A New Generation

All the Peace Corps volunteers in Suriname are newbies, including those who have been here for two years.

This sentence, which I wrote over a year ago, still rings true. Volunteers from SUR 14, my class, opened up this river for Peace Corps, developed additional villages for more volunteers, and now we are being replaced with a new generation, SUR 16.

Matt, Brittany, and Meagan flew into Diitabiki on the 19th of June for a week in their future region. On the day they flew in, Matt and Meagan were supposed to go to Godolo, where Shelley would teach them the art of volunteer living, while Brittany was to stay in Diitabiki and learn from me. A chief from Godolo, who had come for a formal council, agreed to take the two to his village after the meeting. The parlay was an interesting experience for the newbies, and since traditional meetings of elders usually take place only in Diitabiki, it was good that they flew in here. Unfortunately, the chief’s outboard motor for his boat would not start, and when the volunteers were thoroughly exhausted at 5 PM, I made the call that they should spend the night in Diitabiki. That evening wee cooked up some macaroni and cheese, a luxury for a volunteer, and I imparted my vast wisdom of how to clean rainwater tanks, the best times to fish, and other topics of life in the jungle.

It was encouraging to see how new everything was to the new volunteers so that I could see how much I have learned in two years. Nevertheless, I am only beginning to understand deeper aspects of the culture (such as asking for things that you have just bought is considered very polite), and many common experiences are still difficult for me (such as people expecting me to cook extra food for them to eat). I am still learning new words in the Ndjuka language, and at least a few months ago, my canoeing skills were far from Ndjuka proficiency. People wince for fear of my fingers when I cut coconuts open with a machete.

I recently read a book called, The Riverbones, by a Canadian who traveled for five months in Suriname in search a blue frog and the country’s soul. Andrew Westoll wrote well and accurately depicted some of the places in the city and the mood and life of Peace Corps volunteers three years ahead of me. He critiqued a volunteer named Dara for attempting to turn herself into an Ndjuka, something she could never be, and he worried about Dara’s transition back to the States when her close of service eventually came.

Indeed, Dara struggled with reverse culture shock, and she returned home to Suriname to train SUR 14, my class. My first impression of Dara was similar to Andrew’s, but it came from the experience of having grown up in Africa, yet sill learning about Ethiopian culture when I left. No matter how dedicated volunteers are at integrating into the surrounding culture, they will only begin to see the depth of the peoples’ experience. I found that Dara came to learn this, and she approached her cultural errors with grace and humility, hoping that we could learn from them.

Andrew Westoll, however, is a tourist with a closed, Western perspective. His words rang with a hint of jealousy toward the volunteers who through their challenges experienced a depth that he could not comprehend.