really needed. Add to this a series of minor health problems (malarial attacks, parasites, diarrhea, etc.) and a severe case of homesickness and isolation, and you begin to understand the plight of the PCV. I often thought of leaving early (as a volunteer, I could have asked to leave at any time) but I couldn't or rather would not bring myself to go home.

On long hot nights, sweating under my mosquito net and thinking about the loved ones I left behind, I struggled to figure out why I remained in country. At one point, I convinced myself it was out of loyalty to the woman PCV with whom I lived who kept me from Early Terminating' the not so appealing Peace Corps appellation, usually cosmically abbreviated to ET' in PCV speak, but even after our relationship fizzled and I no longer had that excuse, I stayed on. Later, I thought it was the awkward questions that would greet me from friends, family and future employers if I were to quit' that kept me keeping on. But when a medical situation towards the end of my two year stint provided me with an honorable alibi, I still opted to stick it out. What I discovered was some deeply-entrenched strength of will that propelled me to keep my promise, even though I was dissatisfied, unhappy and sick.
I had made a commitment, not just to the Peace Corps, or even to my African students, but to myself, to the Midwestern mother's son who could do anything. I had challenged myself, and I had to succeed. I was simply unprepared to admit that I couldn't hack the two years. The fact that I had reached nay, exceeded all of my limits; that this was the most physically, mentally, and most of all spiritually exhausting test that I had ever undertaken only made me more determined NOT to fall short of my goal.

I had bought the dreams I had been sold as a child. I discovered that what my mother had taught me, and what I had in turn passed onto my pupils, was true. There is no limit to what you can do if you are willing to pay the price. Having paid the fee required to meet the challenge, I can now justify what I have endured like frat boys after Hell Week, or GI's after Basic Training, the fact that not everyone who begins the course completes the challenge only makes the struggle more worthwhile.

Now back home, I face another daunting challenge. I must now use the skills that I have developed to master another culture: my own. I must now readjust to the same world from which I originally fled. Now I am older (26 as I write this), and the pressure to settle down, find a proper career and get married has grown serious.

I find that I fit in even less well now than before I left. I have missed two years of music and movies and fashion trends. Fads have come and gone without me. I'm no longer hip to what's cool or whatever it is that the kids say nowadays. I still want to write, but I'm still not sure that I have anything new to say despite the travel, adventure and experience.

At parties I now find myself watching everyone with a detached, sociological eye, searching for clues to unlock the culture. I study my fellow Americans just as I used to observe the Central Africans. I still feel very much like the stranger in a strange land.

At a recent get-together of old friends, I am asked, "So, how was Africa?"

I pause.

What should I say? That it was fine?

It was two years. It was a long way from Indiana.

Learn more about this author, David Rheins.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.

• << previous page
• 1
• ...
• 6
• 7
• 8

---

Add your voice

Know something about Essays: Peace Corp experiences in Africa?
We want to hear your view. Write now!