Pre Service Training

"If you give a man a fish, he will have a single meal. If you teach him how to fish, he will eat all his life." - Kuan Tzu


Learning takes practice, wisdom takes experience. You can sit in a classroom, listen to lectures, take notes, or read exorbitant amounts of literature, but without the tangible, practical experience of a real life scenario you will never fully grasp what it means to 'know' your subject matter (for most practical subjects). Since being in Peace Corps, I can confidently say that I have learned more in the few months of being here then I have during years of schooling. 'Ethnography' is the practice of researching a subject by emerging yourself within it. As a Peace Corps volunteer, we embody this style of research and for me it has proven to be the most effective style of learning that one can expose themselves to on so many levels. It has been nearly 2 months since being in country and when I look back on all that I have learned I amaze myself and wonder how.


Pre Service Training entails 11 weeks of intense language lessons, technical training in fish farming and cross cultural studies for RAP volunteers like myself. Most of us had little to no direct experience or knowledge in any of these subjects before coming to Zambia. In fact, the vast majority of us hadn't even been to Africa. Prior to training, we had to forfeit our independence and accept being on someone else's schedule. For those of us who didn't particularly enjoy being in school, it was a grueling, tedious and repetitive 11 weeks. But for those of us who did't mind being in a learning atmosphere, it was an opportunity to gain more knowledge then we ever thought possible within such a brief amount of time.


For Language, I was assigned Nyanja with 3 other gentlemen as we were all to be posted near one another in the eastern province where Nyanja was the dominant language. Zambia has over 70 languages and we (all of the PCV's) were being taught 7 of the most common depending on where we were assigned to post. Nyanja happened to be one of the most widely spoken languages in country (also spoken in Angola, Mozambique, Malawi and Zimbabwe) . Our language lessons typically began in the morning; Monday through Saturday, for 4 hours. We'd meet at our instructors house at 8 a.m. via bike. In getting there, we had to navigate through a maze of elaborate shanty huts and unmarked neighborhoods. Using our instincts and making note of unusual mile markers( like when you see the clothesline attached to the broken down pick up turn left), we eventually developed an effective and scenically rich route, we were way out of our American element, but commuting was a much more exciting experience as opposed to sitting in traffic on the 15 South every morning. Screaming eways (small children) were our morning radio as they would run along side us screaming repeatedly ("How are you, how are you?") desperate to get some kind of response. We rode down rugged dirt trails and through neighborhoods with huts the size of American walk in closets, yet the locals would always smile and greet us as we ventured to our language lesson.


Our Instructors name was Charles a Zambian native coming from the Eastern Province. He was a characteristically rich gentlemen with a great sense of humor and effective teaching style. He embodied everything you'd want in a language instructor; patience, comedy, yet structure and encouragement. He didn't compulsively control where our conversations would stray even if they ventured into inappropriate 'man talk'. His motto was for us to 'be free' because he believed the more he forbid and regulated, the more there would be resistance and resentment. He always stressed that in a learning atmosphere the teacher is not the only one teaching, and he always asked us questions and was eager to learn more about us and our culture as he himself had never visited America. Charles was wise far beyond his years, and because we didn't abuse his leniency and because we were still determined to take learning Nyanja serious, we found an ideal combination of drive, entertainment and effective learning in every session we had together. We had a great relationship and all bonded well.


My two Nyanja counterparts and partners in crime were Tony from L.A., and Tom from Chicago, and they were great peers. We all seemed to share a similar sense of humor and looked out for each other with a sense of comradely that grew as the training progressed. They had both studied a language prior to Nynaja, and were much better at understanding the dynamics that went into learning a second language. I on the other hand, was pretty much in the dark as to how to best go about studying a second language. Their pace encouraged me to pick up mine, and with the determination in not wanting to fall behind or become the obvious weak link in the chain, I studied long hours at night in attempt to make up for my lack of linguistical talent and did pretty well in catching up to them.


