Third Goal

I found this today as I was going through the latest batch of pen pal letters from my hometown in Ohio.  The third sentence, ironically, made me think of Peace Corps' third goal.   I hope this little boy always continues to think so highly of this country and its people. 

   Goal Three: To strengthen Americans' understanding about the world and its peoples. 

Heart

Bleeding heart

Gam lang jai - will-power, spirit

Over the past few days, the words of Sargent Shriver, Peace Corps's founding director, have been popping up on Facebook, emails, and in conversations.  I'm not sure why, possibly as we swiftly passed the milestone of a year in country, my group is starting to look around, taking note, wondering what the heck we're doing, and what, if anything, we've accomplished.  For me specifically this has been depressing. It's difficult to look back at the past year and not see a lot of tangible accomplishments.  Often, I feel like a complete failure.

Eat your heart out

Jai Rown - "hot heart," hot headed

Thus, I spent the majority of the weekend, and the beginning of the week for that matter, gorging myself on sam paan (homemade mango fruit roll-ups) and being particularly and ridiculously negative. Both of these activities eventually made me feel ill as well as ashamed of myself.  And I still had two kilos of the dried mango left.

So, I did what any good PCV would do, I forced myself to read Sargent's words over and over again until I remembered why I joined PC and figured out how I was going to be happy doing it.  Or at least that's what I'd like you to believe.

What I actually did was download and try a bunch of pilates and yoga videos.  This led to a cup of coffee, Skyping with family, and daydreams of locking my door and not coming out of my house until I had finished the mangoes.   

The way to a man's heart is through his stomach. 

Chuen jai - cheered up

But while Skyping with my sister I received a call from my counterpart.  "Where are you?  Please come to the office!  We miss you!" I started to feel better.  So, mangoes in tow, I biked to the office. 

In Thai culture, it's very common to bring fruit or snacks to share with friends.  Actually, it's kind of expected.  Everyone shares.  Everyone participates.  And everyone eats.  Well aware of this custom, I happily presented the two bags of mango fruit roll-ups to everyone.  "I love these so much, but I want to share with everyone!  They are so delicious," I said.  And so we ate.  Together. 

As the snacking and conversation went on, it was casually mentioned that some of the villagers make the mango fruit roll-ups and that they are much more delicious than the ones I brought in today.  "Good!" I said.  "Then someone can show me how to make them." 

And just like that I had an appointment for this evening at 5 p.m.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder

Nam jai - "heart water" making sacrifices for friends, showing much hospitality toward strangers

I had not been to my host family's house in a long, long time.  Months actually.  I was nervous about going.  But I was also excited.  They make sam paan and were very excited to show me how to do it.  When I rode my bike up to the house I knew it was going to be a good evening.  The dogs recognized me and didn't bite me, my 7-year-old host sister didn't hide, and my host mom came running down the stairs screaming my name and asking if I could sleep at their house tonight.  I immediately felt guilty. Why hadn't I come by sooner?  What on earth am I so afraid of? 

We spent the better part of the evening eating, talking, and of course, making mango fruit roll-ups, which is surprisingly easy.  10 mangoes peeled and smashed, boil with a pinch of salt and stir for 5 minutes, spoon onto plastic wrap like you would a pancake and put out in the sun to dry for two days. But what was wonderful was the atmosphere, so warm and welcoming. 

To my heart's content 

Sa bai jai - happy, contented

As dusk descended upon my Thai village, I began the short but hot 3 kilometer journey back to my apartment.  The air was filled with smells of fresh curry being fixed for this evening's dinner, the threat of rain, and a million Thai hellos.  I was suddenly struck with how wonderful and beautiful all of this is and how welcome I feel in this village.  Rain looming and angry packs of dogs nipping at my heels, I forced myself to slow down, take it all in, and to feel the happiness that was rapidly washing over me. 

A man after my own heart

Hua jai - the human heart, mind, feelings, essence

"He goes to a foreign country to work within that country's system; he helps fill their needs as they see them; he speaks their language; he lives in the way they live and under their laws; he does not try to change their religion; he does not seek to make a profit from conducting business in their country; he does not interfere in their religious, political, or military affairs. And because of this he has been welcomed where others have been turned away." - Sgt. Shriver

My Co-workers Part II: Patong, my Thai mom

Every Peace Corps Volunteer has that one host country national who takes them under their wing.  That one, genuinely interested local who takes it upon themself to be a part of everything the volunteer does, monitors food intake, bathroom breaks, work activities, safety, housing, grooming, exercise, social life, etc.  (I'm serious about all of these things being monitored, by the way.)

