We jammed all our crap into the Peace Corps car and drove to the sketchy side of town where we sat in the bus station and were stared at for a good half hour.
The bus from Chiclayo to Chota is pretty much the Peruvian version of a Greyhound bus, the seats recline a little but are narrow and covered in hideous fabric. The color scheme for this bus was dehydrated-pee. The bus ride was 10 hours long, and went from approximately 8:00 p.m. to 5:45 a.m. This bus ride would have been much more tolerable had we had seats in the front…unfortunately, our seats were about four rows from the bathroom, which smelled so strongly of urine that every time someone used the bathroom I would wake up from sleep because my nose was absolutely AFLAME. I would have a groggy dilemma over whether it was worse to breathe through nose, which stung and made my eyes water, or if it was worse to breath through my mouth and pull whatever nasty particles were in the air, into my mouth. It was a lose-lose, but I eventually figured I would just breathe through my sweatshirt.
When we finally arrived in Chota, we got all our bags, loaded up a couple of mototaxis, and drove to Hostel Angel, where we left our stuff and Diamond and Kate. Diamond and Kate both have sites further south in Cajamarca, but all the roads were blocked to their site because of the strike, so they got a room in the hostel. Jennifer, Ellie, and I took a three hour nap, then the five of us went to breakfast.
You could feel the tension at the table as we all tried not to think too hard about what was coming. I kept thinking about my site visit a few weeks back and how bad it had been. I didn’t want to get sick again and have diarrhea in a latrine (NOT FUN). I couldn’t understand anyone through their thick accents. I missed my Lima host family. Would my room be finished? Had they built the division, and if so, how tiny was my room? Did I have a door? Did I have a window? Did I have electricity or a light? What was I supposed to do when I got there? Was it going to rain all day for three months? Was there going to be enough work for me to do? How arrogant was I to think I could make a difference? Was this worth it? Could I even do it?
“Well, I’m freaking out…Let’s talk about why we chose to do this.” Ellie said, setting her coffee down.
“Great idea!” I said, hoping for a shove of motivation from someone else, “that should make me feel better, who wants to start?”
I found, by the time we got to me, that I couldn’t really articulate at all why I was there. I tried, but it wasn’t the real reason I chose to come. I felt a little bewildered that I couldn’t articulate or really relocate my reasons for being there other than the very practical, “I want to see if public health work is right for me and this is the most hands-on way I could figure that out. And I wanted to live abroad…” It sounded so lame and insufficient to justify my present state of terror. Why was I putting myself through this? Even “I want to help people,” sounded lame to me, it almost made me mad. I could help people anywhere without putting myself through all this. I tried to ignore this mini explosion of suppressed fear and forced myself to focus on what everyone around the table was saying, pushing the conversation forward to avoid the silence that would leave me alone with just my thoughts.
We ended up hanging out in the hostel for a while and chatting with Barbara. Barbara is the volunteer I am replacing who lived in Iraca Grande for the last two years, is also a Peace Corps Volunteer Leader for all of our region, and is now living in Chota for one more year with her dog Rolli. We were asking her questions about different things we were concerned about, when she turned to me and told me she had been up to visit my host family and see my room.
“Have they put up the divider?” I asked her. Before, my room had been gigantic with one tiny little wooden bed without a mattress in the corner, one ceiling light, a cement floor, and no window. They had told me they were going to put up a divider to break the room in two, and give me a tiny little chunk of it in the corner. That side of the room didn’t have light or an outlet, or a window, and they were planning on dividing it to be as wide as my arm span. I was really worried I either wouldn’t have a room, or it was going to be tiny. I had asked them to make it as big as possible, but Barbara had told me they want to save the room for the one time a year when the whole family comes over and needs to sit in a circle together. Needless to say I was a little irritated and also really stressed out about what my room would look like.
“Yeah, the divider is up.” She said.
“How small is it?” I asked her.
“It’s…small…and you still don’t have a door, or a window.”
I felt the weight in my chest begin to rise up the back of my throat and I swallowed hard.
“How small?”
“Probably from like, Diamond to the wall.” She gestured. That was about my arm span.
“So it’s tiny, I’m going to live in a tiny cement prison with no window and all that’s going to fit in there is my bed - What am I supposed to do with all my stuff?” I threw my head back against the couch to try and hold in the burning behind my eyes. The last thing I wanted to do was cry in front of Barbara.
“I don’t think it’s that bad, honestly. I dunno, maybe that’s insensitive…I do that sometimes.” She said, laughing a little sarcastically.
OF COURSE THAT’S INSENSITIVE! YOUR ROOM WAS GIGANTIC. But I didn’t say anything. I sat there staring blankly at the floor and hoping that I could keep myself together. A few of the girls tried to be encouraging, telling me that I could make it work, that they had faith in me, but I couldn’t respond, afraid if I opened my mouth I would lose my grip. I felt like I was about to rupture or implode or something. When I thought I had composed myself enough to speak I looked up from the floor at Diamond.
“Can I borrow your room key for a second, Diamond?” I asked, convincingly pleasant and calm.
“Sure. Kate has it. Hey Kate, Hayden needs the room key.” And Kate handed it to me.
“I’ll be right back.” I said, turning towards the stairs.
As soon as I was out of view, hot tears seared down my cheeks. By the time I opened their door I was gasping. I flew into their bathroom and closed the door, as far away from the room door as possible so no one could hear me, and I sat down on the floor. All the panic, fear, and sorrow I had been carrying had exploded into defeated thoughts and tears and I couldn’t breath. I hyperventilated as I sobbed until I got dizzy and the tiny logical part of my brain registered, “panic attack.” I calmed my breathing but knew I had to let it all out. I felt and thought all the raw emotion I’d tried to shove away. I cried it out, and then I pulled myself together with a frantic prayer and much needed positive self-assertion. I cleaned up my face, went back downstairs, and pretended nothing had happened. I was still scared, but I felt better, and despite how embarrassing it was that I had just had a panic attack, I had handled it like a champ and I was proud of myself.
At about 3 p.m., I crammed all my stuff into a mototaxi in the rain, and took a ride down the hill to the mototaxi stop for Iraca Grande. Kate rode down with me, I think everyone knew that I was terrified. Barbara and Diamond walked down to meet me there. I switched all my stuff over to the other mototaxi, gave everyone a hug, and reluctantly climbed in. This was it.
Riding down the hill out of Chota, I felt like one of those Princesses in the movies who are forced into marriage to some random foreign Prince and have to gather all their belongings together and make a giant, scary journey to their new home where they know no one, can't speak the language, and can't imagine ever being happy. I felt the big terrified doe eyes on my own face but couldn't seem to alter my facial expression. I just sat in the back of the bumpy moto, clinging to my belongings and trying to feel hopeful, but feeling mostly like I was trapped.
No comments:
Post a Comment