Confessions of a Peace Corps Volunteer

So it was the year 1998, and I had defied my father’s wishes to work for a paycheck. I decided, after four years of studying long hours and reading until my eyes felt like they were on fire in college, to join the Peace Corps. People ask me why I decided to do it. Why? Easy! It simply felt right at the time. I did not do my research like many other volunteers. Don’t get me wrong! I wouldn’t recommend doing something as life changing as Peace Corps without doing your research. I just knew it was something I had to do for purely selfish reasons. It was something I wanted to do to make myself a better person. It was as simple as that.

The assignment: The newly established post-apartheid Republic of South Africa. I worked in 3 primary schools as a teacher trainer. Now, I can tell you that I loved every minute of it. I can say it made me want to become a teacher and fight for the rights of children everywhere. I can even tell you that I was fluent in SiSwati, the language spoken in the region I worked in (a beautiful S. African click language that is clearly a force to be reckoned with!). But the truth is, I was scared out of my mind the first few months I was at my Peace Corps site. I dreaded being asked a question in SiSwati in fear of someone discovering I was not a native speaker and saying, ‘But you are black! OOOHH! You must be from another country. Where are you from????’ For the first time ever, I hated my American accent. I wanted to sound S. African. I kept thinking, did I really just sign up for this? Did someone drop me on my head as a child and make me lose all sensible reasoning? Did they get my resume and application mixed up with another volunteer’s application? What in the world am I doing here??? What in the heck was I thinking!!?? You know, sensible thoughts.

As far as the technical side of my volunteer experience, I cannot even begin to tell you how much the children affected me there. The most amazing children I ever met were in South Africa. All odds stacked against them, and they still managed to come to school on time every day, walked in torn shoes kilometer after kilometer to and from school; and wore smiles on their face when peanut butter spread on one piece of bread and milk was served during their lunch break. What did I, a twenty-two year old female from the suburbs who was able to have all of her needs and wants granted, have anything to teach them? The gall of me to think I need to be there to teach them something. WHAT???

After my first day at one of the schools, the kids thought a huge joke had been played on them.