And Now, a Moment of Reflection

So, I've been at site for two weeks.  I'm firmly out of training: I'm spending most of my time now teaching, drawing up lesson plans, exercising, and thinking about my next meal.  I'm by no means an expert on Tanzania---I'm still about as green as they come---but these past two weeks have given me some perspective regarding life as a Peace Corps volunteer.  In that spirit, I'd like to share a minor revelation I've had during my service thus far:

Despite my relentlessly cheery attitude in most of my blog posts, service hasn't been all smiles and sunshine.  During the first week of CBT (cultural-based training in Morogoro), I felt surprisingly isolated and homesick, even though I had only been in country for two weeks.  I was with a host family, for sure, but I still felt alone, separated from my family and friends back home.  I even felt isolated from my fellow trainees, who seemed incredibly distant in their neighboring villages... none of us had cellphones and there was effectively a communication blackout until our first big meeting the following weekend.  As time passed, however, these perceived distances began to shorten, and eventually I began to realize that my friends in Peace Corps weren't that far away---hell, we were practically next-door neighbors.  I didn't realize until the second week, for example, that a whole other group of trainees was literally located across the street from my host school.  As a result, by the end of training, we all were pretty much reunited in my mind: we could navigate the town, go to market together, or just hang out if we felt like it.  The last week in Dar was especially fun... we essentially got to relive the awesome first week we had in country, only this time we all already knew each other.  Plus, there was Thanksgiving dinner, which kicked ass.

For lack of a better analogy, it's kind of like your first time swimming as a little kid.  You go through all sorts of preparation beforehand---you put on your floaties, you take one last whiz, and you take a few, cleansing breaths.  But, no matter what you do, when you walk up to the edge of that pool and stick your toe in the water, you're terrified: the pool is huge, and the water is deep and full of the unknown.  This situation is made considerably worse when your father finally gets fed up with your cowardice and pushes you in, at which point your oh-my-God-what-the-hell-am-I-doing-here reflex kicks in and you desperately flail around in a panicked attempt at survival.  After clawing your way to the surface a few times, though, you finally begin to get the hang of it, and, suddenly, the pool doesn't seem so big anymore.  You begin to notice small comforts, like a passing pool noodle, a warm pocket, or the fact that your feet can touch the bottom (and, like an idiot, you totally didn't realize this until just now).  Most importantly, you begin to realize that there are other kids in the pool who are enjoying themselves, and if you can join whatever game they're playing, then maybe---just maybe---life won't be so bad after all.

That's kind of how I feel about the current situation here in Songea.  This time, however, it's as if I've been forcibly extracted from the kiddie pool of training (which, in and of itself, was not easy to get used to) and unceremoniously dumped into real life volunteerdom.  I really shouldn't complain: my house is quite nice by Peace Corps standards, and I'm only a 15-minute daladala ride from civilization (of course, I sometimes have to wait an hour for this daladala, but whatever).  Still, the first few days alone at site were really kind of tough... not knowing where anything was in town, getting called mzungu by pretty much everyone (even my own headmaster), and having to completely furnish my house from scratch---none of these elements of PCV life was particularly glamorous or enjoyable.  I've spent countless hours wandering the seemingly endless streets and alleys of Songea, armed with only my backpack and a cheat-sheet of translated words for things I need to, well, live.  These past two weeks have effectively been my "clawing to the surface" period, replete with self-doubt, insecurity, and, in some isolated instances, moments of sheer panic.

But now, after two weeks at site, I feel as if I've come to a turn of sorts... I'm finding the proverbial pool noodle amidst the waves of uncertainty.  I can teach.  I can clean.  I can cook (kind of).  I have worldly possessions (like my awesome new meat grinder).  If I need a new pot, I know where to get one.  If I need more avocados, I know a guy.  And if I want to get out of the house, I know where the best view is.  I'm beginning to experience the small comforts of life as a volunteer, and, slowly but surely, the swimming pool is getting smaller.  It's only a matter of time before I start jumping off the high dive.

Granted, getting to this point won't be easy.  I still have a lot to learn and a lot to experience before I truly feel comfortable in my surroundings.  The process, however, has begun.  All the other kids in the pool seem to be having a good time... I guess it would be rude of me not to join the fun.

And now, to go home and get back to work.  Those giant winged termites aren't going to exterminate themselves.