NathanielTishman.com-Writings and Photos of a Peace Corps Volunteer in the Republic of Chad

Peace Corps Writings

	Journal #87, 4/24/06 Saying goodbye, and watching people trickle away to Mali, Benin, Mauritania, and beyond has been tough, a mixture of hugs, tears, laughs and plans to meet again, somewhere, someday.

	Journal #86, 4/20/06 I feel like I'm ready to close the book on the Peace Corps chapter of my life, and move on to other things. Doing the whole thing over again, even if it was only for a year: the culture shock, language difficulties, job challenges, incomprehensible and infuriating traditions and attitudes- none of these are things I want to deal with a second time, at least not as a PCV.

	Journal #85, 4/17/06 Its been 21 months, more than 7,000 miles, and what feels like a lifetime since then, and in that time, that casual question made way for lifelong friendships- who knew that any 29 people could become so close?

	Journal #84, 4/16/06 "Je suis tellement desolé," I say. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, I'm thinking, sorry that we're abandoning you like this, that while you go to back to the war zone, I'm going on an early and unplanned vacation, that you're losing your job while an entire world of opportunities waits for me.

	Journal #83, 4/15/06 "I've talked to the staff in N'Djamena, and they're all OK, he continues. "Every one of them though described seeing dead bodies all over the city though. Yanda," Chad continues haltingly, referring to our IT specialist, "told me about a car surrounded by kids that had been blown up- they aren't sure who did it, but it looks like at least 20-25 kids were killed." As he says this, he puts his head in his hands, and when he comes up, tears are streaming down his cheeks.

	Journal #82, 4/14/06 "Marc, I need to tell you something," I say. "I don't think I'll be coming back to Gounou-Gaya. Peace Corps says we have to evacuate now." "Kai! Vous ne revenez pas?" he says. You're not coming back? I can hear the shock and strain in his voice. "What do you mean?" he asks.

	Journal #81, 4/13/06 BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG! They're at our room- "We're evacuating," he says. "Pack two bags, one essential, one non-essential."
	The Evacuation, Journals 81-87

	Journal #80, 4/1/06 "But what if it kills someone?" I plead. "Isn't there anything we can do?" "Well, if someone gets killed, we'll go the place mortiere and drink tea," he responds with a laugh. "If God wills it, then someone will die."

	Journal #79, 3/27/06 "Good morning and my respects sir," it reads in French. "I have the honor to come to the side of your high personality soliciting good will and with my note as an expression of mutual friendship with you. Also, I am very poor."

	Journal #78, 3/18/06 It's very noble to say, "Who are you, whitey? You shouldn't be telling them to leave," but if it were you, would you want to see all your potential and talent wasted because your country doesn't have it together enough to pave a road, string a power line, or run a university that accepts people on academic qualifications rather than bribery?

	Journal #77, 3/13/06 "He's one of my best students," I tell Raphael. Koussoungue smiles and looks embarrassed. "I'm serious," I press, staring at him. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. Honestly, of all the students I have, you're one of the few who has real potential, who really could be something."

	Journal #76, 3/9/06 I feel like I've been punched. "Oh God, I'm so sorry," I say, taking his hand to shake it. I can actually feel myself going numb.

	Journal #75, 3/8/06 "Yes!" he says, cutting me off. "They do! They think they have a right to anything someone else gets, so they sit and wait for it without doing anything to help themselves- that's why things don't change here."

	Journal #74, 2/27/06 The end result is that about the only coherent English sentence your average Chadian high school grad can put together is, "Good morning, teacher," the stock phrase they repeat every day for seven years, followed by two hours of copying a text on the passive voice.

	Journal #73, 2/15/06 "Are you ready?" I ask. Blank stares. Guess I haven't taught that one yet. "Vous-êtes prêt?" I ask, saying the same thing in French.

	Journal #72, 2/11/06 Honestly, it sucked- I didn't know anyone, and although my French wasn't bad, it definitely wasn't good either. Every time I went to the market I was stared at like I had three heads, and as far as I could tell, I'd changed my name to "Psst! Nasarra!" I thought about leaving, although never seriously enough to contact Peace Corps about it though. What a difference 16.5 months makes.

