Why I am doing this? That was the question bouncing around my head while my plane was sitting on the runway. I was leaving for Peace Corps Uganda. I hoped that every volunteer was having the same doubts I was having. I was excited, but also wondering: is this whole thing just a surreal dream? We were leaving the United States in the midst of an economic recession to help people we never met before. We had no clue what we would be doing for the next two years.

This was the first of our two flights. Our first stop would be in South Africa, then Uganda. I felt the Peace Corps chose which country a volunteer went to by using a highly trained monkey to throw darts at a map. I had no choice on which country I would be assigned to; I felt I was given an ultimatum, either Uganda or nothing. The only information I had on Uganda was from the movie Last King of Scotland, which was not a flattering portrayal of the country. I had studied my Peace Corps assignment. The description of what I would be doing for the next two years was very vague. I tried to read between the lines to see if there was an added definition to my work, which did not seem arduous because the description was only 6 lines. It seemed that the mission statement of the Peace Corps was what I would be doing for the next two years:

1) Helping the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and women.

2) Helping promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served.

3) Helping promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans.

I was staring at my Alteril. I planned on sleeping the whole flight. Before I swallowed my pill, I evaluated what I was leaving behind. Girlfriend? Check. Job/perhaps Career? Check. Friends? Check. Family? Check. Was this opportunity worth it? Should I stay in America?

“You excited?” said the volunteer sitting next to me. I thought her name was Kylie or something with a K. I am terrible with names, which is a problem moving to a country with names like Eko, Mabumba, or some stereotypical name from Coming to America.

“Yeah, I am more nervous than excited. What about you?”

“Yeah, but excited as well! So you are from New York?”

I swallowed my pill, “Yup.”

She interrupted me, “Me too! What part?”

“Born and raised in Manhattan. I am hoping that this will be, quote, ‘fulfilling.’ What about you? What part of New York are you from?”

“Rochester, so what is your background?”

“I’m a business major, not sure what they will do with me. Sorry, I am going to nap.”

“Okay.”

I dozed in and out of consciousness. I didn’t get a lot of rest two nights before the flight. I had said goodbye to my girlfriend, Jen, of two years. A lot of tears, hugs, and kisses. We told each other that we were going to try to make it work, but, deep down, I knew the reality. We would have had to deal with an eight-hour time difference, different work schedules, and living different lives; she lived in Manhattan while I’d be living in the deep village. Jen was also worried that I would find someone down in Uganda and live happily ever after. There was a presumption that Peace Corps is the biggest dating agency in the world, but I didn’t think it rivaled New York City’s potential bachelors for her. There are perks, probably, to dating a girl in the deep village; that person would understand why you can’t take a shower every day and make allowances for your terrible body odor. There are also perks to dating a guy in New York City. A guy could take you out to a Broadway show, a top-tier restaurant, and ice skating at Rockefeller Center, all in one day. I tried to convince her that I was in this for the long haul, but I was trying to convince myself, rather than her, every time I said it.

I was required to fill out a “Romantic Involvement Questionnaire” before I was accepted into the Peace Corps. The RIQ tried, surreptitiously, to indicate if a volunteer was going to quit their service if their significant other broke up with them. The Peace Corps did this because it costs a lot of money, time, and resources to send a volunteer abroad. The RIQ asks a series of vague questions such as, “How would you define your relationship?” Instead of writing down an essay describing my relationship, I drew a scale of 1 to 10 and gave it a numerical rating of 8.5. I thought that a 10 sounded like unbounded fealty to your significant other. An 8.5 made it sound it like your significant other and you are human and you realize that both of you are fallible, but love each other despite these faults. Another question was “Does your significant other support your decision to serve abroad for two years? If not, why?” Did anyone actually show their significant other this document? Did anyone ever answer these questions truthfully? I guessed these were just C.Y.A (cover your ass) questions that needed to be asked. Naturally, I wrote that she supported the decision and was quite happy to get away from me herself, which is why she will be taking me to the airport; I wrote that she wanted to make sure I got on the plane. I didn’t know if the Peace Corps reviewer would understand the sarcasm of this statement, but either way, the Peace Corps had it on the record that she supported me. People tried to be optimistic about long-distance relationships, but I have done long distance before and it was a disaster.

