Photo by Nicole Borman | The Independent Florida Alligator
Source: The independent Florida Alligator
By Dani Arnwine
Among Peace Corps volunteers, we often say our service is “the toughest job you’ll ever love.” At 18, however, I couldn’t grasp this sentiment; I was too focused on escaping my responsibilities to understand the profound journey ahead. It was the summer before my senior year of college, and I felt the pressure to go to law school — a goal I had pursued my whole life. Having graduated high school with an associate degree through dual enrollment and spent just two years “finding myself” at college, I knew I wasn’t ready for that next chapter. Then I discovered the Peace Corps and immediately knew I would serve.
In hindsight, I was naive and overzealous; the possibility of rejection didn’t even cross my mind. When I told my parents about my application, they were skeptical. Both had served in the U.S. Navy, so they understood life in resource-limited places. My family, Haitian immigrants, questioned why I would abandon a life they had worked so hard to build in a country full of comfort and security that had been generations in the making. Admittedly, I hadn’t thought through the practicalities of living in one of the poorest countries in the world, but that was probably fortunate. Otherwise, I might have missed out on the best experience of my life.
It didn’t take long for me to understand what “the toughest job you’ll ever love” truly meant. I lived each day at the edge of my comfort zone, facing challenges I had never anticipated. As the first volunteer in my community, I felt the weight of expectations. For the first time, I had to defend my Americanness as a Black American in Malawi, Africa, while also taking on the role of a teacher responsible for my students’ education in a large class with limited resources. I struggled with the extroverted nature of my new community, feeling the spotlight on me constantly, and I often felt overwhelmed, as I hadn’t yet learned how to laugh at myself. This was my first “real” job, and I was living alone, far from family and familiar comforts. These challenges sometimes brought me to tears, but they also made me acutely aware of my own growth.
A turning point came when my Muslim community invited me to my first funeral. It was a humbling moment that made me realize I was squandering the privilege of this unique opportunity. I resolved to fully embrace my service, understanding that time was fleeting — “The days are long, but the weeks are short,” as we like to say. I began to let go of my frustrations, focusing instead on the connections and experiences right outside my door.
To read more, click here