American Culture As Seen From Abroad

It can be hard to know what makes up American culture when living it everyday.  Because of this, I’ve probably learned more about America, Americans, and our oddities and uniqueness’s – for better or for worse – in the past two years than I had in all the years previously leading up to my time in Peace Corps.

However, I’ve maybe learned the most about my own culture from listening to Zambians describing Americans to me, not me seeing America from abroad. 

According to Zambians – and I’ll corroborate much of this – we cry easily, talk to all animals as if they’re people, observe nature like it’s about to tell us some big secret, and do not - under any circumstance - like people within our personal space.   They make fun of us a bit for these reasons, but often they respect us for our other traits: we’re brave in their eyes; adventurous - sometimes irresponsibly so; prefer direct feedback and communication to the Zambian round-about kind of way; and like our activities to start and end on time – this is completely opposed to the greater African way, where being an hour late often means you’re still an hour early.

It’s always an enjoyment to meet a Zambian that absolutely “gets” Americans from our bizarre cultural norms to our complexities in slang - these are typically lively, humorous talks. 

For example, one Zambian told me, “My only goal in life is to meet a redneck.  They seem interesting.  Are there any rednecks in the Peace Corps?”  I quickly pointed to my friend Jacob.  He did not appreciate. 

It says a lot about American culture that so much of what makes us American has made it to Africa.  From fast food chains like KFC and Subway to television shows like reruns of LOST and Keeping Up With The Kardashians - for good or bad, a lot of what makes us who we are is coming here.

  

I’ve learned that American culture is a lot of things: 

American culture is generous without question: year in and year out, Americans give, per capita, more than any other nation of people.  Even if we only have little information about what we are donating time or money to, we’re happy to help.

American culture is exported.  I can walk into a grocery store here and there is Pepsi, Kellogg’s, Snickers, and so much more.  That’s just the tip of the iceberg; we export clothing designs, electronics, and even some of our four letter riddled phrases are found here (for worse).  Essentially, we have so much culture that we export it like we would steel, cars, or even lamps. 

American culture is diverse in that our country really is a melting pot of people and traditions.  I’m of Dutch–Swiss background but my favorite food is a burrito.  The Midwest and our friendliness is leaps and bounds different from the culture of the Southwest and their cowboy boots, which is again different from that of the Deep South’s drawl, and that’s vastly different from the hustle and bustle culture of the Eastern Seaboard.  Out of this we have a country resulting in a unique cultural experience: one region is hardly the same as another, yet each makes up an important part of our great nation.

American culture is dynamic.  Our culture changes quickly.  It’s constantly evolving and moving.  What was popular when I left America in early 2012 is now relegated to the pages of history.  Remember Beanie Babies, WWJD bracelets, and tribal tattoos?  At one time they were all popular, now it’s trendy to like Game of Thrones, using the word “totes,” and there is an app for every aspect of our lives.  What’s next?

With all that being said, American culture is often misunderstood in places like this.  Zambians, especially those in the rural communities believe all Americans have guns, that Rambo and the Terminator are running freely with weapons drawn throughout the countryside, and African Americans number in only the hundreds.  Obviously these three are all completely wrong, but they only know by what they see – our television shows and especially our action movies.  It’s important to take note of what we’re putting out to the rest of the world, because that’s what’s being taken as us.

At times, the two cultures couldn’t be further from each other, especially when someone takes into account that Zambians don’t talk to their pets – it’s a member of your family, right?  Why ignore it?  But, in other aspects they’re also very similar and becoming more so by the day.  As our culture infiltrates this Central African country I’ll not be seeing something out of the pages of a travel magazine, instead I’ll be seeing a mirror image of Western culture – our culture; except, I’m hoping, without the rednecks. 

Ebola in Zambia

Ebola does scare Zambians tremendously.  Although some Zambians claim it couldn't spread throughout Zambia due to certain climatic conditions – I think this is based more on national pride than actual science or even public health theory – it is a particularly common topic of discussion.  About once or twice per year there are reports of Ebola popping up in Congo, our neighbor to the North, and I have a hard time believing the climate between Congo and Zambia could be that different, so I'm not sure I feel reassured with that logic.

