I am riding down the escalator of the Salt Lake City airport, tired and woozy, and am shocked and alarmed when cheering breaks out. I look down at the floor below me and see a crowd with signs all laughing and yelling to see their loved one come home - another passenger on the escalator. I just try to breath and let my heart settle. At the end of the escalator I skirt the edge of the crowd and start looking for my baggage claim area. A woman passes me on the right and says “Janel?” My sister, and the question in her voice is from the 37 lbs I’ve lost over the past year and my overall ‘death warmed over’ look. I grab my sister in a hug and just start crying. She asks what's wrong, and there isn’t, not really, but actually, everything.
I’m a Peace Corps volunteer abruptly evacuated from my site, flown across the world, and have finally found my way back ‘home’, or at least, to my home of record. But it had my sister. So that’s close enough.
As I write this, five days later, I am sitting in my sister's kitchen crying (quietly) as I just have all of the emotions.
Shock
Pain
Sorrow
Happiness
Relief
Guilt
Sorrow
Recently the COVID-19 Virus has spread from local infection to Pandemic in a very short amount of time. This has led to governments responding to the emergency by restricting travel and closing borders. My country of service, Vanuatu, denied entry to cruise ships to prevent the virus from also entering the country. As a Peace Corps volunteer, you need free travel through the world. Yes, you always need the appropriate visas and passports, but in the main, the Peace Corps relies on ready travel for their volunteers. Not just to get them to and from site of service at beginning and end but also for a myriad of reasons throughout service. With those routes being closed there was an increased possibility for volunteers being stranded.
Starting a couple of weeks ago, we got emails from staff at my country's office which were about the virus itself. Then there were more emails expressing some concern about how countries are responding and how that would affect a volunteer who may be in said country for work, personal time, or transitioning. Which led to being offered the opportunity for an Interrupted Service. There are various ways to end your Peace Corps service early, and Interrupted service is saying there were circumstances beyond your control that required you to end early. Then a few days later - it was mandatory evacuation.
Peace Corps Headquarter wanted all volunteers worldwide to be evacuated back to the United States and returned to their Home of Record within 5 days. This was a rush against the clock because at the same time airline routes and country borders were being closed.
It was mid March when I got the evacuation order. Prior to getting the evacuation order I had been feeling depressed for a few couple of weeks. I have been at site for nine months and I didn’t feel like I had done enough work yet. I wasn’t good at making connections with people. I wasn’t building relationships. I didn't have projects going. I wasn’t being successful.
And there had been a death. In my village the shore line of our island was rough; cliffs and rocks. No coral reef, no sandy beaches. There was one small area of sandy beach that had a lot of rocks making a good area for swimming for the kids. For Chief’s Day, a public holiday, some of the youngfellas were going diving for fish. One young man, 18 yrs old, who was my cousin (by way of my host family) died trying to go diving. It was traumatic on the entire village and on my family.
I didn’t know him well since I didn’t hang out with the youngfellas. But he was family and I knew him from family dinners and such. He was best friends with his cousin, my host brother. My host mom was a second mother to him. In fact, in Vanuatu there is no word for cousin, aunt, or uncle. It’s brother, sister, mother, and father. If you feel the need to distinguish between brother and cousin you will say ‘straight brother’ to indicate shared parentage. But that distinction is rarely made.
A few days after his death I wanted to celebrate my 40th birthday and felt super guilty about that desire. So I tried to do something small on the side with my neighbor. My wine and movies with the nurse got back to my host family and my host mom apologized for not celebrating my birthday like we were planning. And I felt like shit for making my host mom feel bad about anything.
And last, mid service training was coming up which means heading back to Port Vila for a week of sessions with all of the other volunteers in my group - which had me stressed out. With all of this going on I reached out to Medical for assistance and they set me up with a plane ride into Port Vila for a week of being away from the pressure and to be able to call a counselor if I felt I needed to.
The Friday before my medical flight to Port Vila I got a welcome surprise, the other volunteers on my island came to see me to celebrate my birthday! I thought one volunteer, R was the only one coming, but then it was everyone. H. also has a birthday in March so we were celebrating for both of us with a feast. A. was doing the cooking she is a really good cook who has cracked the code on making a feast at site. I also got a chance to talk to R. about how I have been feeling regarding not doing enough work. He gave me a pep talk, gave me his advice and perspective, and it really helped.
My plane to go into Port Vila was supposed to come on a Sunday. There were high winds, probably from a tropical cyclone that wasn’t close but still messing with the weather, and my plane couldn’t land. I get rescheduled for the Tuesday flight. Monday evening I got a text from my program manager - urgent, call me ASAP. I walk to the network spot and I start getting all of the emails. Evacuation, mandatory, immediate. Shit.