Mine is Patong.  Patong is the receptionist at the mayor's office in my village.  Sometimes, I think she single-handedly runs the place.  She is my Meh Bpratet Thai (Thai mom), my caretaker, my champion, my counterpart, and my favorite, favorite, favorite person in Thailand. 

Family portrait.  Patong is wearing the blue flowered shirt...
and as you can see, she's got her eye on me.

Patong was assigned to take care of me when I first arrived in my village, to watch over me, to mother me.  In any other situation, this might have been a recipe for disaster.  I've always been very independent (ask my American mom about it) and I've always taken care of myself.  And I came to Thailand with the assumption that none of that would change.  But it has.  

During one of my headstrong fits while arguing with Patong, I thought I was so clever when I said in Thai "I'm a 31-year-old American woman, I capable of doing things myself." Patong was quick to remind me "This isn't America. This is Thailand. Things are different here and you must listen to me if you want to stay safe." I went from feeling 31 to three.

What's funniest about this experience - moving to another country not knowing a soul, living alone in a village of people who are, on the outside, nothing like me at all, learning how to speak, to feed myself, bathe myself, to even conduct myself all in another culture - is that it's a tiny bit like being reborn knowing what I already know yet still having to go through the all the stages of life again.  And unfortunately and surprisingly, making a lot of the same mistakes I made the first time. 

Until that day Patong put me in my place, it never occurred to me that having someone essentially raise me would be a good thing, a very happy thing, an opportunity to forge a bond with someone who it was very unlikely that I would have ever met had it not been for Peace Corps.

Nowadays, Patong often follows me on her motorcycle as I ride my bike to the market, or to the school.  She drives by my classroom to make sure I am there and safe.  She tells me I am not allowed to ride my bike on the main road because it's too dangerous and that druggies might hurt me.  She tells me that I can leave my bike at the police station for two days, but not three days, when I go out of town because it will get stolen.  She has informed me that the reason I have a bum knee is because I eat too much chicken.  She comes to my house and tells me I need to clean it.  She tells me when she thinks a project idea will or won't work.  She tells me when I need to exercise, when I look fat, skinny, or just right.  She tells me (and everyone else) that I need to be home by sunset.   She understands my Thai, which I can only imagine is much like the mother who can understand her toddler's babbling, when no one else in the room has any idea what I'm trying to say.

And best of all, she makes things happen.  Every project I've worked on here is courtesy of Patong.  When I wanted to teach the village kids about healthy lifestyles, she made it happen.  When I wanted to start teaching in the village schools, she made it happen. 

My first year here was extremely difficult and I am certain I was quite unpleasant to be around most of the time.  I'm so glad Patong didn't give up on me.  And I'm so, so, so glad she didn't let me give up on myself.

Right now, I'm planning a sex education camp for the youth in our village, which I'm really excited about because it's combating both a problem in our community and a problem in Thailand.  And guess who is making it happen... 

Patong, me, and Lily at the office.

My Co-workers Part I: Mr. Bean

In a few weeks, I will pass the year mark of living in my village.  Usually the year mark is when you really start to get to know people, your community, and things start to fall into place.  For me, it means I've really started to live here and have really begun to integrate into my community, not just stay here, sleep here, eat here, but to actually be a part of the community, and best of all, to be enjoying it.  All of this living has been brought to you by the people in my village.  They're my sponsors, and now, my friends.  So it wasn't until recently that I realized I haven't said a lot about these people who make up my life here, who are, really, the most important part of this adventure.  I hope these little bios do them the justice they deserve and give you an insight as to why I have come to love my village.

I'd like to start with one of my favorites:

Mr. Bean, aka Tan Combover, aka Bpa, aka Forrest Gump, aka Tan Balat.

Tan Balat and me at a teamwork retreat in Petchabun Province. 
The yellow scarf he has tied around his arm was used for a
teamwork activity earlier in the day.

Mr. Bean, as the office likes to call him, was the first person I talked to from my village.  During the 7th week of training volunteers visit their village-to-be for a weekend to check things out, meet the movers and shakers in the community, and to look for the good, the bad, and the ugly.  But a few days before we left, Peace Corps made us call our 'counterpart' (ie: the person who was going to help us integrate) to arrange transportation.  It's the first interaction you will have with your village, and as you can imagine, it is very stressful.  My paperwork had the number of the balat, my assigned counterpart.

