I knew going into this that evacuation was always a possibility, but I didn’t think it would ever happen to us. This feels like a fever dream and at any moment I’m going to wake up in my bed back in Lengkong, mosquitos buzzing, fan whirling. I’ll get up to the call to prayer, put on my running shoes and go for a jog around the neighborhood as the suns rises, while my neighbors greet me with a “Kayla!” and a huge smile as I pass.
This sucks. This really, really sucks. I’m writing this to cope with the disappointment, and I’m processing this in the best way I can. It’s a massive, crushing, suffocating disappointment. It’s like a breakup and a death and a move all wrapped up into one. It can be difficult to understand the pain of saying goodbye to friends, host families, counterparts, students, work places and communities. This isn't just saying goodbye though, this is losing a life, a life that was finally feeling full and complete that I (and fellow volunteers) built tirelessly day by painstaking day. Peace Corps is joy and hope and laughter and pain and trauma. I don’t know if anyone in my cohort can put it into words, but I’m trying. Everything about it just sucks.
Last week we were still planning for an event with all our students that was taking place at the end of March. I was training for a 5k in Kediri. I was thinking of lesson plans for the following week. I was waiting for the tailor to finish my outfit for graduation. It was business as usual. Then things seemingly took a massive turn in very short time. In a matter of three weeks, we went from being told to hold off on travel plans, to not being allowed to leave the country, to not being allowed to travel at all. On Friday, March 13 (Friday the 13th *NO LESS*) we were put on a security hold called "standfast." We were not allowed to leave our communities whatsoever, unless directed by Safety & Security to consolidate for evacuation. The Saturday and Sunday after that was complete and utter panic, denial, confusion, and fear. Word was going around that some countries were evacuating, others told nothing at all. A lot of us felt Peace Corps Indonesia staff dropped the ball completely, and made its Volunteers just wait to hear from them for over 48 hours, while other Peace Corps posts were offered early close of service, interrupted service, were put on administrative hold, or were evacuated. All we were told was, “read the email from Friday”. Then late Sunday night, we were sent an email that essentially told us to begin the packing process. Monday morning rolled around, and as I was getting ready to go into school, a letter from Jody Olsen, Peace Corps Director, was sent to a group chat. “Peace Corps announces suspension of volunteer activities”. Despite it all, I understand and support the decisions made by Peace Corps Indonesia and Peace Corps HQ for making the best decision for the health and safety of its volunteers.
So, let me just pity myself for a minute. Yes, your classes got cancelled, you’re working from home, your concert got cancelled, you can’t see your friends at that party you planned. Did you have to pack up your life in one day and move out of the country you called home for over a year? Did you have to explain to friends in a language that isn’t your first what exactly is happening? Did you just have to completely change your lifestyle? Your daily habits? What you eat? Are you out of work? Do you have to deal with reverse culture shock? Do you know what you’re doing a week from now? Do you not know the next time you’ll see your best friends? Did you coworker that you’ve been collaborating with for over a year send you a text that they’re leaving the country tomorrow? Did you teacher you cared for leave the country but because of school closures you didn’t get to say goodbye? If you answered no to those, just read this, and try to see where me and my fellow Peace Corps volunteers, counterparts, and students are at.
If anything, this situation is eye opening and humbling. It also puts things into perspective. When the going gets tough, we all get sent on a plane to a country that has the healthcare infrastructure and governance to handle a situation like this because it’s too big a liability for the government. I have two homes to go back to and infinite couches to crash on. I have health insurance. I have no children, sick or elderly relatives I have to physically care for. No one in my family is positive for COVID19. Not many people have these privileges. I saw someone here post a status update saying, “if you eat three gloves of garlic everyday you can’t get corona”. Misinformation and lack of government capacity in COVID response can possibly get a lot of people sick, and that’s not a problem people are thinking about because we’re too busy fighting over toilet paper and cauliflower gnocchi at Trader Joe’s.
To family and friends in the US to whom I return: Don’t ask me what’s next, don’t ask me how I’m feeling, don’t ask me where I’m going to live, don’t ask me if there’s anything you can do. Because chances are, I don’t know. Your love, warm wishes and care packages have kept me standing a little taller the past 18 months, and while I most definitely have mixed emotions about coming back to the States, I’m looking forward to being closer (well, close enough. I’m not getting sick) to my support system. We are going to get through this together while this gaping wound mends itself into a scar. I beg for your patience and sensitivity the next few months. And just know, I don’t want to be there. I want to be in Indonesia. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see my friends and family. I’m happy to have a slice of pizza. I’m happy to go kayaking, camp in Montauk, go to the beach, eat Chipotle. But this isn’t on my terms. I’m going back because I have to, not because I want to. Please forgive me if I want some space before seeing loved ones, if I want to just be with myself to process my thoughts, if I don't want to answer your phone call.This is not going back to a welcome party— people are in quarantine, dealing with this pandemic, processing this in their own way. This is something we are all dealing with, together. Not only volunteers-- but parents, doctors, nurses, business owners, teachers, students, politicians.
