people of my community haven't suffered enough from the lifelong effects of the internal war, now they're caught up in the "modern" gang wars. 

Simply put, in March there was another security incident that was closer to home (literally, down the street from my house) and more devastating to the community. I use the word devastating again because that's truly what it was. We slid on the scale from "We have occasional incidents" to "Don't leave your house." 

The chambre was outrageous as to why it happened or how it happened, but everyone could agree on one thing: the community just isn't what it used to be. People feel helpless. Really though, once the gangs move in to a community there isn't much you can do, except keep your kids in the house and pay up if you're asked to. 

It's fairly easy to identify gang violence: Was it a brutal murder? Yes. Was the victim innocent? Yes. Did the events of the murder manipulate or intimidate regular community members? Yes. Did it happen in broad daylight? Yes. Will the police help or give you information? No. 

I brushed on the incident in a blog post, believe it or not. That parade was so poignant. It'll stay in my memory for a long time. But the truth is, I didn't understand how the incident was affecting me until a few weeks after. I went through a lot of feelings, and multiple times throughout the day I would flip on how I dealt with the new reality of my situation. I knew the gangs would most likely not target me, because the gangs in El Salvador don't target random people. Their victims are usually family members of rival gangs, businesses that don't pay la renta, or people who stand up to them. I would know I was on their radar if they asked to do something or pay, and no one ever did so I'd feel fine for a while. But then I couldn't be certain that I wouldn't see one of my students' bodies on the side of the road walking home from the cancha, and I'd feel anxious and scared. I didn't realize it at the time, but I spent five straight days in my home after the incident. I knew that home was safe, and if I just stayed at home I would be fine. I planned my financial education and English classes for the last five months of my service at the school so that I would potentially only leave the house on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The school is across the street from my house. 

I had a bit of a breakdown in the following weeks. My fellow PCVs, who were concerned albeit annoying, kept asking me questions like if I felt safe in my community or what our safety and security officer was doing for me. I didn't have answers for them and that made me even more frustrated with the situation. I'M the one who has to deal with this, so why don't I have any answers!? It all kept coming back to the line, what is the line? When will Peace Corps tell me that the violence in my community has crossed the line? 

I found out the hard way that there is no line. Every PCV has their own line, and we crossed my line in March. I was going crazy. My subconscious was talking to me, but I didn't want to listen. I'd hear a mango fall in the middle of the night and my mind instantly would go to "Were those footsteps? Who is it? Why is there someone outside my window?" But it was just an overripe mango. 

I talked it over with my Project Manager (actually, I sobbed while she talked) and I came to the conclusion that it was my time to go. I really, REALLY did not want to be the one to make that decision, but ultimately I did. I didn't want to leave, clearly the past 22 months proved that I could integrate and live in El Salvador, but I also couldn't stay in my community. Sure I could have lived as a hermit for the next five months, but who knows what would be left of me when it came time to COS in October? Because there was so few months left in my service I wasn't offered a site change, but I was too many months out to Early COS. I was left with the dreaded early termination exit. Yeah, I was a little peeved how that went down. I didn't want to leave, but I also couldn't go on living in my site and keep my wits about me. I took the best option available to me, and that happened to be ET. Now that I've had some time to reflect, I know that the ET distinction won't mean jack squat in one year, 5 years, 10 years time and I ultimately made the right decision for me. 

I originally asked for 2 weeks to say my goodbyes, because I always feared there being an incident that would pull me out quickly. We settled on one week, but I realized that even a week was too much time. My first night back in site after meeting with my PM I heard noises outside my window and my subconscious immediately triggered bad things. I spent a solid 45 minutes straining my ears to figure out why there was a person outside my window at 2:00 am. In the morning I found it it wasn't a person at all. The horse got loose and was eating the mangoes. It's embarrassing, but kind of shows you where my mind was at. Those damn mangoes... 

And what's worse is that I wasn't alone. My host family and people all around me were scared, too. The difference between me and the next guy is that he is surrounded by all his family and friends. Even though I love my host family, I was ultimately alone. On my last night in site my host family and I were watching a movie when we heard three loud blasts. All it took was one look between my eldest host cousin and her uncle, and she got her brothers and sisters up and left the house. We don't know what those blasts are, but we don't want to find out either, so the best thing to do is lock yourself in your house. I knew in that moment that I was doing the right thing for me. 

I'm grateful I had the privilege to leave that situation. 