In Thailand, a balat is the equivalent of a chief of staff or an executive director at the mayor's office. The balat stamps stuff- like official papers, makes speeches, and theoretically runs the office. The formal title is Tan Balat. Tan is a pronoun used to show respect to government officials.  But my office is a bit more laid back.  We prefer to use Bpa (uncle) or Mr. Bean. 

Lucky for me, Mr. Bean is every bit as lively as his nickname suggests (and a heck of a lot nicer).  For my first nine or so months at site, my desk was next to Tan Balat's.  On a daily basis he would garner my attention by repeating my name 2 or 3 times.  "Salah Salah Salah!" This attention grabber would always preface a special fact he was about to announce: "Thailand is very loud," "Thai people like to eat everything," and, one day, that he was no longer Mr. Bean, but Forrest Gump. " Salah, Salah, Salah.  Mr. Bean.  No. No. I am Forrest Gump."

Forrest also likes to tell me when I'm wrong, or how I can be better.  He calmly says "Salah, Salah.  No. No." Shakes his hand and his head and walks away.  For example, when he found out I was using Pantene shampoo he informed me that Pantene was "mai dii" (no good) and that I should start using another brand.  He was right.  Pantene was leaving build-up.

During my site visit.  Some of the office staff took me out for
pizza to help make me feel at home.  This is the night I
learned that Thai people like to cover their pizza in ketchup...
one of the first Mr. Bean fun facts.

Tan Balat comes from Southern Thailand.  He has a degree in Political Science, just like me, which is why he was excited I was going to be his volunteer.  He was a monk for 5 months during his 20s, and he's very proud of both his country and its history.   He loves to share any and all information about Thailand with me. And he doesn't like to drive.  So, when I need to be taken anywhere, the responsibility falls on the office driver, but Tan Balat will often accompany us giving him plenty of time to tell me random Thai fun facts.

My favorite, and now most infamous, Mr. Bean fun fact story happened during one of these very drives.  I was helping a fellow volunteer with an English Camp in a province close to mine.  Instead of taking me to the bus, my office decided it would be more convinient to drive me.  Five of us piled into a Toyota sedan and began the two hour journey, which actually turned into 4 hours because we got lost.  Twice.  It ended up taking longer than the bus, but was far more educational.  So I'm glad it happened.

Wedged between two Thai ladies in the back, I didn't have a lot of room to move, let alone pay attention to anything other than what was happening in the car.  But this didn't stop the Balat from yelling my name as we drove down the highway in the provice of Phichit. 

"SALAH, SALAH, SALAH!" he yelled.

"Yes?" I calmly said from about a foot behind him.

He turned around, looked at me, and said in English: "The history of Phichit is crocodile." Then he turned back around and faced the road.  Silence.

"What?" I thought to myself.  "What is he talking about?"

I pondered this information for the rest of the trip, unable to figure out what exactly it meant.  And when I got to my destination, I told the other volunteers about what I had learned.  We Googled it and, sure enough, he was right.  The Phichit province has a history of having many crocodiles.  It's part of their culture and they have crocodile statues everywhere.  In America, it would be the equivalent of me taking a foreign exchange student to Florida and saying, in their native language, "The history of Florida is orange."  Strangely worded, but accurate.

I'm convinced that my balat is the best balat in Thailand.  He's really nice, introduces me to everyone, he speaks a little English, knows everything about everything, and has the best combover in the world.  Sure, we have our disagreements (like the day we got into an argument about how to spell 'miss' in English, not that I would know because English isn't my native language or anything) but I really couldn't have asked for a better Balat.  He's single-handedly made my time here in Thailand more fun, funny, enjoyable, and more memorable.  And for that, I thank him. 

For New Year's the office gave him a basket of hair product
complete with pictures of his combover.  Here is is with Tim,
the community development officer in my village.

No Resolutions

I've been back in Thailand for exactly two weeks since my trip back to the States.  I've slept a lot, started and finished three novels, lost the 10lbs I'd put back on during my two weeks at home, and managed to (somewhat) adjust back to life in Thailand.  And although this road has been anything but bump-free, thankfully, coming to Thailand for the second time around has been much easier. 

