Why Don’t You Just Go Home? / Third Time’s a Charm

“What the HELL am I doing here?!?!” It’s an indubitable reality that every Peace Corps Volunteer, and I mean every last one (whether they admit it or not), asks themselves this very question at least a handful of times during their two years of service.

For me, the first time took place in a latrine. It was my third day in El Salvador and first night in my training community when I was contemplating the mechanics of going about my business. I had never actually used a latrine in my 21 years of sheltered gringa living, and the whole process was a mystery to me. Just as I determined my approach, a frog jumped out of a corner while a cockroach simultaneously scurried across my toes, startling me and interrupting my flow, if you will. Looking back now, it’s a pleasantly humorous memory, but at the time I cursed myself for dreaming up this wild adventure, leaving my loved ones and abandoning my adored porcelain toilet stateside.

The most recent, and I’m certain not last, time I seriously doubted my dedication to PC service was just last month. Days after my appendectomy, my bosses decided it was no longer appropriate for me to remain in my second site. During my time at ACOCACPAL de R.L., I stumbled across mismanagement, misallocation and misuse of a well-known development organization’s donated funds in breech of legal contracts between the two entities. This newfound information inevitably rendered the future of the cooperative nonexistent. My fate, too, was sealed. A site change was inexorable and I would be moving to my third, yes third, site of service upon return from vacation in the states.

Site changes here in El Salvador are rare among volunteers; a second site change is practically unheard of. Though I got on the Crazy Thought Carrousel—questioning what was wrong with me, where I had failed in my service to lead to this, if I was the worst volunteer ever—I some how managed to get off and consciously decide to leave the whole situation alone. For the most part, anyways. I had twenty-five days, thanks to, some extent, the unfortunate loss of my appendix, at home to relax and recharge. There was no reason to spend it fretting about my future in a third world country thousands of miles away.

Instead, I spent those amazing days with the people who mean most to me in this world. My Dad and I were able to, for the first and only time, fully surprise my Mom with my early arrival home from ES. I will never forget the look of dumbfounded astonishment on her face. My sister, Dana, and I, as tradition dictates, wore matching Christmas pajamas, though were granted reprieve from the matching sweater requisite. Family Christmas Day Color Coordination still applied.

Mom, Dad and I enjoyed the Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra. I shared some Salvadoran culture with my 92 year-old Grammy in a pupusa lunch. Stefan took me out for my first bar experience in Allen Town. Dana, Darcie, Devin and I had a fabulous meal of Spanish tapas and took in a questionably appropriate motion picture. Aunt Lynn and Uncle Randy took me to a charming holiday theater production and dinner that I was, a little too literally, head over heels for. David, Kevin and I enjoyed some Latin American flare, though, for some reason I still can’t understand, they didn’t love Chino y Nacho’s Niña Bonita as much as I do. I was able to throw a few back with my PC buddies Isabel and Ted under new social and cultural norms in the Penn Quarter. New Year’s Eve was certainly one for the record books with Caitlin, Casey, Eric and company. The greatness of the baked brie and peppermint patty shots will never be replicated.

My point is…I had an amazing time at home and I am still so grateful to have had the opportunity to reconnect with my loved ones. It was reassuring to me that, though we had been apart for nearly 365 days, the relationships hadn’t deteriorated, but quite literally the opposite. Absence in fact does make the heart grow fonder.

This of course, though, made leaving all the more challenging. Why in my right mind would I knowingly leave my heart behind and reenter the lion’s den of such an uncertain fate? I would be remiss if I didn’t thank my parents for dealing with the brunt of my moody, illogical commentary and for encouraging me to come back, at least for a little while, to evaluate my options before making my final decision. (Mom, I found the card. Thank you.)

Regardless of my complaints, mild tantrums and tears, I always knew I’d come back to El Salvador, even if for just a little while. So with a heavy heart, very puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks I said goodbye to my parents and beloved Buffalo for The Savior one last time.

