A Life Worth Living

I only have three weeks until I'm no longer a Peace Corps Volunteer. I'd like to let that sink in for a minute.

(insert minute here)

Understanding, of course, that I'll always 'be' a Peace Corps Volunteer, this realization - captured in one, simple sentence above - carries at least a dozen different emotions; and though I'm not one for abrupt endings, I'm pretty sure a lot of things are about to change abruptly.

My way of coping (read: ignoring) is to obsessively plan the details of my next travels and, like an excited child, I find it hard to sit still for very long. At any given moment I'm prone to random, public outbursts of excitement which include, but aren't limited to, the type of dancing I usually keep to myself and a wistful smile, put on my face by wine sipping, obviously touristy daydreams. It's not that I'm ready to leave Ghana behind, but I'm excited to continue my adventure.

Ghana is the home of over 70 different languages and at least as many different cultural practices and beliefs. While I admit that this became normal for me, I recognize that Ghana offered me over three years of unique daily experiences. It's why, even at its most boring, my time spent here was worth dozens of blogs, 36 paged letters, and a ridiculous amount of photos. With a new adventure at my fingertips (and each jump of my heart bringing it closer to my throat) I think I may have found the secret to a life well lived. A life well-lived is one spent in exploration.

What I think most people don't realize is that a life spent in exploration can be spent anywhere. Being in the Peace Corps simply made the adventures, the diversity, more obvious. I felt obligated to experience the world around me. It was my duty to share those experiences simply because I was having them. It was part gratitude, part curiosity. I appreciated my life here because it was unique and it came from a completely different perspective, but who's to say that needs to stop?

Traveling to Europe is obviously exciting; it's not every day I get to run my hands along terribly dirty, terribly ancient buildings, but (along with all of the other things I managed to find in Ghana) I found that I've rediscovered my curiosity. Too many people forget, as they get older, as the bills pile up, as life gets more complicated, that the world is interactive. It's meant to be enjoyed. As three years slipped past me, I realized that it's not enough to survive each day; we must engage in the world around us, appreciate our capacity for helping and learning and loving, find something exciting about its smallest detail.

Before I moved to Ghana I was in love the idea of traveling, but it was still an idea; I was determined to become a citizen of the world, an active member, an avid explorer, an ever-lover. Somewhere along the way I succeeded. Maybe I'm not a perfect citizen - there are days when I ignore the world, cuddle up with a good book and fall in-love with a fictional universe - but I'm here. I'm here and I'm committed. I've put a ring on it - a metaphorical ring in the form of tiny, plane-shaped carbon footprints that, I hope, will lead me anywhere. Yep, I said it: anywhere.

You see, it doesn't matter where I end up as long as I'm doing something I love and actively exploring what the world has to offer (which happens to be something I love). When I joined the Peace Corps I took a giant leap into a life that offered something new every day. What I realized was that grand gestures weren't necessary; every moment anywhere has something new and exciting to offer.

Shift your focus. Explore and stay curious.
A life well-lived is as simple as that.
xx

What the Peace Corps Taught Me about Myself

The first thing the Peace Corps taught me about myself was that we were strangers, acquaintances really.  My heart and imagination, my resilience and motivations, my capabilities and my limits – everything I thought I knew about myself – were slowly illuminated. Like the moon arching its way across a darkened sky, I changed constantly.

Until I moved to Africa I hadn't spent very much time alone. I’d spent time with myself, of course, but always within the context of a culture I knew and understood - a world I belonged to even when I rebelled against it. In the Peace Corps I became a true outsider, a player to be watched with curiosity, humor and, sometimes, distrust. A distinct line existed between me and Ghana. I was isolated.

There’s nothing quite like trying to be a part of something foreign, trying very hard to understand and adopt it, while existing entirely outside of it. My ability to make friends, something I’d never really struggled with, became a most coveted skill. I was tolerant and respectful, I forgave people for their shortcomings and attempted to understand them. It was my first true application of empathy.

While I struggled to understand cultural differences, some of them tragic and misguided, I became acutely aware of my own shortcomings and my limited understanding of the world. Some days were distracting, but others were blissful and as things became normal and I accepted my post as an outsider, I was struck by moments of clarity and mindfulness.