As mentioned, Ebola isn’t found here now, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t ties to the disease within Zambia.  Three interesting stories about Ebola:

1) It was suggested to me this past weekend that when the 2013 movie World War Z was released last summer it was released by the Western world, specifically the United States, as a warning to the rest of the world that we had developed something in our labs – something deadly – that we were going to openly release.  That something was Ebola and World War Z was the warning we chose to send and the guide provided for world to follow.

Naturally I'm left to assume that Brad Pitt was in on the whole thing.

2) My job has a technical boss in Washington DC, and we used to talk about once per week or so just to bounce ideas back and forth and so on; however, since the outbreak I've received just one 2-line email message from him saying - in summary - "Sorry, I haven't talked to you in a while.  Ebola is killing us now."  About 95% of his job is being split between DC and Liberia.  So, even though my job is in no relation tied to Ebola, it's still being affected.  In addition, a lot of the foreign aid for public health things that would go towards HIV, malaria, or other illnesses is being funneled to West Africa.  It's truly a global issue now, isn't it?

3) My job’s focus deals with strengthening the resiliency of rural community members to respond to future natural disasters.  Some of this strengthening is done by the community members themselves via action plan creation (coming up with action plans to follow in the case of a drought, flood, etc.), and recently one of the groups said they were going to address the Ebola concerns of their community by creating an action plan focused entirely on preventing the spread of Ebola throughout their community.

Posters like this can be found all over Zambia.  Knowledge is power, eh?  Some of the pictures seem a little too suggestive - but that's just my opinion.

I'm probably in as good of a place as I could be to avoid Ebola.  Yes, it is on this continent, but when the continent is massive that’s reassuring.   Plus, I deal mainly with villagers who are unlikely to get sick, I would assume, because they would never travel to West Africa, whereas if I worked in a bank or for a business with people traveling a lot then it seems my risk would inherently increase.  But, needless to say, I work with folks that can't even afford the taxi ride to the airport. 

Anyway, I'm very glad it isn't here.  Zambia, and nearly the entire rest of Africa, still has malaria, auto accidents, HIV/Aids and all of those are significantly more deadly – on a numbers basis – than Ebola.  Let’s continue hoping Ebola is never added to that list.

Magical Mochipapa at Mochipapa

North-Western Province where I was stationed for Peace Corps during my first two years was rich in cultural traditions and beliefs.  It’s not that Southern Province (where I’m now placed) isn’t, but it doesn’t seem as rich.  North-Western had all sorts of strange beliefs and ideas – some ridiculous and some just fun.  I miss that a lot, because you never knew if one day would be a regular, normal day or if someone would be accused of being a witch and dragged to the chief's court for trial.  Strangely, that was enjoyable and interesting to me.

Recently I was told a story about a particular tree called the mochipapa tree located within the grounds of the Mochipapa Agricultural Research Center.  I was told that it had special magical properties to it.  This was the kind of thing I was used to hearing about in North-Western - my interest was peaked immediately.

The story had everything a good story about magic should have: angry white people, black people pouring alcohol on the ground for their dead relatives and the ever abounding spirits, and a good strong tree.

Mochipapa Agricultural Research Station is home to one of Southern Province's most magical features: the mochipapa tree.

The story I was told was this:

For years before white farmers came to the area the locals would worship at this particular tree.  They would pray to their gods or spirits, pour the locally brewed beer (more like moonshine) onto the ground for their dead relatives and to appease the previously mentioned spirits and gods, while always paying homage to the tree that reportedly held such magical power.  

Well, the white farmers (no doubt of the racist variety) came to the area.  The white farmers bought the land and began clearing it for farms.  In one area stood this mochipapa tree that the locals revered so heavily.  The farmer wanted it and all of the other trees around it to be cleared and cleaned.  The farm hands began chopping away all of the trees.  Eventually they came to the magical mochipapa tree.  And into it they drove their axes.  The farm hands cut the tree down, called it a day and went home.  When they awoke the next morning, standing just as strong as the day before and years before that stood the mochipapa tree.  

