Toward the end of my initial 10-week training last fall, it became known that my health director wanted me to open a site. This means that I would be the first PC volunteer, and possibly the first Westerner, to live and integrate into the community. This is known to be an extremely difficult task for volunteers. The resulting isolation can lead to depression and loneliness above and beyond what a regular volunteer might face in a community that has had a Peace Corps presence in the past. I have to admit I was a bit apprehensive. My Portuguese skills were certainly lacking and I had not even begun to tackle the local language of Changana. I’m a personable guy, but how much does that matter when no one around you gets your jokes? However, my boss thought that the organization I was to be paired with was a perfect fit and in need of whatever skills I brought to the table.
Zachery Scott writes: Tio Zacariah
Letters from Southern Africa: Tio Zacariah
A gay life in transition, from Weho to Southern Africa
By Zachery Scott | Article Date: 8/04/2008 12:01 AM
I recently celebrated my 25th birthday as well as another personal milestone; it has officially been more than six months since I arrived to my community and began a new chapter of my life as a Peace Corps Volunteer.
My buddy Jeffrey, a former PC volunteer in the Ukraine, had told me to view this experience as a marathon rather than a sprint, and to always look for little “water stations” to re-fuel and keep yourself going. He couldn’t have been more right. So I figured that my still being here and also my hitting the quarter-century mark were cause for celebration given all that I have encountered up to now.
Toward the end of my initial 10-week training last fall, it became known that my health director wanted me to open a site. This means that I would be the first PC volunteer, and possibly the first Westerner, to live and integrate into the community. This is known to be an extremely difficult task for volunteers. The resulting isolation can lead to depression and loneliness above and beyond what a regular volunteer might face in a community that has had a Peace Corps presence in the past.
I have to admit I was a bit apprehensive. My Portuguese skills were certainly lacking and I had not even begun to tackle the local language of Changana. I’m a personable guy, but how much does that matter when no one around you gets your jokes? However, my boss thought that the organization I was to be paired with was a perfect fit and in need of whatever skills I brought to the table.
After I arrived to site, I was enthusiastically greeted with song and dance from my organization’s activistas and felt, first-hand, the warm hospitality for which my country is known.
Nevertheless, my fears soon became apparent as I tried to branch out and get to know my community. Those who know me can attest that I could talk to a lamp post as long as the light is on. Making friends has never been a huge struggle of mine once my mouth got flapping. However, once I started to get to know my neighbors, the warm-fuzzy feelings ended.
People would rarely respond to my greetings or look me in the eye as they passed me on the dirt paths. I would stop by the shops at the bombed-out town center only to have the people look and talk to me as if I were an alien sizing them up for which one to abduct and take back to my distant planet. I would invite people over for dinner, only to cook a meal and be left eating alone.
did receive two separate visitors that were young girls, probably around 19, I assumed had a crush on me. This seemed harmless enough, and being pleased with the company, I obliged by chatting with them, careful not to lead them on and break their fragile hearts.
Of course, I later found out that they were prostitutes; leaving me with a slightly bruised self-esteem but with a more watchful eye. I began to get angry and question why I was here wasting my time with people who obviously wanted nothing to do with me. What the hell were they so afraid of?
I’d like to be able to tell you that there was some momentous event that changed people’s view of me; or that through my projects in the community people gained a respect for myself and my work.
The truth of the matter is that I stayed outside the circle for months. I was unable to get started on projects because people weren’t willing to trust me enough to get involved. This is quite understandable coming from a country that was colonized and repressed by outsiders for so many years. So I waited, having to busy myself with my garden, my pets and my journal (thanks GayWired) while waiting for my community to finally come around.
But, like Jeffrey and my boss at Peace Corps told me, my community and neighbors eventually did come around. Just as quickly as word had spread about the new Molungo (white person) in town, it also eventually spread that I was approachable and prone to laugh at damn near anything. Slowly people not only responded to my greetings, but with enthusiasm and being sure to include my name.
But what caught me by surprise, as always, were the children.
Everywhere I went I heard shouts of, “Tio Zacariah!” Kids I had never met, who lived a kilometer away, knew my name and called it freely, hoping for a smile and a little wave from me.
They called me Tio, which is Portuguese for Uncle. I asked my activistas at work why they used “Uncle” instead of the more common “Sir”? They told me that being called Uncle was a great sign of respect and inclusion. That by calling me Uncle, they noticed that I was more than just another adult in the community and instead were making me an extension of their family.
Uncle Zachery, huh? I like the sound of that.
- Zachery Scott will be contributing his experiences in the Peace Corps every two weeks to GayWired.com. Be sure to check back for updates.