	Journal #71, 2/4/06 Apparently Marc decides he's had enough of being a spectator, and marches off into the house. "BABA! KA-DIIIII!" I hear Tanga wail. Daddy, no!

	Journal #70, 2/2/06 Leaving early has me feeling torn. Part of me agrees with one of the PCV's from my group, who texts me saying, "I'm SO HAPPY! Seven and a half more months of their shit!!" Another part of me though, knows how hard it'll be to leave.

	Journal #69, 1/25/06 "That's fine," Ertchey says. "I'm just going to ask her for a camera." I put down my pen and look up. "Ertchey, do you really think that that's OK, to write someone you barely know just to ask them to give you a present?" "Pourquoi pas?" he replies. Why not?

	Journal #68, 1/23/06 The next picture I show Ertchey is from Amsterdam, a shot of a bridge over one of the many canals that ring the city. In the photo, a streetlamp is in the foreground, with a block of the famous tall and narrow 'Amsterdam style' houses behind, lights blazing. "The streetlights, they only work at night, right?" He asks. "Yes." "Same thing with the lights in the houses, no?"

	Journal #67, 1/19/06 With no hope for a decent and uninterrupted education, and the leadership of this place as an example, an entire generation is being raised with the idea that things aren't supposed to work, living in absolute squalor is normal, and the only way to get ahead is to cheat or steal.

	Journal #66, 1/18/06 Looking at it, it reads like a manual of how not to teach English effectively. Dipthongs, tripthongs, phonetic transcription and dictation, all of which are useful if you're studying linguistics, not teaching 13-year old Chadian girls how to say "What time is it?"

	Journal #65, 1/14/06 Frankly, I'd be willing to bet that the only Chadians your average embassy expat knows are the ones who guard their houses, cook their food, and occasionally weed their gardens.

	Journal #64, 1/13/06 Given this, there's virtually no chance the money will be used for teacher's salaries or development, and every chance it'll buy weapons or a new villa in France to flee to when the coup happens. I realize how cynical that sounds, but unfortunately, that's the reality. This country is run by a desert-warlord turned kleptocrat, who makes all the right noises about democracy, but in truth, isn't fooling anyone.

	Journal #63, 1/11/06 Being in the developed world for a few weeks was a pleasant shock at first- it wasn't until a few days or so into my trip when I had a chance to stop and think, and realize just how far behind Chad really is, to be honest.

	Journal #62, 12/23/05 It's been enough of a shock for me to come back, even temporarily- walking through Paris, I found myself marveling at things like crosswalks, the cheese display at a supermarket (not to mention the supermarket itself), and just the realization that I could find everything, everything I could ever need or want in one quartier.

	Journal #61, 12/05/05 In a country that seems permanently politically unstable, hopelessly corrupt, and packed to the gills with 1001 different types of health hazards, all it takes is one thing, and the game is over. Thanks for playing, enjoy your post-Peace Corps life.

	Journal #60, 12/05/05 "You know, if one person would sell tea, another soap, another candy, and another cigarettes, instead of each one selling the same thing, they could make a lot more money," I say. "Why don't they try that?" "Because this is how everyone does it," Liva responds. "Yes, I know," I tell him, "and that's the problem." "Ç'est comme ça," Liva replies. Well, it's like that.

	Journal #59, 12/03/05 During our training last year, I remember looking at the then-current PCV's and thinking, "Oh my God, they've been here a year, or more. Here, in Chad. How the hell have they survived?" Looking back as a current PCV, with more than a year's experience under my belt, it's been easier than I imagined.

	Journal #58, 11/14/05 "That's it right there," I say through clenched teeth. "That's why it continues, because you laugh about it, and you accept it."

