Everyone told us that the first month at our permanent sites would be hard, but I didn’t expect it to be this hard or this lonely. I didn’t anticipate losing all of my privacy and any semblance of independence. I didn’t anticipate feeling this awkward and uncomfortable all the time. I am always surrounded by my family, but that could be particularly isolating, as I don’t know what I am supposed to do but sit there dumbly, mutely. So I stare at the TV, letting the waves of Russian soap operas wash over me, and whenever there was any movement among my family members, I find myself holding my breath. Perhaps I could find an excuse to retreat to my room, solitary yet comfortable. That is tempting, but I always force myself to sit there, for one moment longer, for one more episode of Russian TV. I need to integrate into this family circle, after all. This is for the long haul.
Work: another area needing improvement. I have accepted the fact that my staff sees me as an addition to the furniture. That’s what they want. This culture works through indirect means, and veteran volunteers and the Peace Corps staff tell us health volunteers to just sit there and drink tea with our staffs, for the first three months at least, to gain their trust and acceptance – to accept that we are going to be fixtures there for the next two years. I was skeptical at first, but I prepared myself to do that. I mean, what do I learn? Maybe jumping into this with both feet would scare my community more than gain their friendship. But this means that my staff only treats me as a guest, not a contributing member of the health community. They ask me questions about America and China. My doctor counterpart wants to go with me if I decide to take my first vacation in China. They ask me to teach English, and I have obliged, grateful for any scrap of work that I receive. They invite me to eat with them for the daily lunches. I had impulsively thrown it out there that I will also bring lunch every week so I don’t leech off of them. It was a good idea at the time, but I don’t exactly know how to cook. I turned to my family to teach me, and I helped whatever I could (i.e. peeling carrots and potatoes), but I regret to say that my host mom has mostly wrested control of this initiated cooking project. I am learning though, and I am taking some responsibility in the work domain. Overall, my staff doctors and nurses are perfect hosts and make me feel welcomed, some more than others. I really can’t complain, if I don’t mind being part of the backdrop, being the exhibit of the demure, slanted-eyed foreigner.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment