In an effort to provide some background into my decision to join the Peace Corps, I thought I would post the essays I sent in with my application.\u00a0 The application is quite long and detailed, and the topics that are to be included in the essays are extensive.\u00a0 The first is a motivation essay, which outlines my motivations for serving.\u00a0 The second is an essay outlining my experience with cross cultural understanding.<\/p>\n
Slides of a Malian village flashed across the screen: children in front of their huts, women cleaning rice, men in front of the water pump\u2014in every picture, the dusty Sahel gleamed white in the African sun.\u00a0 From my desk in my high school French class, I was impressed and awakened.\u00a0 Grace had spent her winter break in a country I had never even heard of.\u00a0 She had seen things at age 15 that I hadn’t yet considered seeing or not seeing.\u00a0 Africa had always seemed distant, and suddenly it became accessible.\u00a0 If Grace had gone to Africa, someday, so could I.<\/p>\n
Five years later, I found myself indirectly fulfilling a promise I hadn’t realized I’d made to myself: I was in Senegal.\u00a0 My semester studying, teaching English, and volunteering at an orphanage was defining, but limited.\u00a0 My internship at L’Ecole de la Rue introduced me to a group of students, poor and marginalized out of the formal education system, but determined to succeed with the few opportunities they were given.\u00a0 My students’ striking dedication to some figment of an education, despite all the barriers, despite all the odds, revealed the possibilities which can lie in an opportunity.\u00a0 The more I watched these kids try, the more I wanted to provide these students the opportunities with which I was blessed.<\/p>\n
Unfortunately, my short three month stay in Senegal could not drastically improve anyone’s prospects for success other than my own.\u00a0 I returned to the United States, however, confident in my abilities to live abroad, familiar with the challenges of integrating into a culture vastly different from my own, and resolute in my determination to continue with a life of service to others in every way possible.\u00a0 The Peace Corps will allow me to return to the developing world with the skills and platform to create sustainable change.\u00a0 I will be of service to the people of my village, to assist them in implementing needed projects, and also in service to my own country as I foster understanding and partnerships between myself and those in my community.<\/p>\n
The Peace Corps Core Expectations seem both necessary and reasonable for completing the terms of service as a volunteer.\u00a0 From my time in Senegal, I understand the challenges that lie in adjusting to a new culture, a new language, and often new ways of looking at solutions to development obstacles.\u00a0 I know what it is like to feel lonely in a foreign environment, and I know the effort required to respect those who seemingly prohibit development due to opposing cultural view points.\u00a0 However, I also have experience with triumphing over these challenges. \u00a0I am confident that while I will struggle at times to integrate into a foreign culture and implement the right projects for my community, I have the perseverance, the frame of mind, and the skills necessary to face these challenges and truly serve the community in which I am placed.<\/p>\n
While the Peace Corps will undoubtedly teach me more than I can imagine, and shift the direction of my life in ways I cannot foresee, my plan is to use my service to influence a career in public policy.\u00a0 I hope to ultimately return to Washington and work towards a more sustainable system of agriculture policy both in the US and internationally.\u00a0 The Peace Corps will sharpen my world view, broaden my perspective, and ultimately improve my legislative abilities in my quest to implement change for a world deeply in need.<\/p>\n
Ndank, ndank mooy japp golo ci njay, My stomach was numb as I held back tears.\u00a0 Don\u2019t cry, I told myself, you can\u2019t cry, the Senegalese don\u2019t cry.\u00a0 Bass\u00e9 walked with me towards the courtyard gate, as I reassured her I would someday return.\u00a0 She was more somber than usual, as we slowly walked towards what we both knew would be the end.<\/p>\n Three months earlier, I had met Bass\u00e9, my host-mom, on my first night with my Senegalese host family.\u00a0 I sat awkwardly on a chair in the central room of the house, trying to make conversation with my fragmented French.\u00a0 Bass\u00e9 emerged from her room, tall, dark, and stoic, not too much older than myself, and uncomfortably pregnant.\u00a0 Barely acknowledging me, she whispered \u201cBonjour\u201d<\/em> under her breath, before sitting on a tiny bench in the corner, the summer heat antagonizing her as she slumped to support herself and her unborn child.\u00a0 I wished I could give her my chair, but uncertain of the polite way to offer it, I sat quietly, my mind spinning with classroom anecdotes of students making bad first impressions with their host families.\u00a0 After a few moments, Bass\u00e9 retreated to her room for the night.<\/p>\n Over the next couple weeks, my interactions with Bass\u00e9 were curt and awkward.\u00a0 In the evenings, I would sit in the courtyard with the women, yearning to understand their Wolof, and watching the stars pass until it was late enough to go to sleep.\u00a0 Most of the time, I sat in silence, having long used up my few French conversational topics early in the night.\u00a0 Unlike the other women, Bass\u00e9 rarely engaged me beyond one-word directives without an audience.\u00a0 With eyes wide, she would look at me, Wolof words unfurling before I could make them out.\u00a0 \u201cDegguma Wolof,\u201d<\/em> I would say, I don’t understand Wolof, uncertain if I was supposed to be responding or not.