Reflections on Integration

What is beautiful one day becomes taken for granted the next becomes a sheer menace to your plans the following day and returns to its former glory after that. So it is with starry nights. When I first arrived in Gambia, the loloolu were impossible not to be impressed with. An infinite spread of white pinpricks punctuating the sky, a cosmos revealed amidst the inky backdrop. The smallest of dots traveling linearly across the expanse, far from home yet reminding one that home is never far away in the digital era. Blazing bursts of light occasionally tearing through the otherworldly stillness—space debris burning up in the most breathtaking of displays. Early on, I spent many nights laying around, simply staring up into the grandeur of the heavens.

Then, I began to have other things on my mind, and I stopped appreciating what was above me. It became quite trite, just a screensaver on high. And after that, I got sick, the kind of sick that has you running in and out of the pit latrine all night long with incredibly close calls each time. With only the stars to light the way, well, you might end up missing your mark a bit, and they become a touch irritating—an unfortunate reminder of the complete lack of all convenient light sources nearby. But just a few nights later, my appreciation for the stars came full circle, and I became entranced by their glow once more.

Stars! You can just make out Orion on the right side of the photo.

I write this because my waxing and waning (yes, a celestial body pun) appreciation for the stars also provides a useful allegory for the past 3 months spent integrating into permanent site. From the limited sample size of Peace Corps Volunteers I’ve known, I’ve gathered the impression that the 3-month integration period is the most challenging time in service. While it’s impossible to say yet if that’s true (please stay tuned for updates on this very blog!), it has certainly been one of the most interesting periods of my life.

One of the prominent challenges has been figuring out what to do with my time. This goes beyond simply filling in the long stretches, particularly in the middle of the day, when the heat makes work completely unpalatable; it touches on all the small times when you sit in silence with people, unable to figure out the norms and unable to speak the language. For better or for worse, I’ve largely been successful in avoiding boredom by reading. I’ve read roughly 25 books since arriving in country, and my Kindle has become a near-constant companion. However, I think my language learning has been slightly set back by choosing to spend these diffuse periods of time spent near Mandinka speakers reading rather than speaking or listening. Such are the trade-offs of life here!

In defense of reading, it offers a way to keep the mind active and intellectually engaged in a different way than physical labor—a useful balance when there are not many other outlets. Certainly, there is a peculiar emptiness that comes from “working 24/7” without many of the conventional releases of western society. I’ve come to understand that the west is full of distractions and easy ways to break up the week. Here, finding and achieving entertainment is often an engaged task (e.g. reading, playing guitar, actively seeking out community members to learn the language). I’ve come to enjoy the focus that this has forced me to cultivate (and I highly recommend integrating these more strenuous entertainment methods at home!), but when you are feeling down and low-energy, there’s not much you can do.

And of course, that is the hardest challenge and what makes everything else far more difficult: illness, both physical and mental. My sick count, the number of distinct and uncomfortable physical sicknesses I’ve experienced in the 5 months that I’ve been in country, has already reached 7 (update: including IST, that number is now 9). Each of these represented interesting and unique struggles, and ideally have bolstered my own resiliency, but none of them were particularly fun. On the mental side, I’ve found that mood can change quickly in a day. I suppose I’m a bit more neurotic/less emotionally stable without good control over diet, exercise, sleep, and the other basic building blocks I focused on back home.

Yet, for all of these challenges, I have already found the experience to be rewarding beyond measure. Some of the most joyous moments come on the back end of suffering, and the feelings of bliss, energy, and contentment after sickness are some of the most powerful. There have been numerous moments where things just click, and it feels like I’m truly getting somewhere. Not to mention the countless acts of kindness I’ve received from everyday Gambians, like when my community counterpart and my host sister painted the exterior of my hut for me while I was playing soccer/football.

Indeed, it’s the small things that keep me going out here, in my small village tucked way up inside this small country, and it’s precisely those things that will provide the foundation for me to have a big impact, both in Gambia and beyond. If there’s a lesson to be had, it’s this: spend more time reveling in the splendor of the stars, and even when their beauty is conspicuously absent, endure—it will only make their return more divine.