In a typical day we would return from home-stays after language for lunch, then bike (about 8 km) to our technical class for fish farming studies. Here we learned everything from biology, anatomy, botany, integrated agriculture, horticulture and aquaculture. Some sessions entailed technical lectures, while most involved hands on training and field trips to local fisheries or fish ponds. We learned how to create plankton blooms, how to handle fish, spawning cycles, genetics, troubleshooting unproductive fish ponds and how to integrate aquaculture with other relevant ecosystems. Some of my favorite classes involved building structures with our hands from raw materials and the construction of appropriate technologies. One of my favorite sessions was where we constructed a chicken coup with reeds and bark from a near by pond. It brought me back to my childhood when I use to construct forts out of sheets and chairs and anything else I could find around the house, only now I was doing it for a meaningful purpose other then to keep my sisters out.


On Tuesdays our class would participate in cross culture sessions. A rather long day where we'd listened to lectures and experiences of our Zambian staff members regarding their culture and then compare them to our own. For some, these days were dreaded, and I'll admit, on certain sessions much of the material wasn't very necessary, but as a government organization, PC had legal obligation to be redundant and through. Some topics were appealing and interesting like; how Zambians go about marriage and dating, funeral and ceremonial burials, and headmen and chief edict. Then there were those topics that were a bit difficult to sit through without taking a few bathroom breaks like; sexual asphalts, and stress coping mechanisms. We also learned a lot about diseases and medical disorders which were both interesting and somewhat stressful( in that it reminded us that Africa was quite the dangerous continent). We had several sessions on HIV/AIDS and Malaria as these two diseases were very ubiquitous and responsible for the high mortality rate throughout the country. Another tragic stat for Zambia is that it is among the top few countries with the highest concentration of HIV/AIDS in the entire world, and a big part of PC's funding is from an organization called PEPFAR (an AIDS relief organization). Much of our assignment entails raising awareness and integrating AIDS and malaria prevention into our communities and to encourage families and individuals to get tested on a regular basis. I have gained so much knowledge regarding AIDS and Malaria since coming to country. I feel that it will be a valuable tool in saving lives at the grass roots level.


Much of my learning has taken place outside of the classroom in places like the market, bars, or just in passing. Most Zambians have been very friendly and approachable always willing to communicate and hear a few words in English, and are always rather surprised when I display my Nyanja skills. Bargaining and shopping was always an adventure. Strolling through the boma(market) never got old as it was unlike any market in the states offering the opportunity to negotiate prices, buy fresh food and bear witness to a nearly overwhelming amount of smells, sounds and sights. Tony, Tom and I befriended a shop keeper that we called 'big man' who was always enthusiastic and welcoming whenever we came to visit him. He could get us anything we wanted that we couldn't find in exchange that we agreed to play for his struggling soccer team. Yet in the one game we played with his team we couldn't be of much help(Zambians may not be the best at soccer, but they make up for it in endurance). Ultimately though, he was just happy we participated.


There have been studies regarding what specifics contribute to the success of a successful PCV, and one of the number one determining factors have been language, and the volunteers effort at mastering it and using it within their village post. Most PCV's test at a moderate level by the end of PST, and then go on to work only with other villagers that speak English, and eventually loose what skills they have been taught by the end of their 2 year service. However many others strive to master their language long after PST ends, and continue using it in their village and whenever possible gaining a stronger sense of respect from their farmers, counterparts and community and giving them a wider scope of farmers they are capable of working with. Many times these volunteers end their 2 year service as fluent as any other local villager. Coming across volunteers that have this fluency and discipline inspire me to keep at my language no matter how frustrated or exhausted I am with it. I do believe that it can dictate a great deal of trust and friendship as villagers recognize and respect the effort in a white foreigner trying to learn their culture and language.



