PC Month 2: May 2026
My last newsletter was sent with the expectation that by this time I would be nearing the end of my precious time at pre-service training, with a mere week left before swearing-in and being sent to site. Rereading it, I feel gratitude for an easy first month and exasperation at what little I knew about what was in store for me in the following 30 days. One of the ten core expectations for a Peace Corps Volunteer is flexibility. As I discovered this month, there is no upper limit on the amount we are expected to show. Before I get to that, however, there was some time after my last letter in which we were blissfully unaware of our fate.
The days passed in a similar routine to our first month. Classes all day, cohort bonding in the afternoons, and nights spent with my host family. We started playing soccer at a local field on Thursday’s with Peruvian Peace Corps Staff and us gringos. I’m woefully terrible. My 1st grade soccer team, the Wallaby’s, apparently did not provide me with tangible long term skills. Through extensive support from my team I did manage to score the winning goal at our final game, which was a thrill.
I made a batch of chocolate chip cookies for my family for Mother’s Day and they absolutely loved them. They don’t have cookies here like in the US and they were shocked at how simple and delicious they are. My (real) mama taught me to always bake a batch of cookies and it is a lesson proving fruitful. We spent that whole day together as a family. For much of it I was frustrated by my lack of ability to say any of the things I was thinking. I wanted to tell them how much I wanted to participate, but
couldn’t. Maybe this experience will make me a better listener. Sebastien asked me if my first and middle names have different personalities. Naming is an important ritual in Latin America and I have since received this question a lot. Sebas’ two names are compliments to each other, but do not stand alone, whereas André’s two names are completely different people to the extent that he even has two separate ID cards for each.
Week 5 brought us to Field Based Training, where we traveled with our cohort to spend a week practicing what it was like to be PCV’s in the field. We took a luxurious bus on the way up, with seats that reclined all the way back. I sat with Fang, my number one since our first night in the hotel in Miami. By sitting on the bus for 10 hours, the adventure felt especially poignant. We felt every minute of the journey and every mile we traveled away from our homes in Chaclacayo. We arrived late to Carhuaz, Ancash, and checked into our hotel, where my bed was too short and my feet stuck out the end by about 8 inches.
Bright and early the next day we tackled teaching a five hour class on Design Thinking and business plan creation to a class of 34 twelve year old students at the local colegio. Honestly, it was one of the most difficult experiences of my life. It was a lot of information to cover in one day and the students were terrible. I think they were overwhelmed by the difficulty of the concepts combined with teachers (us) who didn’t fluently speak their language. We struggled a lot to convey what we needed them to do and maintain control of the classroom. André sent me a list of classroom management tools that I used liberally to little avail. All of us, teachers and students alike, were absolutely exhausted, overstimulated, and frustrated by the end. It was a tough day.
The next day we toured around the town doing interviews with different community stakeholders,
the municipality, CETPRO (similar to community college), CEM (support for women experiencing violence), etc. My interview was with La Comisería, the police, and I learned a lot about the cultural differences between police forces here and there. For example, they host vacaciones útiles in the summer, which is a free summer camp program to keep kids occupied and out of trouble. I’m definitely going to be working with them at my site! There’s a community service sector that does preventative work, domestic violence prevention, and youth programs. Many officers don’t even carry guns. We ended the day with a lil waterfall hike.
We were back at the school the following morning for the presentation of their supposed entrepreneurship projects in front of a panel of judges. In all, it went well. Our class presented first and there was nothing to do afterwards while we waited for the other 10 classes to present, so we
killed the time playing classroom games, which everyone involved loved. I taught them Heads Up Seven Up and they taught us Tutti Frutti, which is apparently a national favorite of Peruvian classrooms. We had an awards ceremony (my class didn’t win anything, but I didn’t mind because they didn’t really deserve to) and everyone got certificates. I was relieved to be done and to leave on a better note after the feelings of the first day.
On our final day in Carhuaz, we went on a hike to the top of a nearby hill for sunset and it was the best thing I’ve done in Perú so far. Just a few steps outside the city we entered farmland, with shepherds, fields, rolling hills, and hardly a sign of humanity. We breathed in the fresh air and lay in the fields, framed by the snowcapped peaks of the ANDES MOUNTAINS. It was divine. The reflection of the setting sun against the snow and the clouds kept getting more and more beautiful and we had
immense gratitude for it all, for being Peace Corps Volunteers, and especially for this moment in which we were all together.
Then came the long bus ride back to Lima with incredible views. David and I were glued to the
window for hours oohing and aahing at the snow capped mountains, rolling green hills, unique rocks,
valleys, waterfalls, and other wonders. Eventually we hugged the sea, with its multitudes of little islands
and acres of shanty towns built on sand that looked like they could be blown over by the big bad wolf. In
what felt like a second we were back in the outskirts of Lima and what had been a gorgeous clear day was now a haze of smog, the sky obscured. I was tricked into thinking that meant we were close to our
destination, but with typical Lima traffic we were still 4 hours away. It was very late when I finally walked
in the door of my home and gave Rosa and César a big hug. They were waiting up for me and wanted to hear everything. I love them so much.
