where's your vector, victor?

It's been a busy and somewhat tiring 2 weeks in the States, but a good trip nonetheless. Most of my time has been spent answering questions about Peace Corps, the endless question of "What's Africa Like?", and showing slide shows and the small collection of things from my artisans association to friends and visitors.

Before joining Peace Corps, I would listen to stories of Returned Volunteers and wonder why they were so Kafka-esque and well, let's face it...weird. Now, I know I've joined their ranks. No matter how much I've tried to stay the same, a lot of things have changed. Mainly, I just cannot be bothered with trivial things. I don't know exactly what contributed to this, but my guess is that I live amongst people who have nowhere near the amount of wealth that people in the States have and still manage to be happy and stay positive about life. During my time in NYC & LA, I couldn't help but notice just how miserable people are with their jobs, their house, where they are in their lives, and themselves. Being a few pounds overweight...yelling at the guy at Starbucks because (HELLOOO!) you ordered a Skim Mocha Latte with SOY milk, NOT fat free...having a bad day over the bastard who managed to cut you off on the freeway on your way home - these are all things that don't matter. Yet, they're things I've seen almost everyone focus on in some shape or form.

One other Americanism I completely forgot about was the ultimate need for privacy and space.
The first scenario occurred at a grocery store. I was at the checkout line and was putting my stuff on the belt. Now the person ahead of me had a good 3" between the rubber divider they place in between customers' purchases and where his purchases were sitting. Kind of like this:


I moved the guy's stuff slightly so I could stop holding the basket I had and get all the stuff onto the belt. The guy turned and glared at me and got all huffy. I thought the gentleman was being a bit unreasonable, but then the cashier ("Jerry P., Assistant Manager") looked my way and said, "I'll be with you soon, Ma'am." Sheesh.

The second scenario occurred when I ran into someone my parents know at a store and stopped to chat for a bit. I did the usual African way of greeting by asking about everything: How are you? And your dental practice? And your kids? That's good, so it's been a good year for you so far? After the 3rd question, I got a weird look from the guy, along with a "Is that all?" and decided it was best to just hurry and do what it was I needed to do in the store.

Culture shocks aside, the trip home has had it's perks. The primary one being seeing people I haven't seen in a year and a half, some for even longer bouts of time. The first few days home, I got a chance to catch up with some friends and relatives that I haven't seen in a while and have real heart-to-heart conversations. It was fantastic catching up with those select few and it's made me consider putting aside those plans for a third year extension with Peace Corps or that job offer in Niger with an NGO dealing with food security. It's time to come home: October 2007 is my current plan. And please don't ask the question of what I'll be doing after Peace Corps. First, I need to get back to the States and re-orient myself.

Observe the difference from what you normally are acquainted with:

Traditional hut from the village of Tiebele, Burkina Faso




Not your typical yacht.




Sunning oneself on the patio in the backyard. Except there's intense manual labor involved.




Market women selling calabashes and handmade mats in Djibo.



America was weird enough the first time around.