I constantly hear many of my peers making grand plans for what they will pursue after they end service in 2 years time. Most plan on pursuing a higher degree at a university so they can go on to obtain a high paying job. This was my initial plan as Peace Corps does offer enticing packages regarding pursuing higher education upon COS(close of service). But when I compare the results of what one gains out of the Peace Corps compared to what one gains from pursing a higher degree, I only see one logical choice. Paying an unfeasible amount of money to a university that will mostly make you write, read and stress about a particular subject until a given standard is met does not seem to be as educationally rich and unique as what one gains by going through the Peace Corps experience. Sure you end up with a fancy piece of paper that might get you a job where you most likely manage other people and attend to 5 days a week Monday through Friday only to be looking up the ladder as to whom above you is going to retire first. Or, you can travel the world, see new things, constantly learn, do something new everyday, have employment freedom, speak new languages and help others besides yourself. All which appeal to me far more then stock piling a bank account. A house, a car, nice things are all tempting and enticing and part of the American dream, but at a second glance, I see a sense of slavery and demobilization. Who has the chance to travel the world aside from a brief vacation when you have a car payment or mortgage to make every month? I choose to pursue the career of a volunteer, see the world and learn as much as possible first hand before I croak. Traveling and assimilating into other cultures is educationally everlasting, offers tremendous growth, and focuses on bettering lives, yet in the process, one is also helping themselves become a better and more complete individual. I may never have a 3 bedroom house, a sports car, or a wife and kids, but what I will have is the accumulation of a vast number of worldly experiences that no gained fortune could ever buy. My time is far too precious to waste behind a desk, or whilst paying bills. The worlds a big place and I plan on seeing , learning and experiencing as much as possible one country at a time..

My host family in Chongwe

"Oh great spirit in the sky, please help me to always remember, that if my brother does not always follow in my footsteps, perhaps he marches to the beat of a different drum." - Cherokee Proverb.


The game of life has its highs and lows, costs and rewards, securities and insecurities. We begin life following orders and being told what to do, how to do it and when. Eventually, after many lessons, trials and tribulations, we gain our independence and are able to call the shots for ourselves. Independence is a spoiling luxury, and once you're out on your own, able to control your life how you please, going back to the latter can be a difficult concept.


After arriving in Country, meeting all of my peers, and experiencing first site visit, it was time for us RAP'ers (rural aquaculture promotion) to jump into an intense 11 week program entailing a rigid language course and Fish Farming program that would essentially prepare us for volunteer service in the bush. All whilst living with a host family that would better accustom us to the cultures and traditions of Zambian life. All 34 of us were on a bus on our way to Chongwe, a small city outside of Lusaka that would host our PST stay and training. We had with us the majority of our belongings, a rough outline with some basic language survival phrases and knots in our guts the size of softballs as we waited in fear and anxiety to be dropped off at our host familie's doorstep. It was entertaining and nerve racking; we navigated down a series of rugged dirt trails that were so beat we felt that the bus would fall apart at any moment. A few times it sounded as if the road had claimed a muffler or some other necessary mechanical part as payment for navigating such a large, ill prepared vehicle down such and uneven keel. It was off-roading...in a bus. At each stop a name was called, a trainee would gather their belongs and we'd all recite a little prayer for the trainee silently as we witnessed them exit the bus to make their introductions with their host family that they'd be staying with for the next 11 weeks. I had only been able to see a few people face their music as I was one of the first few to find out who my host family would be.


We pulled up to a half grass, half dirt yard with 3 huts; 1 large and 2 smaller with a large fruit tree in the middle and a decent sized farm surrounding the premise. Outside was a Zambian women hand washing cloths in a few large tubs who appeared to be in her mid 30's. She was surrounded by a hoard of e'ways(small children) that had all paused their fun and games to glare at the bus full of Muzunguz's(white people) that had just appeared our of nowhere on their front lawn. Similar to my first business transaction, I approached her and completely stumbled over the basic vocabulary that I had studied on the ride over (nerves always concur). She seemed amused and familiar to the routine and showed me to one of the smaller huts. I was surprised that she knew English, though not very well, yet it was much better then my slurred attempt at Nyanja.