The night before the flight, I couldn’t sleep at the hotel in Philadelphia. I met all the volunteers going to Uganda and didn’t go to bed because I planned on sleeping for the entire 18-hour plane ride. This flight was the last thing I hoped to plan for a while. All I did for the past two years was plan: business plans, travel plans, family plans, relationship plans. I was always planning, all the time. I remember telling my co-workers that I was leaving for the Peace Corps in a month’s time. The expression on their faces showed they thought I was speaking Mandarin; they didn’t understand why I was doing this. My bosses and colleagues had no clue that I was waiting to hear from the Peace Corps or that I had even applied. I couldn’t keep doing commonplace work, dealing with people that were content with a lifestyle that I thought to be dull; the daily drudgery and mundaneness of inputting numbers into a computer while discussing last night’s TV shows. I remember my boss calling me into his office after he found out I was leaving. A socially awkward type, he was always tough to hold a conversation with. At work, he would always pass me by and ask me, “How are you doing, pal?”

“I’m fine, how are you?”

“I’m great, seriously, you okay?”

My boss would always pepper in the phrase ‘by the way’ whenever he needed to add something to the conversation, “Great to see that, great to see this, ‘by the way’ do we have those numbers for XYZ?” It was always a splendid type of uncomfortableness whenever he entered the room. He was also notorious for his temper. He would exhibit his rage by pounding his fists on any table.

When my boss wanted to talk to me about my foray into the non-profit/government sector, I was apprehensive. This conversation could have gone a variety of directions and I was nervous because there were few co-workers left at the end of the day, which meant fewer witnesses if he went on a rampage.

I went into his office and sat down with him. He wanted to make sure he had heard correctly that I was leaving for Uganda. After I said yes and disclosed my reservations about leaving, he interrupted me and asked a question that caught me off guard, “Have you seen any good movies lately?”

“Um, yes, the one with Russell Brand. Get Him To The Greek. It is really funny.”

“Get him to the Greek? What is it about?

“It’s about a music agent that is trying to get a rock star to a show.”

“In Greece?”

“No, no. It is called the ‘Greek,’—it’s a concert hall in LA.”

“It says on Fandango that it is funny, well there is the 7:30 and the 9:30 show, which show do you think I should go to?”

“I think that you should go to the one you will be able to see.”

This was my last awkward moment with him. On a positive note, I got my last paycheck.

**

My friends were more excited than my boss, but as ignorant as anyone else about Uganda. They threw me a party entitled ‘Homeboy goes to Africa!’ I remember some of the things my friends said to me before I left, “Hey dude, have fun out there and enjoy yourself, but don’t get AIDS!”

This seems to be the same conversation that most volunteers have with their friends and family: we are so proud, have fun, be safe, and seriously don’t get AIDS. I’m glad the people closest to me thought that I was responsible.

My group was very diverse; we were all from different parts of the country. I kept track of mindless statistics: which state boasted the most volunteers, girls versus boys, age, married couples, and more. I kept track so I could describe this eclectic mix to my family and friends. One stat that was easy to track was race; there was only one for our group: white.

A day before we all flew out, we went through last minute preparations. We filled out paper work, asked last minute questions, and all tried to appear competent and normal for the Peace Corps staff checking us in. We grabbed our name tags, settled down at an available table, and performed ice breakers, an informal exercise designed to help strangers get acquainted using various generic questions. Has there ever been an ice-breaker that wasn’t cheesy? What’s your name? Where are you from? Tell us something unique about you. After several volunteers responded with typical ‘I play an instrument’ or ‘I am a dog person’ an older volunteer, who came in late, responded that he was going to Africa to fix toilets. I liked this guy, because he finally made Ice Breakers interesting.

Peace Corps staff asked us what we know about Uganda. We mentioned any facts we knew off the top of our head. 15 people had stated some fact they had somehow memorized. I had to say something soon, but all the major facts that I knew had already been uttered: the country gained independence in 1962, the President is Yoweri Museveni, Churchill labelled Uganda the ‘Pearl of Africa’, the main language is English. It was my turn and, after I cheated and checked my phone, said that the President had been in power since 1984. I didn’t even know how to pronounce his name yet. I felt concise statements were the safest way to maintain a perception of competence.

We all had to do skits about problems or situations that might occur during our two years. How to deal with peer pressure, picking between right and wrong, being depressed at site, and how to deal with restlessness were all the hot topics. My group had peer pressure. My group decided to do a shoulder conscience skit for our group. Not original, but limitless possibilities in what the devil can say. Our devil and angel tried to convince a volunteer to either stay or go to a party without informing Peace Corps staff. The volunteer, with the weight of the world on his shoulders, decided it would be for the best not to go to the party. My initial concerns of my fellow volunteers quickly evaporated. No one was standing out as a hippie, a smug Ivy League Graduate, or, even worse, a combination of the two. That was one of my biggest fears—that I would have to work with trust fund hippies for the next two years, with whom I had nothing in common.

Everyone came off as sweet, intellectually curious, with a healthy measure of confidence about their decision to join the Peace Corps, even if they still had some doubt. Everyone was coming across as nice, ambitious, and anxious to leave the hotel. Everyone seemed to be glowing, like we were pregnant, while dressed in our best outfits. Every guy was wearing a blazer, khaki pants, dress shoes, clean shaven, tie, and hair product. All the girls were wearing sun dresses, hair straightened, with minor accessories. I guess we all needed to enjoy wearing extravagant attire, because we would be wearing t-shirts, shorts, and chacos every day.

After we finished discussing all of these various factors of what would make us love (great food, great weather, and people) or hate (homophobic culture, people were not prompt and considered lazy) Uganda; we got to know one another. We all had the same energy level that we had during our first day of school. We tried to convey a sense of normality, because we had two years to show our true colors. We were all discussing the basics: where we are from, what interviews with Peace Corps were like, how long ago we applied, what we plan to do, what our backgrounds are in, why we are doing this, and so on.

All the single volunteers were going through the same progression that they did in their first week of college; everyone was checking each other out. They were sizing up their potential gender counterpart by various shallow categories: height, age, and weight. More guys than girls, girls had the advantage. Exotic foreign land combined with testosterone combined with sexual need probably equals sexual rampage.

That night, it dawned on us that it will be the last time we will have consistent electricity, running water, and won’t be sleeping under a mosquito net. The amenities we’ve taken for granted will now be luxuries. We were given a small amount of cash to get us through the night, provided by the American taxpayer. People bought last minute essentials, while trying to find a restaurant to get their last bite of bliss. Sushi was the popular choice, followed by burgers. I chose to do a Chili’s burger. The group I went with to Chili’s seemed like an eclectic mix of volunteers. We were from different parts of the country: Arkansas, Colorado, Virginia, New York, Ohio, and Maine. Various backgrounds: college majors, political affiliations, and age. It seemed we all had a mutual respect for each other and why we joined the Peace Corps: everyone wanted to try something new, apply their skill set in a country with people who needed help, and to give back to a greater cause. We all tried to find things we shared in common: places we had all been, favorite shows and books, whether we were economic or health volunteers with Peace Corps, and/or if we were single, dating, or married. We discussed the most important topic, which foods we were going to miss: olives, cereal, deli meat, ranch dressing, peanut M&M’s, ice cream, but the big consensus was cheese or any food that can be refrigerated or easily microwaved. When we ordered our last American supper, we tried to eat as much food as possible. We used every condiment that was available and practically used our tongues to clean our plates.

