My parents rock

A while ago, I asked my mom to write something about what it has been like to be the parent of a Peace Corps volunteer in Mali. My parents have been incredibly supportive and patient through this entire experience, and I was wondering what it was like for them. My mom wrote me the following letter, which I very much enjoyed reading. I am so thankful that I have the family that I do, and I am looking forward to being back in MI in August!

 

My Dear Daughter,

You asked me to describe my experiences as a parent at home, watching your Peace Corps journey from afar. 
As you near the end of your 2 yrs and I am now looking forward to your return, I look back on the experience as an overall wonderful time of growth and insight for me as a parent.  I knew Africa was there, that there is abject poverty, a void of education, disease, violence, starvation.  But, as an American woman, I really gave little thought to the the subject as I got on with my comfortable, busy life.  Then one day you told us that you were in the process of applying to Peace Corps.  Rock my world!  As you went about making your dream of being a part of this service come true, I struggled to hold my tongue and not pass my fears on to you.  I asked you many questions and you always had good answers. I had to let go and trust that you would make good, informed decisions as you always had. 

You requested a French speaking country where you could be in community development.  While I was hoping for the Carribean somewhere, you were looking at West Africa. It seemed like forever but you were finally given your country assignment--Mali. Man, could it be any worse?  A landlocked country not even near the ocean, hot, desert, poor and so far away. I was horrified but you assured me you could make it work.  You studied web sites, made contacts and found information about what to take with you to make life more bearable. There were so many different  recommendations as everyone had different ideas of what was essential to keep sanity. You could only take 2 bags/50lbs on the plane. So the fun began...

First I flew to Denver and helped you dissolve your household there, move back home to stage your departure. There was a big bon voyage party with friends and family. You went to Louisiana for a visit with family there. There were lots of questions and it was all very exciting, but for me there was much angst also. I wondered if this was what it would feel like to send a child to war...

We bought a Solio so you might be able to charge a cell phone which you would purchase in Mali. We got a laptop in case you might be able to contact home or journal your life in Mali.  We piled and sorted and re-piled and re-sorted until it was time to pack.  Keeping busy helped keep the scary thoughts at bay---moving forward, being a good supporter, helping you out...

Then came your departure day. We packed your bags(a major undertaking), weighed them, made sure you had all required documents a took you to Detroit airport.  We hugged, I cried and you went in. I waited by the curb to be sure you didn't need to leave something behind and I saw you repacking a bag (oh no!).  But, finally you were checked in so you came back out for another hug and to reassure me that you were fine.  I couldn't even give you money for the trip--no use for it there.  I had to trust that the Peace Corps would take care of you. And, I knew you were a smart, careful person with good instincts.  Bon Voyage!

I didn't know when we would hear from you again but you did call and let me know you were in Philadelphia for the staging and all bags were fine.  Then it was silent, no contact-- did you make it to Mali, when would you call again? I was suffering separation anxiety, loss of control.  I don't think I slept the night through for awhile.  You were on your way but to what?  Where would you stay in Mali?  Two years....the "big bad world" lurking...

Mali...

You did your training--2 mo. of language, cultural studies and more specific information about your job as Health Education volunteer.  Slowly you learned how to navigate your new surroundings.  The 'home stay' was an eye opener for you and I heard about the terrible health practices in Mali, the lack of clean water, spread of disease from lack of basic health standards, lack of education and knowledge that is so basic to us that we don't even think about it. You got your assignment. You would be the first volunteer in a small village, no electricity, no running water, no infrastructure, no other Americans, no place of your own. You would have to stay with the village chief and his family in their compound.   Now I knew that just being in Mali was bad, but this was even worse.  You got a cell phone but had no coverage in the village. After time we worked out a day a week that you rode your bicycle to a "bus stop", caught the local bus and went in to a nearby larger village to shop and I could call you then.  Each call was a treasure for me--I could relax a bit until the next week. At least I knew you were alive.  But, I heard in your voice the isolation, the frustration of working with a population that had to start from square one in regards to health practices. You were sick often, it was hot with no relief, boredom was the enemy as you could not "share" with the Malians as there was no common ground and you were not fluent enough in Bambara. The Malian midwife assigned as your homologue was negative and no help at all but rather undermined many of your efforts. The food was worse than awful, it was unclean, tasteless. The people were rude and treated you like a zoo animal, mocked you, poked at you.   I wanted to tell you to pack and come home when you had giardia, or a respiratory infection. It just didn't seem worth it from my standpoint, but I knew you would not be happy with yourself if you didn't persist. I let you know that it was your decision and that leaving in no way would be a bad thing in anyone's eyes, you had done more than most people in staying even a year. You wanted to stay. I was so proud of your fortitude.  Tough girl!  Better person than I.

Despite all odds against you,  you always seemed to find something good that was happening,-- you made friends with the doctor and the pharmacist, the chief was like a grandfather to you and he seemed to protect you as you were his guest, one of the young girls was good to you.  After several months of adjusting, living among the people, gaining their trust and respect, you began to make some headway. You conceptualized a Health Committee and made it happen and began to see some of the Malians take an interest in improving their health practices. The village finally built your house after 10 months or so and you were doing better.

You were invited to assist with training the next group of volunteers--building the resume'.  But, when you returned to the village you found your house being eaten by termites--apparently whatever they do to keep termites out of their homes they didn't bother to do for you.  I was incensed and ready to fly over and get you, but you were patient and kept your cool. You had hopes of getting another assignment for your second year in Mali, which finally did happen. While  I jumped up and down and yelled Yippee!, you had some mixed emotions leaving the village with what you considered unfinished business. But life was about to take a positive turn and you now thought you could make it through the second year.

And now you're on the homeward stretch. I am so proud of you. There is a time anomaly that occurs when you are embarking on a new journey--looking ahead seems like forever, but then poof, it's over and looking back it was a quick blip.  I tell others that you and others sharing a similar sacrifice are an inspiration and source of hope. You are the best ambassadors the US has. In the news we see so much negativity about the youth of today, but you and your friends represent the many young people who will be the leaders of tomorrow, the ones who will hopefully craft balanced, humane policy for this country.  I thank you for following your dream, for enduring and persisting and for educating me and letting me share vicariously an experience of a lifetime. 

Much love,

Mom