My new living situation went from a hotel to a mud hut, about 8'x10', with no running water, a dirt floor, a tarp ceiling that was about 5 feet tall (yes, lots of squatting and hunched over living), a thatch roof (grass), a reed mat (my carpet) and a single light and Zambian outlet (which I was lucky to have, as most other volunteers did not have electricity at all). It took me some time(a few weeks) to find an adapter so I could use any of my American electronics. My bed was a full sized mattress on top of an old twin sized bed frame that was on top of a few mud bricks, with no box spring (so my mattress sunk into the frame and I felt like a semi-wrapped hot dog while sleeping). I also had a small wooden desk and stool for studying, and a half dozen candles that were put to frequent use during the power outages that occurred on a daily basis. Despite the dramatic shift of my new living situation, I couldn't have been more thrilled with my accommodations. It was all I hoped for with a touch of electricity. Eventually I made the place my own and liked referring to it as 'my little hobbit nook', which seemed appropriate given the shortness of the ceiling and the earthen foundation it was built from and upon. I hung pictures of my family from home, my mosquito net above my bed and nestled all of my fung shui around the one inconsistent light source (aside from my solar charged lantern and candles, but studying via candle or solar light adds a whole new challenge to focusing and concentration whilst studying). It was like college dorm living all over again but African style.


I was living with an immediate family of five, yet on the first day, I was constantly being introduced to various brothers and sisters, amai's (mothers) and atate's (fathers). I was overwhelmed, and couldn't narrow down who my real family was (immediate) until dinner that first night. My Atate was probably around his mid thirties, and worked as a maize grinder at the local hammer mill. He operated heavy machinery that grinned maize into the local staple food source that I'd soon be getting very accustomed to called nshima. An almost pure carbohydrate corn meal that resembled the result of leaving cream of wheat in the microwave too long, but with more lumps. He spoke 4 languages and was even very clear in English. An avid Manchester United fan, and had a very jolly laugh that could be heard from quite a distance. My mother was a homemaker, farmer, vegetable dealer and mother of 3. She was a very strong women, capable of handling red hot charcoals with her bare hands and of stirring the thickest batch of nshima like it was nobodies business (and believe you me, that shit was thick and a workout to prepare). After seeing her run through her daily routine a few times, I gained a tremendous amount of respect and fear for rubbing her the wrong way. She came down like a hammer whenever the children stepped out of line and was poised enough to never let stress or an overwhelming situation get the best of her. She was a seasoned stone faced general commanding the troops on the home front in a dominating strategic way that I soon became apart of.


