giving away my baby

Many PCVs, myself included, join Peace Corps thinking that they are capable of changing the world, that entire villages will lead better lives because of our influence, and after a few months in country we begin hoping, wishing, that we will change something other than ourselves. We second guess ourselves and compare ourselves to other volunteers thinking that we aren’t doing enough. We wonder why we are here and if anyone cares and yet we stay, day after day, visiting families, trying to convince those children to put on their shoes and brush their teeth and trying to convince government officials to give us support for our commissions. The weeks and months pass and we dream that perhaps one child will brush their teeth daily, beg their mom for vegetables, or stop throwing trash in their front yard because of our influence. Just one child? Please.

The task that I felt so capable of two years ago of improving people’s lives appears an impossible task to me. When I tell some friends and families of my woes, they timidly ask me if I’m sure I want to finish and I know they secretly hope that I will come home and end this self imposed torture. I begin doubting myself and wondering what in the world I am doing in Paraguay and why I’m here. “Will I ever see the fruits of my labor?” I wonder to myself, assuming the answer is no. When my life consistently feels impossible, the smallest things feel like huge successes. I called a friend to tell her that one teacher told me in a very indirect way that I could essentially come whenever I wanted and teach whatever I wanted. I called someone after working all day in the school garden and seeing two of the teachers take charge and get involved. I would write in my journal when I had a good conversation in Guarani and I told several people that my host dad cried when he realized how little time I had left in the country. These seemingly “small” things were the motivations to keep me in this country and what made my work worthwhile.

For almost the entirety of my time in site (now a year and 5 months), I have been working with a women’s commission to raise money to build fogons (brick ovens) for 27 women. I invited every house in the community and blundered my way through the first meeting when they elected officials for the commission. From the get go, I made it clear to them that this was their commission and I was just the helper; they had to make and enforce rules and decisions, not me. For months, my “helping” duties consisted in all of the work for the commission. I walked in the sun to collect everyone’s identity cards to make copies, I typed up copies of our rules, I walked around to get signatures, I called and organized meetings, carted back soap kits from Asuncion to raise funds, and then I made the journey to the local municipality every week for three months to check on our recognition. After I had argued my way into getting that paper, I brought necessary documents to the department capital and waited a month for their recognition. I then spent another couple of months getting more useless but necessary documents for the commission, exhausting myself through weekly trips to the Caacupe (the department capital) and running around to make copies, get things signed, notarized, and occasionally having arguments with government officials. I saw no end in sight and began to just hope that I would complete the paperwork side of the job so that my follow up volunteer could construct the fogons. Meanwhile, most of the women in my commission were losing faith and it took everything I had to rally their spirits, although I’m not sure I did a very good job.

Finally I had all the necessary documentation and was able to write a grant, petitioning the government for financial support to build the fogons. By this time, a few women were starting to visit the capital with me and were beginning to see that this was no piece of cake. They waited for hours with me to speak with the governor and they listened to me argue with someone who said that they were unable to support a fogon project. They were with me when I was told that we would receive half of the support and when we got back home after that, they began with a new vigor. I watched as these ladies began to speak their mind and insist that rules be enforced; I saw them planning fundraising activities without my help or advice; I listened while they defended and supported the work I had done for the last year and a half as if I were the most amazing person on the planet; and they conducted three-quarters of the meeting without me saying a word. I even had to ask for clarification after the meeting was over because they had made decisions without me understanding everything that was going on. I could not have been more proud of them.

About a month later, I was stuck in Asuncion for medical reasons, unable to return to site and I received a call from my contact in Caacupe. “The items for your fogons are coming in tomorrow,” he told me. “You need to come pick them up with your President and Treasurer.” I had previously talked with my commission and they knew that when we got the support, the President and Treasurer would have to go in with me. The only problem was that I was stuck in Asuncion and didn’t know when I would be home. I called the President and explained the situation to her. Without hesitation, she agreed to go without me and said she would contact the Treasurer to see what day was good for both of them. Ten minutes later, my contact in Caacupe informed me that he talked to “my people” and they would be there when the materials arrived. The following day I got a call from my host dad to congratulate me and let me know that everything arrived well, that the President and Treasurer made the journey and the materials were safely stored in their house. I was now overwhelmed with pride for these women.

At the same time, I felt like someone had chopped off my hand or taken away my baby. While I was overflowing with pride, there was also an empty feeling in my gut. I had worked for a year and a half to make this happen, cried, sweated, lost sleep, made myself sick, and argued over it, and I was not there to see the biggest part of it to date come into fulfillment. There was a secret part of me that wanted to shed a tear with my beaming smile. I had wanted this so badly but I knew that what I wanted more was to make myself and my job useless. This work is difficult, but it is even more difficult to make it self-sustainable. My commission getting fogon materials was a huge success, but me having the contacts and relationships to simply make phone calls so that my women could do the work without me was an even bigger success.

Through this chain of events, I was not only able to see how long it takes for change to come about, but for the first time I began to think about how hard it would be for me to leave this commission in the following months. It was an awfully bittersweet thought. I don't know that any one child is brushing their teeth more frequently or wearing their shoes more frequently because of my influence (although my reports sent to DC records supposed success in that area) and I know that my commission is not at all self-sustainable yet, nor will they be self-sustainable before I leave. But they just made a huge step in that direction. And whether you believe me or not and whether you think I am crazy or not, I think that it was all worth it.