I felt relief that I was going back. I’m so sick of flies on me all of the time. Being isolated by the language barrier. Not doing enough work. I get to go back to the states!
I go to my host family's Abu (grandparent’s) house where my whole family gathers every day for one month after the death of my cousin. I tell my host mom and my counterpart in private, and it hits me that I’m not going to be seeing them. I’m leaving. And I cry. I then ran back to my house and packed. I came with two suitcases, a carry-on, and a personal item. I’m leaving with the same, but at half the weight.
I then go back to Abu’s and go through super quick good-byes and pictures with the whole family. Hugs and tears. It’s a shock to all of us. In contrast, at close of service after two years you're supposed to have time to do closure properly. Ceremonies, gifts, food, everything. I’m just running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off.
I spent my last night at my house. People from my family trickle in that night and the next morning to give me small gifts. Just things they grabbed because they wanted me to know how much they cared.
Since I was already scheduled on the Tuesday flight I got a seat. The other volunteers on my island couldn’t get on that flight so had to go the next day. And if I had caught that Sunday plane, I would not have been able to get back to site to pack and say goodbye. There would have been no way. I would have had to leave a list with the staff to pack me out at a later date. And no good-byes to anyone which would have made this ten times harder. So that high wind on Sunday was good luck to me.
I got to Port Vila on Tuesday. Mad dash at the office to get everything done. Money. Paperwork. Final medical interview. Ceremony. Kava. Last night with the volunteers. And the last night with the volunteers was fun for me. Issues aside, and with a different group, I was more successful at fitting in.
Wednesday afternoon I am on a plane out of Vanuatu to Fiji - the last one. The next volunteers that fly out have to go to Sydney then connect to Fiji. And almost got denied that connection - whole ‘nother story. But for my group, we got to Fiji and met up with a big group of volunteers from that country plus staff who were allowed in the lounge area to see them and us off. Then onto Los Angeles.
As I talked and hung out with the other volunteers, I think that yes, they had a deeper and better connection to the people at their site than I did. And I wish I had that. But I still can’t talk about my people at my site without crying. And there is crying. It’s a whirlwind and there is no time to process so the crying is there and it’s coming out. And I am not a crying kind of person.
I got to Los Angeles, courtesy of crossing the international date line, the same day I left Vanuatu. And my connection to Salt Lake City is cancelled, earthquake. Not my fault, despite my sisters and bestie trying to be like “Welcome to town Calamity Jane.”
While in the Los Angeles airport I am woozy. Like what I imagine low sugar feels like. I eat. But the woozy doesn’t fully go away. Hours later, the airport has re-opened and I’m on a flight to SLC. A short hop, down to baggage claim, and meet up with my sister and niece.
It has been less than a week since being back in the states. I've been staying with my family. As usual it is a menagerie; two cats, two dogs, three birds. I am in self-quarantine for fourteen days. Which is a good breather. And I can’t answer the question of “So what do you do now?” Best I can come up with is just job search.
Being pulled out of service so abruptly is traumatic. I’ve been on military deployments in combat zones and there is a necessary decompress time after. The Peace Corps wasn’t a terrible war zone, but it is extreme. You spend so much of yourself investing into this community and this role that you’ve chosen to take on. You’ve integrated, to live by the rules and mannerisms of your host community. You’re a real part of a family. You're a leader trying to coach and make happen projects. Then one day you're not. You’re back where you were before. Everything I wanted to get done from better relationships to projects is just poof. Everything that the community has invested in me is just poof.
Today I got a calendar notice, reminding me of what was supposed to be a health committee meeting. And all the feelings are there. When I try to talk about my service all I can think of is that I was just starting to get traction. I was unhappy with how little I've done and I wanted to get grounded and a second wind from my visit to Vila and the mid service training. After which I was going to use that small traction I had to try and get projects completed. I had great co-workers to work with and I had so much I wanted to do with them.
So what is life like for me now?
I have what readjustment allowance I have accrued so far along with the evacuation allowance - or at least I will. My savings is spent on the RV payments because the RV was never rented out by the consignment company I had left it with. The consignment company a few months ago stepped up to help me out by taking on the monthly payments until they started renting it - so at this point I owe them money. So I have no where of my own to live. I’m facing a no hiring job market. And with the pandemic, back up jobs such as cooking again are a no go.
Emotionally I’m trying to deal with everything. Financially, I’ve got my finger’s crossed and am relying on my family for housing. Job wise I’ll just apply and see what takes. And that’s all I’ve got room for now.
What’s next? Fuck if I know.
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