The In between

One of the biggest misconceptions there is about Peace Corps is the idea that every moment is an adventure. But much like life state-side, my life in the Faso is a mixture of both the magnificent and the mundane.

Sometimes I wonder if when my loved ones think of my service that they imagine me with a malnourrished baby in one arm, a dying woman over my shoulder on my way to the clinic digging wells along the way. I think I have lost all the upper body strength to be capable of such feats (if I ever had it to begin with). In reality, Peace Corps has a lot of in between spaces.

Don't get me wrong. There is a higher density of new experiences than at home. There are adventures and excitement. There are mysteries and exploration. But, these are not the typical days at this point in my service. Life has become familiar and my days are punctuated by those silent moments where every dormant thought can arise from the neglected ashes of that metaphorical back-burner.

In a way this altered sense of time (due to the lack of discernible seasons and the natural ebb and flow of village life in Burkina) has it's it appeal. I get daily naps and the longest nights of rest I have ever had. Sometimes I hope my excess of sleep will counteract the hyper-aging effects of the harsh Burkina sun. I also have an intensely flexible schedule, so flexible that--to my utter delight--it sometimes changes on its own. Days run into each other in village.

The contrast is my time in the city. Whether I am doing malaria workshops, having a committee meeting or just taking a mental day my time in the city is never slow and never enough for the task at hand. I can feel the weight of the rigid schedule on my frame. An environment that I once thrived in and still long for is now foreign to me until I have settled into the rapid pace.

Both realities have their mundane moments. The rapid-fire tasks of the city and the slow swagger of village life are exceedingly normal to me. Gone are the days of wide-eyed bewilderment as I wander the pathways of village or the bustling streets of Ouaga. I see familiar faces in familiar situations and familiar ways of life. I derive satisfaction in knowing that I have immersed myself in an over-stimulating and completely foreign environment (about as far removed as possible from my home). So much so that it has lost its novelty and has become my life as opposed to the grand disorienting adventure it began as.

I suppose the flip side is that my world is no longer obscured by a lack of cultural understanding. I can sense motivations (good or bad). Cultural misunderstandings and quaint yet obnoxious local customs become frustrations without an excuse of naivite (on either side of the exchange).

I suppose it is all a part of the natural life cycle of the PCV. It is the period of unparalleled comfort in my not-foreign-anymore surroundings. It is time for productive projects and small vacations.

I suppose that leaves me with the mandatory panic and elation of returning home and forging a path to my somewhat-new American life.

Why is I that I don't get an American culture class when I get back?
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone from Airtel Burkina Faso.