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| The final moments of golden hour in Bago, Myanmar |
I would like to preface this blog entry by saying I am in support of the efforts the Peace Corps made to ensure the safety of all 7,000+ volunteers across the world. Although a mass evacuation was devastating for all involved - volunteers, staff, and communities - I am confident that the Peace Corps swiftly made the best decision they could with no ability to plan for such a catastrophic and altering event like COVID-19.
In-country staff, as blindsided as each of the volunteers and trainees, worked tirelessly to ensure the health and safety of each individual during the evacuation, oftentimes putting aside their own mental health, and despite this, remaining a strong support system for evacuees.
I cannot thank the Peace Corps Myanmar staff enough for their love, support, and understanding during such a challenging time. We were all truly grateful to have such a dedicated team. I look forward to working with you all again one day soon.
I would also like to give notice to the incredible RPCV community who has continued to reach out and offer support of all means to those affected by the evacuation.
The beginning and ‘the end’
I vividly remember getting off the plane in Myanmar for the first time. It was night, we had finally arrived in Yangon after more than 20 hours of travel and our tired and jet-lagged bodies still managed to excitedly hurry out of the airport terminal and into the humid city air.
I distinctly remember the ‘mugginess’, the constant ‘beep beep beep’ of busy traffic, and the chattering of those comfortably sat on little plastic stools at makeshift restaurants that lined the street we walked from the airport to the overnight hotel.
On my final day in Myanmar, the hot, humid air greeted us once again as we said our goodbyes to the staff that had become like family, and were whisked away in tears onto a cold bus that would take us just a few blocks.
As I sat in the airport terminal in Myanmar waiting for our departure to Tokyo, I held back tears thinking how this may be the last time in a very long while that I would be in this incredible country. The vibrant pattern on the airport carpet began to blur as my eyes once again filled with water. ‘But I’m not ready to leave this beautiful place’ I thought to myself, ‘Why must I go so soon?’.
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| Dusk slowly begins to settle in - Kahnyaw, Mon State, Myanmar |
The unexpected
I was holding back my natural instinct to vomit when I first got the news that I would be ripped away from my new home. The tiny woman sitting behind me on the bus back to Bago was eagerly digging the flesh out of a newly opened durian fruit, a smell so putrid that one cannot fathom why this delicacy hasn’t been banned from public transport, or public anywhere. My eyes began to burn and fill with tears as I read the fateful announcement from Jody Olsen, the director of Peace Corps. This was partially due to the wafting smells of durian filling the tiny confined space, and the pure disbelief that the news was real.
It didn’t take long before I was practically wailing publicly. All eyes were already on me from the minute I had taken my seat on the bus; however, anyone who had lost interest was now back to gazing at the crazy red-faced, snot-nosed Westerner sobbing uncontrollably.
In the coming days and hours before we left for Yangon to prepare for our flights back to America, I spent time with my sponsor family, friends, and Peace Corps staff. I hadn’t quite accepted the reality of the situation at this point, and felt almost in a daze as we all said our goodbyes in Bago. Even up until the moment our plane lifted off Myanmar soil, I was in disbelief.
It wouldn’t be until that final flight from IAH to DFW that the reality of the situation would hit. I stared hard out of the small window on the nearly-empty plane, in an attempt to hold back the storm of snot and tears that had been brewing for more than 20 hours. As ‘Traveler’ by Luca Aprile softly played through my headphones, I let myself feel everything all at once. Pain, sadness, uncertainty, hope. Hope.
Warmly welcome
A decade passed before I took the final plunge in joining the Peace Corps, and in an instant, my service was taken away. But the optimist in me believes that this ‘theft’ is only temporary and the opportunity to serve will be returned. I will once again share a homemade meal and fresh pyaw yei with my loving Myanmar family. I will embarrass myself in front of a hundred Myanmar students as I sing the ‘banana song’, I will lay in bed hugging a frozen water bottle during the hot season nights. And I will soon say yes to spontaneous pagoda trips, donations, baby naming celebrations, and weddings. I will again try hard to use my mediocre Myanmar language skills to keep up a conversation, and I will again grow tired of ထမင် for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
I was holding back my natural instinct to vomit when I first got the news that I would be ripped away from my new home. The tiny woman sitting behind me on the bus back to Bago was eagerly digging the flesh out of a newly opened durian fruit, a smell so putrid that one cannot fathom why this delicacy hasn’t been banned from public transport, or public anywhere. My eyes began to burn and fill with tears as I read the fateful announcement from Jody Olsen, the director of Peace Corps. This was partially due to the wafting smells of durian filling the tiny confined space, and the pure disbelief that the news was real.
It didn’t take long before I was practically wailing publicly. All eyes were already on me from the minute I had taken my seat on the bus; however, anyone who had lost interest was now back to gazing at the crazy red-faced, snot-nosed Westerner sobbing uncontrollably.
In the coming days and hours before we left for Yangon to prepare for our flights back to America, I spent time with my sponsor family, friends, and Peace Corps staff. I hadn’t quite accepted the reality of the situation at this point, and felt almost in a daze as we all said our goodbyes in Bago. Even up until the moment our plane lifted off Myanmar soil, I was in disbelief.
It wouldn’t be until that final flight from IAH to DFW that the reality of the situation would hit. I stared hard out of the small window on the nearly-empty plane, in an attempt to hold back the storm of snot and tears that had been brewing for more than 20 hours. As ‘Traveler’ by Luca Aprile softly played through my headphones, I let myself feel everything all at once. Pain, sadness, uncertainty, hope. Hope.
Warmly welcome
A decade passed before I took the final plunge in joining the Peace Corps, and in an instant, my service was taken away. But the optimist in me believes that this ‘theft’ is only temporary and the opportunity to serve will be returned. I will once again share a homemade meal and fresh pyaw yei with my loving Myanmar family. I will embarrass myself in front of a hundred Myanmar students as I sing the ‘banana song’, I will lay in bed hugging a frozen water bottle during the hot season nights. And I will soon say yes to spontaneous pagoda trips, donations, baby naming celebrations, and weddings. I will again try hard to use my mediocre Myanmar language skills to keep up a conversation, and I will again grow tired of ထမင် for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
In the hours after having to leave Myanmar, the gracious people of this country echoed their message of kindness, one that I had heard many times prior to my arrival in country, “you are warmly welcome to Myanmar”. This phrase of goodwill manifests the genuine love that the people of Myanmar have to give. I know that I will always be welcome to return to the golden land, a place that so quickly became home to me. I will see you again soon, Myanmar.
Love, ပန်းဖြူ
Find out more about how you can contact your representatives to help continue to support Peace Corps: National Peace Corps Association
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