In this clarity I started to witness myself. I began to live with myself. I watched the slow crawl of growth, the strengthening of skill, a new sense of comfort that stretched its muscles within my mind. I was like a solar light - warmed and energized by my work in the day, humming with creativity and awareness at night. I was happy and it was a beacon, a lighthouse for the darkened nights (and there were some very dark nights).

I spent two years spelunking, traversing and climbing - sometimes blindly - though the landscape of my mind. I hung from cliffs, stared into chasms and found deep caverns - one spilling into the other in an endless exploration of me. I called out to the echoes and found myself lost. I circled the same passageways and realizing they were things I would have to revisit again and again. I began my quest to leave no path un-mapped. Closing my eyes I watched my thoughts dance to the beat of my heart. I followed them to their origin, saw them to their end and like the foreign world around me, sought to understand them because I never truly had.

What I found was an incredible capacity for love - the largeness of my heart and the rate of its (continued) growth is still very hard to explain, harder still to measure. I developed a sense of empathy that surprises me, reminds me of myself when I am liable to forget. I realized my own resilience, though it took the death of a friend to realize just how resilient I’d become. For a time I seemed to fall very far, invisible and lost among the ruins of my grief. Though the pain is still strong, I know this land and I have managed to find solid ground again.

I am constantly reminded that my creativity, my ability to adapt and my willingness to learn - brought on the backs of ants and diligently carved from my own determination - allow me to do anything. My efforts, my optimism and my absolute stubbornness will lead me there eventually.

The title of this blog is actually quite wrong. It would be more accurate to tell you that the Peace Corps introduced me to myself and I can finally say that I am beginning to know her. She changes and shifts beneath my hands and feet, but I am no longer afraid to explore. I guess you could call the Peace Corps the most difficult trust fall to accomplish; I didn't end up catching anyone but myself.

xx

30 Things That Would Be Totally Creepy in America, but are Completely Acceptable in the Peace Corps

1. Ringtones:
Yes, my ringtone is a child’s laughter. No, I do not have children – what's your problem?

2.  Bad carpentry:
I regularly walk into my kitchen to find every cabinet and drawer hanging open. Calm down, it's not Sixth Sense, it's just that nothing in my house was built at a ninety-degree angle.

3. Giving candy to random children:
It's honestly the only way to get them to leave. I regret nothing.

4. Taking selfies with random children:
No, I don't know this child; yes, I just gave him candy. NEW PROFILE PICTURE!!!

5. Carrying a large wooden penis and several condoms, just in case: 
What?

6. Children at the windows:
Oh, no - the children found us. Quickly, everyone hide! Shhhhhh ...

7. People knocking at the door:
And following up with a peep at the window.

8. That one dude calling ten times in a row from three different phone numbers:
Ignore my phone call, will you? I'll show you.

9. The number of white people who can and will be randomly directed to your door:
Oh, hello, person – they must think we know each other … well, come in for some tea, at least.

10. Latrines:
Do you need an explanation?

11. Remote locations: 
Just walked through the bush, alone, for fifteen minutes. Yeah, keep going. My house is down that abandoned stretch of road just to your left.

12. Discussing disgusting bodily functions: 
At the dinner table. At any table, really.

13. Hanging out in the dark:
Sorry, man ... I guess I forgot to buy candles at the market today.

15. That one bank teller calling for a random chat:
You didn't mean to give me your number? But you wrote it - right there - on the deposit slip where it requires a phone number (awkward pause) I'm confused.

