'Twas the Night Before Christmas

And all through the school, not a student was studying... because the teachers were at a meeting.

So the Santas (made from toilet paper rolls) had a meeting, too, and they said we should decorate for Christmas.  So we made stockings and hung them by the Santas with care.  

It's my first Christmas away from home.  Ever.  I'm 32.  This is a big deal.  I can't bring myself to listen to Christmas music.  I'm thinking about de-activating my Facebook account until after the New Year.   And for a couple of weeks, I didn't really even let myself think about what is going on back home for fear of it making me sad.  

Regardless of that, I decided to go forth with a cultural exchange.  I'm going to be teaching a lesson (at the request of the school) about Christmas to about 1,000 students, including about the birth of Jesus Christ (also a direct request from the school), which I'm actually very excited about sharing.  I'll be doing this in Thai, not English, which makes it that much more fun!

I might have also told the kids that I called Santa and he was going to make a special trip to Thailand this year.  He'll be delivering stocking stuffers sometime next week.  

Merry Christmas!  Happy Holidays! Season's Greetings!

Two tears - I mean years - in the making

Each year, the Ambassador hosts the outgoing group of Peace Corps Volunteers and treats them to a real American Thanksgiving meal.  Two volunteers are elected to represent the group, and share a short speech about their service.  For some reason, my peers elected me to speak. 

After practicing a number of times, and crying for about three days straight, I told our Country Director that I didn't think I could make it through the speech without completely losing it.  I'm extremely emotional about everything that has happened the past two years, and even more so about leaving a place and an experience I've come to love so dearly. 

When he basically told me to suck it up, I started crying again.  I think this shocked him, and I think he felt bad because he was really just trying to make a joke.  So, he told me that if I cried during my speech, he would come and stand beside me.  I didn't believe him.

Bawling about how much I love it here - and being
comforted by our Country Director

Needless to say, I started crying the second I walked up to the front of the room.  I was embarrassed by how unprofessional I was acting, especially in front of the Ambassador, State Department officials, my entire PCV group, and several Returned PCVs, but I couldn't control how overwhelmed and gratified I felt about what has transpired over the past two years. 

But like he promised, the Country Director, a former Thailand PCV himself, came and stood beside me, and it helped.  He showed the same kindness that my village shows to me everyday: that although I am pretty much a walking spectacle and I can't do anything without causing a scene, I'm loved and supported regardless of this flaw.

I made it through my speech.  But the flood gates had opened and I couldn't stop crying for another 30 minutes.  So I sat at a table and cried through the next speech, and the closing remarks, and then I cried in the bathroom, back at the table, and through a couple of photo ops.  Everything about the last two years hit me all at once and because I couldn't express it in words, it poured out of my eyes until there really was nothing left.

My service has meant a lot to me.  More than I ever thought it would.  And I owe 100% of that to the people I serve and serve with.  My Thai mom has a habit of telling me how "choke dii" (lucky) I am to be serving here in this community when I tell her about another volunteer's problems, or talk about PCV experiences in other countries.  Sometimes this is annoying.  But most of the time I can look her straight in the eye and say "Hen duay" which literally translates to "I see also" but means "I agree with you." 

With the Ambassador, Ginny (a fellow PCV speaker), and Kevin, our CD
and me still red-faced from my emotions.

I'm still a little embarrassed about my public display of emotions - especially since it's frowned upon in Thai culture - a lesson I've learned many times over while living here. 

But ultimately, I think it's okay to be emotionally overwhelmed by an experience as special, as moving, and as life-changing as serving as a United States Peace Corps Volunteer can be.  I am beyond lucky, and it's literally enough to bring me to tears. 

So without further ado, my take home messages from my two years living abroad as a Peace Corps Volunteer, but I have a feeling most of you have heard them all before: 

1) Love knows no cultural boundaries or language barriers. 

2) Happiness is a choice; if you want to be, you can learn to be happy anywhere.

3) Life is all about the little things: a piece of good chocolate, a bike ride, an old Thai lady just smiling and saying hello. 

and 4) Learn to laugh at yourself.  It makes life a heck of a lot easier and a heck of a lot more fun.



And if you're interested, my speech:

About a month ago, I cleaned out my office desk.   It was the first time in almost a year that I sat at my desk for longer than 10 minutes.  I’ve been busy integrating, you see.  Along with lesson plans, Thai language flash cards, and paperclips, I found the site information packet Peace Corps gave to each of us on the day when we found out where we would be living for the next two years. 

Now, I don’t know what everyone else did with their packet on that warm February day, but I read mine over and over and over for weeks, pouring over every detail of information.  I used it during the first few weeks at site to try to remember people’s names, “find projects,” and generally (and desperately) orient myself.    If you would have asked me about it two months ago, I probably would have told you that I read it so much, I memorized it. 

But looking over it just a few weeks ago, I can now confidently tell you that I didn’t memorize it.  That for as many times as I read it, and how simply it was laid out in front of me, I had no clue what that document contained.   But today I do.   Almost two years later, the names listed on the front: my Nayoke, Balat, Community Development officer, are no longer just names.  They are faces I can easily pick out of a crowd, smiles, memories, friends… They are my family.   

I realized how far I – we – have all come since we arrived in January 2012.  I also realized that it took Peace Corps about 4 and a half hours to find out everything that it took me almost two years to uncover.  But isn’t that the way it is sometimes?  It’s hard to see the forest for the trees.  I could have let that upset me, but after I thought about it, I figured that this is exactly what Peace Corps is all about: learning to see the trees despite the forest, or rather seeing with your heart instead of just your eyes.   

