We eagerly transferred over to our new seats - two long, thin cushions running parallel to the bed of the truck - only to sit there for the next two hours; a classic instance of hurry-up and wait. It was another turbulent ride; the driver felt too confident speeding down the gravel road of boulders. While others chatted, bouncing up and down in their seats, some were resting their eyes, feigning sleep. From the singular yellow light that hung above, I could see swaying, somnolent faces. Melancholia in the air, spreading like a virus, I absconded myself and eased into a reverie

Why was I frustrated? What annoyed me about people speaking for me? When I reflected on what their intentions were, they seemed anodyne, relatable even. Yet, anytime it happened, I felt slighted, and pulled away from the conversation. I was a victim in the tiniest tragedy, and one where I still sympathized with the protagonist. So, let's point the spotlight in that direction and find out what was stirring conflict. Maybe that will set the scene.

Now, more than ever, I am painfully aware of who I am. I am a question answered: “What is an American?”  Again, Peace Corps’ Goal 2: “to help promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served.” I am here on a mission, to be a storyteller - show the American character and evoke the Peace Corps’ virtues, leaving a good impression along the way. Although I am trying to portray an ideal caricature, expressing that personality is difficult if someone else insists on doing it for me. 

Almost everyone that I speak to hasn’t met many Americans - at least, not to the extent they meet me. Even still, they have an idea in their head of what we are like. I can imagine when they see a non-Pacific Islander, they might think of tourists - either old curmudgeons who have wandered too far from the resort or arrogant youth inspired by an unrelatable sense of romanticism. But when I explain who I am, the organization I am with, and what I am doing there, all in Fijian, I can see their impression change. All of a sudden, I am not just some white guy. I am the white guy who lives in a village, who knows the language and drinks yaqona, who understands and appreciates the Fijian lifestyle. And that’s huge - a complete reversal of impression, not only for me, but for you too.

By the simple mention of your nationality, he’s replaying interactions he’s had with Valami and other Americans. He’s got a reserve of characteristics to employ for crafting a useful figure. Subconsciously, he has pinned down what your kind is like - what you might be thinking, how he would respond, and how he might react. With the limited knowledge he knows of you, he’s telling a story in his head which will inform him how he should act and how you might respond, that “theory of mind” we were talking about earlier.

“Oh! Did you?” your eyes reflect his glow, “Were you friends with this guy, Valami?”

Ideally, the answer to this question will be yes. I am continually mindful of the day someone might have a conversation like this, because the interactions I have now, in whatever small ways, influence how people from my mother country are seen. I am an on-going narrative which not only implicates you, but also the organization I work for. 

This isn’t just conjecture; I have seen how the legacy of Peace Corps lives in the hearts and minds of host nationals. Rakiraki is full of examples. If you get hungry and go to the cafe across the street, the Indo-Fijian woman who owns the restaurant will regale you about the time she had three Peace Corps Volunteers over at her house for Diwali (a Hindu holiday). When you need to print something, the young lady at the front desk will reminisce fondly on the vacation she went on with her Peace Corps Volunteer to the Yasawa Islands. Then, stroll on over to the library and you will never hear the end about what projects the librarian and her Peace Corps Volunteer did while he lived in Fiji. She still chats with him today, and she will give you his Facebook if you ask for it. Then when you take the cab home, you will be laughing along with the Indo-Fijian man as he recounts how he met a Peace Corps Volunteer from his sister, invited him home for tea, and then taught him all the dirty Hindi words he knew. If you get lucky, you might find several of the people named after Peace Corps Volunteers. Fellow volunteers Eamonn and April have babies named after their last and middle names respectively. Hell, there are even two Fijians who are nicknamed after the institution itself - we literally call them “Peace Corps.”  If you’re an American, you come from the country that made this happen, that sponsored this diplomatic project which has fostered worldwide friendships. I think that’s something you should take pride in. 

During an introduction, In those few moments that confabulate a first impression, I have the power to begin a story. I can direct a narrative not only of American generosity and Peace Corps’ capacity-building ethos, but also that of myself, who I am and the environment which begetted me. And, I have the ability to convey this message in the Fijian language thanks to the Peace Corps, a unique organization which afforded me and my village the privilege to share the profundity of both of our cultures over this two-year timeframe. From the trust fostered from these relationships, we have worked together on projects and hosted workshops with the purpose of imbuing our community with knowledge, skills, and attitudes which enables them to succeed on their own. 

But what if I don’t have the opportunity to speak for myself, to be the American that I am supposed to characterize for others? What if I am forced to interrupt to make my case? When someone tries to tell my story for me, especially while I am present, I am concerned the story might be misconstrued.We aren’t like some other aid organizations. We don’t just build something and leave; we support those building it. Our people-centered approach reflects the sentiment of “if the building of a bridge does not enrich the awareness of those who work on it, then the bridge ought not to be built.”  Regardless of how close I am to the Neighbor, I am never sure if they will confuse the Peace Corps for something else (it happens more often than you might think). But, when our mission is explained by the American, candidly and in the Fijian language, it not only seems more authentic, but it can be more accurate than when someone else does it for them.

I am proud of my association with the Peace Corps. Although I won’t always be around to do so, while I am here, while I am present to see the conversations happening around me, I want to be the one to tell my story. 

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