I had two brothers and one sister. The oldest was Jr., and he was around 7, liked soccer, spoke a bit of English, and was enthusiastic about starting school in the following few months. He was quiet, well behaved, did a fair share of household chores, and very thankful and gracious whenever I gave him sweets or gifts despite how small or petty they were as It seemed he wasn't familiar with the concept of receiving. Beth was the middle child, somewhere around 4. Here hair style changed frequently and I was constantly mistaking her for other children. One day she was bald, the next she would have braids down to her shoulders. She was just starting to learn the language and was constantly singing songs and expressing herself the way a child would as they experiment with new phrases and sentences. She was very sweet and liked to hold my hand and walk me home whenever she saw me in the distance arriving back from school. Last, but not least, was baby Issac, the youngest who was currently undergoing the terrible-two phase. Issac was my favorite as well as my number one antagonist. He was notorious for sneaking in my hut and tampering with my belongings(which he in fact is doing as I type this blog). He was especially fascinated with my role of duct tape (which I constantly retrieved from him cover in mud), my soccer ball (which is now torn and deflated courtesy of his fascination with sharp objects and balls), my small packaged food supply(which are all coated with dried saliva), and my mouse trap (which nearly claimed his fingers on multiple occasions). Despite his mischievous behavior, I grew quite fond of him without a clear reason as to preciously why. I speculate that it could be the fact that I have never lived around young children his age that I can remember or possibly because of the innocence of his youth. I think that as we grow older our creativity is suppressed by the sigma of being wrong and corrected so many times, and baby Issac was at an age were he has yet to experience that suppression of his true character. His bold behavior was, at times, a pleasure to witness. He never failed to make me laugh and always entertained me beyond satisfaction during dinner by his unpredictable behavior, pure creativity, playful attitude and rebelliousness. I have to admit that my fondness of children has been escalated (somehow) due to living with such an amusing two year old such as him.
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My days would begin around six in the morning as my Amai would knock on my hut door with a small tub of warm water for me to wash my face with. I'd sweep my hut, eat breakfast (always 4 slices of bread, peanut butter and tea) and start my day by either biking to language class or biking to the school center for technical/ cross cultural studies. I'd return home for lunch to find nshima and rape(the local vegetable green that closely resembles kale), then head back to school for the second session of training. Id return home once more for the remainder of the evening, play some guitar, kick the soccer ball around with Jr., and then study language or technical all the way until my bath. Id bathe outside among the stars with a tub of hot water and a mug that would act as my shower head. We'd usually eat dinner as a family sometime around 9 and I played the role of an active listener during family conversations and try my best to keep up with the dialogue. The only questions I consistently answered was what I was doing the following day, the time I had to be to school, and If I needed a packed lunch or not. My language skills eventually picked up after some time and I began reciting simple phrases and descriptions about my days and other activities. Occasionally I would use my English and bond a bit with my Atate by watching soccer highlights after dinner. Yet valued my retreat back to my hut when he'd initiate his cellphones music player and narrow song selection (which was either Kenny rogers, or the Titanic theme song over and over and over....and over). The communication barrier, though inherent, each day began to crumble little by little as my language skills began to improve and I became capable of comprehending their conversations. I developed a fondness with all of my family members and slowly began to feel like Chongwe was a place I could call home. The differences that I initially held for my family began to slowly dissolve and what grew inn its place was recognition of the similarities and the common humanity that we in fact shared.


I am currently half way through my PST experience with my post and swear in ceremony(becoming a volunteer) on the horizon. I've come quite a ways since arriving in country in such a short amount of time and give lots of credit to the PC program for driving us to "Keep the fire burning" as they would say. From having the fearful softball knot and riding on the unstable bus to bathing under the stars and having the softball knot replaced by 5 nshima lumps a meal, I'd say that my acclimation into Zambian life is developing quite well. Though I long for independence and the luxury of sleeping in, and cooking my own meals I will never forget the kindness, generosity and patience that my host family has displayed. Its not easy accepting a foreigner into your home, especially when he's so unfamiliar with basic day to day living standards. I imagine that on more then one occasion I have butchered a basic phrase that had already been slowly repeated a dozen times before, or that my aim was rather off in the chimbozee (bathroom) and I created a mess that could have been avoided with better technique. Yet with all these shortcoming and burdens that I have undoubtedly caused, they have remained caring and friendly without any sign of animosity or reluctance towards my stay. They have been prime example of how generous and giving the people here in Zambia are and I feel as though I will never be able to express my appreciation and gratitude enough for all they have done on my behalf. Despite our origins, unique cultures and differing drums beats that we may follow, there will always be a place for the Luvwala's in my heart..

First site visit in Kalicero

27-8-12

We had been in country all but 3 days when we were told to pack our things and prepare for a camping trip in the bush. Our initial stay at the barn motel was comforting. It gave us a chance to develop relationships with other PCT's, PCV's, staff members and better understand what we were getting into. But just as we were settling in and our jet lag was wearing away, we were told to began packing once more for a tour across the country. It was called 'First Site visit', and it was a chance for us to get our first taste of what life in a village consisted of, and weather we had made the right decision in coming to Zambia. We were divided into small groups and sent in land cruisers to different parts of the country to live with an experienced PCV for a few days and shadow their daily activities. We were following directions and had little idea as to what we were about to experience.


