Health Update, 7 Months in Guyana and Our Barbados Trip

Sheesh! Just this blog title makes it seem as if a lot has been going on. And it has!

Okay first things first: Thank you for all your concern about my health. I am recovering from a rather nasty parasite (some mean amoeba that got into my intestines and gave me stomach pain for weeks). Well, after many a test and trip to the doctor I am on a heavy-duty amebecide and antibiotic that has already stopped most of the painful symptoms. So, here’s to hoping that my obligatory Peace Corps-third-world-country illness is out of the way.

Second: As of today we have officially lasted 7 months in Guyana! Woot woot! Our projects are underway and our spirits are high. Tim has been plugging away at writing a manual/teaching guide that focuses on classroom management and literacy strategies. Once he gets input from his counterparts he hopes to get this teaching aide out to teachers in Region 10 and lead some professional development sessions to encourage more interactive learning and group work in classrooms. I have been hard at work with the Youth Friendly Center at my health center, organizing events and getting to know some really cool young ladies. We have had some great discussions about reproductive health, decision-making and self esteem. I am also working on getting another program up and running to get nurses involved with teaching younger kids about protecting and respecting their bodies to help stop domestic violence and abuse at a young age. We have a conference at the end of this month with our counterparts where we will really be focusing on collaboration in our program design and development. It should be a great chance to build closer working relationships with coworkers and highlight the goal of sustainability in our projects.

But our most exciting new recent event was our trip to Barbados! We took a 4-night vacation with Sara and another PCV, Princess to meet up with Tim’s cousin Joey and two of his friends Scott and Diaz in Barbados. It was a much needed escape away from Peace Corps life and was so much fun! We truly had some fantastic experiences; snorkeling at sunken ships and with sea turtles, swimming in the sparkling Caribbean sea, eating great food, dancing, relaxing in our in suite hot tub, exploring sea caves and wandering the island. Other than experiences that would be considered extraordinary in any vacation, our trip was made even more fantastic by the simple fact that EVERYTHING seemed extraordinary! I mean, we had hot showers, a washing machine, real butter on toast that came out of a toaster, we found a coffee shop that served espresso, and an ice cream parlor like Coldstone, we had nachos and slept without a mosquito net in air conditioning. These are things that I think we would have taken for granted if we came straight from the States, but since we don’t have these things in our life as PCVs our trip really seemed like the best vacation ever!

I think Tim will blog more about our vacation soon but I wanted to get the word out that we are well and happy. We are refreshed and rejuvenated (probably by all that coffee…) and ready to work hard on our projects for another 7 months, until our next refreshing trip: home to the States for Tim’s 30^th Birthday in April 2011.

Lots of love to all!

-C

Most Guyanese Moment Yet: “Smalling up”

 

I was in Georgetown with Chelsea as she was getting a few things looked into. The plan was to stay in Town overnight, and then leave in the morning while Chelsea stayed until Thursday for some observations.

That didn’t happen.

We got to the hotel about 530 in the afternoon, where I found out it would cost me 5,000 GYD to crash. I didn’t have that much, so I quickly called a taxi to take me to the bus park.

Now, one thing I’ve noticed is that come 530 or so, it’s extremely difficult to get a bus back to Linden—there simply are too few. So as I was dropped at the park I immediately saw a fully loaded mini-bus go speeding off. This should have been a cause for concern, however, having just finished Siddhartha, I took a step back and tried to exercise patience. Things will come, there is a beginning and an end to everything and we’re all connected. Om. 

Waiting a few minutes I see a “big” bus pull to the far corner and the crowds begin to rush it. (This, I’ve observed, is quite common as the night comes on). Still practicing patience, I meander down to the bus, not sure if I’d get a spot, but content all the same.

It’s like a battle royal to get on this thing: people pushing, shoving, not letting people off, bags passing through windows, screaming.  It’s pure craziness—and it’s a 35-person bus, by the way.  

I stand at the back of the fighting crowd. Waiting. Eventually, the line fizzles and my turn comes up. The bus is filled to brim, way beyond maximum legal capacity. There are five per row, where four could sit comfortably.  There were no more open rows, and the two spots between the front passenger seat and the driver’s seat were occupied. But I did spy a minute space behind the sliding door.