The white farmer was none to happy (because he believed the farm hands had been lying about cutting it down in the first place), so he demanded them to cut it down again.  They did so and for the next few days the tree continued coming back - like nothing had happened.  

Finally, the white farmer was so enraged that he took the ax to the tree himself .  As soon as he struck the tree he keeled over - - dead!  The mochipapa had killed the mean old farmer. 

Later, when his wife heard the tale she marched out, ax in hand, and tried clearing the tree herself.  Same end result: a dead person.   The tree was never cleared and there it has stood ever since.

The magical tree is in there somewhere, I promise you.  It's behind the red flowers near the lower third of the photo. 

I have no idea if the story is true or not, and I'm inclined to not believe it, but really that doesn't matter.  A good story is a good story whether it is true or not, and to hear a local tell this story is pretty convincing.  There were other strange stories that I heard during my trip to see this tree, but the dead farmer tale was my favorite.  

Most stories contend that if you take a photograph of the tree and have it developed it will show the scene as the photographer saw it, minus the tree.  Somehow the tree magically dissolves from the picture.

I added some arrows using Microsoft Paint (this took me entirely too long to do), so that you can see the trunk and one of the mystical tree's main branches.

It sounds far-fetched but I openly admit that before I took these photos the thought passed through my mind that maybe its powers would break my camera.  Luckily they didn't break my camera, but who knows maybe there is something to the story.  And in the end, it's an entertaining story - especially when watching Zambians ape an angry, racist white guy.

Under Weight and Malnourished

In the United States we’re constantly worried about getting fat.  No doubt, America has an issue with obesity, but in much of Zambia it’s a different concern all together: being underweight.

Children's diets throughout Zambia often suffer from malnutrition.

Malnutrition and hunger are very serious and real issues in the rural communities of Zambia.  Much of Zambia’s estimated 14 million people are subsistence farmers that make their livelihoods from farming only a few acres of crops each year.  That crop has to nourish themselves and their families for the entire year.  When crops fail or the production was less than anticipated then hunger often comes knocking on the door. 

Step into a village and the tell tale signs of hunger and malnourishment leap right into sight: big, bloated bellies; small arms with little in the way of muscle mass; a red tint to the eyes.  Without even seeing what is being eaten it is possible to know that not much is on the nightly dinner plates.

Locally harvested fish provide great sources of protein.

Specifically, protein and Vitamin A are lacking in villagers’ diets.  Protein as we know helps with muscle growth and , while Vitamin A helps both adults and children to have stronger immune systems and keep organs working properly. 

Protein should be coming from meat, but when meat is a rarity and a luxury in most meals then protein consumption is often non-existent.  There are crops like beans and peanuts that can provide needed protein, but they tend to not be on the menu due to limited production – not only is corn the staple food here, but it's also the main cash crop.  Far more effort is put into growing corn than any other crop, even when malnutrition and hunger are results.

Being fat is thought of as something to strive for as it indicates that a person doesn’t have to do the physical labor that most engage in.  They don’t have to work in the fields; instead they’re at home eating “bwana” meals of chicken and beef and not doing much else.  Sometimes even carrying a toothpick is used as an indicator of wealth, as it shows that someone needs to pick the sinews and gristle of meat out of their teeth.

A rural corn depot where local farmers bring their corn to sell.

It was hard to get used to villagers always telling me how fat I looked when I would come back from the village after being gone for some time, but the truth is I had gained weight – going to Zambia’s capital was about the only place I could gorge myself on pizza, pasta, and other more Western dishes.  There comments weren’t meant as criticism but rather as a way of saying I looked healthy. 

There are increasing amounts of data that are pointing to malnutrition during the first three years as having lifelong physical and mental consequences for children - meaning even if malnutrition is reigned in and reduced today the effects may last a lifetime.  Many of the issues that deal with malnutrition could be eased through diverse diets and probably even less reliance on corn as the main food, but that isn't an easy switch to make.  That would require changing mass amounts of people's behavior, current government policies that promote the growing of corn on massive scales, and even access to different crop seeds, which is a serious issue for farmers and their families here.  Sadly, it seems malnutrition in Zambia is going to continue being a part of life for some time longer.