After packing the bare essentials, I hoped in a land cruiser with my group and headed out to the Eastern Province, to a district called Petauke to a village called Chataika not far from the Zambia/ Mozambique boarder. We were looking at a 6 hour ride on one of the only paved roads in Zambia, very windy and very dangerous. Lucky for us, our driver was not only safe, but also kind enough to answer questions and teach us some basic survival phrases in Nyanja along the way as our anxieties were rather high. We made a few stops, one at a market to purchase vegetables. The pit stop was our first real encounter with bush locals. When we exited the car, all eyes in the market were fixed on our every move, business seemed to come to a brief halt and we felt like quite the spectacle for a good five minutes. Initially we huddled together like timid sheep, apprehensive to wander and mingle. I was even asked to escort a few PCT's to the bathroom. It took some courage, but I eventually decided to make a move and purchase an egg sandwich at a food stand near by. I felt semi confident about voicing the little language skill I had, yet when I approached the stand, nerves set in and I completely forgot even the most basic greetings. It was a poor first attempt at making a simple business transaction. Eventually I snapped out of my daze and played charades until I walked away with what I had originally set out for, yet with not the slightest clue as to weather or not I had been swindled or over charged which was likely.


The remainder of the ride to the east was educating. We passed by many small villages some baboons and a slew of overturned semi-trucks. I was very curious to know why so many vehicles were overturned(and I still don't have a satisfying answer) and the only reason I was given is that drinking and driving is not an uncommon thing in Zambia, even among truck drivers transporting precious cargo, and when you combine dangerous roads and drunk drivers..needless to say you get accidents. The most dangerous hazard for all PCV's (I was surprised to find) is transportation. We traveled over an impressive bridge, saw crocodiles and noticed much of the countryside engulfed in active fires. Another depressing country fact (and there are many) is that Zambia is the number one deforested country in the world, mainly because the people use charcoal for their cooking (which is a product of trees) and also because its a way to control their foliage, yet the method they utilize is very damaging to the environment, and there is little action among the people to change this pressingly serious environmental hazard. It is predicted that in 5 years, Zambia will be a completely deforested country. A depressing scenario to visualize.


When we eventually arrived at our designated PCV site we were delighted to find motivated and proactive volunteers that welcomed us with open arms. Our site host was a PCV's named Chuck(aka Chuckson) and living with him was his finance Jen. Visiting him from other sites close by were Caleb, a LIFE volunteer, and Johnathan another RAP volunteer. They were all delighted to see us and were more then helpful in answering all of questions throughout our stay. Chuck had a background in animal science and had a number of relevant side projects valuable to his village, including multiple successful fish ponds. He had a rabbit pin, Chicken Coup (with over 70 chickens), a bee keeping side project (in your face Maren) and he was introducing turkeys to the province for the first time. Many neighbors and villagers would spend hours just staring at the Turkeys outside his hut. Caleb was a LIFE volunteer(agriculture) and very knowledgeable in all the fauna around the area. Johnathan was an expert at fish farming and in speaking Nyanja. It was inspiring to see him communicate with the locals as his skills were equivalent to any other born and raised villager. And Jen had been in country for over three years and seemed the most experienced and pleasantly affected by African living, it gave me hope that not everyone goes crazy from spending too much time in the bush.


Throughout our entire stay we laughed, joked, learned and discovered many great ways about how to find success as a PCV. We saw first hand each of Chuck's projects and were more then impressed by the quality relations that he had developed with each and everyone of his village counterparts. He was an active member in working towards community development and all of the revenue that could have been accumulated by his projects were donated to the local school.


