Last night I had my first nightmare in Costa Rica. It was pretty strange as far as nightmares go. I think maybe it's a sign of being an adult when your nightmares don't have mythical monsters in them.
I was eating at a pizza place with my friends in the U.S. although some of the other volunteers were there with me, too. I really wanted the buffalo chicken pizza, which Austin had ordered. He knew he would eat the whole thing, so I couldn't split his and I was really stressed about buying a whole one for myself. Then he said, ''You don't have to eat the whole thing tonight...save two slices for breakfast tomorrow.'' So then I was really happy about pizza the next morning, too, and ordered a whole pizza. The guy behind the counter treated me kind of weird.
I guess this is kind of like an episode of the Simpson's where the first few minutes have absolutely nothing to do with the rest of the story.
We were all sitting eating pizza at some tables and benches outside, but I could see the T.V. that was above the counter. And suddenly something on the T.V. clued me in that I was a wanted person. Like, by the police and the government and everybody. So I snatched up what was left of my food and started to run to my car. People were like, ''What's going on?'' and I was like, ''I have to go, I have to leave.'' One of the girls came with me, I'm not sure who it was but it was like a combination of all my girl friends. I started driving. I ripped the E-Z Pass from the spot below the mirror and threw it out the window. My friend still didn't understand and neither did I, so I couldn't explain it. Before we got to a toll road I pulled over at an emergency stop and she helped me move everything that was necessary to keep into the trunk. Everything else we left on the side of the road. And I kept driving.
Now that I'm awake, however terrified I was in the dream, I'm really happy my subconscious thinks about constitutional law and how an overeager police officer might screw up the case against me by not getting a warrant before opening my trunk. I know there's ways around a warrant if need be, but at least I was trying to slow some people down.
So wow...paranoia much?
In my defense, last night before I went to sleep was kind of rough and may even explain the dream in some way. I was sitting at my computer writing (as usual, right) and waiting for my host sister to be ready to go out dancing...we were going just the next town over, walking distance. It was kind of late, 10:30, but our lights were on and the door was open a crack because we were going out.
Well. I'll be damned if I ever leave my door open again. I heard a knocking on my door and so I asked, of course, who is it. I thought maybe one of the little kids at first, but no, that'd be weird because it's too late for them to be up. Then I thought that it was the first drunk guy who had ever bothered me. He comes over to my host mom's house a lot when he's sloshed and she gives him fruit juice so I thought, okay, he's just confused but at least we have a repertoire. I have my development association (my work counterparts in town) on his ass because of the first time he bothered me. So I got up to go shut the door in his face and tell him to go away.
Before I got completely to the door, it opened and there was a man there that I have never ever seen before. I caught the door about halfway open and stood there with my arm out for all the rest of what follows. He started making some apologies and saying stuff that I didn't really understand because he was so drunk. Then he slipped into my house and stood up against the inside of the little bit of wall between the door opening and where we have a chair. He kept talking. He asked if he could come in and I said no, goodbye, you've already been here too long. He kept talking. I kept saying goodbye. After five minutes of this, after telling me I have a pretty mouth and I'm the prettiest girl he's ever seen (''You're still young, give it time,'' I said) and asking me to shake hands with him (which I did not do), he stumbled out of my house and away.
I had called for my host sister at the beginning. Because she didn't respond, I thought she had maybe gone over to the other house while I was typing, before this all started and so I thought I was alone. I only knew that she was really in her room after I started crying and she came out to see if I was okay.
So...I always say, it's like a catchphrase, ''Okay and the worst part is...'' Most times it's joking, relating some horribly awkward situation that I make less embarrassing by taking control of it and retelling it with humor. What is the worst part of this? How can I possibly take control of this situation? I'm not talking about the actual situation, because I feel like I handled that alright. Not showing fear, being firm, maintaining a friendly disposition but at the same time not giving an inch. That's how you should deal with an unpredictable drunk stranger when you're all alone and all you have to help you is how fast your brain can work, right? So I handled it. I'm capable. But the situation in the big scheme of things, that men get so drunk that they can use it as an excuse for anything. And that my house is as secure as it can be, but it's not foolproof.
Is that what every person thinks before something truly awful happens? Something that they can't control? Because okay, I handled it this time but does that mean that I should stick around waiting for something worse to happen to see if I can handle that? This isn't the first time I've felt threatened in my community. And it's escalating, maybe that's the worst part. Peace Corps staff has been doing their job, they've listened to me and taken measures to protect me – that's why my development association is on this other guy's case because my program manager talked to them, asked them what they were willing to do to keep the volunteer working in their town. But there's only so much they can do, they're in San José and it would be silly to expect them to...what? That's the thing, after a certain point, there's nothing anyone can do.
No, maybe the worst part is that while my host mom seems to be really concerned, my host sister keeps repeating, ''No se precupe, ese no hace nada, don't worry, this guy doesn't do anything.'' And I know this is the general sentiment in rural Costa Rica, maybe all of Costa Rica, when talking about men who drink too much. But, um, excuse me? Maybe the front door isn't as sacred a boundary for her as it is for me, but yeah, he did something by crossing that line and coming into my home and threatening me with his presence. So don't tell me he doesn't do anything. She is pretty upset that he came in when he thought I was alone, that he doesn't know me and she confirms that he had no right to do or say any of the things he did. But she maintains that nothing would have happened.
This time. This time.
And that's the worst part, I go back to the worst part being that it's escalating. Where in Costa Rica would it be any different unless I lived in a metaphoric jail? I can go to another town to work, leave the solid foundation for effective work and a good social life that I've established in my town. But that would be an enormous sacrifice not just for Peace Corps, but also for me personally. And where am I going to go, start work as a volunteer in another town, where I won't be blonde? Where I won't be a gringa? Where I'll know immediately who's dangerous and who isn't?
So if there's nowhere to go in Costa Rica, what...do I go home? That's laughable. There's no honorable discharge from the Peace Corps as far as I'm aware. Applying for scholarships for grad school would be impossible. Imagine sitting in front of a board of people, asking for money for something that lasts for two years. ''No, I swear that this time I can make the commitment.'' Anyway, if I had a perfect track record of making well-reasoned decisions and using perfect judgment, I might trust my initial reaction and just pick up and leave. Unfortunately, not only do I not trust my surroundings, I don't trust myself. Is this whole situation a scape goat so that I don't have to fail as a volunteer? So that I can blame something, somebody else and not myself because I'm scared I can't be a successful volunteer?
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