	Journal #57, 10/20/05 "Hophyra, djola!" I say, trying my best to look menacing, and using one of the few Musey words I know. Stop it!
	Journal #56, 10/19/05 When I confronted them, the response was always the same. "Je n'ai pas triché!" I wasn't cheating! Right; it was simply a coincidence that all five of you answered, "If I were sick, I would... fly with the birds," and "She uses her eyes to touch."
	Journal #55, 10/14/05 "Frère Jacques/ Frère Jacques/ Dormez-Vous? Dormez-Vous?" She sings. Each time she gets to vous, she practically screams it, making it sound like 'dorMEZ VOO!!' 'dorMEZ VOO!!!'
	Journal #54, 10/5/05 If he didn't care about his future, would he spend three month's earnings on school fees, and another month's wages on a uniform? I doubt it. When you consider that Dounplata, his father, could certainly pay for it, but refuses and has chosen to abandon him and his brothers, it's all the more impressive.
	Journal #53, 10/3/05 If a person never leaves the village, why would they care what's happening in Iraq, Indonesia, Israel, or anywhere else? Life doesn't change here. Most people's perspective here is limited to Gounou-Gaya, and the surrounding villages– if 300,000 people die in a tsunami, or 5,000 in a hurricane, so what? If one person is killed in a thunderstorm the next village over though, it's news for weeks.
	Journal #52, 9/23/05 The thunder had woken me up and I couldn't get back to sleep, so I laid there pondering the problem. Then, I realized– I was teaching at the best girls' school in town, the school wanted to pay me, which Peace Corps rules forbid me from taking. Maybe I could get the school to enroll Tanga and Ka-Idi free, as compensation for my time.
	Journal #51, 9/21/05 He looks at me awkwardly– I brace myself for a lecture on how that sort of thing is none of my business. "You didn't know?" He says, and bursts out laughing. Obviously it's not as taboo as I thought.
	Journal #50, 9/18/05 For Daboidi to look any man in the eye, let alone a white man, would be going against one of the basic foundations of her culture. To speak to me in more than a whisper would be an even greater sin. What right do I have to be angry with her for behaving as her culture dictates?
	Journal #49, 9/9/05 I'm not sure, but I think he's asking me to inflate his grade ("Who are going no?"). His letter is so incomprehensible that I can't tell. If that's in fact what he wants, it's probably good that his letter makes no sense.
	Journal #48, 9/6/2005 He'd be surrounded by legions of French, German, Swiss, and American development workers, foreign diplomats and rich commerçants, most of whom earn 500-1000x his monthly salary, and would think nothing of spending the same 15,000 FCFA on dinner for one that he could use to feed his family for a month.
	Journal #47, 9/1/05 I get a text message from Josh, "Tell me everything you've heard about the hurricane– most of my family have homes on the water. Phones are dead, I'm really worried."
	Journal #46, 8/23/05 "An chak deh!" Marc yells. I can't see it in the dark, but hear the sickening swish-thwack of a green tree branch striking flesh. I hear a cry. "Start again!" Marc snarls. Obviously trying to strangle her tears, it takes Tanga a moment to compose herself. "Ah.... sob..... Bay..."
	Journal #45, 8/16/05 The moment a Chadian gets a good job, almost without exception, extended family lines up with their hands out, waiting to be given their share. It's not that they've actually done anything to earn what the other person has worked for, it's simply the attitude of, 'we're family, so you owe it to me."
	Journal #44, 8/13/05 Are you kidding me? I don't mean to sound callous, but the reason why the entire town is sitting in the dark is because one guy is sick, and nobody else knows how to push the big red 'START' button? This sort of thing helps to reaffirm my faith that Chad is truly a logic-free zone.
	Journal #43, 8/6/05 "I haven't gotten my salary in three months, and I have to do the weeding," he says. His embarrassment and frustration at having to ask me for a loan is written all over his face. This is a man who served in the Chadian army for more than 20 years, including a three-year stint as a prisoner-of-war near the Libyan border, and his government (who also happens to be his current employer) has utterly failed him.
	Journal #42, 8/2/05 Despite being hounded for gifts by small children, called 'Whitey," and rehashing the blindingly obvious, it's still good to be back. Compared to N'Djamena, people in Gounou-Gaya seem so much friendlier, and actually happy to see me, as opposed to simply wondering what they can get from me because I'm white, and obviously, rich.