Small upper arms and bloated bellies constantly identify the victims of malnutrition.

Where Beef Is King

Clanking.  The bells around the necks of the cows moving past are clanking together and behind them are what?  More cows.  Clank, clank, clank.  I'm now in Southern Province for my last year and this is a common sound: the clanking of cow bells.

The gray cow is a good example of the Tonga breed of cow.  Often found throughout Southern Province it provides better resistance to disease and pests as compared to other outside breeds.

Like much of the semi-arid and arid ranges across our planet livestock production reigns as the predominate way of making a living.  The land is too nutrient poor and scarce of water for crop production to take off in any meaningful way, so people have adapted and taken to lifestyles which promote goats and cows.  This is where the Tonga tribe lives - in Southern Province: a dry, dusty place.

Southern Province is largely made up and populated by the Tonga tribe.  A fairly proud people that historically didn't take a lot of crap from the other tribes.  For them the cow is life.  It's a way of judging a man's worth, deciding your own sense of pride, and even a way of storing money.  Cows - and livestock in general throughout the developing world - act as village banks and insurance policies for villagers.  Need money for your kids' school fees?  A sudden illness?  Have that itch to put a lot on red?  Well, it's easy enough sell a cow or two and get that much needed cash.

Southern Province for much of the year is dry place.  Typically cows have to be given water twice a day if there aren't any open sources of water nearby.

Through my very rough and primitive research I've found that a cow is worth about $800 a head (although sometimes much more), and when most families have a few cows (it isn't unheard of to come across a family with over 100) that can add up to a lot of money for a rainy day.

With the cows come cow pies, flies, the previously mentioned bells, and a tradition of herding these beasts.

The local variety is simply called the Tonga cow.  Original, eh?  The breed has been raised to provide increased resistance to the region's hardships: occasional droughts, pests, children constantly throwing rocks.  Tonga cows are good, but if you want a good quality cow in Zambia's Southern Province then you should go for the Tonga-Brahman hybrid.

Brahman cows hail from the United States, but began with original stock from India.  This cow has thicker skin which helps to prevent disease transmission from insects and the meat is a superior quality - a top dollar kind of thing.

With its roots hailing from India, Brahman cattle were brought to the United States, Brazil, Australia, and numerous other countries for meat production.

The Tonga-Brahman hybrid costs more money to initially buy, but the payoff in it's ease of maintenance and better price per pound of meat makes it the envy of ever Tonga herder's eye. 

Tongas are so attached to their cows that it actually acts as an Achilles heal in that so much of their livelihoods are wrapped up in one thing that any shock or stress to their cow herds can have a lasting ripple effect.

It's not an uncommon sight to see cows wandering near or even through a family's compound, like the photo here shows.  You would expect a dog or a cat to be a part of a family, but here the Tongas' cows are like members as well.

For example, in 2009 Zambia's Southern and Western Provinces were drenched in rainfall causing massive flooding throughout the region.  Fearing for their cows lives the Tongas pushed their cows into massive herds and located them atop the higher regions of the area to escape the flooding.  Little did they know some of their cows were infected with a devastating lung disease called contagious bovine pleuropneumonia (CBP).  Once CBP started to spread it went like fire through tinder.  In a matter of months 90% of the region's cows were killed by the disease or by a government supported culling.  The Tongas livelihoods had been reduced by 90% and now that village insurance policy was nearly negligible.  A truly sad story, but an important one to keep in mind as extreme weather events are taking hold and becoming more and more common.

This picture is from my old village in North-Western Province.  These two cows were two of about 20 that we had in the area.  Access to cows coupled with the price of buying a cow didn't allow many of my community members to have animals.

For now the cow herds have recovered, partially if not fully, and the cow will remain Southern Province's most prized possession.  

Me trying to run the plow.  It was incredibly hard.  I did not enjoy.

Finding Similar Opportunities At Home

I went home to Michigan in July for a month of very needed vacation / down time, and I'll admit that I struggled the first week or so to really find my place in the United States.  I was happy to be there and reunite with family, friends, my culture and nation, but it took some time getting used to.