           

The kind conductor motions me on—now a logical person would forget about this bus and wait for the next one as several people were doing, but Siddhartha is on my mind and I know my patience will pay off. I am on the bus, am I not? All Siddhartha could do before he became a merchant was exercise patience, think, and fast and things worked out for him. I could do the same.

And I did.

That little 4’’ by 6’’ seat tucked in the corner behind the front passenger seat where in order to sit I have to have one cheek completely off, that’s my “seat”. Moreover, since it’s behind the seat, my torso has to remain at a constant 45-degree angle so I could sit in the first place. My feet wedge into the first step to get on the bus with 4 pairs of other feet where there should be none. I’m “smalled up” pretty good.

           

Every time we stop I have to rise up from my mini perch, step on some toes, and then stand like a ballerina with my backpack over my head like an army kit in a swamp in front of the 49 pairs of other eyes because if I don’t stand in such a fashion the door won’t open.  I’m riding like “real Guyanese” my considerate conductor is so kind to point out as she stands, squashed against the door.

As I stand in such an awkward fashion and then return to my perilous precipice, I can’t help but smile and suffer in silence because life is suffering, no?  Life is nothing but illusion, nothing but Maya…

As we near our destination, the bus pulls over. Great, I think, I may just get some relief since someone is getting off. 

Oh, but how foolish of you, young Brahmin.

We pick up another passenger—5 pairs of feet where none should be.

But then a version of  “Stand By Your Man” comes on, and I stare across the sea of faces as the entire bus breaks into song. I smile. It’s all connectedness. For every truth there is an untruth; for every bit of suffering there are patches of joy. It’s all about just being present in the present, to live for those miniature moments where life just comes and goes and we just live.

Oh, Guyana.   

My Bus. 

The Years of the Perpetual Ponytail

The other day I was thinking, maybe I should get a haircut. I haven’t had one since I have been in Guyana (almost 7 months). I think this is the longest I have ever gone without going to a salon. My hair is long, stringy, full of split ends and utterly style-less. On some days, I long for a hairstyle. Wouldn’t it be nice to have layers or highlights? I sigh. But then I remember that I am in the Peace Corps, in a country that is at 4 degrees north latitude, almost on the equator. If you have read Tim’s blog about the weather you will know that it is not exactly a country that makes you want to wear your hair down (as it will likely stick to the back of you neck, dripping in sweat). So, on most days, you will find me with my hair in a ponytail, braid or bun. Tim jokes that these are the years of the perpetual ponytail. 

One of the things that I never thought I would miss about life in the U.S.A. is getting dolled up. Most of you know that I am not a girly-girl but I, like most people, enjoy feeling well put together. This feeling is one of the few sacrifices that Peace Corps Guyana demands one give up. I am always sweaty and I feel like I am covered in a sheen of dust and particles of burnt trash (that even now, as I write are wafting through my window). Even after I step out of my cold shower I do not feel one hundred percent clean. Today I had a Skype conversation with Heather B and, even through the pixilated web cam, she looked so lovely and clean. I think my telling her this might have creeped her out a bit. I mean, how often do your friends compliment you telling you how clean you look? 

Now, I am not complaining about my state of being. I am learning to accept that this is how most Peace Corps volunteers must feel. I am redefining myself and pushing the boundaries of what I am comfortable with, even in superficial ways. All I can do is imagine how wonderful that first hot shower in the States will feel, how amazing it will be to step into clothes that have been laundered rather than hand-washed, how confident and lovely I will feel when I can use a hair straightener and let my hair down, knowing that it won’t get frizzy and sweaty in 30 seconds. Until then, I exist in the years of the perpetual ponytail.

Home Improvement Sundays

I have dirt under my fingernails as I sit here typing. I am jamming out to some new music, thanks to the thoughtful package from Llewellyn and Tom that we were totally surprised by last week. I also have a proud sense of accomplishment that is becoming a regular feeling for us at the Linden house. The reason? Home Improvement Sundays.