16. A marriage proposal within thirty seconds of introduction:
Names? Who needs names with a love this strong?

17. When a stranger asks how you ‘maintain’ yourself:
 What they mean to ask is how often you have sex.

18. Stealing babies:
Oh my. He is just adorable! Let me just take him over here and play with him for four hours.

19. Spiders:
Oh, I almost forgot! Meet my new roommate! I named him Chester … he’s kind of anti-social, but I like him. 

20. Hearing something scurry across the ceiling:
Well, well, well. Sounds like SOMEONE's been having babies up there!

21. Owning a dozen cats:
Look, I'm not going to sit here and justify my loneliness to you.

22. Gnawing on bones, eyeballs, or any other choice organs of an animal:
I have to get my calcium somewhere. *gnaw gnaw gnaw*

23. Adult-sized bunk beds:
It's like going to band camp with mosquito nets at 35 years old!

24. Constant physical contact:
Oh hello, friend. I haven't been in contact with another American for at least three weeks. So, basically, I plan on spending the next 24 hours physically attached to you. No, I'm not going to wait for your permission. You smell delicious ...

25. Murdering tonight's dinner:
I’m not talking about guns, either. I’m talking about killing that chicken with your own rusted kitchen knife. LIKE A BOSS.

26. Posting pictures of boils and/or any other puss-filled, disgusting infection on the internet:
Why else do you think I have a Facebook account? Look! I named him Hubert!

27. Staring hungrily at other people's packages:
What ... what is it, precious?!?!

28. Stalking the receiver of said package to wherever they plan on opening it:
Oh, hey. I spotted you from across the room. And I'm just going to stand here, awkwardly, until I witness every item pulled out of that box.

29. Bucket bathing together:
You know what sounds romantic right now? Squatting over a bucket of water with you. Oh yeah. 

30. My current relationship with food:
Oh, wait. Thanks to Pinterest, that's completely normal now.

xx

My Peace Corps Experience in Stats:

Name: Emmaline Repp
Age: 26
Landed: June 4, 2010
Swore-in: August 12, 2010
Close of Service: August 30, 2013

Years: 3.06
Days: 1119
Days spent in America: 55
Days left of service: 79
Birthdays: 3
Leap Years: 1
Apocalypses: 3
Subsequent volunteer groups: 8

Waterfalls: 4
Beaches: 5
Sacred Places: 6
Monasteries: 1
Monkey Sanctuaries: 2
Temporary baby-animal home take-overs: 4
Baby animals: 16
Actual pets: 4

Pounds gained (2010-2011): 16
Pounds lost (2011-2013): 9

Sites: 2
Market Days: 244
Regions visited: 10
Visitors: 3

Houses: 3
Evacuations: 1
Days spent in exile: 49
Languages: 3
Adopted mamas: 3
Goats killed: 1
Crops grown: 0

All Vol Conferences: 3
Prom crowns: 1/3 (we were all winners that night)
Talent shows: 4

Pictures posted: 47,129
Blogs: 76
Grants: 8
Websites: 1
Youtube videos: 2

Boils: 0
Parasites: 2
Malaria: 1
Highest fever: 104 F
Number of (Mefloquine) night terrors that woke my entire household: 2
Number of (Mefloquine) night terrors it took for them to ignore my night terrors: 3

Pen Pals: 1
Letters written: 60-70
Average letter length: 30 pages

Boyfriends: 2
Friends gained: lost count
Friends lost: 1
Lessons learned: innumerable
Regrets: 0

June 2013

What Peace Corps Taught Me About Friendship

I'm not really sure how to begin. I want to talk about friendship - the special kind we seem to find in the Peace Corps; about the bounds and limits of the human heart; about loss and the kind of grief that accompanies only the greatest of love, but where do I begin?

I write this in the context of April 28, 2013. It's the day we lost one of our shining stars and the day I lost a very dear friend. The shock I feel, the grief of such sudden absence, is something I struggle to explain. I imagine my sadness will fade in time, but for now I hold it close because it reminds me of her. She was one of the best people I've ever met and our friendship was genuine. I feel lucky to have known her. She strengthened and lifted and brightened me; she made me a better person. 

She was rare, too, because anyone who knew and met her, however briefly, felt the same as I did. She always gave her undivided attention, reminded people of their importance. We felt loved in her presence and we danced in her light. And while her passing is mired in absolute sorrow, she reminded us - once again - of our strength; that the family we've found in the Peace Corps is a special one. 