Gardening 365 strives to teach food security through do-it-yourself trainings, but also to open a stream of revenue generation for the Leila Arboretum Society through horticulture.  Vegetables grown in this green house are sold in local farmers markets, as well as being sold to local restaurants.

A lot of people asked me how Zambia was, how were things in Africa, did I have ebola, and so on and so forth.  But, I quickly realized that while some were genuinely interested, most just weren't sure what to ask me about.  And I couldn't really blame them... there seemed to be a large disconnect between my daily life and what I work on here in Zambia and what people's lives back home consisted of.  Usually I can talk to nearly anyone, but I even feel silent at times in asking about their lives.

Some of the Gardening 365 team working in their green house to sort, package, and then ship some fresh produce.

However, it all changed to a certain degree when I was lucky enough to be invited to the Leila Arboretum Society's urban farm for a brief tour.  In these small gardens off Michigan Avenue I found a small part of Battle Creek that resembled my Zambian work and interests.  The search was over.

A range of colored peppers are pictured here.  Battle Creek, like many other places throughout the United Staets is home to "food deserts."  These are places where people can't find fresh produce, instead they're forced to opt for processed foods.

I was amazed at the kind of work they were doing there - in fact, they were doing largely the same kind of work that I have been working on here in Zambia for the last 2.5 years: food security programs.  Battle Creek, like so many other cities across the nation is plagued by "food deserts."  These are areas where finding an apple, a tomato, or ever an ear of sweet corn is nearly impossible because of price or availability, but finding a Twix bar or bottle of Mountain Dew only requires you leave your house and enter a convenience store.  It's a real problem that's leading to further gains in our population's desperate race to become twice the size of a normal humans.

Through community engagement, trainings, and actual production / growing the Leila Arboretum's Gardening 365 program is ensuring food security for those willing to learn throughout the Battle Creek area one small garden at a time.

The Gardening 365 demonstration garden is full of all kinds of vegetables that with a little bit of practice any local gardener could easily produce at their own home.

Not unlike here in Zambia, people in Michigan also love their tomatoes.  Here a hybrid variety is growing in the demonstration garden.  Efforts like that of the Leila Arboretum Society's go a long way in helping community members live healthier lives.

It made me really happy to consider that even when my time here in the Peace Corps is complete I'll have opportunities to continue working on similar projects to what my time here has been focused on.  It will also help with being back home, fitting back into my own country and avoiding those awkward moments when I catch myself staring at other Americans and thinking, "I have no idea what to say... this would never come up in Zambia."

The minds and muscle behind Gardening 365: Brett, Kathy, and Mike

The Ferocious Chaz

Chaz is my neighbor.  He's a chameleon, and he lives somewhere near my house - in either the guava tree or orange tree behind my house, I would guess.  It doesn't matter where he lives exactly, only that he occasionally pops up when I stumble upon him.  And whenever I do see Chaz moving ever so slowly I have to stop and watch him.  Chameleons really are interesting: they move exceptionally slow, have oddly shaped feet / claw-type things, and do in fact change colors before your eyes.

I cut these bananas from a tree near my house and as soon as I opened the cluster up I saw Chaz.  He was just sitting there; exactly how he is in this photograph.

However, the most interesting thing, to me, about chameleons is how incredibly terrified Zambians are of them.  I once found a chameleon in a tree, deep in the forest, and showed my local Department of Fisheries Officer (who happened to be with me that day) my find and not only did he jump high off of the ground, but he ran to the nearest termite mound and refused to come back around until I put the chameleon somewhere high in a tree... where it couldn't bite him.

Look at his weird claw foot as it is grabbing the banana down to the left of him.  I assume it's a he, but it could be a she.  Who knows?

The next day I went to take my clothes off of the clothing line and there, sitting atop my boxers, was Chaz. 