I spent a week in San Sal filling out paperwork and doing final medical appointments. On my last day  of service, April 23, 2015, I rang the "Close of Service" bell. I had hoped I'd ring it with my COED13s after the full 27 months, but you know, my service didn't go as planned. Come to think of it nothing really happened like I thought it would, but I don't regret a thing. I wouldn't change a single moment of my PC service because then it wouldn't be my service. I can't imagine PC without strict security rules, or my ridiculous ADESCO, or even amoebas. I didn't pick El Salvador, but I'm glad I ended up there. I can honestly say I integrated into Salvadoran culture, maybe even more so than if everything was smooth and secure. I can hear the crotchety placement officers of Peace Corps past ringing in my ears, "If you aren't flexible then you won't make a good Peace Corps Volunteer." 

Well, I think I was a good PCV. And now my service is over.

Another worst war story

*This post was written on Wednesday night.

There are two types of people in El Salvador: People who talk openly about the war and people who don’t talk about it at all.

When someone gets on the topic of the war, I always ask him or her to only share with me what they’re comfortable talking about. I would never want someone to relive horrifying memories just for my sake. However, in my experience, the people who willingly bring up the war are the ones who are most definitely comfortable talking about it, even if it is in a detached and factual manner.

I really do want to know about what happened here. I do. But every time I hear a war story I think, “That has got to be the worst one.” Beheadings. Bombings. Execution. Rape. Children, women, the young and the old. I will never be able to understand what these individuals are truly thinking and feeling as they speak about their passed loved ones. Many people have buried their pain so deep down that they don’t seem to feel anything at all.

I’m at odds with this. I mean, how do you respond to a man who casually discusses driving a pregnant woman to her execution? Or when in passing you hear about how your host mom found the remains of her 14-year-old sister dumped on the street? How do you let people share these extremely personal and tragic experiences with you when you yourself haven’t been desensitized to war?

It’s been a heavy experience. It’s pulled me outside of myself.

Tonight I found out from my host dad that a very close friend of mine lost two young daughters when a bomb hit her house during the war. My friend has never shared this with me, and I might have gone on never knowing if my host dad hadn’t added it to the conversation.

At first I felt stunned. My friend is an amazingly cheerful woman. How could she have suffered this loss and still be so unfailingly hopeful? It doesn’t make sense. She has talked about the war with me during the year and a half that I've spent time with her, but she's kept the loss of her daughters to herself. I felt more affected by this omission than by all the revolting recounts of torture or murder that others have so freely given up.

I started tearing up, but I thought it would pass. My host mom called me into the kitchen to make up a plate of platanos con crema, and I just lost it. It was awkward. I could sense that she felt weird by me crying and she just started piling platanos on my plate to make me feel better. I tried to laugh it off, like when I broke down crying to my first host family during my first weeks in-country or when I cried all over the Director of PeaceCorps. “Sorry for crying! I just love your platanos so much!”

We ate our platanos outside and I told her the real reason for the waterworks. She just kind of stared at me like it was very strange that I should cry for children I have never met, or for a woman I’ve only known for a short amount of time. I guess it would seem a little bizarre to her, given that her tears have long dried up for the loved ones she lost.

The topic disappeared along with our platanos. I’m left here feeling… sad? Unsettled? I really don’t know. In a way I’m thankful I feel anything, even if I can’t explain it.

The Stigma

June is the never ending month. I'm ready to get June 2014 done and over with because it's been the hardest time of my service. At the 11 month mark, I've had a lot of "Do I really want to do this for another 16 months" thoughts running through my head. Everything hit me hard and suddenly. Host family troubles, work troubles, trouble all around the country, and an overwhelming dose of culturesickness. I've had mini-melt downs before, but this time was certainly more intense. It seemed to me that if I was going to ET, it'd be now. RIGHT now. The stars were aligned and I had some serious decisions to be making.

I spent a lot of time reading blog posts from PCVs who Early Terminated. Why did they do it? How far along did they make it? Did they make the right choice? How do you KNOW it's the right choice? They all seem like fairly well-adjusted and happy people. Would I be happy if I left El Salvador and my PC family behind?

I checked out the PC manual on Early Termination and I couldn't get over the wording:

"A resignation is a decision made by a V/T that he/she no longer wishes to continue in Peace Corps service." 