But the new year brought new questions, challenges, and a visit from PC officials.  All of which center around the theme:  "I'm lonely, depressed, discouraged, and to top it all off I don't feel like I've done a damn thing, so what the hell am I still doing here a year later?" 

Now, I am blessed to have wonderful friendships with other volunteers here, people I likely would have never met but for this experience- I am so thankful for that.  And the days I get to spend with them are anything but lonely. 

Additionally, I have discovered that I really enjoy teaching - something I NEVER would have admitted a year ago, nor would have even been willing to try.  Desperation certainly opens one's mind. 

And last but not least, while I still suck at Thai, I know enough to order meals, buy bus tickets, ask for directions, make small talk, and talk about what I can do to be a better volunteer.  I found out this last tidbit the other day.  What came of it really surprised me.

After talking to some other volunteers experiencing the same frustrations this week, I somehow mustered the courage to talk to my Thai co-workers about why exactly they asked for a volunteer when I haven't yet helped them - with anything - and what, when I leave, will they remember about me? 

I was wholeheartedly expecting them to say "You hate fish and cry when you are frustrated."  (I've cried once and have yet to live it down.)  But without skipping a beat, the Deputy Mayor of my village listed three things that simultaneously made me feel like a success AND the world's biggest jerk.

1) "You have taught our children about healthy lifestyles.  And you have taught them in a way that is very different from the Thai style of teaching and our teachers are learning from you, too." 

2)  "You have taught us that foreigners are very different from Thais.  And that our cultures are very different and we have very different lifestyles." 

3)  "Because of you, the children in our village are no longer afraid of white people.  They are no longer afraid to talk to foreigners." 

Okay, so at this point you probably think I'm a success, a jerk, and now, a braggart.  But here's the deal: the good feelings I have experienced here are so few and far between that sometimes the only way I can cope is by clinging to what seems like a tiny, insignificant moment to those who haven't experienced anything like this before.  And if that's how I get through the next year without drowning in my own self-pity, so be it. 

But this happened to be an exceptionally lucky week for me, because I got TWO of these moments.  The second one snuck its way in this evening as I biked home with some of the kids.  We weren't talking about anything serious when one of the girls turned to me and said "Thank you.  Thank you for coming to our school and helping us.  Our school really loves you." 

I held it together long enough to say goodbye as she turned down the lane to her house, biked straight home, pulled down my garage door and burst into tears.  Of happiness, relief, frustration, guilt, and the hundred other emotions I feel every day here. 

I am blessed to have had this experience because despite how frustrating, depressing, lonely, and stressful it has been for me it has - at times - been equally as interesting, happy, fulfilling and exciting. 

Home is a four-letter word

I'm coming home (to the US) in a week for my brother's wedding and for Christmas.  Quite honestly, I'm so excited that I can't even let myself think about it lest I get anxious, sweaty, and overcome with the general feeling that I might just jump out of my own skin.  It's not pretty. 

However, I'm also considerably nervous.  I'm starting to like it here. Like really like it. I'm happy.  I have a routine, I have friends (even if most of them are between the ages of 5 and 10 years old) and I find myself smiling a lot.  And it's genuine. 

When I'm content, I've noticed that the world spins madly 'round.  The days are flying by and while most of them are without any events of consequence, there have been some over the past month or two that are particularly noteworthy. 

Here is the first one: Pen pal project (โครงการเพื่อนทางจดหมาย):

The kids were interested what their pen pals had to say.
They got out their English dictionaries, asked questions,
and were genuinely excited about telling American kids
about their lives - IN ENGLISH!

 

 

The class after we finished our letters.  I love these kids!

This project was born from a Facebook status I posted.  I was looking for a classroom willing to partner with me in an English letter exchange.  I was lucky enough to have a high school friend contact me about her son's classroom in my hometown.  It's been a godsend.

So far, we've only done one exchange, but it has encouraged my kids to improve their English, which is really amazing.  The project has also opened the door for me to teach at this school a few times a week.  I teach English, arts & crafts, and healthy lifestyles, and on days off we get to practice what I preach.  The students have started exercising with me at the school on holidays and weekends. We practice bicycle safety, get at least an hour of exercise, play Uno, talk about why drinking water is healthier than Coke, and use English words for directions and colors. 