Friendship in the Peace Corps is a funny thing; we depend on each other in a way that isn't easy to explain. Our bonds are immediate and stronger than steel; the stress of sudden culture shock, of loneliness and homesickness, of the happiness and satisfaction that comes with living an adventure and fulfilling a purpose makes relationships (and the appreciation of them) necessary. The distance we feel - from our families and our homes and our norms - fortifies our love; everything is that much more important, time moves that much slower, milestones are that much greater because every second of every day calls into question our motivations. It has to be worth it, we have to make the best of it, and somewhere along the way we realize that the pettiness of every day life is just the white noise to a beautiful symphony.

Of course, we forget sometimes; we're human, after all. And as the forest grows - ever expanding into a canopy that seems too high to reach - we lose sight of our tree. Yet we continue to motivate each other. We spend two years striking a balance between being a safety net and needing one; we see the absolute best and worst in each other, the absolute best and worst in ourselves; and at the close, we realize that what we've shared is truly unique. It's an experience that will, at times, put us at odds with the world; an experience that will put life into perspective; and the only people who will truly understand, who will see exactly what we see, are the volunteers we've met. They speak the same secret language, stand on the same deserted island, stare out at the same wide ocean with the same wide eyes. And they understand because they watched us grow. 

If we'd forgotten, Danni helped us remember. And as hard as it was, I'm grateful. I don't know what I would do without my Peace Corps family; just knowing that I wasn't alone - that I'm not alone - is enough to strengthen me. We hold each other and guide each other and we do it all with Danni's strength. Her memory, her love, her motivation reflected in us; living there in the space she made in our hearts, in the place we made for her.

The only way I can explain the immensity of my grief is to explain the fierceness forged in just two years of service: a family you can't choose, but want to; an intimate understanding of the soul and its capabilities; an immense pride for rarity and imperfection; an embrace that carries with it a hello and a goodbye, love and recognition, and the acknowledgement of brother, sister, and self.

With yet another group closing their service, yet another round of goodbyes to be said (mine included), it's hard for me to express the pride I feel in the friendships I've gained here, in the family I've made for myself. It's precious and it's rare and I'm lucky to have it. And if I make and keep one promise it's that I will never, ever forget.

We miss you, baby girl.

Thank you.

xx

What Ghana Taught Me About Giving

If there’s one thing I've noticed over the years, it’s that Ghanaians have a wonderful knack for giving.

Usually it's simple: someone’s time or help, their opinion about the culture or their advice; and it’s hard to pinpoint exactly when these times will be. There are days when no one seems to want to give an inch and, just as quickly, everyone seems to be giving something (and giving it freely). I've often been completely surprised, knocked off of my guard by someone’s kindness. Usually this happens on the worst of days and exactly when I need it; a reminder that, in the heat and exhaustion, I can continue - one foot in front of the other - because the world is good.

There’s no end to the kinds of things I've received: American coins, sea shells, drawings of trees and real, delicious popsicles;  people have paid for my travel, taken me (completely out of their way) to the location I'm so unfamiliar with, fed me and carried my bags; there are always kind words and smiles, curiosity and conversation, and an over-abundance of marriage proposals. Though I attribute some of this to my 'visitor' status, Ghana is of a communal mentality; centered in traditionalism, family homes, and village life Ghanaians take care of each other because their well-being is dependent upon one another.  (What’s to say that tomorrow they won’t need help, in turn?)

As a rule, giving is only satisfying when it’s wholehearted and honest, completely void of expectation. Generally, there's no reason for kindness other than the kindness, itself. And, though it seems such a simple thing, it tends to fill the biggest holes, heal the largest wounds, and is quickly contagious. After three years, much of it spent dependent on the kindness of others, I've come to understand that life is about giving. Whether it be the heart, kindness, creativity, or capital, the world is meant to be shared. Too many adventures and stories would cease to exist, too many simple fulfillments would go unnoticed, if no one opened their hearts and minds; if no one gave an inch.

And, really, there's a simple reason philanthropists are happy: they help make other people happy. While it’s strange to think of myself as a philanthropist, I guess that’s what I've become (though most of what I give seems meager); a smile here, a hug there, my undivided attention and compassion. The best reward I've received isn't payment or recognition, either; it's a smile, returned. The shy kind of smile that lets me know I've made someone feel special for a moment, and that's all the reward I need.