That's right - where it couldn't bite him. You see, Zambians believe that the bite of a chameleon will bring "masham" (bad luck) at the least but death in the worst case scenario.  Some time last year my village headman told me a story about the bite of a chameleon and it went like this:

Outside the city of Ndola a woman was stopped by the police at a checkpoint.  The police asked her to get out of the car she was traveling in and to show them the contents of her bag.  She did this and upon opening the bag a chameleon clambered out.  It immediately bit the woman's hand.  She seized up and fell to the ground... dead.  Her body then turned all sorts of different colors from black to green to blue, red, back to green, and many other hues.  The chameleon crawled away and since then Zambians have been afraid of chameleons, or so my village headman claims.

He's not the most fleet of foot, so his slow motion movements gave me plenty of time to run inside my house, put my camera together, and get outside in time to get some pictures of him before he made his way into the guava tree.

When I asked my co-worker Chipo about chameleons she said, "Ah... I don't like them.  Not at all.  The way they walk, the way they change colors... and the skin... I don't like it.  Stay far from them."  She laughed when I told her the story my headman passed on to me, but it was more of an uncertain laugh, as if to say, "Yeah, that could be real.  It's possible."

Who knows when I'll be seeing Chaz next, but I'm sure in the meantime I'll hear more stories about the power of a chameleon's bite and their dubious nature.

As I don't believe in the power of a lowly chameleon's bite to induce harm and masham on my life I'll continue studying Chaz whenever he shows up next.  He's one of the more interesting looking neighbors I've ever had.

What I Do Now

I've left Makiya Village - my home of two years - for a new job, a new region, but the same Peace Corps.  Although I decided to not extend for a third year in the village as a Peace Corps Volunteer, I was not quite so ready to leave my beloved Peace Corps and my home of the last few years - Zambia, so I applied for and was accepted to stay for a third year while working with an organization in Southern Zambia.

Most of the work I do at my new job is done in meetings with community members, whereas during the past two years my work was done largely one-on-one or in small groups and out in the field.

Now I work with a US-based organization called Project Concern International (PCI).  I have an entirely new job (no longer am I a forestry extension agent) and a new job title: Disaster Risk Reduction Specialist (DRR Specialist).  As a DRR Specialist I work with local communities in Southern Zambia on a project entitled Sustainable Health and Agriculture for Resilient Populations (SHARP).  This project, like my work two years previously, focuses on food security throughout these rural communities.  The project has three aspects: agriculture and food security, water and sanitation, and disaster risk reduction.

The agriculture and food security part deals with about 1,000 local farmers from Choma and Kazangula Districts in Zambia's Southern Province.  This part teaches farmers better agricultural practices and methods in the hopes of increasing their agricultural productivity.

The water and sanitation part deals with just shy of 10,000 community members from the same districts in Southern Province.  Water and sanitation is focused on reducing water-borne illnesses that stem from poor sanitation and hygiene.  The program focuses on building toilets, hand washing stations, and other structures that can help a community to stay healthy and happy.

Issues with water and sanitation, like seen here where the well is open and unprotected (this allows easier access to pollutants - animals), are a main focus of the project I now work on.

This husband and wife took the training they gained and quickly built a hand-washing station and a pit latrine (seen in the background with the door open.

Now comes my program: DRR.  This is important throughout Zambia, but especially in Southern Zambia due to the region's drought and flood prone environment.  These kinds of natural disasters happen frequently in the region, but due to climate change and its impact they're more likely to occur in the area.  Where traditionally there may be a drought in one year and then no other drought for 7 to 10 years, climate change reduces that reprieve to maybe only 2 to 4 years.  So, communities don't have time to rebuild before the next disaster strikes.  My job, as DRR specialist, is to work with the communities on coming up with plans and management strategies for their communities to follow in case of a natural disaster like a flood or drought, or even disease outbreaks in cattle or humans.

I work with communities and their residents (over 2,000 individuals) to create these plans for their benefits.  Everything is derived by the residents themselves, with myself merely acting as a facilitator.  The job isn't without it's difficulties though.  It can be very hard to get people to create plans for an unknown future, and even harder to get so many people to agree on one plan of action.

Some of the women from our group in a community called Kabuyu as they wait for a meeting to start.