As I was waiting at the gate, still contemplating whether I should say screw it all and have my parents pick me up, I looked up and noticed a young soldier sitting diagonally from. He was obviously on his way back to his post, presumably in the middle east, seated in quiet reservation, probably contemplating the same things as me: leaving his family, friends and pondering his fate. The soldier must have felt my stare, looked up and our eyes met. We both quickly looked away as is human nature when caught staring, but something made me look back. I knew those eyes.

The soldier turned out to be a boy I coached in swimming, diving and made swim extra laps when he ran his mouth during summer practice at Kohler Pool. That skinny, gangly, 15 year-old boy I knew is now a full-grown man serving our country.

Vinny recognized me, too, I moved to sit next to him and we began to catch up on the last six years of life. I told of my studies at the University of Rochester and my time in Peace Corps. He told me of his enlistment in January of 2009, his marriage, the birth of his first son, Dominic, just before the holidays, and what it’s like serving combat duty in Afghanistan. As I listened to this man, barely 21 years old, I realized that though we are both voluntarily serving our country, his sacrifice is so much greater than mine. To begin with, his physical distance from his family is practically astronomical. I cannot even fathom the emotional strain of being away from his wife and newborn child. To top it all off, he is in an active combat zone, fighting in the name of our country.

Certainly, I don’t live under the best of circumstance, but the pressures of my job don’t even compare. I have the luxury of going home when I want, whether I have vacation days and a plane ticket or if I decide I’ve simply had enough and want to terminate my service. Vinny, on the other hand, missed the birth of his first child and is obligated to finish his tour of duty. My family and friends can visit me whenever they so choose. (And I still hope that you will! I can plan a wicked trip…) Vinny has to rely on Facebook photos and intermittent phone calls to see his son growing and hear his wife’s voice. Sure, I’d like to be more successful in my work, especially seeing as I have so much I want to give, but at the end of the day, I’m fighting the good fight. Even if I just make a small change, a ripple of an impact, the satisfaction is worth all the hassle. Our soldiers, like Vinny, are fighting and admirable in the execution of their orders, but they don’t always get to see the positive results of their labors. Soldiers are always respected and held in high esteem, but Peace Corps Volunteers are loved as a member of the community.

Vinny and I continued to talk throughout our snow delay until it was time to board the plane. As I made my way to my seat, I reflected on the perspective my chat with Vinny gave me. Though some days are hell and I haven’t had the easiest conditions of service, nothing compares to war. Sure I may not always have a toilet, or running water for that matter, but at least no one is wishing me harm on a daily basis.

Due to snow, my flight was an hour and fifteen minute late arriving at the Atlanta airport. That meant I had fifteen minutes to get off the plane, change terminals and sprint to my flight to San Salvador. Two days previously, I made plans with my PC friend, Kallie, who was on the same flight to ES, to grab one last American meal together. Obviously I wasn’t able to keep that date. When I saw her, she smiled at me and looked relieved, in a way. The first words she said to me were, “I thought you decided not to come back.” “Nah, I’m back, at least for a little while.”

I tried my best to rest during the flight, and prepare myself for all that I had to face in the coming days: meeting with my bosses, finding an acceptable third site or negotiating terms of separation, and regardless of my decision, returning to my site to pack and say goodbye to the people who have accepted me and loved me as their own. A very large, pale, blonde version of their own.

Once back on the ground and at the Peace Corps office by 2PM local time, several PCV friends greeted me and we caught up on the last month in each other’s lives. One reoccurring theme that I didn’t really anticipate or appreciate was the, “I can’t believe you’re back”/ “Why don’t you just go home?” sentiment. As dramatic as I had been, staying/going home was always a last resort, the final option when enough became enough. With that, I became more resolved to make something work. I’m tougher than that.

Meetings with the higher ups started immediately. By close of business my first day back in country, I had a conference call with the top two PCES administrators and my APCD, Rolando, who was out sick from a basketball injury, scheduled for first thing the next morning to discuss my options.

Feeling better about the morning’s prospects, I headed to enjoy an evening of luxury and solitude at the Sheraton, thanks to Mom and Dad. I wasn’t really up to spending a night with any PCVs. I didn’t want to talk about why I couldn’t go back to my site or why I didn’t just throw in the towel. I needed a night to myself. The welcome cocktail, my favorite meal in ES and an amazing night’s sleep on an enormous bed was just what I needed to calm my nerves.

