Rain on a tin roof. In the soundtrack of my life it’s a sound that falls somewhere between soothing and relaxing and my roof might crash in please get me a helmet. As the blissfully cool days of winter wrap up, taking its teeth chattering nights with it, the rainy season returns and with it- life. Critters of all sizes creep back in- the spider making its web across my pit latrine, eager grasshoppers, and yes, even the roaches. Babies are being born, from faltering baby goats, to puppies that are terrified of pigs, to monkeys clutching to their mamas’ bellies.
In parts of South Africa the return of the rain equates to instant greenery and lushness. Right now, I am spending a few days at the Buddhist Retreat Centre (BRC) in Ixopo. Ixopo is about two hours northwest of Durban in Kwa-Zulu Natal and sits in beautiful lush mountains. If you hike out to the cliffs, you can see villages nestled in every tiny crevice, their flickering lights barely penetrating the thick fog at night.
For one of the first times in my service, I am somewhere I don’t speak the language. Certainly, English is widely understood at the Centre and in the city, but the twisty taxi ride wound its way through the peaks and valleys blasting radio programs in isiZulu. Beyond the basic greetings (Sanibonani! and Yebo!), I am at a loss, a tough break for someone who regularly relies on language skills to create a wider safety net and to engage with the people around me.
This week’s school holiday between terms and the trip to the BRC comes at a much-needed moment in my service. Term three proved exhausting, rocky, and interminable. Highlighted by small achievements- distribution of reusable menstrual pads, expanded usage of the mini library, and stronger connections with the staff at my school- term three was nonetheless incredibly difficult. I continue to remind myself that hiding out in my room is okay, that counting down the days to my next trip is normal, and that being frustrated with myself and my students comes with the territory. Don’t get me wrong; I still enjoy my Peace Corps service. I still find it rewarding and full of new growth opportunities, but I also find myself more in tune with myself and the crucial importance of not letting my service come at a cost to my mental health.
Next week, my cohort will come together at our Mid-Service Training (MST) for doctors appointments and to mark the start of our second year as volunteers. As excited, as I am to reconnect with the rest of SA34, I find MST mildly anxiety-inducing. In a meet-up of this nature it will be impossible not to compare services, taking all my strength to be proud of the projects implemented by my fellow PCVs while I feel sapped.
So this week, I am trying for a little rain in my brain. I am trying to push the sludge of term three away and make space for year two to blossom. Connecting with my soul in this way is painful and tiring- but if Peace Corps has taught me anything, it’s that growth doesn’t come for free and resilience takes some serious practice.