Recognize that this doesn’t feel like I’m going home. My home is here, or at least it was meant to be for nine more months. The word for going home in Bahasa Indonesia is “pulang” and word for return is “kembali”. When explaining the situation to my host-family, it was “kembali” that I used when referring to the journey back to America, and it was “pulang” when promising to come back to Indonesia. I don’t feel like I have one home, but several dotted around the world, where I have put my heart and soul into. This place is definitely one of them.
Right now, I see this as the end to my Peace Corps service. The next time I return to Indonesia, it will not be as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Unless something changes radically, this will be my last blog post as Peace Corps Kayla. The issue is that the situation changes every day, so I really don’t know what the future holds. But with this all, it has shown me how much I truly love Indonesia. It has shown me that I need to go back, that I have unfinished business. It shows me that I’m a completely different person, that there’s been a ton of growth, and that I’m not finished growing and learning. It shows how strong I and my fellow volunteers are. It shows how loved I am. It shows how much I want to bring the life I built back to the US. I want to ride my bike, I want to be a runner, I want to always be smiling, to be kind, to be patient, to be hopeful, to live slowly, to be more tolerant. I want to live in the moment. I want to know what’s in my control and be okay with what’s not. I want to keep reading books. I want to focus on the good, and continue the relationships that serve me while doing away with the ones that are toxic. More than anything, I don’t want to pick up where I left off 18 months ago. I don’t want to be the Kayla I was in 2018. I want to be the Kayla I am right now, the one that lived this experience and became a better person through it all. We have all changed and grown immeasurably. Maybe invisibly. We are not the same as when we started, or when we departed on that late September day in 2018.
I wasn’t ready to give all my things away to people here, I wasn’t ready to never play with my host-nephew. I wasn’t ready to stop teaching my fifth graders. I wasn’t ready to tell my students that all their hard work for the English competition was for nothing. I wasn’t ready to tell my best friend I can’t go to her wedding, or my host-sister I can’t go to her graduation. I wasn’t ready for my alarm to stop being the call to prayer. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to my classes, or fellow teachers, or the feral cats. I’m not ready to see the life I had to build here crumble in front of me. It’s too easy to make the list of what I will not get to do, what I won’t get to finish. We cannot get lost in what could have been, though I understand it’s hard not to dwell. If I start, I won’t stop. Instead, I’m thinking of the things I got to do in the last 18 months:
I got to learn a new language, a new culture, a completely new way of living. I got two new families. I got to learn more about myself in 18 short months than I did the 22 years before arriving. I got to learn about a religion that isn’t mine but isn’t scary or evil. I got to eat new food. I got to meet amazing Americans, and experience this roller coaster with them. I got new best friends. I got to see a beautiful country, to see monkeys, manta rays, Komodo dragons, sea turtles. I got to visit century-old temples. I got to share my culture with others. I got to celebrate my birthday on the beach (and accidentally at a brothel, but that’s another story for another day). I got to party in Bali. I got to learn how to haggle at the market. I got to show my new home to friends. I got to kill it at karaoke. I got to eat so, so much fried rice, tempeh, tofu and noodles. I got to laugh uncontrollably with friends at school. I got to make TikToks. I got to watch so many sunsets. I got to see my students confidence blossom. I got to care for another person, then learn to care for myself first. I got to lose 35 pounds, then realize I loved my body then as much as I do now. I got to learn how to listen, and also how to speak up for myself. I got to do a lot of things, so now, all I can say is Thank You.
Thank you Indonesia. Thank you to those in America that supported me this whole time. Thank you to those in Indonesia that listened to me. Thank you Peace Corps staff, thank you bahasa Indonesia teachers, thank you CLs, host-families and fellow PCVs. Thank you little girls that went on walks with me around the neighborhood. Thank you ibu's that greeted me with a smile instead of a face of discontent. Thank you school staff that made me laugh, cry, dance, and roll my eyes. Hell, thank to you creepy men for showing me how not to take shit from anyone. Thank you to ME, for being strong. Even with evacuation, it was all still worth it.
This crazy time will come to an end eventually. Service was set to end in December, but nobody predicted it would end like this, and so soon. The post-Close of Service chapter of my life is beginning one year sooner than it should. For now, I'd like to buy a new bike, find a new fitness routine, rebuild my community, set up a new living space, go to therapy, learn to drive stick, get out in nature, take a pottery class, get a new library card, do more yoga, and process these emotions in a healthy way. Indonesia, this is not the end. One day, COVID-19 will be dead and I will be spitting on its grave. This chapter of life will get the ending it deserves. And we will be better people after it all. Sending love and light to all PCVs around the world.
xx