Like everyone’s, my packet was a wealth of knowledge – the big picture.   And even though it was all right in front of me from the beginning, I couldn’t see it until I started living it.  

If you haven’t yet, I encourage you to go back and look at your packets, and see now how intertwined, integrated, and meaningful those words are now.   I encourage all of us to look back at those words, read them again and think about what you see now - Now that you are looking at them with your heart- with more than just your eyes.   And how now, a year and half later, we’ve all come to know, hopefully love, and see this country, this culture, and our villages in such a way that can never be fully expressed on paper. 

Chicken and Oat. My "plus two"

"And what happened, then? Well, in Whoville they say - that the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day. And then - the true meaning of Christmas came through, and the Grinch found the strength of ten Grinches, plus two!"   - Dr. Seuss

I have never considered my heart to be a small heart.  I have always felt it's a fair size if nothing else. Maybe a little more worried and wounded than average.  But never small.  However, there are times when I find myself having "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" moments where I can feel my heart growing three sizes in one day.  In one moment. 

If you knew me in America, you knew that I never wanted children, and quite honestly, didn't particularly care for them all that much.  But today, I want to introduce two little people who have changed my mind, and made my heart grow three sizes. 

My two best friends.  


Oat



Gai

 

I met Gai (whose name means chicken hence the title of this blog) and Oat (whose name means exactly what you think) one sunny afternoon as school let out.  Children were pouring around the corner of the building on their bikes heading home, to the snack shop across the street, or lingering in the school yard.  As I was putting on my helmet and prepping my own bicycle to ride home, I heard someone yell "Teacher Salah!" and I looked up to see one of the biggest smiles I've ever seen, accompanied by the biggest and cutest ears I've ever seen here as well. 

"Will you ride home with us?" Gai asked me.  I had a Grinch moment and I felt my heart grow. 

After learning their names and playing many, many games of UNO and Duck Duck Goose the following Saturday, I finally told them I was tired and it was time to go home.  I pulled a package of instant oatmeal from my backpack that I had been carrying around, gave it to Oat and said,  "This is your name in English."

We laughed about how funny it was that their names were both foods, and Gai asked if he could have some oats, too.  So I gave him some, which he promptly opened and ate.  Dry.  At the same moment, his grandmother came looking for him and saw him eating the oats.  She thanked me for giving him food as they didn't always have enough at the house.  I second guessed my Thai comprehension all the way home.

Now, I could talk about the extreme poverty that exists in my village, or about the widespread problems with alcohol abuse, absent parents who are working in Bangkok, children being raised by grandparents too old to properly care for them, neglect, hunger, and a hundred other problems that Thai - as well as American children - face every day, yet aren't always noticed.  But I won't because I'm not here to fix that.   And I realize that now.

All of these things happen all over the world, and a lot of them happen to Gai and Oat.  In fact, the comments that Gai's grandmother made are a big part of why I decided to get to know both of these children better, and maybe stick my nose a little bit where everyone told me it didn't belong.  And while I'm so glad I did, that isn't what any of this is about anymore.

After spending a significant amount of time with Gai and Oat, I can assure you that none of these problems define either of these two boys.  As I've gotten to know them over the past several months, I've found that both of them are:

• Smart  - If I take the time to work with them individually, they comprehend everything in that day's lesson.  And their smiles of realization when they "get it" are the best.

• Funny - I once watched Gai hide Oat's shoes for no good reason.  And I once saw Oat use a ruler to try to "saw" off Gai's big ears. 

• Strong and loyal - Just the other day I had biked about a mile and a half outside of my village when I heard someone shrieking my name.  It was Gai, Oat, and Oat's little brother.  They saw me bike past and had spent the last 15 minutes trying to catch up with me because they just wanted to make sure I was safe.

• Sweet and kind - It's heartwarming when a 9-year-old with basically nothing shares his only piece of gum with you simply because he wants to. 

• Adventurous, and sometimes a little bit sneaky - riding their bikes to my house across the "big road" alone even when they were told they weren't allowed without an adult. 

They have taught me so much about my community: where everyone lives and their names, where to get the best som tam (papaya salad), who gives out free dragon fruit, what to buy at the night market, where the best jungle biking is and how to use those paths when trying to avoid certain people's houses.   And best of all, they've dragged me out of my shell and gotten me out of the house and into the community at 8 a.m. on a Saturday morning.   

I can credit both Gai and Oat with having given my service purpose, unbelievable joy, anger, laughter, frustration, confidence, second-guessing, and unconditional friendship.  They are two of the greatest loves I've ever known. 

As I reflect back upon my blog and my PC service, it seems I have a recurring theme:  My heart and how much it has grown, opened, and softened because of the relationships I've been brave enough to pursue here.  Thank you Gai and Oat.  Thank you so much for changing my heart, my entire life, and giving me so much more than I could ever give you. 

So, now, I hope Dr. Seuss won't mind if I make a few changes to one of my very favorite quotes, because while it may seem silly, I feel a little bit like the Grinch must have felt the day when Cindy Lou Who decided to be his friend.

"And what happened, then? Well, in Thailand they say - that Sarah's fair heart grew three sizes that day. And then - the true meaning of Peace Corps came through, and Sarah found the strength of ten Sarahs, plus two!"

 

 

 

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.