That weekend I met Sadie, a community health volunteer who lived in this house before me! We got along instantly, chatting in English and Spanish about her life in Perú and her PC experience so far. That night,
Sadie, César, Rosa, Sebas, and I played all twelve rounds of The Mind. It was by far the highlight of my day. Giggles turned to belly laughs at
our attempts to not talk. The family absolutely adores having the two of us
around at the same time. We were calling each other sisters by the time she left.
Which brings us to the No Good Very Bad Day. I had breakfast with Rosa as per usual and walked to the center with my headphones in, listening to a playlist that André and Sebas made me, convincing myself that today would be good. Alas, the situation (unbeknownst to me) was already out of my control. We gathered for our weekly all-hands meeting to hear the terrible news that, because of the political unrest surrounding the pending elections, the Peace Corps was cutting our training short by another 3 weeks (it was already shortened 3 weeks due to budget constraints) and we would be moving to our permanent sites the following week.
Even writing this it sounds so trivial - What’s three weeks in the long life of a person? - but as soon
as we received the news I began crying and could not stop no matter how hard I tried. I think it was a
combination of suddenly changing expectations, not feeling ready to be at site in terms of CED skills and
language skills, and my tender heart unprepared to say goodbye to my new friends and host family,
knowing that when this experience ends we will never be brought back together in the same way. I feel
empowered to succeed when I have a safe space to retreat to and I had found so much comfort and safety in my host family’s home only to have the rug pulled out from under me. I was crushed and devastated.
As it was, we had no choice but to adapt. Our new reality was that we had 11 days to get ready to say goodbye to the Perú we know, the people we love, and prepare to be alone for two years at site. We grew
closer every day as a result of knowing how precious our limited remaining time was. Everyone checked in with each other frequently and was especially affectionate.
The days grew fewer. Every morning Rosa would watch me walking to class until I was out of sight. I walked my favorite route that favors the quiet streets and avoids the smelly Carraterra Principal, petting the sweet mama street dog that doesn’t bite me, trying to take everything in and
enjoy the comfort and familiarity while it lasts. We’re all buddy-buddy with each other, with a pervasive feeling of senioritis, and we spent the days goofing off and playing games.
We had a visiting RPCV give us a presentation about his Peace Corps experience. First, his first cohort was cancelled completely due to natural disasters, he applied the next year, spent 6 months in site, then was evacuated due to COVID, applied a third time, spent a year in site, then was evacuated due to political unrest. He finally completed service after his fourth attempt. This put in perspective the massive switch ups and unexpected changes that are just part of life with Peace Corps. In reality, it could be so much worse than losing three weeks of training.
On May 22nd, 45 days after arriving in Perú, I received my site placement, where I’ll live for the next two years. They went by region, starting with Ancash. There were a lot of BIG feelings, some people were elated and some were properly devastated. Luckily, I didn’t have many expectations, so when they
called my name for a place in Junín called Hualhuas, I mostly just felt glad to have the unknown be known. One great joy is that I’m close to Sadie! She was so psyched for me to join her community and her
excitement was everything I needed to begin to feel excited. I’ll be living at 11,000 feet with a family of farmers.
Our final week in Chaclacayo was full to the brim. The Morón mamitas arranged a despedida for us with tons of food and dancing for hours. They really wanted to know what dances we did in the US so we put on the Cotton Eyed Joe and Soldia Boy and performed for them like monkeys in a circus. Each mom gave a speech about how they’ve loved to watch us grow and that they believe in us as we move on to the next chapter and we reciprocated with speeches of gratitude for their open hearts and hospitality.
At Rosa’s request, I created a class on budgeting and presented it to my family. I know it wasn’t very good, but bless them with the way they supported me anyway. Every last family member down to my abuelita showed up, listened with rapt attention, took notes, and asked loads of questions. Afterwards, I introduced them
to ice cream sundaes with mugfuls of high quality ice cream, warm cookies, fresh fruit, and fudge sauce. They were massive fans and we made them every single night for the rest of my time there. I think this is what I will be remembered for!
Fang hosted a dumpling making night and it was a ball - definitely one of the most memorable
days of PST. We made about 300 dumplings, it was so uniting to sit around tables together, and there was a whole team in the kitchen cooking the dumplings as fast as we could make them. The result was an endless supply of the best dumplings I’ve ever tasted, I lost track of how many I ate, with spicy ginger
sauce drenched on top. There is something different about gathering people around good food and I’m so grateful to Fang for facilitating such a special night.
My final nights were filled with preparing for the volunteer olympics that I hosted on the last day. I’m in my happiest state (other than sailboat racing) when bringing an art piece to life. I recruited the whole family to help me, a job they took VERY seriously. I’m so touched by how impressed they are by my creativity, César kept saying they were way too professional-looking to be made by hand. In all their words and actions, they honor the person I am. I rewarded them, of course, with ice cream sundaes. I’m really going to miss this life.