As Ghana is more ‘Westernized’ and cities get bigger, this will undoubtedly change. It’s an unfortunate reality  I've begun to witness; as people modernize they become autonomous (maybe this is why Ghanaian hospitality is so pleasantly surprising). In the modern world we cling to our pennies, covet our time, and pine over our privacy; we grow farther and farther apart, orbiting each other like satellites, attempting to find solace in social media outlets and iPhone applications that connect us to some form of community. 

The longer I’m in Ghana, the more I realize that giving is exactly why I came here; it became my philosophy, a philosophy I think many of us need. I can honestly say that there’s nothing more satisfying than giving a kindness, no matter how small; a smile, the taxi fare, the simple acknowledgement that a stranger is important and recognized and loved. In all of this I've found that I, too, am recognized, often receive more than I give, and am happiest in the simple happiness of others. It's kind of fantastic.

So, go on … give in and give a little. Ten bucks says you won't be disappointed.

xx

A Little Malaria

April 25th is World Malaria Day and, while for some it is a problem of the past, countries all over the world are still affected by it every day. The most vulnerable are children - every 60 seconds brings about the Malaria-related death of child - and though it may be easily prevented and treated, Malaria is one of four major causes of death in Ghana.

Ironically enough, I'd caught Malaria in the med-unit, at our Home Office, underneath a mosquito net (I'd apparently been sharing it with a very smart mosquito). Looking back, I should have recognized the signs: cyclical symptoms, joint pain, a very high fever, but my anti-Malarial medication suppressed the symptoms and I was too excited about coming home. As I shivered violently in my airplane seat and managed the splitting pain behind my eyes, I thought I might have caught a cold from one of the ninety children I hugged goodbye as I left the village behind. It was persistent though, whatever it was, and as that first week went by I started to wonder if something was seriously wrong with me.

In addition to an ebbing fever - peaking at 104 degrees - I'd developed a shortness of breath that left me gasping for air, a sharp, light-sensitive pain behind my eyes, joint and muscle aches from the base of my neck to my knees, and a complete lack of appetite. At one point a friend witnessed my lips turn blue, but I barely noticed as I struggled to keep my head from splitting in half. I was clearly in rough shape. The catalyst came when my mum, leaving me fully-dressed and relatively well for an errand  down the road, returned to find me face down in the basement. I'd fallen asleep face down because it made my head stop hurting; I was fully dressed because it took all of my energy to crawl down there; I crawled down there because it was the only place that seemed cool enough for comfort. My Malaria logic was sound, but it still felt like I was dying.

And it turns out I was. After talking to a medical officer who, listening to me struggle between breath and speech, told me to get to a hospital immediately, I found out that I'd contracted the deadliest type of Malaria (the most common form in West Africa). I'd been living with the parasite for over two weeks and it had done its work patiently.

The treatment was simple enough - we flushed my system with the strongest anti-malarial we could find and I was interviewed by the Center for Disease Control. For about a week I was zombie-like and listless. It was like waking up from the worst hangover I'd ever had, but no one around me understood what it was.

627,000 people died from Malaria in 2012, alone; most of them were children. Many people, if not all, are perfectly capable of preventing Malaria, but lack the education or the motivation to change their behavior. When people are sick in Ghana it's often referred to as 'a little Malaria.' As if Malaria is an innocent, passing infection instead of something that can swiftly carry away a life. Additionally, people get and treat Malaria multiple times, which only leads them to believe that it isn't something to be feared or prevented. Educating them is key.

Many organizations all over the world are taking a stand against Malaria and while Malaria may not  directly affect you, now you know someone's story. The good news is that you can save someone's life today. To learn more about Malaria and how you can help organizations take lifesaving actions, click on the links below. Because Malaria doesn't always have to end in tragedy:

http://www.malarianomore.org
http://www.netsforlifeafrica.org
http://www.endmalarianow.org/home.php

Be sure to check out Stomp Out Malaria at www.stompoutmalaria.org for more Peace Corps stories in the fight to end Malaria.