\u00a0 All the women would laugh, wide toothy smiles permeating the night air, not willing to translate for the poor toubab<\/em>, or foreigner.\u00a0 Bass\u00e9 seemed so uninterested in me, unless I could be made fun of.<\/p>\n One evening, as I returned home from class, she called me into her room, instructing me to sit on her bed.\u00a0 Nervous, I did as I was told.\u00a0 We had never been alone together; there was no one around to laugh at her jokes.\u00a0 What could she want, I wondered?\u00a0 To my surprise, she asked me how school was going, and about how I liked Senegal so far.\u00a0 She showed me her wedding pictures, and we talked about Chicago, where I was from.\u00a0 The longer we talked, the more the uncomfortable barrier between us started to dissolve.<\/p>\n The night before the start of Ramadan, I found myself with Bass\u00e9, dodging cars on the sandy path back to our house from a visit with her brothers.\u00a0 As we turned the corner near our house, she hesitated, her voice more serious than usual.\u00a0 \u201cSuba, dinga orr?\u201d <\/em>she asked.\u00a0 Was I going to fast the next day?\u00a0 I told her yes, that I would try fasting, just to see what it was like.\u00a0 In clear French, she nodded, her voice soft and reassuring, \u201cYou can try fasting if you want, but you don’t have to. \u00a0No one will mind if you don’t.\u201d\u00a0 I smiled, reassuring her I wanted to fast, just to see what it was like, even if it was just for one day.\u00a0 With more conviction in her voice, she continued, \u201cBut you\u2019re not allowed to fast on school days, degg nga<\/em>? You understand?\u00a0 You are here to learn, and that is more important than anything else.\u201d<\/p>\n After many weeks, Bass\u00e9 finally had her baby.\u00a0 Everyone in my house, happily playing along with my position within my host-family, reminded me that after being an only child all my life, I now had a \u201csister.\u201d\u00a0 Unfortunately, there were some complications, and my little sister would not be released from the hospital for another two weeks.<\/p>\n On Saturday, Bass\u00e9 took me to meet my sister.\u00a0 The taxi pulled up in front of L’Hopital Principal to a crowd of people already gathered along the thick iron fence waiting to get in.\u00a0 I followed my mom to the guard at the gate, as she showed him her paperwork.\u00a0 \u201cWhere’s her paperwork?\u201d the guard asked quizzically, gesturing towards me.\u00a0 Bass\u00e9 explained to him that I didn’t have any, but that I was with her, and we just wanted to see the baby.\u00a0 \u201cWithout paperwork, she cannot come in,\u201d he said, his words unwavering in the already hot morning sun.\u00a0 Despite Bass\u00e9\u2019s protests, the guard was resolved in his decision.<\/p>\n Bass\u00e9\u2019s frustration was clear as she explained I could wait for her along the fence as she went in to nurse the baby.\u00a0 I tried to mask my own disappointment, as I reassured her it was alright, that I would get to meet my sister soon enough.\u00a0 I watched my mom disappear into the hospital compound, and took my place amongst the crowd.<\/p>\n By then, my perspective on time had become increasingly relaxed, and I settled in with my new-found Senegalese patience and waited for Bass\u00e9 to return.\u00a0 I was surprised when a short woman, seemingly a nurse, walked straight to me, and in clear French commanded, \u201cCome with me.\u201d\u00a0 I sheepishly followed as she walked straight past the guards, looking them in the eye as she passed, head high, never saying a word.\u00a0 Reluctance shown in their eyes, but they let me pass without question.<\/p>\n The nurse led me to a room, half lit, full of mothers and their babies.\u00a0 I thanked her profusely, and rushed to meet my sister.\u00a0 Across the room, Bass\u00e9\u2019s smile was as big as I had ever seen it. \u00a0Contented: mother and child.\u00a0 \u201cKii, sama rakk la?\u201d<\/em> I asked as I approached.\u00a0 This is my sister?\u00a0 Bass\u00e9 nodded, whispering an introduction to the baby as she handed her to me.\u00a0 My sister’s wide eyes peered up at me inquisitively.\u00a0 \u201cHi there,\u201d I said in English, \u201cI’m your big sister.\u201d<\/p>\n By this time, some of the women nearby had noticed my arrival.\u00a0 \u201cWho is this?\u201d they asked Bass\u00e9, referring to me.\u00a0 Her answer was matter-of-fact, \u201cKii sama doom; moom seetsi na sa rakk.\u201d<\/em> This is my daughter; she’s come to visit her sister.\u00a0 The other women laughed and laughed, but Bass\u00e9 just smiled.\u00a0 She did not pay attention their responses.\u00a0 Her few words were frank, simple, but they signified her approval, her acceptance, and how far we\u2019d come.\u00a0 In a few short months, I had progressed from the butt of all her jokes, to a member of her family.<\/p>\n And now I was leaving.\u00a0 The night breeze off the Atlantic made me shiver, as I hugged Bass\u00e9 goodbye.\u00a0 \u201cYour sister will miss you,\u201d she said softly.\u00a0 I swallowed hard, willing myself not to cry, still trying to follow Senegalese customs on my last night.\u00a0 We shook our left hands, an omen for safe travels, and as I looked up at Bass\u00e9\u2019s face in the moonlight, two glistening lines of tears curved down her cheeks.\u00a0 In our last moments together, Bass\u00e9 was still expanding my understanding of family, friendship, and the meaning of being Senegalese.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" In an effort to provide some background into my decision to join the Peace Corps, I thought I would post the essays I sent in with my application.\u00a0 The application is quite long and detailed, and the topics that are … Continue reading
\nLittle by little, we catch the monkey in the forest.
\n-Senegalese proverb<\/em><\/p>\n