Inheritance. The first thoughts that zoom to the forefront of my mind with the introduction of this word are of children and of the things parents leave behind for their children. Maybe that's just the most frequently associated use of the word. It encompasses everything that is yours after someone leaves, be that by death or otherwise.
As Peace Corps volunteers, we have an inheritance. Adam and I have an inheritance from every volunteer who has lived in Nametil before us. Yes, this includes a shelf of books, a table and chairs, and sprinkling of water buckets and kitchen utensils. But the part of this inheritance that we must deal with most is the personality and actions of previous volunteers. Each volunteer is unique, and for some odd reason, getting our neighbors and community members to understand that white people aren't all the same is quite a challenge. And this challenge comes from a particular niche of our inheritance: our neighborhood children.
I was sitting on my front porch this afternoon taking pictures (something I have done remarkably little of in Nametil) when some children discovered the camera was out. Of course this means they all want 47 pictures taken of each person, of which I obliged. But after I finished taking pictures, I sat a little longer talking with them about pretty much anything (ex: I flipped my view finder inward so that I "couldn't" show them the pictures; this was a heated debate about whether or not I was lying). But dialogue also ranged from my relationship status to my country of origin to whether or not I had ever been on a plane, which then devolved into an argument about whether or not only white people flew.
But it got me thinking. I love the kids in our neighborhood. Yes, they irritate me beyond all belief sometimes, and I hide from them more than once a week. But they are also great kids (provided that they aren't all there at once). I've spent some wonderful afternoons playing with the neighbor kids on the front stoop. I've spent some wonderful afternoons yelling at the kids to get off the front stoop like the grumpy old man I'll someday be.
Adam and I inherited these kids and their preconceptions of white people. It's a whole world of trouble, but sometimes it's just right.
As Peace Corps volunteers, we have an inheritance. Adam and I have an inheritance from every volunteer who has lived in Nametil before us. Yes, this includes a shelf of books, a table and chairs, and sprinkling of water buckets and kitchen utensils. But the part of this inheritance that we must deal with most is the personality and actions of previous volunteers. Each volunteer is unique, and for some odd reason, getting our neighbors and community members to understand that white people aren't all the same is quite a challenge. And this challenge comes from a particular niche of our inheritance: our neighborhood children.
I was sitting on my front porch this afternoon taking pictures (something I have done remarkably little of in Nametil) when some children discovered the camera was out. Of course this means they all want 47 pictures taken of each person, of which I obliged. But after I finished taking pictures, I sat a little longer talking with them about pretty much anything (ex: I flipped my view finder inward so that I "couldn't" show them the pictures; this was a heated debate about whether or not I was lying). But dialogue also ranged from my relationship status to my country of origin to whether or not I had ever been on a plane, which then devolved into an argument about whether or not only white people flew.
But it got me thinking. I love the kids in our neighborhood. Yes, they irritate me beyond all belief sometimes, and I hide from them more than once a week. But they are also great kids (provided that they aren't all there at once). I've spent some wonderful afternoons playing with the neighbor kids on the front stoop. I've spent some wonderful afternoons yelling at the kids to get off the front stoop like the grumpy old man I'll someday be.
Adam and I inherited these kids and their preconceptions of white people. It's a whole world of trouble, but sometimes it's just right.
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