Drink after drink loosened us up. We started talking about what we were excited to work on for the next two years: water sanitation projects, HIV/AIDS sensitization (sensitization - make locals sensitive to an event, condition, or perception), teaching life skills, building mud stoves, solar and environmentally friendly projects, and other projects. Every volunteer seemed to have these same high ambitions, but all the volunteers seemed to share the same initial flexible mentality that Peace Corps preached to all us during our interviews, our pre-staging itinerary, and our most recent group sessions.

We started talking about what we will be excited to see while in Africa. With the source of the Nile located in Uganda the country has level-five river rapids. Uganda has beautiful, top of the line mountain ranges like Rwenzori and Mountain of the Moons, where, supposedly, the water for the Nile comes from; people still argue where the source of the Nile is actually located. Uganda has great safari ranges. Uganda has gorilla trekking. All of these enchanting fantasies conjured up in America were soon to become a reality, and our conversation created more excitement.

After paying for our meal, we packed and got ready for the next chapter in our lives. The Peace Corps gave us several hours to sleep or do whatever we wanted until we got on the bus to the airport. I decided to use that time to watch American television. I wanted to watch ESPN, sitcoms, and whatever else was on television one last time.

Finally, all of us got on the bus. We all knew that in less than a day we would be in Africa. I was planning on sitting wherever I could get my own seat so I could catch up on sleep. I was exhausted from my previous two nights of pondering if I made the right decision; I didn’t believe there was enough valium in the world that could have helped me.

Volunteers were already forming little cliques. Some already had a sitting buddy for the trip; I hadn’t made that bond yet. I just craved a mini-coma. I was trying to not be overly social because I am a person who acts weird with lack of sleep. I have different laughs or I repeat whatever the other person is saying during a conversation if I am overly tired.

Philadelphia to JFK, then we would be in the air. Peace Corps only allowed us 80 lbs worth of checked-in luggage for the next 2 years. Plenty of people disregarded this rule. I could already see that my fellow volunteers and I would be a very recalcitrant group. All of our bags were checked in without issue, even though Peace Corps said it would be a problem; perhaps a sign of the fabricated information that Peace Corps would be supplying us with over the next 2 years.

We were waiting to go through security. One bulky volunteer, puffing his chest out, was watching over a large pile of bags. He was standing next to one of the volunteers I had dinner with earlier. The bulky volunteer, Eric, instantly boosted my ego and morale that I might not be the most incompetent volunteer in the group. After getting to know each other a little, he couldn’t find his passport and proceeded to ask me if having his passport was ‘important’ in order to go to Uganda.

I replied, “No, wouldn’t say important, perhaps the word I would use is ‘essential.’”

Dustin, the skinny volunteer, standing next to me said, “Yeah, I would probably say that is the only thing you would need.” I could tell that Dustin and I would get along famously. He has the same sort of dry humor and calm demeanor that I thought every volunteer would need for the next two years because we realized that most of the problems that would occur were not our fault and that a sense of humor was needed in order to look on the bright side of this developing country.

Dustin and I went over our backgrounds. Dustin was what Peace Corps looked for in a volunteer. He wanted to do Peace Corps since high school. I felt embarrassed that I wanted to do this to escape being in a cubicle for two years. We chatted a bit and then went through security. We began to board our plane.

I was on the runway thinking this could be the last time we could say no to this experience without any real hassle. In the span of a year and a half, I had to write an aspiration letter (why I wanted to do this), invested in essentials on the Peace Corps packing list, obtained recommendations, provided my college transcript, received medical and dental clearance (the dental records were to identify my body if I die…comforting), underwent a psychological exam, and the romantic involvement questionnaire.

I bought a hat to protect me from mosquitos, compressor bags to make use of every inch of my checked bag, 15 passport sized photos of myself (Peace Corps request), five $100 bills printed after 2006, sunglasses, solar radio, tent, sleeping bag, and much more, but no mosquito net (that would be provided).

I could shout bomb on the airplane and it would have all been over. Alteril’s affects started to kick in. My last conscious thoughts were – why am I doing this? I guess to escape the mundane. Should I do this? Absolutely, and I would sign up again in a heartbeat.