Last week we were utterly fed up with the fact that we were still living out of suitcases (since we had nothing that could serve as wardrobe or closet or shelves). So, we decided to make some ourselves. Shelf-making in Guyana goes something like this: walk to hardware store to buy eight by four foot sheets of ½ inch ply board, carry said ply board on head awkwardly home, lug ply board upstairs to the balcony that will serve both as saw horse and workshop, borrow a saw from neighbor, oil the saw with canola oil, sit down with paper and pencil to design bookshelf, measure out and draw lines we wish to cut to make shelf, try using borrowed saw to cut and realize that the saw will never cut the board since it is too dull, go to another neighbor to borrow an electric handsaw, realize that electric handsaw blade is also ancient, return to hardware store to buy new blade, spend HOURS cutting through ply board with slow saw that is probably older than me, get offered to use a circular saw by another neighbor, rejoice in the speed and precision of the circular saw and finish cutting boards, nail boards together awkwardly, sand shelves, sit back in wonder with pride, sigh and momentarily wish there was an Ikea in Guyana, take back that thought because we accomplished something awesome and now could go unpack our suitcases!

In the end, Tim and I made three bookshelves for ourselves, two small ones for books and things and one to put our clothes. And, yes Llew, we think its funny too that we are some of the few rare PCVs who will amass a bookshelf full of books in a third world country that we will only live in for two years, you know us so well! Sara made two small bookshelves for herself and with the extra wood we decided to make a card table, which we have now collaged the top of and it looks super cool. It feels great to be unpacked and our house is feeling much more like a home with the new storage and organization space.

Sara also spearheaded the creation of a compost box. We have been throwing away tons of organic waste in our daily cooking and we had it mind to get a garden going so Sara read up on composting and got the materials to make a box with chicken wire and wood. Now we have a compost pile that is steadily growing and will hopefully yield a nice steamy load of fertilizer in a few months. And, since the compost box is within throwing range of my patio, I get to amuse myself by trying to aim eggshells and pineapple tops into the bin without going downstairs (I miss a lot and end up going downstairs anyway, but it is fun in a very juvenile way).

This week I took it upon myself to replant three baby papaya (called pawpaw in Guyana) trees that we had growing under our stairs. I had asked our next-door neighbor earlier in the week to order us a bag of mole (chicken poop fertilizer) with goals of nurturing these trees, as well as starting a small garden bed to get a kitchen garden going. As I was putting the cute baby pawpaw trees in their new homes, Sara and Tim came out to help weed a patch of our yard and get the soil ready for a garden. A few hours later, after having discovered some new and bizarre bugs, we sat back to admire what we hope will be a very fruitful endeavor (don’t hate the pun…).

We don’t know very much about gardening but are going to try to at least get some green onion, lettuce, cucumber and tomato going. If we can, we will save some money at the market. Projects like this also offer us an immediate sense of accomplishment. I’m finding that this is very important to my health and mental well being since I rarely see immediate results in my Peace Corps process of slow, grassroots development work. So, I am hoping that Home Improvement Sundays will become a regular habit at the Linden house and will help us stay happy and fulfilled as we soldier on in our adventure in Guyana.

- C

Our "closet" with the bookshelf we made and a rope and PVC pipe set up to hang our clothes on.












Sara's compost box.

Bugs...eewwwe.

Another bug. We aren't really sure what this dude is so we left him alone...

FIFA and G-Town

Good day friends!

Adventures abound, well not really, but life goes on.  As many of you know the FIFA World Cup ended a few weeks ago (Viva La Espana!), however before it ended the housemates and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Granted, neither Tony nor Sara watched football prior to this week, but I think we made some believers when the tourney finished. Likewise, never before (and probably never again) had Chels and I watched as much of the World Cup (almost every game) and it was wonderful. We had some great encounters from our Libyan friend to our benevolent benefactor who gave us a wonderful opportunity.

We were pretty steady in going to this one restaurant for several of the live games; the food was good and the specials were well worth it. We would laugh and gaff, sometimes getting into it, yelling at the TV, excited when a goal would slide into that elusive net. It was fun. Some days the place was dead, other times, especially toward the elimination rounds, it was busy. We met several people. The most memorable was the owner of the place. He’d studied at USC for his MBA and has a few businesses speckled over town. At first, when we started talking with him, we didn’t know who he was, but when he introduced himself we knew immediately. We talked more and he is a pretty intriguing guy. He invited us back for the Final game, but we told him we’d be in Georgetown for a conference, but we’d love it if he would be able to suggest a spot for us to catch the match. He got back to us in a few days and told us he reserved a special place for us at this place called the Georgetown Club, the most prestigious club in Town. Wow. What an offer, he even said he set up a tab for us so we all could enjoy a burger and some libations.

