Officially Integrated

When your clothes, including underwear and bras, are hanging on the smack-dab front of your house to dry, you are officially integrated into your family’s home. When your homestay mom swats away the flies just so you can eat your lunch without swallowing a mosquito, you know it’s your home. When your mom serves you dinner in bed because you don’t feel good, you know it’s your home.
I, unintentionally, got up close and personal with my homestay family this week. Let me give you some necessary background information to begin. I apologize in advance for the descriptive, but necessary details. I’m the type of gal who likes to do her business without discussing it, if you know what I mean. However, PC has transformed my frame of mind. Among my fellow volunteers, we discuss daily our bowel movements, or lack thereof, including diarrhea and constipation. We cheer when a constipated individual finally goes to the bathroom and we celebrate when another volunteer has their first solid bowel movement. We even took a quiz on diarrhea -- that is how seriously your digestive track is taken when you work for the PC.
Anyways, I digress…I was constipated for approximately 2-3 weeks, as a result of the starchy diet, so my doctor gave me a prescription laxative on Sunday. After attempting to read the Portuguese directions [I am only learning Kriolu], I took my first dose. Approximately 2 hours later, I was running to the bathroom because it felt like my insides were falling out. And I stayed in the bathroom all night, tummy rumbling. Come to find out, I took an oversized dose, and I’m still suffering the consequences. Today, we were forced to hold class at my house as a result of my immediate bathroom needs. Be careful what you wish for…
Our PC leaders constantly talk about the value of humor. I experienced this firsthand while sitting in the bathroom suffering from bouts of explosive diarrhea while my family sat in the very next room eating dinner. I could either laugh or cry. I chose to laugh until I cried. When I finally came out of the bathroom only to hurry back a few minutes later, my mom simply asked, “How is your stomach? What do you want for dinner?” This is my home sweet home– the good, the bad, and the smelly.