	Journal #41, 7/23/2005 Even when the Foreign Minister gets off work, it isn't much better- his house is just down the road from SIL, a dirt road that turns into a lake of thick mud every time it rains. The Foreign Minister, for God's sake! This is the official counterpart of America's Secretary of State, and the city can't be bothered to pave the road outside his house? Photography is banned in N'Djamena, ostensibly for 'national security reasons,' but I can't help but think the real reason is that the government doesn't want people to see the sheer magnitude of their incompetence.
	Journal #40, 6/15/05 For the whole of the trip so far we've never been more than 100km west of the Chadian border- the environment is almost exactly the same, but it feels like a different world otherwise. Maybe that's what makes it so depressing- I keep thinking that this is what Chad could have been, had the focus been more on development, and less on civil war.
	Journal #39, 5/17/05 "Maybe this is helpful for big functionnaires," he says, "but for poor people like me, it's impossible." I don't have the heart to tell him he's exactly right, so I simply nod.
	Journal #38, 5/13/05 "Cause d'Absence: Mort de son enfant." Death of her child. Suddenly my missing class due to Giardia or a headache feels pretty insignificant. This young woman, who I'm guessing is no more than 19 years old, has just had to bury her baby, and she's concerned about missing an English test?
	Journal #37, 5/7/05 Sexism is hardly uncommon in the developing world (or the developed world, for that matter), but it somehow seems all the more insidious in a place like this, where there's so little opportunity for anyone.
	Journal #36, 5/5/05 "I.......... Am!" He exclaims. It comes out sounding like "I Yam," which I tell him in French is 'I Sweet Potato," but the meaning is clear enough. And so it goes, through I, You, He/She, We, and They, for both verbs, each time coaxing Liva to find the answer for himself, rather than giving up. We're finishing up, and Liva says, "Wow, when you help me it's really easy." I thank him, resisting the urge to ask, "Why the hell haven't you been coming to me for help all semester? I've offered."
	Journal #35, 4/30/05 But for Dounplata to deliberately sabotage his son's future like that (as well as his brothers, Livana and Toksouna), is absolutely inexcusable. Although Marc is by no means perfect (who is?), the fact that he took it upon himself to ensure his nephews had an education says a lot about his character. It's men like Dounplata, on the other hand, who ensure that Chad is going nowhere fast.
	Journal #34, 4/21/05 Drip. Drip. Drip. DripDripDripDrip Whoosh! The skies open, and for the first time at my house I have running water- straight from my roof to the dirt below. I duck inside, trying to align my buckets strategically with the angle of the tin to get some free water before slamming the steel door.
	Journal #33, 4/11/2005 At our last training session, one of the other Volunteers commented that he wondered if most Chadians realize just how crushingly poor they really are. It's an interesting question for sure, although it may be a little patronizing. I'd guess that most people here see the world around them, compare it with what they know of life outside Chad, and realize something might be lacking. That doesn't mean everyone here is unhappy though- on the contrary.
	Journal #32, 3/15/2005 I knew it'd happen eventually, but having Volunteers in our group leave has still come as a bit of a shock.
	Journal #31, 3/08/2005 Happy International Women's Day, now get back to pounding the millet... Is there anything more ironic than holding a celebration of women's rights, in a place where they may as well not exist?
	Journal #30, 2/26/2005 Now, I'll admit that in many ways Chadians have been given a pretty raw deal in terms of development- when you live in a country where there are a total of four paved roads, and the national dish resembles a lump of dough and snot in a bowl, I can see why people might want a bit more. Although I sympathize (I wouldn't be here if I didn't care), that doesn't make it my responsibility to give away what little I have for myself here.
	Journal #29, 2/16/2005 "If you see students cheating in class, you should give them a 0," he said. "If you notice it later though, you shouldn't be so harsh though. Maybe you can be less severe with them? You see cheating is very common here- it is part of our culture."
	Journal #28, 2/14/2005 There are those who say you can't possibly understand what it means to be a Peace Corps Volunteer unless you can take a shower with a teacup-full of water, live in a house made of mud (I've got that one covered), and eat the same thing every day for weeks on end. The other way of looking at it is to say that there's nothing wrong with taking advantage of what's available. I consider myself firmly in the second category .