 At first I pictured a classy place with manners and black ties, but we were told we could wear jeans and a simple shirt. Not completely convinced, I put on a collared shirt and some jeans, compromise, right? But when Sunday came we were greeted at the door ushered to an outside table with the view of large, flat screen TV and were told to enjoy ourselves.  People were wearing shorts and there was an American style barbecue tent set up with a couple of barbecues and they were making burgers (apparently it was a burger competition! Amazing.) We watched the winner of the competition accept his victory and then were invited to go up and get some burgers. It was just like home. Cheese, jalapeños, meat, lettuce, red onion; when I bit into it my eyes rolled back with pure pleasure (see above, it makes me hungry just looking at it). I couldn’t get enough of it. We even ran into a television host who works for the Travel Channel. I didn’t know who he was, but Sara was all about it! Eventually, the game started as you can see we did procure some Vuvuzuelas and enjoyed ourselves.

As the game ended we headed to our hotel to begin our weeklong conference. It was great to see everyone both staff and fellow Guy 22ers. We caught up, shared ideas, and worked on how we all could move forward for these next three months before our 6 months-at-site conference. There were also hot showers, free food, and a swimming pool. When all is said and done it was an amazing week. But now we’re back at site and ready to go. We’ll update again soon!

Here's the Rasta Glam shot :)

Ain't she purrrrty! 

Much Love,

T & C

Volunteer Adventures and the Elusive Colour Blue.

There hasn’t been blog entry lately because our Internet has been exceedingly inconsistent. This is not only due to the weather but also because there are some problems with the provider in Town. Some parts of the days it will work just fine, but minutes go by and it stops functioning. It is really frustrating. We know we should be grateful just to have the option of the Internet, but it wears on us nonetheless.

There have been numerous adventures this last month or so. The first was going to some creeks along the highway on Father’s Day. It began with a torrential downpour as we left Linden, the miniscule drops stinging the faces and exposed skin of those who sat in the bed of the truck. However, as we gained distance from town, the rain slackened, and then ceased.

The first creek was bustling despite the overcast pall; kids splashed, adults played, and Chels and I even leapt off a diving board into the soft bedded, shallow water. As is wont to do, the rain came and went in intervals, but it didn’t detract from our fun. The second creek we went to was even more crowded. People were everywhere, a barbecue was burning underneath a tarp, keeping the now consistent rain at bay, and people played table games on both sides of the highway, defying the elements to display their enjoyment. We went home content.

Another adventure began with the colour blue. Not the blue of the skies, for again the heavens wept, but the blue of a tarpaulin covering a speedboat. Every other person in the boat, including Sara, were covered with trash bags, but lonely I, joining the Outreach late, was stuck to weather the storm with my white, blue striped shirt, while hiding under the tarp.

This was my first Outreach trip and my first time on the river since I’ve been in Linden. It was amazing. I felt so connected to the vast, placid waters (barely disturbed by the falling rain) and jungles that flew by at whatever speed our 75 hp engine pushed. The rain eventually stopped and as the skies parted the tarp completely came off. I was at peace watching the water, snapping photos of the amazing reflections; I closed my eyes, inhaled softly and smiled: I couldn’t believe this was my life.

The village eventually came into view; it was beautiful. Situated along the bank of the Demerara River there was a grassy clearing, with a solitary tree in the corner, spread out in front of the two story, two room school. The health post was nearby and as we docked the health workers made their way up its steps to the right, while I went left, towards the school.

The younger kids (nursery to second grade) inhabited the lower level, while the older kids (3-9) studied up top. It was a testing day, so there wasn’t much teaching going on but out of the 3 teachers, only one was there. This is a typical multi-grade setting. The one teacher who was there not only is the Head Mistress of the school, but also teaches grades 5 to 9—at the same time! The other two teachers were never trained at Teacher’s College so every week on a certain day they head to Linden to attend classes leaving the HM the sole instructor to not only perform her teaching duties, but also all the administrative duties that go with her being the principal. Luckily, though, on this particular day she had a parent come in and volunteer to help the younger grades while she focused on proctoring the tests to the older kids.

