Another frustrating dimension of adjustment is the sudden return to anonymity. While Volunteers often complain about living in a fishbowl overseas, they nevertheless enjoy being the center of attention and interest. It makes them feel special, even important. Speaking the local language, for example, makes celebrities – even heroes – out of Volunteers, as does, say, being the first American to teach at the King Hassan II elementary school or to ride the local bus from Song Kwah to Phu Banh. Now, suddenly, no one looks up when you enter a room or squeals with delight when you start speaking in Kiswahili. No one is impressed that you speak English, and your every move has more of less the same novelty value as everyone else’s every move. You aren’t special anymore – and you miss it. “[Overseas I had] a feeling of empowerment, having a lot of influence,” a Volunteer form Swaziland remembers. “Coming back, it was weird to fall back into the role of just another Joe.”
In his book An Area of
Darkness, V.S. Naipaul, who was born and raised in Trinidad of Indian
parents, remembers the first time he visit India, after living in countries
where he had always stood out because of his appearance. The feeling he
describes will sound familiar to many returned Volunteers:
[Now] I was one of the crowd. In Trinidad to be an Indian was to be distinctive; in Egypt it was more so. Now in Bombay I entered a shop or a restaurant and awaited a special quality of response. And there was nothing. It was like being denied a part of my reality. I was faceless. I might sink without a trace into the Indian crowd…Recognition of my difference was necessary to me. I felt the need to impose myself, and didn’t know how.
It'll go from situations like this where I'm pretty easy to pick out ...
To situations like this where it takes some time to even pick one out
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