One day we took a tour of his village, meet the head man, took a hike to a distant peak/mountain to witness an incredible view of much of the countryside including Mozambique. We harvested one of his fish ponds and had hands on experience ahead of any other PCT's in being able to see what goes into the final product of a successful fish harvest. Chuck and I participated in a village soccer match that the villagers enjoyed so much they insisted on me saying a speech afterwards that was translated by Chuck and in doing so I had won the hearts and handshakes of many of the villagers that I had played with.


On the last evening of our stay we were fortunate enough to witness the cultural dances specific to the Eastern Province called Meyow dancing. Meyow dancing was a cultural right of passage for young men passing into manhood, a sacred ritual performed only a few times during the year. Young boys would dress in cultural headdress and dance and parade about in a large circle to the beating of drums and chants of other villagers. It was a provocative and culturally rich experience. We were invited to sit in the very front row and witness the impressive events unfold. It was similar to what I would have expected from African culture and an absolute pleasure to be apart of and bear witness to.


That night we had fish tacos from the pond harvest earlier, homemade peanut butter and tortillas (that Jen should us how to make) and African wine. Johnathan and myself set off a box of fireworks that he had been saving for a special occasion and what made it especially amusing was that the villagers had never witnessed fireworks before. It was there first ever 'Fourth of July' experience, and seeing the astonishment and awe on their faces as we put on a show put a lot in perspective for me about what we take for granted in America. It was a little taste of American Culture in Zambia brought about by Johnathan and myself. Hearing the excitement and joy as the villagers witnessed the fireworks go off was something I will never forget. They had showed us a rich side of their culture, as we had showed them a part of ours. It was my first noteworthy exchange of cultural practices in my time in Zambia and it couldn't have gone any better. For the remainder of the night, we sat around a campfire, drank wine, sang Beatles songs by guitar, conversed merrily and reflected upon all we had learned and done in the short few days we had been at his site. We all had an incredible time and were inspired by all we had seen and participated in during our stay...it was awesome.


In the morning we packed our bags and said our good byes to Chuck, Jen, Caleb, Johnathan and a few friends we had made in the village. We were all more then grateful at having such a proactive and model PCV and we didn't really know how lucky we were until we arrived back at the barn and discovered how all of the other PCT's first site visits had gone compared to our own. Not one PCT was able to depict an experience anywhere as rich, exciting and memorable. In fact It was unfortunate to hear that many others had a more negative experiences then positives one where their PCV host lacked motivation, side projects and in general the rigor and drive that Chuck and the rest of the PCT's had at our site. I felt sorry for the others and at the same time thankful that Chuck was our host. Seeing his success gave me so many ideas and a clear understanding at the potential that PC can offer that I felt that I was given a notable advantage compared to others, without which I doubt I would possess as much motivation as I have now.


A few days after settling back into the barn I had learned that Chuck was also inspired by my motivation and charisma towards modeling much of my experience after his. I had expressed my willingness and interest in taking over his site and or duplicating many of his innovative ideas depending where I would be posted. His COS (close of service) was exactly around the time we would be swearing in and he would be looking to have his site replaced by an incoming volunteer to carry on his work from our intake .Yet the decision would not be up to him or me as to whom would be his replacement. Despite this, and the fact that we weren't suppose to be designated a site for some time, I learned that he had requested me specifically to other staff members as a suitable candidate and a preference for picking up where he would leave off. I was flattered and enthralled to learn of the news and had a new tangible goal to work towards. Knowing exactly where I was going to be posted weeks ahead of any of my peers gave me drive and motivation to take PST serious and strive to achieve as much success and knowledge as possible to further his work in the village.


I will never forget my first site visit to Chataika and the wonderful motivated PCT's that evoked so much inspiration as to what the PC experience can amount to. There is no question now in my mind that I am exactly where I am suppose to be and I can't wait to get started picking up where Chuck will soon leave off at my future post in the Eastern Province of Zambia. I have big shoes to fill, big plans in the making and a lot to learn as I set out to begin my volunteer work as a Peace Corps volunteer. BIG THANGS await and the first step is only 11 weeks away..