Social Malfunction

Social Malfunction
Andrew Tibbs

Living this solitary Peace Corps life has changed me. Certainly I'm stronger now in many ways. More independent, more self-sufficient. Definitely more capable of finding solutions to problems on my own. I'm seriously going to rock the charades tournament at the next block party I'm invited to... provided of course that I feel like going. And there's the catch. All this new strength, independence and self-sufficiency has come at a price. I've forgotten how to be social.
I mean, I'm a hermit now in the most classic sense of the word. I snarl at little kids that play by my front door. I live so far out in the boondocks that I rarely get any visitors and, when I do, I usually can't wait for them to leave. I've forgotten completely how to make conversation for more than five minutes at a stretch, probably in part because any word longer than four letters leaves me tongue tied and gasping for breath. I purposely go out of my way to avoid places where I might see people I know. What the hell is wrong with me? I didn't used to be like this.
I had a blast in college. Joined a bunch of clubs, partied, played random pickup games on the quad with total strangers. My roommate and I were famous for our dry humor and always had quick sarcastic comments and thoughtful turns of phrase on the tip of the tongue. Now whenever I meet up with a friend I haven't seen in a while I find myself staring off into space and inserting long, awkward pauses into the conversation so that I have time to formulate my next thought. I complain about the same things over and over just to kill time.
I don't think that I'm alone in this. I've heard tons of stories of other volunteers who have felt the same way to one degree or another whether they realized it or not. Two days ago I talked to a friend that had had a low key gathering of people at her house. They had a good time but when transit problems delayed the departure of the guests for just an hour or two the hostess admitted that she had been ready to pull her hair out. Over two extra hours? Like me she wonders if she'll ever feel normal social emotions again. Another confession: Talking on the phone with a volunteer who had discovered that a friend of hers had been in her town and yet, had neglected to let her know so that they could meet for lunch or something. You tell me if this is normal behavior given how little time we get to spend together as it is. Shouldn't we WANT to get together whenever chance happens to allow it? Still more evidence; I was in Marjane and spotted another volunteer that I had met once before at the other end of an isle. I waved and she looked right at me, smiled... then turned her back and walked away. Now perhaps there is some innocent explanation for this. Perhaps she didn't have contacts in that day and mistook me for some sleazy red-headed Berber man hitting on her in the supermarket. (because this happens all the time I'm sure... I only wish I was kidding) Perhaps if I had followed up we would have had an opportunity to catch up on what had been going on since we had last seen each other... but I didn't follow up. I didn't feel like it.
I could go on and on but the point is that there is something about Morocco, about living the way we live, that is killing our social instinct. (too much fresh air perhaps?) Here we are, already bound to a common cause and sharing at least some interests by default, yet we rarely seek out chances to discuss them with each other. Why? I wish I knew. I nearly always come to regret the missed opportunities to chat with a friend or acquaintance right after it happens, even if the only conversation I'm capable of having at this point involves my nodding off and drooling on myself in company. Yet I pass up those opportunities all the time. I can only speculate as to the reasons.
Firstly, let me point out that while this is a problem that scares me when I stop to give it some thought, I'm in no danger of becoming the next Ted Kaczynski. (Though I did draft this essay on a manual typewriter in a one room cabin in the middle of nowhere....) I'm not psychotic and I WANT to be social. I am constantly surrounded by people here in the village and I have meaningful relationships of some sort with many of them. There is the bread lady, the egg guy, the shop keeper, the butcher, the guy-that-sits-on-the-rock-all-day, etc. It’s just that, well, they're all Berbers. Don't get me wrong. I like the Berbers. Really. Let’s not kid ourselves here, though, between their worldview and my language skills, conversation with most of them is like talking to pre-schoolers. They are very sharp, friendly, intelligent, often precocious and yet you end up pointing out the obvious a lot and are limited to a very finite number of topics. "How is the weather today?" (Umm... it’s raining) "It’s hot." (Yup, sure is.) "What time did you get up this morning?" (Wouldn't you like to know?) "You married yet?" (Ahh, women. Nothing but trouble yek?) "Will you fast during Ramadan?" (As far as you're concerned. HAHAHA) and my all time favorite... "Can you get me a visa?" (No, and if I could the only reason that I would give it to you would be to strand you in downtown New York alone after dark... OK... I'm really not that mean I swear but I have thought about it. Does that make me a bad person?) So I'm definitely not having regular, deep, meaningful conversation with anyone, which has in turn, negatively affected my confidence when I CAN have them.
Another reason is related but more direct. I live in a news void. At home I'm subject to 24/7 media bombardment and its pretty certain that if something big happens I'll know about it within 25 seconds and be discussing it with friends via phone, e-mail, or in person, pretty much immediately. Here its likely to be 25 days before I hear anything. (with the possible exception of volunteers' social lives, news of which travels at warp speed) Thus, I worry about starting conversations involving current events only to later discover that its actually old news. Add to this the fact that phone calls cost more than food and until recently I lived six hours from the nearest computer and I'm left with a dilemma whenever I do learn something gab worthy; "Do I call someone about this... or eat this week?" (and some weeks it’s been close) None of this is calculated to make me feel less socially inept.
I also feel like the reason that many of us can only barely tolerate visitors long term has to do with our coping mechanisms. We've all developed these. Routine ways of doing things that get us from point A. to point B. Some of these things might come off as a tad OCD and not completely sane in the eyes of a potential house guest and so we are forced to switch out of our comfort zone for the duration of their stay. I'll freely admit that I sing out loud while doing housework and have gotten some strange looks. We have kooky organizational schemes that involve things like leaving a 35cm patch of floor empty, or a certain coat hook unused for no reason, or sweeping the floor only on every third Tuesday. These are things that a house guest might unknowingly violate or tamper with. When life is already as absurd as it is here these little things make all the difference between comfortable insanity and screaming loonity (yes I made this word up). Since we think we can't explain them, the only way to insure their sanctity is to keep people out altogether.
Finally, we live in a society which doesn't understand the concepts of privacy or personal space but come from a society where these things are valued above all others. I don't care what Peace Corps says, that's a hard switch to make. When we do have moments alone we want to capitalize on them to the best of our ability. Having people around might cut down on the number of invitations to drink tea flavored sugar water in the short term, but it also increases visibility and leads to fewer private moments later on. Especially if some of your guests happened to be of the opposite sex. Hard to say which is better sometimes.
So, am I damaged for life? I hope not. I hope that when I get off the plane back home everything will feel perfectly normal and I'll laugh at myself for worrying about it. I hope that I can just slip back in there and guilt-trip all my friends into picking up my tab for a few nights out because I've just spent two years in a dry Muslim country. (HA) In the meantime maybe we can all try to be a little more extroverted so that when we do get home we don't have to wonder what we might have missed while we were busy categorizing flip flops all alone. (This pair for the shower, this one for suq, one for my salon, this one for rock climbing...) It should be easy once we all realize we are in the same boat. (sinking ship?) Next time you're in someone’s neighborhood give them a ring. You don't have to hug them or anything but a little conversation can go a long way. Just make sure you don't hang your coat on the third hook from the left.