Fear accompanies a new beginning
Maite Uranga
Life in Africa
I am scared. In two days I leave Nouakchott, the capital, to go to my village. I arrived three days ago and have been indulging in all I possibly can, beaches and pools, ice cream, hamburgers and pizza, tank tops and bikinis. Currently I sit in an air-conditioned internet café which serves lattes.
After I type this out I return to the Peace Corps house with a party already in progress. There is a DJ with at least some American music, a bar, a karaoke machine and about 50 Americans. Tomorrow is another free day, which most likely means another day by the pool at the embassy. Right now life does not seem that much different than in the states.
The scary part is that this is all very temporary, and my actual life in Mauritania is about as different from my Nouakchott experience as is possible. In two days my Peace Corps service commences. After 10 weeks in training I am more than ready to enter this next phase, but there is a part of me that is terrified.
Peace Corps has been a part of my life plan for at least the past two years and on some level a part of my identity.
When people asked what I planned on doing after graduation from college I always said Peace Corps, and during the year I took off between college and Peace Corps it was a major topic of conversation. What would I do? Where would go? Would I have water and electricity?
Now these questions are answered. As of the swearing-in ceremony yesterday I am finally a Peace Corps volunteer. My dream is now reality. The movement between these two realms is hard. Training was difficult, but I also realize it was a bubble. That environment became and still is very comfortable.
I do not know what the next few weeks will bring. I knew when I signed up for Peace Corps that a large part of the program was to live alone and in a fairly isolated village. This idea sounded absolutely fascinating when I sat in the recruiting office in a skyscraper in downtown Chicago. After visiting my village and hearing current volunteer stories the excitement and dream still exist, but now it is compounded with knowledge of reality.
I try to imagine the first day. The Peace Corps car will drop me off with all my possessions. My possessions will most likely be more than most families could ever afford. After about 10 minutes of settling-in time I may meet and greet the notable members of the community. They will speak in a language I do not understand and eat food I can not identify. I may smile and laugh a lot and pretend that I understand.
The kids will follow me. Everyone will ask if I am married and when I say "no" they will have many possible husbands lined up. Someone will get my water for me and carry my bags. I will be treated like a celebrity. After a few days this status will disappear. I will have to figure out how to use a well. I will have to learn enough Pulaar to communicate at least my basic needs and feelings. Eventually, hopefully not for a very long time, I will have to learn to take care of myself when I get sick. I will not speak any English. I will get lonely.
All of these are realities. They were not a part of my Peace Corps dream of the past two years. The Peace Corps pamphlets and website do not show this part of the experience. How many people would sign up for a program with a picture of a volunteer on the cover who is crying in her hut? Or a volunteer who fails to learn the language so all he does is read and write?
These next few months are looming over me and the reality of Peace Corps weighs down on me. Self-examination overwhelms me. Do I simply like the idea of Peace Corps and the unique status is gave me among my peers, my parents and my parents' friends? Do I like the look of astonishment and awe that people gave me when I told them I was going to live in Mauritania for two years more than I like the reality of living without running water? Why am I here if I know I want to go to law school? Why do I want to live in an environment that is so conservative that I cannot show my ankles and where female circumcision is common?
The answers will present themselves in the next few months. I am scared.
Maite Uranga graduated from Notre Dame in 2000 as an anthropology and government major. She is currently a Peace Corps volunteer in the Islamic Republic of Mauritania. Her column appears every other Tuesday.
The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.
All Viewpoint Stories for Tuesday, October 9, 2001
