PC Rage, Closeness, Openness

Peace Corps can, at times, feel like an emotional roller coaster worthy of top billing at Cedar Point. The highs are really high, and the lows can be crushing. As most PCVs do, I live in what still feels like a new and dramatically foreign culture and must figure out how to cope largely on my own, at least in geographic terms. In response to the pressures of PCV life, I’m prone to fits of rage and extreme openness, and, at least among those I see, other volunteers are too.

Rage

It comes on suddenly, and then lashes out. I’ll be going about my day, not particularly perturbed by the more irritating parts of my host culture, then all of a sudden, one too many men hisses at me and the caged rage tiger breaks free. I instantly despise the crudeness, pettiness or injustice of some action and I have to find an outlet for my irritation. I’ve taken up voicing the obscenities I desperately want to say, but refrain from translating them. A beauty of the cultural divide is that as long as I pronounce things properly and quickly (which is pretty much guaranteed in an outburst), nobody but me is any the wiser, and I feel immensely better.

I fell back on this coping mechanism during a recent encounter with the bus system. I was attempting to return home after a day trip to Loja last weekend in the mess of the Virgen del Cisne (virgin on the swan) pilgrimage. Swarms of devotees had come in from all over Ecuador to accompany the Virgen on her annual journey from El Cisne to Loja, and while they pour money into the local economy (yea!), they make travelling a nightmare (boo!). The Loja bus terminal bore a striking resemblance to O’Hare on the Friday before Christmas when Denver’s closed down by a snowstorm. My bus was delayed by more than an hour, but did eventually leave.

However, for reasons that did not appear to satisfy my fellow passengers, and which I couldn’t quite understand, our chofer (driver) pulled over about 30 minutes after leaving Loja, sat doing nothing for another 20, then announced that we were returning to Loja. I was proud of my initial staidness, patiently resigned to the absurdities of Virgen del Cisne time as the bus went back down the mountain. But, as we pulled back into the terminal, and the chofer had no explanation for what we should do, I remembered that the next bus wasn’t for 3 hours and was likely already full, the rage rose up inside and I joined the other passengers sharing their displeasure with the driver. I said my piece in English, though, so while I felt just as self-righteous and justified as my fellow complainers, the driver was no worse for the wear.

A fellow Lojana volunteer shared the story of a rage-fueled fit she threw because a mini-mart wouldn’t let her take the small tote bag she carries as a purse into the store, though streams of women carrying purses that doubled as bowling ball bags flowed through. As she described it, the fact that her bag wasn’t "stylish" enough for the bag-checker’s purse standards was what set her off. She lost it after her explanation that her tote was small and contained the wallet she would need to pay fell on deaf ears. Her Spanish flew immediately out the window as she through the sort of indignant tantrum usually reserved for the exclusive use of middle-aged women at Black Friday sales in Wal-Mart. She felt comfortable sharing this bout of poor behavior with me because: A) she was sure I’d behaved similarly poorly in similar encounters with Peace Corps Rage, and B) PCVs tend to tell each other anything and everything, which brings me to my second topic….

Openness and Closeness

I know some alarmingly intimate facts about my fellow PCVs. I can give a fairly detailed report on the diarrhea bouts of the Loja cluster, have seen scars from hideous puss-producing allergic reactions, and know that the average time between volunteers’ showers hovers around 48 hours for those in warm climates and 96 hours for those in the cold. Why do I know this? Because volunteers share so openly. Since this openness is so widespread, I suspect it’s related to coping with life abroad, but whatever causes it, it has some wonderful consequences.

Firstly, since bizarre illnesses are a probable reality, it’s actually nice to know what to expect in the puss and poo department. Secondly, volunteers are eager to share more personal info of the emotional variety, along with bodily functions. I’m amazed by how well I know those volunteers I get to see with some regularity. I know all about their past experiences and future plans, frustrations and triumphs here in Ecuador, and a lot about their extended families. In fact, with the possible exception of whining about Peace Corps policies, our favorite conversation topic is our families – what they’re like, what they’re up to back in the States, etc.. Sadly, I know we talk about them because we miss them (me too! I miss you guys!), and realize we’ve elected to miss two years of time we could had spent near them, but with all the joyfully shared information, it’s easy to get to know people. I value the knowledge I’m gaining about Ecuador and its culture, but I also love getting to know the eclectic and charming group of Americans who also said, “Sure, I’ll live and work in Ecuador for two years!”