	Journal #27, 2/02/2005 "Letter from the Teacher English in school Maldom Bada Abbass [my school]. My principal teacher NATHANIEL got morning? You are fay? Yes I am enquire you, because I comprendre the English! Am I not the book ou dictionary in English. Yes I written the letter and you given me the book or dictionary one I am not beaucoup the dificole. I have finich the letter. I am pupil class 2nd Utwo. My name is Bouksouna Jonas."
	Journal #26, 1/30/2005 Why is it that when I have leaves, plastic bags or straw in my yard that have been carried in on the wind, Ertchey will look at me and gravely intone, "You really should sweep this up." I have to resist the urge to say something like, "you have dogs crapping on your bedroom floor, but if there are leaves in my yard, and my dirt isn't swept properly you get bent out of shape?"
	Journal #25, 1/26/2005 I wouldn't presume to say that a child's death is any less tragic in Chad, but perhaps it's simply accepted as a fact of raising a family here. I can't think of anything else to explain Enoch's almost supernatural sense of calm at the whole situation.
	Journal #24, 1/19/2005 When I was applying, I wrote (I'm paraphrasing here), "Simply because I'm an American I have had access to free public education, decent health care, the opportunity to travel, and more. In the countries where Peace Corps serves, this is not always the case." There's a good candidate for 'understatement of the year' in that one. .
	Journal #23, 1/14/2005 I told him, in French, "I'm sorry but I have too much to do around the house today- I don't have a wife to do it for me." ...As I walked along the road between the high school and home, I stopped to ponder what I'd said. Had I really just said that?
	Journal #22, 1/09/2005 Being robbed, or having your trust violated is one of the most difficult things to endure, but it's even more so when the person responsible is someone you've had no reason to doubt.
	Journal #21, 1/03/2005 Ertchey was no exception- he ripped the chicken apart, crunching and chewing anything remotely edible. I sat there enjoying my rice, trying hard not to watch.
	Journal #20, 12/27/2004 So we sat waiting by the side of the dusty road, 20+ of us in the shade of a single scrubby tree. On both sides of the road the bushes and grass were caked with a thick layer of red-brown dust kicked up by passing cars, the same dust that coated us as a fleet of five large cargo transports rumbled by. We must've made quite an interesting sight- a line of Chadian men, women and children, with a very obvious white (possibly red-brown by that point) exception.
	Journal #19, 12/20/2004 His motorcade just passed the dirt road alongside my house, and I counted no fewer than 45 vehicles passing, including 11 brand-new black and white Hummer H2's, one of which was presumably carrying 'Monsieur le President.
	Journal #18, 12/15/2004 It was tough to break up and head to our villages, something we knew we'd have to do eventually, but for me at least, always seemed far away. But suddenly we were racing around, buying last minute supplies, packing boxes, getting measured for bicycles, jumping into one of four Land Cruisers, and heading off..
	Journal #17, 12/02/2004 To say that the ex-pat community lives a different lifestyle than that of Peace Corps Volunteers would be a little bit like saying it can get chilly in Anchorage in January, and sub-Saharan Africa has some minor poverty issues.
	Journal #16, 11/28/2004 Today, a friend of mine was killed in a car accident. Except it wasn't really today, it was almost two months ago. For me though, it may as well have been, because I didn't find out until this morning. Being here, it's easy to feel left out of the loop, but at moments like this, it's extra difficult..
	Journal #15, 11/20/2004 After returning from site visit, we moved to N'Djamena the following Sunday, to begin practical teacher training, Model School, in public and private high schools throughout the city. This was our first experience of what Chadian classrooms would truly be like, and so far the results have ranged from fun and stimulating, to absolutely brutal.
	Journal #14, 11/12/2004 About an hour or so after returning to my house I was absolutely stricken by one of the worst stomachaches I've ever experienced, and literally spent most of the night with my fingers drumming on the mattress and my toes twitching Between the insomnia and the nausea, it was a rough night, and there were points where I was really thinking, "two years is a really damn long time- is it worth it?"
	Journal #13, 11/08/2004 As much as little things like this can be annoying, there is another side completely to Chadians, something which you realize almost instantly after meeting them. It's a sense that no matter how poor someone is, or how hard their life may be, they will always want to help you, give you food and water, chat with you, and offer you anything they have.