As I enter the school, I can’t help but wonder how any learning takes place. Each teacher has only chalkboards for each grade (sometimes on board for two grades). They put the grade specific assignment on the appropriate board, and each has difficulty teaching the whole group because all the students are at different levels. There is, I suppose, some time for the teacher to flutter around and do some re-teaching of this or that concept, but mostly the teachers rely on individual work and texts books. Now this could work, but I think that some students, even at the higher levels, have difficulty reading. So even though this HM’s 5 classes (not including the younger kids) only amount to about 33 students their reading levels are so vastly different she cannot spend time focusing on one group without doing a disservice to another. Thus, I am searching for a solution to combat these learning gaps and give every child a fighting chance.

As all good things, this one had to end. We had to leave, but I felt the day was productive: I was able to talk to a teacher on her own turf and find out what I can do to help, and just the mere fact that I came out there rather then wait in my office built up a trust with her; a step in the right direction.

Another adventure also dealt with multi-grade schools, but this one included a 9-hour bus ride. It was reminiscent of my HVV (Host Volunteer Visit) during training, but on a completely different plane.

Our education department driver came to my office in the back of the Education building and asked if I wanted to go on a trek towards Lethem to the end of Region 10. Pining away behind my desk I gratefully accepted. There were three of us in a mini bus (which is basically a 15 person large van): the driver, one of the primary school officers, and myself. The officer was up front so I shared the back with a box of papers we were suppose to drop off at the outlying schools. We drove through Linden until we came to the end of the paved road. This is where is gets interesting.

Last time I came down this road I was in a large bus, it wasn’t the rainy season, and it was the middle of night. Now, it was mid-morning, the rain was steadily falling (hence the road was a lot worse), and the mini-bus really isn’t as solid as the large bus—but notably it is much more agile. We careened one way, then the other searching for the path of least resistance. Dodging the pockmarked potholes. Slowing down, speeding up swerving this way, that way, and we weren’t alone. Other vehicles coming towards Linden were doing the same thing. We’d see them in the distance, usually a large mining truck or pick-up or an occasional car, mimicking us like a mirror: swerving, slowing, moving, bumping. Quite a spectacle. But here I must pause to pay homage…

I have the utmost respect for the drivers here. My Regional Officer, among others, like to say, “To drive here you need a P.H.D.—Pot Hole Dodging degree.” And I believe it. Going on these unpaved roads (and sometimes the “paved” roads) is like watching warriors do battle. They have to have quick reflexes, good field of vision, and extreme concentration. Half the time I can’t even see the bump coming, but I feel inertia pull me as the van slows then swerves. In war movies one always sees clouds of dirt explode upwards as pyrotechnic artillery goes off putting the protagonist in danger, here it’s the opposite. Instead of hollows forming from explosions, they’re already there waiting to catch an unsuspecting driver off his guard, then blow his tires out and leave him stranded on an abandoned road. It’s times like these that I’m glad Peace Corps doesn’t let us drive.

…So as we drive, battling rain and red clay, we stop at almost every multi-grade school from the town to the end of the region (near region 8). Some are really situated in picturesque locations, but of course I don’t have my camera with me. It takes us about 3.5 hours to get to the last school, but we’re not done yet. We turn around the way we came until we’re almost back in town (It’s about 6 pm at this point) then take a fork off the road. We head to another side of the region where the Essequibo River passes through right next to region 7, drop off our papers then finally we get go home. It was a 12+ hour day, I was exhausted and sore from the all the bouncing, but if I had to do it again I would without hesitation. Moreover, I suppose I have some sort of bragging rights. I’ve been to the 4 corners of region 10 (Near Region 6, Region 7, Region 8, and Region 4), though granted I have not spent significant time at any one place, I have seen a lot of it.

Now it’s July 4th and we’re celebrating the US’s Independence day by taking time to relax. The church across the way finished their service (so many “Alleluias”!), we’re going to make some Channa Burgers (just like home…almost), and instead of fireworks we are going to set our trash on fire, which is quite a common way to dispose refuse here. But until next time have a safe holiday!

Much Love,
T & C


PS: Shout out to my good friends of the Beat Attack Brew Shack, Great Job at the San Diego County Fair 2 Ribbons! Awesome! and some good feed back. Wish I could have been there.

Here are some random photos.