No longer wishes. It comes down to the whims of my wishes whether or not to continue with service? The thing is I wish for running water, but I don't always get it. I wish for community partners to collaborate with me, but most of the time that's a bad idea. And I wish that the gangs in El Salvador would stop killing people, but that one isn't being granted either.

Early Termination is what happens when you've used up all your wishes and still, nothing changes.

Given the year of wishes I've made, do I still wish to continue with Peace Corps service? Well, yeah. I do. It's been my goal to be an RPCV for a long time. I didn't take the decision to apply lightly. I had to defend myself to a lot of people, mostly family members, that this is a worthwhile experience and the Peace Corps is a positive force for good. I've even had to convince myself at times that the small relationships I'm making in El Salvador are powerful and inspiring. (For the record- they are.) I've put a lot of time and effort into getting myself here, I definitely don't wish to quit before my service is served.

The truth of the matter is that Early Terminating is stigmatized in the Peace Corps world. It's a quiet, underbelly kind of stigma that no one really talks about but everyone knows. Don't get me wrong- no one, especially not a fellow PCV, would criticize someone's decision to ET. Only you know what's best for you, stigma be damned.

But for obsessive achievaholics like myself, the shame of leaving early is always pulsing in the back of my mind. It takes up the majority of the right column in my ET pro/con list, often disguised in different forms. Disappointment that I couldn’t “make it" and Won’t feel like a real RPCV are just two examples.

If I really wanted to go home, I would've been on a plane within days. PC staff is ready with support and a plane ticket to any PCV who makes the call. No judgement, no last ditch efforts to get you to stay. Just a ticket home.

After multiple pro/con lists, long distance calls, and panic attacks, I made the decision to stay. I thought it was weird that out of all those blogs that showed up in the Google search "Peace Corps Volunteer Early Termination," not a single one was from a PCV who seriously considered Early Terminating but stayed. I want to add this post into the mix. Ask me in 16 months if I think I made the right choice.

Maybe we don't talk about it, the stigma of ETing, because after you decide to stay things get a lot better. I mean, common guys, we have a graph about this. They don't call it the "Mid-Service Crisis" for nothin'. I feel like that's a cop out, though. Not talking about ETing just contributes to the sense of "false advertising" that trails the Peace Corps.

The entire month of June sure felt like a crisis, but in 5, 10, 50 years when I look back on this time it won't be because of my total breakdown. Nah, that part sucked. Instead, I'll look back on the great turning point of my service.

My diary/work journal. I keep general notes on every day of my service. I looked back and loved this entry so much. It's totally cool to talk to your future/past self right? 

PC guilt

I had always wanted to write a witty, well written blog post about the pitfalls of PC guilt. It's an outrageous, only-happens-with-Peace-Corps-Volunteers phenomenon that one day I will rant about. But this is not that day.

Honestly, I'm exhausted. Physically, mentally and emotionally I am spent. This week I've had to deal with death, suicide, near death experiences, and so much else. (Before you get all up in arms- none of these things happened to me or were malicious in any way. Just a sad week in the community.)

I'm leaving for the US soon for my first trip back. It's been 9 long months without American comforts, my family, my friends. It's all too easy to take a mental vacation and think about what I want to order at Starbucks (though it's almost always a coffee frap), what nail color I want to get with my mani/pedi (I'm thinking Tiffany blue), and just check out completely. I really, really can't wait for this trip.

That's where the PC guilt kicks in. PC guilt comes in many forms.

Feeling sick and watching 30 Rock all afternoon? Guilty.

Hoarding Cheese-itz from your host family because they're SPECIAL from the US? Guilty.

The PCV next door legalized a woman's group, built a bridge, and saved a basket of newborn puppies from drowning? Guilty.

The last PCV did all these great things, when are you going to do anything? Guilty. 

Also, when you get home after teaching English class, and your class went well and you visited a community member so.... you get to take a break now. Right?

It had been a long, terrible week. I earned a break. I needed a break. But I saw on my calendar that it was my community guide's granddaughter's 9th birthday. Her mom left to go to the US in January and I think she's been pretty torn up about it. I mean, who knows when she'll get to see her again? My host nephew went 11 years without seeing his mom. All I have to do is wave my American passport and get on a direct flight home.

Guilty.

So I drag myself outta the hammock, put on some stretched out thread bare clothes and hike it up the mountain to her house. And you know what? I'm glad I did. I always feel better after listening to the angel on my shoulder, even if she makes me feel like a guilty turd.