Today is exactly 2 years since I boarded a plane in Philadelphia
and came to Morocco. And you know what? It’s been a weird two years. It’s been
without a doubt the most challenging thing I’ve put myself through, but it has
also taught me so much about myself, about Morocco, about Islam, and most of
all, it’s taught me a lot about what life really means.
I spent a good chunk of my day today at my host family’s
house for my host father’s funeral. I’d like to say it’s the first funeral I’ve
been to here in Morocco, but it’s not. I’d also like to say that I haven’t
missed any funerals back home since being here, but that too would be a lie. I’ve
missed 3. In a lot of ways, this is what haunts me the most as I look back on
my service with a mere 84 days to go. When you leave for the Peace Corps, you know
you’re signing up to miss things back home. You’re signing up to miss birthdays
and weddings and graduations. You sign up to miss holidays with your family and
watching the leaves change. But the impossible thing to know when you board
that plane is if everyone is going to still be there when you get off the plane
again 27 months down the road. But I was 21 when I came, no living grandparents,
everyone seemed to be in reasonable health, what could go wrong? But sometimes,
it just does go wrong. And that’s hard.
I had the opportunity to go back home for this Christmas, and
to be back in my college town for New Years. While I was there, I ran into some
old friends that I hadn’t stayed in touch with during Peace Corps, and one of
them asked me (in an effort to understand my service without vague or never ending
questions) to tell him my highest high and my lowest low of service. Side note:
it’s a pretty brilliant question if you stop to think about it. I recommend all
my fellow volunteers ponder it. Anyways… I thought for a bit about the question
and tried to best form a response in my head. Immediately I knew that the pain
of losing 3 people back home and being helpless to support those I love so much
during hard times was my lowest low. Having only a computer screen to tell you
how life is during those times is torture. But then I thought about my highest
highs.
I’ve had a lot of highs since I’ve been in Morocco. I’ve
travelled solo for the first time. I’ve learned a new language. I’ve carried conversations
in English with students who previously could barely say ‘hello’. I’ve made best
friends. I’ve eaten weird things. I’ve gotten weird sicknesses. I’ve learned
how to cook. I’ve celebrated with my host sister when she graduated high
school. I watched my parents step into the unknown when they left the US for
the first time to come visit me in Morocco (they rocked it by the way).
I could go on. I’m
tempted to go on. Because when it all comes down to it, I’ve had a lot of
pretty great times here in Morocco. Sometimes things suck here, but sometimes
also, they don’t. Ultimately, I think that’s the most important lesson I can
come out of Peace Corps with. Just the knowledge that for every down, there’s an
up, and for every up, there’s a down. If you spend 27 months in the Peace
Corps, living in a foreign country, trying to function in an unknown language,
and doing it mostly by yourself, and you don’t come out of the whole experience
more resilient than you went in, I’m pretty sure you did it wrong.
I once asked a former volunteer to give me advice about
Peace Corps right before I left for Morocco. They told me to journal on the bad
days, and blog on the good. Well, I’ve both journaled and blogged today, so I
suppose that I’m somewhere in the middle. But the more I think about it, I think
basically all of Peace Corps service, and most of the human condition, is
typically somewhere in the middle. So I guess what I’m saying here is just
this: maybe Peace Corps just makes us a little more human.
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