Venturing out and coming home

Last week, I had the awesome opportunity to accompany the national coordinators of the Youth Friendly Health Services (YFS) program on an outreach trip. Our mission was to explore the possibilities of establishing health services for young people in dormitory schools in the hinterland regions of Guyana. The ladies from YFS asked me to come along to provide them support and also so I could pick up some new ideas for ways to improve the youth friendly clinic, my primary project, at my site in Linden.

The Ministry of Health had planned a 5-day trip for us to visit Mahdia and Paramakatoi. We flew out of Georgetown on Wednesday in a 12-seat prop plane and I got to sit in the copilot seat! 

The scenery that spread below us was nothing but lush jungle with dark rivers cutting snaking shapes through the greenery. We landed in the remote, mining outpost town called Mahdia. It seriously reminded me of the Wild West; red dirt roads, wild untouched mountains surrounding us, and curious, silent stares from all the locals as we strangers walked down the streets to find our hotel. I almost expected to see tumbleweed and to get stopped by the sheriff with his six shooters. In Mahdia we met with regional leaders, hospital staff and the dormitory school children. I had a few charming interactions with students when we used our visit as an opportunity to lead discussion with the school children on topics relevant in their community, like the dangers of tobacco and cigarettes and teen health (puberty, menstruation etc.). 

Our next stop was an even more remote Amerindian village in the Pakaraima mountain range. Again, we hoisted our backpacks into a tiny plane and soared over the jungle on our way to Paramakatoi (PK). However, on our way, the pilot needed to make a short stop to drop off another passenger. I wasn’t sure where we were stopping until I looked out the window of the plane and saw the wide, winding river suddenly drop off into a cloud of mist. It couldn’t be, I thought. But it was! We had stopped at the most famous tourist attraction in Guyana; Kaiteur Falls. Kaiteur is the largest single drop waterfall in the world and, as our plane dipped towards the landing strip I got a breathtaking view of this natural beauty. Unfortunately, we didn’t have time to get off the place and get a closer look but I managed to snap off some photos before we took to the sky. Now I am even more motivated than I was before to take the 4-day hike to get an up close, and more lasting, peek of the mighty Kaiteur before I leave Guyana.  

Arriving in PK was a breath of fresh air, literally.  Since the village is high up in the mountains it gets a nice cool breeze that was so refreshing, especially for this California girl who is used to more temperate climates. It was so peaceful and scenic. I felt so serene and relaxed during my whole stay in PK. We had someone cook us meals and bring them to the guesthouse where we stayed. And, even though I didn’t have amenities like a shower or current, I felt more comfortable in rural PK than I did in the busy, noisy hotel in Mahdia. The Ministry gals and I even had a chance to take a few hikes around to check out some of the scenery and explore a bit. We did get some work done though when we met with the dormitory school to put steps in place to provide health services for the 300+ youth who live in the dorms. We also had a question and answer session where we gave the students the opportunity to write down any questions they had on any health topic (sex, drugs, alcohol, self esteem, etc). Boy, did we get some funny questions! I think my favorite was, “What are the consequences of taking too much sweetness?” Now, you might think this student was asking about eating too many sweets, but he/she was actually referring to too much sex. Ha! Don’t kids just ask the darndest things? 

 

 

On Sunday, after four days out in the field, I headed home to Linden. Amazingly, coming back actually felt like coming home! I was so excited to sleep in my own bed, cook my own food and share my stories with Tim that when my bus zoomed over the crest of the hill that leads into Linden and I caught my first glimpse of the bauxite factory smoke stacks puffing away I sighed and thought, “Yay, I am home.” It’s an odd feeling, starting to feel at home here. Overall, the trip was a great break and a cool opportunity to see something new. But I also gained some new insight about my own sense of place in Guyana that is helping me stay strong and positive.

For a while now I had been feeling like I was always getting stared at and sipped at because I look so different than everyone else. I just imagined everyone thinking, ‘Hey look, there goes a white girl!” However, when I was traveling in the hinterland regions the odd stares didn’t bother me as much. I guess I was thinking that I was being stared at because I was a stranger, not because of my race. But the more I thought about it, why should I be bothered by the stares and catcalls at ‘home’ in Linden? Aren’t I just as much of a stranger here? Even though I feel more at home, I am still the new girl on the block in the eyes of my community. It feels a lot better to have this perspective than one based on racial difference. Even in this short week excursion I learned a lot by venturing out and then retuning home so I can only imagine what lessons await me when I return home to the States after the rest of my Peace Corps service…