Look at me, I’m a PCV—Reflections of a former Trainee

So after 10 weeks of training and a few tests, they decided to keep me for another two years. Thinking back to the first week, I remember my first "wow, I'm really doing this moment." It was when we were about to meet our host families for the first time. It was Africa raining, if you can imagine. The Gonde group was the first group to be dropped off at our site by Peace Corps. Our bags were thrown at us while a large truck zoomed by and splashed us with muddy water. Alright the last part was a bit exaggerated, but it was still quite dramatic. I had no idea where I was going and was a bit intimidated by the new scenery. Getting to my host family's house was an uphill muddy mess, which didn't make the process any easier. It was when I fell down in the said mud that I realized that "wow, I was really doing this." I somehow managed to make it though and I found my new host sister standing at the door. She was staring at me and I was staring back, looking like a pathetic  foreigner who can't hold her own in the Africa rains. It honestly took a lot for me not to cry as she was washing off my feet. (Did I mention that I make great first and lasting impressions?) True to the Ethiopian culture, my family immediately embraced me and all my flaws. From that one fateful day on, my host sister taught me basically all the things I know now about how to take care of myself in Ethiopia. It didn't take long to feel like I was part of their world.

The last week of training was packed full of parties, crying, tests, and packing. Our last day of official training we did superlatives. I redeemed my loss in my senior high school superlatives for "best hair." It's the things that matter you know. That same night, my sister and I decided to make coffee. Somehow we ended up sitting on the ground outside in the same place we did the first night we made coffee together. This time though, it was me grinding the beans and she was looking at the stars. I congratulated myself for the progress I had made to avoid getting too caught up in the coincidence of events. I personally cannot believe the time has gone by that fast, but then again 10 weeks is a drop in the bucket comparatively.  The last night in our town we attended a party that consisted of all of our families. They exchanged some words about us and we did the same for them. It was nice to show our appreciation for one another. We ended the night by three generations worth dancing to a mix of traditional music, Sean Paul, and Michael Jackson. Some of these women who are my grandma's age danced like you wouldn't believe. What a great way to conclude my life in Gonde. The next day Peace Corps picked us up just like that first day they dropped us off. This time it was sunny and the streets were full of families and friends saying goodbye. This time I did cry. And it was that awkward crying that I try to avoid. Sometimes I wish I looked at least somewhat cute when I opened the tear ducts, if that is even possible. Imagine someone choking on a whole box of sour patch kids and that is what it is like. Anyways, training is usually one of those things that you forget about after it is over. I don't know how I could forget a whole town that welcomed 9 foreigners in their homes. Fed us, loved us, and tried to understand us. They were and that was the beginning of my life in Ethiopia. I'll miss you, host family!

Last Friday was the swearing-in ceremony at the Embassy in Addis. All 40 of us speak 3 different languages total: Amharic, Tigrayan, and Oromifa. One person from each language made a quick speech to the audience about their training experience. We then took an oath, got certificates, and shook a couple of people's hands to seal the deal. It concluded with me eating about a half a loaf of banana bread in bite-size pieces, taking pictures with my BFFL, and chatting it up. It was short and sweet (my dad's banana bread is still sweeter though). They now address me as a volunteer instead of a trainee, which makes me feel a little more legit.

The next day we packed up our belongings again and prepared ourselves for another bumpy ride to our sites. It was relatively painless except for when my mobile was stolen then later retrieved by the police. Apparently every event in my life that I am starting or ending needs to have drama (It finds ME, I tell ya!). When I arrived in my town later that day, I just stood there in my empty house wondering where to begin. Kind of like when I was packing to come here. I am still sleeping on the floor because my furniture is not ready yet. I did do some laundry and walk around town buying arbitrary items. I did find some spoons finally, which pretty much made my day. On Christmas Eve, I will be heading back to the place where my cell phone was stolen to celebrate Christmas with a good handful of other volunteers. After the weekend, I will start getting serious. Until then, I will enjoy the holiday. I hope you do the same. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

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