It probably doesn't seem like a huge project to you, but it's a big deal to me, and I think it is to the kids, too.  I know it's outrageous to expect much, but I'm hoping that the encouragement of a healthy lifestyle will sustain itself through these kids and their families.  *Fingers crossed*  Every little bit helps, right?

But more than anything, it makes me feel useful here, which is a feeling I have struggled to achieve since my arrival, and a feeling that I think alludes a lot of PCVs.  I'm assuming these feelings of usefulness have more to do with my change of heart and mood than anything else.   

It's going to be hard to leave these kids next week... and then next year for good.  But because of them, it's going to be much easier to get on that plane after Christmas and come back... 

Making "recycled" bracelets with paper beads made from
old magazines and filler beads I purchased in Bangkok.

Helping them with their bracelets while they clown around.

Letters and Conversations of the simplest kind

I recently partnered with several elementary classrooms in my hometown for a pen pal project with the kids here in my village.  On Wednesday, I received my first packet of letters from a 3rd grade classroom.  I was so excited that I ripped open the package and read all the letters standing in the lobby of my office.

The letters were fabulously done, including ages, favorite activities, colors, school subjects, and even a little humorous in their simplicity including sentences like "I like dogs. Do you have a dog?" "I like doing stuff.  Do you like doing stuff?" and even "I like my dad." 

I really can't wait to share them with my Thai students because I think it is going to be a beautiful way to engage them in and encourage their conversational English - which they desperately need to improve as ASEAN 2015 approaches- and a way to exchange cultures at the most basic and innocent level: childhood. 

But after I calmed down and had read each letter at least twice, and marveled at their candor, I realized something.  I realized I'm communicating with my Thais in the same, basic 8-year-old vocabulary and simple sentence structure.  That my questions have not gone much further than the questions presented in these letters: What is your favorite food?  Do you have any siblings?  What games do you like to play? 

It made me wonder if this is why I'm still feeling isolated, alone, and very much an outsider.   

So, since 'The Arrival of the Letters' (ie: the past two days) I've been trying to talk more at the office.  I have decided that if I talk about everything that happens, or really, whatever is on my mind, it will help me feel more comfortable with the language, will improve my sentence structure, and will basically help me peel away another layer to these people and this culture.  Which I so desperately need and want to do. 

The following are some conversations I had today.  

 

-------



Me: Tan Balat, were you ever a monk?  (Tan Balat is the title for Chief of Staff at the office)

Tan Balat: Yes, 20 years ago. 

Me: For how long?  One month?

Tan Balat: No, no, no, no, no. For 5 months. 

Me: Did you like it?  What was it like?

Tan Balat: <Proceeds to sing, very loudly, a monk chant>

Me:  <In English> I'll take that as a yes.

-------

Me: <Points to a picture of the snow dumped on Maryland after Hurricane Sandy> America!  This happened because of the hurricane.  Does Thailand have hurricanes?

Tan Balat:  <also points to picture> House of Salah!

Me: No. That's in another state, but I think my house received a little snow from the hurricane. 

Tan Balat: Is it cold?

Me:  Yes.  And you can eat it. 

Yao (a coworker): You can eat snow?

Me:  Yes, but don't eat the yellow snow.

Yao:  Yellow snow? 

Me:  Yes, if the snow is yellow that means someone went to the bathroom there.  It's an American joke.

Fun (another coworker): You say ugly things! <laughs>

Tan Balat:  But you can eat spiders.  They are very delicious. 

Yao: Remember when we were in the car yesterday and there was a grasshopper?  Tan Balat eats those, too. 

 -------

 

Me: Hi Focus!  How are you?  What are you doing? 

Focus (Fun's 8 yr old daughter): Do you have mermaids in America?

 

Me: Yes.  We have a few. 

 

Focus:  How much do they cost? 

 

Me: Um, I don't know. 

 

Focus: Are they expensive?

 

Me:  Um, wanna watch a movie?  

-------

 

Me: Whose dog is at the office every day?  Is it the Mayor's dog?

 

Yao: Yes, it is the Mayor's horse. 

 

Me:  Oh, I thought it was the Balat's dog.

 

Yao:  No, the horses are the Mayor's. 

 

<We pull up to the office and the dog is sitting out front>

 

Yao: But the dog is the Balat's dog. 

 

Me: Oh, maa means horse and maa means dog.

 

Yoa:  MAAAAA!!  Horse.  Maaaah.  Dog. 

 

Me.  MAAAAA!!  Maaaah.