Beach baby: A short-lived Peace Corps journey
As a kid I’d make these colorful drawings with palm trees, grains of sand, crashing ocean waves, birds flying and, of course, the sun glimmering in a cloudless sky. I was never the kid who was good at drawing—but damn it, I could draw a beach scene that would make you want to be there.
Living in Arizona, we were close enough to make regular trips to California. The unforgettable fragrance of saltwater, hours spent searching the shores for seashells and the constant defense of that day’s snacks from the aggressive seagulls, are some of my fondest childhood memories.
I was in my tenth grade U.S. history class.
I remember speaking with my teacher about the lessons I had missed days’ prior, begging and pleading to make up the work, so I could maintain a high enough grade not to jeopardize my future.
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During high school, I had major depression, anxiety and other health issues that made it extremely difficult for me to attend school.
This is part of my past that I still have great shame in. I don’t speak about it often. I would’ve done a lot differently—but that’s the point of growing as a person.
Throughout various obstacles, I’ve always tried to remain this positive, happy go lucky person. Much of my life has challenged this optimism but I choose to see the good in others—the good that there is in life.
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That day in class, the Peace Corps was brought up.
A few days later I was at lunch with my mom and a friend of hers when she also brought up joining the Peace Corps.
This is when the seed was planted. Could I be lucky enough to one day become a Peace Corps Volunteer with an opportunity to both venture out and help the world?
“And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”
― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist
Joining the Peace Corps there’s this notion.
“You’re going to put your life on pause for two years?”
What a feeling to walk in a room of thirty people and despite all of our differences have a collective bond that we are not putting our lives on hold, rather we are about to enhance ourselves in aspects we never thought possible—with an incredible, two-year journey of helping others and looking at life through a different lens.
It’s incredible how close you can get with a group of people in just a few days.
For example, I learned to appreciate bird watching, among other quirky things, and what it’s like growing up in different parts of the country and the world—Peace Corps Volunteers come from all walks of life.
It was only day two and we were calling each other family.
I was excited about the impact that we had hoped to make during the next two years on the island—excited for the growth within myself that I had been longing for.
Jamaican rum, Tallawah 91 and the Coronavirus.
Before flying to Jamaica, the Peace Corps had us attend an event in Miami, referred to as Staging. It’s pretty much two days of technical jargon, get to know one another activities and the last minute opportunity to back out if need be.
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As the plane touched down on the island, the little beach girl inside of me grinned ear to ear, despite the humidity and sweat dripping down my cheeks.
Upon arrival, I struggled to maneuver all of my luggage, backpack and carry on, while still trying to look halfway decent for photos that were being taken as we walked to meet Peace Corps staff and busses to take us to Peace Corps Jamaica Headquarters.
The following days were the best of my life.
The unique food, the congenial people, the warmth of the sun, the lyrical language, the overall beauty and flow of the island—you could feel the good vibes in the air.
I was home.
Except for the elephant in the room. The elephant stomping on each of our chests, since it was announced that Jamaica’s first case of COVID-19 appeared on the island the same day we did.
We knew there was a possibility of going home. We mistakenly thought it wasn’t likely.
Each day we had jam-packed training sessions filled with learning Patwa—the native language—immersing ourselves in the culture, running errands throughout downtown Kingston, and eating meals of delicious patties and rice and peas.
That all stopped Friday night when we had an impromptu meeting and were told that we were going home.
Going home with no plan of return.
Followed by a night filled with a lot of very strong Jamaican Rum.
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Our group name is “Tallawah 91,” translated in Patwa to mean the strong and fearless. I find that fitting considering all that has happened.
The pandemic. Where do we go from here?
It’s been about a month now since I’ve been back in the states. Living back at my Mom’s house in my hometown. Not where I thought I would be as I approach turning 23.
Personally, this is the most tested I’ve ever felt by God.
I’ve been grieving.
Grieving—that’s the best way I know how to describe it.
At least then I can justify the binge eating, followed by having no appetite at all, the sleeping until 2 p.m. but being awake all hours of the night and the countless hours of watching various TV shows.
I feel selfish for being upset when people are grieving losses of their loved ones that have been taken by the horrible disease, COVID-19.
I’m angry that I finally got to do something I’ve wanted to do for years of my life and it was so easily taken away.
I’m disappointed that I was never even able to see the beach, while there.
I’ve spent the past month trying to take the “I” out of what’s happening in the world. A world that is facing a pandemic and may never be the same for many of us again.
I’m scared but grateful—grateful to have had a taste of what could have been.
I’ll probably spend the rest of my life wondering why this happened the way it did. But I know it happened for a reason. It happened exactly the way it was supposed to and I am so grateful to have had the experience that I did.
I’m hopeful the opportunity to help and be with my newfound family in Jamaica will one day happen again.
Until then, I’ll be quarantining in the beautiful state of Michigan waiting to stumble across my next adventure.
Walk good, meaning take care in Patwa!!
