My Great Escape

During two years of Peace Corps service it can be tough, or even impossible, to seamlessly “fit in” with your host community. You may read that and think “well, stand out then!”—you’re probably an extrovert. It’s unlike me to stand out and command attention. However, a gringo dropped off in a rural town in costal Colombia is inevitably going to do just that. It’s a fact I have struggled to cope with since day one.

My anonymity is gone, banished to large cities or places more diverse places where I can blend in. To an introvert like myself, the waterfall of attention paid to my every move is daunting on the mind and taxing on the body, especially when unwarranted, undeserved, or unsolicited. While I am not blond hair and blue-eyed, it is not hard to tell I am not from here, especially if I open my mouth. Locals shout broken English, “gringo”, or actual gibberish, at me when I pass by. Daily, I am reminded that I am alien and there is nothing natural or normal about my presence here. This is my identity here and has led me, an already quiet person, to nearly cease conversing completely. However, not all is lost. I’m not a luddite and have my way of dealing with this obstacle—one way really. Essentially my entire mental and social wellbeing hinges on this one solution while in site.

My relief comes daily, and always in the afternoon. I’m the first one to arrive because I am accustomed to always being on time, a habit I can’t seem to kick. I always warm up with static stretches and calisthenics because an injury would be devastating, even more mentally than physically. Kids look at me funny, and occasionally I have the chance to explain to them what exactly I am doing. When the both teams finally arrive, I slip on my uniform, take the pitch, and lose myself for 90 minutes until the final whistle blows. I seamlessly navigate the pitch like I was bullshitting a conversation back home. I am a valued member of the team but nobody special. No hic-ups, miscommunications, or difference in values arise. Then my soccer therapy is complete for the day, body exhausted but mind relaxed.

There is only one dynamic on the soccer pitch; can you play, or not? For the first 3 months of my arrival, I was presumed the latter and had a tough time convincing anyone to let me join their team. Through informal pick-up games the word got out that this gringo can play, a skill I developed since youth up through the collegiate level. Finally, I landed a spot the team of the local hardware store workers, to which I remain loyal to today.

“Fitting in” on the soccer field is based on ability and skillset. Lucky for me, the crap that isolates me from guys my age socially, doesn’t matter in this context. My identity is that of “maestro”, making those around me better though otherwise unflashy, and relentless hustler (they comment I have three lungs). I prefer this label based on my unique characteristics and ability. And while I’m still called gringo from time to time, I’m too focused to care.

I blend in better too. Like when school children wear uniforms to school, my team and I wear the same outfit from head to toe, stripping away outwardly visible differentiators. No one can keep track of all 11 players cloaked in black and yellow. As just a number (15), I gain some anonymity back, and is the only time in the day I don’t feel like an “other”. We act according to FIFA’s written rules, rather than social ones. It’s an environment I am familiar with and am no longer a stranger.

My ability to bullshit and precisely communicate is regained, even though I was quick to grasp the intricacies (or lack there of) of the on-field language that is generally limited to a handful of vulgar phrases and commands. Most of the communication is non-verbal anyways. I direct my teammate’s movement though eye contact, tug opponents’ jerseys to alert them to my presence and get inside their heads, and curry favors with the referees through pats on the back and post-game handshakes—all this I learned though years of practice and grooming back home. Nothing is lost in translation. I am myself. I am not different. I feel anonymous. The soccer pitch is the one place I maintain my confidence and a swagger that I developed in the U.S., though am unable to translate in most other social context.

My sense of belonging and temporary likeness was confirmed with an incident during a recent soccer game that I am otherwise not too proud of. Late in the game we were winning 2-1, on an attacking corner kick, I leaped up and flung my elbow in the direction of an opponent who had been talking smack to me for a while. Not by chance, it landed square in his face and the referee, who had rightly foreseen such an event coming, promptly showed me a red card before I could even glance at the opponent who lying on the ground. I didn’t protest. I knew exactly what I did, and it was worthy of a “send-off”. What was to my surprise was what happened next. In true Colombian futbol fashion, my team rallied around the referee to protest the decision. They collectively flailed their arms and cried that the sentence was unjust, unfair, and sorely mistaken. Everyone on my team but me argued with the referee and opposition about the merits of the decision for several precious minutes to no avail. They would have done the same for any of their teammates regardless of the act. I wasn’t that special. We won the game. I sincerely apologized to the recipient of my elbow and he was a good sport about it. After the dust settled, I eased back into to the normal flow of small-town life in rural Colombia and looked forward to a pick-up game the next day.

Soccer is my coping mechanism and temporary escape from life that is thwart with social-cultural barriers. Sports in general provide a platform for interaction that cuts across barriers of all sorts, none better soccer which is widely known as “The World’s Game”. On the field, one can express themselves, work in a team, and demonstrate their value through their ability. Of all the sites and places I have come across in Peace Corps the one I will miss most will be Talaigua’s dirt soccer field.