The job is interesting though and I think it's implications go much further than two small districts in Southern Zambia.  Climate change as a global problem affects not only countries and regions, but also individuals and their families.  Projects like the SHARP program have potential to really benefit people at an individual level, as well as at the community level.

Another large community meeting that we held in an area near Livingstone, Zambia.

Plus, taking on this job gives me the opportunity to stay on with the Peace Corps in Zambia for one more year, which I'm very thankful for.

Leaving the Village After 2 Years

After two years of living in Makiya Village as a United States Peace Corps Volunteer, it was time to leave.

It couldn’t last forever, and even though I was given the option of staying for a third year, I decided that two years — more than 700 days — was enough. I had done my share.

I started preparing for my village exit a week before I was to hit the road by going through all of my things and deciding what to keep and what to lose. It was at this time that all sorts of strange and never-before-seen people start­ed showing up.

The only village photo we ever took.  I tried for 6 months to get this photo taken, but it wasn't until my goodbye meal that everyone was around long enough to take it. 

Like a dearly departed fam­ily member’s sudden death sparks distant cousins to climb out of the woodwork, I started having people I had never seen show up at my hut’s door ask­ing for a “remembrance” — a little something for them to remember me by.

They kept saying how much I meant to them, acting like for the past two years we were the best of friends. I gave them nothing, and instead asked, “How many other Americans have lived in this village? None — you’ll remember me; I’m sure of it.”

Most of my things went to my nearest neighbors, the people I did know well and had helped me the most. My ax was the only item I had trouble parting with. I considered lugging it around with me to keep as a souvenir, but decided to give it to someone in the village that may get actual use out of it.

Mrs. Fubisha and some of the other women from the village preparing my goodbye meal in the village. 

In the end, I left the village with a duffel bag and perhaps half the items worth keeping. Two years and all I had worth keeping were some old, rag­gedy clothes; a couple of jour­nals full of my poor handwrit­ing and semi-insightful thoughts; and about 50 newly acquired best friends within the last week.

I naively thought my actual leaving the village wouldn’t be difficult. I thought I would say my goodbyes, have a final meal with everyone and early in the morning I would catch the first bus that drove by. I was wrong.

This is a picture of me enjoying one of my last meals in the village: grilled goat, nshima, sweet potato leaves, and lepu.

It’s a strange feeling to leave a place that for two years was nearly everything to me. I slept there. I worked there. But I also laughed there. I even occasionally cried there. To be honest, there wasn’t really anything else in my life but my Peace Corps Service and even that revolved al­most completely around this one village: Makiya.

And for nearly two years of my villagers’ lives, I was a main com­ponent of their daily gossip. It was hard to explain to them, as I was leaving, what they meant to me and that I was proud to have stayed there and honored that they so openly took me in, as most of them don’t speak English.

Not a day goes by when I don’t think about Makiya Village and all of the people who live there. I can honestly say that I miss it. I loved my time in Makiya and was even given that chance to stay a third year.

The final choice as to whether I stay or leave wasn’t made until four days before I was going to leave. I wrestled with the idea for weeks of staying one more year, but ultimately decided it was time to go and try something else.

Many of my village's kids are in this photo.  After two years I can only name about half of them, but they were an entertaining bunch - even if I didn't know their names.

I came in not knowing what to expect during the two years of my Peace Corps service and I left feeling a sense of satisfaction knowing that I learned some things along the way — like eating exclusively with my hands, where to find the best mangoes and even eradicating rats without chemicals.

More importantly, I learned the importance of community and actu­ally knowing your neigh­bor, not just where your neighbor lives: knowing about their family, their struggles and joys, their beliefs.

Years down the road I’m sure I’ll look back on my time as a volunteer not in the context of the projects that I worked on, but rather on the people I worked on those projects with.

As for my projects, there were a couple of solid successes but far more failures, But I was 100 percent successful at creating some great rela­tionships and memories.

I took this picture at 5 AM on my last morning in the village.  For all of Africa's issues, which we so often see in the news, the sunsets and sunrises are second to nothing I've ever seen before.

I couldn’t be more thankful to the villagers of Makiya for that oppor­tunity.