Our last day of classes dawned with our professors trying to cram in what was supposed to be weeks of information on health, personal safety, in-service expectations, and what to do during our first few weeks at site, but it all seemed vague and abstract. What do you mean I’m going alone to a place I’ve never been to live with a family I’ve never met for two years? What am I going to do there? Everyone tells us that the time will fly by, but the last seven weeks have felt like an eternity. The amount I’ve changed, how long ago that first night in Miami feels, some days it all doesn’t feel real.
May 29th was a lifetime in a day. We all wore our Sunday best and were at the center lending each other bobby pins and blowdryers. It felt like a high school dance with all the anticipation, giddy excitement, and sense of kindredship that we all feel for each other. We did a practice run where we did the actual swear-in as US government representatives, then our families began showing up and the ceremony began. There were several speeches in Spanish that I was proud to understand, our Spanish teachers sang the Peruvian National Anthem (that I still need to learn) and Mylou and Beau sang the US National Anthem.
Then came the volunteer oath:
I promise to serve alongside the people of Perú.
I promise to share my culture with an open heart and open mind.
I promise to foster an understanding of the people of Perú, with creativity, cultural sensitivity, and respect.
I will face the challenges of service with patience, humility, and determination.
I will embrace the mission of world peace and friendship for as long as I serve and beyond.
In the proud tradition of Peace Corps’ legacy, and in the spirit of the Peace Corps family past, present, and future - I am a Peace Corps Volunteer.
Reciting this pledge aloud brought tears to my eyes as I thought of my grandparents and my desire to honor their legacy, of the dream that every past Madeline has held - to be where I am right now, of the way the oath resounds with me and my values in a way that my sailing career never did. In that moment I felt so content, so complete, and I will return to it as my ‘why’ in the moments of doubt I’m sure will come. When it was finished I turned and hugged Fang, Lexi, and Serena, my closest friends here. My face hurt from smiling. I turned and waved to the camera that was livestreaming on facebook,
that I knew my grandparents (completely different experience from their Peace Corps of the ‘60’s!) and Ben were watching. Fang and Keev gave fabulous speeches, and one by one we went up on stage to accept our diplomas. Then began the party, Peruvian style, with dancing, gaseosa, and a feast. We wined and dined our host families, serving them
first always, and dancing the huayno and anaconda as a group, as well as Soldia Boy which has somehow become our theme song. There was enough chaufa to feed an army and papas rellenas from our favorite Morón ambulante.
Eventually we began the second half of the day:
VOLUNTEER OLYMPICS.
I put on my handy dandy referee outfit, which looks much more normal in Southern California than in suburban Perú. Then, I did what I do best, unite a group of friends through games. We started with team spirit, bandanas and glitter, then boat race, which might be the greatest gift given to me by four years at UMD. I had a list of actions where you could score points at any time, which resulted in a lot of pistol squats and one minute handstand holds against the wall.
We ended the day with
a tiebreaker volleyball tournament. Everyone was so
happy and I think it was the perfect way to take our
minds off the fact that this was our last time all together. We all went to La Oficina together. I stood on a chair to give out the prizes, pounded drinks, and chatted with everyone like they’re friends I’ve known for years.
They all went to a second bar, but I wanted to go home. How grateful I am that I love this family so much that I can’t wait to go home to them. I was ridiculous, high off the energy of the day, a few drinks in, and in my referee outfit, trying to explain the games we played in awful Spanish. They didn’t mind one bit. We ate ice cream sundaes.
Thus, my final day in Chaclacayo dawned and my heart and mind completely refused to accept it. I felt nothing as I packed my things back into my suitcases, which took a shockingly little about of time. I gave out all the goodbye gifts I had spent the last weeks making. My family was very sad to
see me go. I soaked up as much physical touch as I could, and I was numb in a way that indicated my brain was protecting me from a broken heart. I know PST hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows, but in retrospect it seems exactly that. They all walked me out to the street and each gave me huge hugs.
Which brings me to today, four days into my new life in Hualhuas. My new family is strict and serious. I held it against them at first - where was my warm and fuzzy welcome? - but I learned recently that both my mamita’s and her daughter’s husband died of COVID a few years ago and came to understand that grief lives in this home with us. It is very cold and rural. My glow so far has been the other volunteers, there’s quite a few of us from other cohorts that live close by. They’re all good friends and promise me that we’ll see each other often. They have welcomed me with open arms and sympathized with how difficult it is to live in a random Peruvian town, the way only people who have experienced it can. For now, the reality remains that I am lonely and homesick and have no idea what I’m going to do here for the next two years. I don’t agree with the Peace Corps’ decision to end our training early and I do not feel prepared to face this challenge with the training I received. Despite that, I know why I am here, I know that I am resilient, and I am grateful to live in a house that is clean and safe.
xoxo,
Mads
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