The next morning I woke up refreshed, showered, dressed and headed to the office. Our conference call started sharply on la hora Salvadoreña, meaning thirty minutes late. The first statement out of my APCD’s mouth was, “Thank you for coming back, Rosellen.” For a split second, I was offended, but then realized he understood my struggle, how the appendectomy made me want to stay home that much more, and how upsetting a third site was to me.

My CD, PTO, APCD and I had an awesome open dialogue of my requirements in a new site, options that were available and my exit strategy for my second site. They expressed their support of me and assured me their dedication to finding me a suitable site where I can work to my potential. In the words of Rolando, “Early termination is not an option. I’m not letting you go, lady. We will make this work.” By 9:30AM, we had an appointment made to go visit La Escuela Nacional de AgriculturaI, The National Agriculture School, where I underwent two trainings with PC, to discuss a possible assignment with their head of agricultural business and the school’s director for that afternoon at 1PM.

The meeting that afternoon went extremely well. For the most part I was familiar with the campus, what the school offers and the types of products its students produce—such as cheeses, honey, dairy products, eggs, etc—but unfamiliar what they wanted from me as a PCV. Rolando and I went in prefacing the meeting that we were not making a commitment to the school, but rather there to discuss ideas and projects they wished to pursue should I decide to locate to the ENA. By the end of the meeting, though, I had a million ideas running through my head of the possibilities and mountains of work I could help complete at the school. I was still unwilling to commit, but definitely open to the idea. The director and my potential future counterpart emphasized that the projects I would work on would be entirely up to me, and that they would support me in anyway possible. In terms of living, a room would be made available to me in a house where a Peace Corps Response Volunteer was already living. At the end of the meeting, one of the engineers told me I could even have my own horse. Uh, where do I sign?

In all seriousness, though, I had a very important decision to make. With a little more than six months left in my service, I have enough time to complete some very successful projects, but I also need to limit the scope of my commitments. Rolando and I talked on the way back to San Sal, a mere 35-minute drive, and he told me the ball was in my court. If I wanted to explore more options, we could, if I wanted to commit to the ENA, that’s fine, too. I just needed to inform him one way or another. I decided I needed to take the night to think about it, and to consult with another APCD, Clelia, who always lends an ear and helps put things in perspective.

Once back at the office, I ran right up to Clelia’s office to tell her about the meeting. Before I could get much information out, she told me she could see a visible change in my demeanor that I looked more relaxed and sounded excited while telling about the opportunities. She advised me that the ENA was offering me a very flexible position where I would be able to use my skills on a daily basis. It was the best offer I could hope for. Still, I wanted to sleep on it.

Back to the Sheraton I went for one more night before I was to head back to Lislique to tie up loose ends, pack and say goodbye. One more exquisite room service meal with a dessert of Girl Scout cookies imported from the USA and a good night’s sleep later, I made my decision. I was moving to the ENA.

First thing Thursday morning, I informed Rolando to go ahead and arrange for my move. I can’t even express the sense of relief I felt just saying the words.

The hard part followed: telling my adopted family that I was leaving. As if suffering the heartbreak of leaving my real family and friends in the US wasn’t enough, I had to go ahead and break my own heart all over again and those of my adopted family, the Alfaros. Goodbyes never get easier. Thankfully, though, we have cell phones and the always-open option of visits.

It’s now been two weeks since I arrived here at the ENA and I am just beginning to delve into my realm of work. I am going to be focusing my work on improving the production and supply chains of four products produced here at the school. We will work on quality control, constant production, branding and marketing. This is a very exciting project, and I hope to involve the students as much as possible. My last six months in El Salvador will be very busy, indeed.

To all those who asked, “Why don’t you just go home?” my answer is simple: I’m not done yet. I made a commitment when I swore in as a PCV to complete two years of service for the people of El Salvador. I didn’t say where or how I’d do it, just that I would. Sure, I could throw in the towel. But, what for? I know I’ll be a better PCV because of my challenges, so I’m going to suck it up, pick up my head, use that towel to wipe the sweat off my face and keep on keeping on.

Besides, the third time’s a charm.