	Journal #12, 11/03/2004 Tonight, I'm genuinely afraid for the future of the world... BBC is reporting that John Kerry has just conceded, which means that it is now guaranteed- we're in store for another four years of W. How can this actually be happening? Do the American people like record budget deficits, isolationism, and un-winnable wars that cost thousands of innocent lives?
	Journal #11, 10/28/2004 86 years... It actually happened. The Boston Red Sox won the World Series. Hold on, I just need to write that again....Now, they're Champions, and I'm in Chad.
	Journal #10, 10/24/2004 We lurch along, stopping periodically to let off a passenger or two before continuing. Our van seems like a typical African scene, in my mind: there's a woman in a red and blue pagne (dress) with a baby, the two teachers from the Primary School, the driver and conducteur, eight Peace Corps trainees (which probably isn't that typical), and an assortment of five or six others, all piled into one very small van on a very hot morning.
	Journal #9, 10/23/2004 This past week I taught my first practice class; even though it was only in front of a group of nine village kids, it was a big moment. We set up blackboards under the trees, and the kids sat at small tables facing me. This was a sixieme (equivalent to 7th grade) class, the first time any of these kids had had English instruction, so we began with the utter basics, 'Good Morning,' and 'What is your name?'
	Journal #8, 10/17/2004 Walking into the market I have a plan to buy three things: a small mirror so that I can actually see what I'm doing when I shave, a combination fan/flyswatter known as a ventaille in French, and one of my favorite words in Arabic, hajaja. I'm also looking to buy a bolt of fabric known as a pagne, which can be tailored into a shirt, pants, skirt, or virtually any other piece of clothing for both men and women.
	Journal #7, 10/10/2004 So many problems exist in Chad and the rest of the developing world that we simply don't ever think about in our comfortable lives back home– so many children die before the age of two, cholera and malaria are endemic, and basic sanitation is almost non-existent. A house like the one I'm staying in, were it to have been built in the States would be condemned and demolished; here, it's luxurious.
	Journal #6, 10/04/2004 I'm sitting in a mud hut in the village of Darda, Chad, on a straw mat with the only source of illumination being a kerosene lamp, and I'm typing on my iBook. When the First & Third Worlds collide, I suppose it manifests itself in ways like this.
	Journal #5, 9/29/2004 As if it wasn't precarious enough, potholes which seem large enough to swallow the vehicle appear every so often; the road itself is barely two lanes wide, which doesn't stop people from driving any less maniacally than they might on I-75 or 101 North.
	Journal #4, 9/27/2004 Three entire villages, more than 100 people welcomed us, singing "Bonne Arrivée," while dozens of little kids giggled hysterically, & shyly told us their names in French if we asked.
	Journal #3, 9/25/2004 We rarely realize just how good we have it in the States... Paved roads, 24-hour grocery stores , abundant and clean food and water, educational opportunities. It takes about 10 minutes in the streets of N'Djamena to realize just how lucky we are.
	Journal #2, 9/23/2004 You know, it's funny- ever since I found out that I'd been invited to serve in Chad I've spent a few minutes of each day thinking, "wow, I'm really moving to Chad." Well, it feels real now. It's been a huge comfort to meet 16 others in the exact same situation, and I really think things will work out just fine... I'm sure they will, in fact.
	Journal #1, 9/13/2004 So, in six days I'm about to set out on what is without a doubt the biggest adventure I've ever had in my life. I'm sitting in the kitchen at my mom's house writing this, and it really is funny just how quickly this has crept up on me.

	My Peace Corps Motivation Statement The advantages I've had simply by growing up in an industrialized nation, like health care, higher education, and the ability to travel freely are not always easily available to those the Peace Corps serves... I truly feel that an experience such as the Peace Corps, to use a cliché, is the experience of a lifetime.
	A Cross-Cultural Experience His name was Ehsan Bazaz, an Iranian-American man about my age from Michigan. I met him while on a long train ride from Greece to northern Poland...We’d spend the next few days together and in that time, I'd discover that both of our perceptions about each other would change dramatically.