By Nate Bender – 1/23/2014
“Pak sarzameen shad bad Kishwar-e-Haseen shad
bad…”
Blessed be the sacred land,
Happy be the bounteous
realm,
Symbol of high resolve,
Land of Pakistan.
Blessed be thou citadel of
faith.
The Order of this Sacred
Land
Is the might of the
brotherhood of the people.
May the nation, the
country, and the State
Shine in glory everlasting.
Blessed be the goal of our
ambition.
This flag of the Crescent
and the Star
Leads the way to progress
and perfection,
Interpreter of our past,
glory of our present,
Inspiration of our future,
Symbol of Almighty's
protection.
This is the first line, in Urdu,
of the Pakistani National anthem, followed by the English translation of the
entire anthem. We sang this
anthem in Urdu frequently during my three month-long Peace Corps training experience. The
University of Minnesota’s St. Paul campus became a memorable setting for
expanding my social skills while capturing a more defined direction for my life
journey. The end result, while unexpected and unsettling, touched the deepest
parts of my being, in ways never before encountered.
Holding inclinations toward
discovering new facets of life, be it people, places and cultures, acceptance
into the Peace Corps offered an exciting new forum for advancing these leanings. The $75.00 a month stipend, accumulated over
a two-year stint of service and paid in a lump sum at the time of completion,
was immaterial. I was also drawn to the
prospect of living outside the parameters of competitive athletics, which had
dominated much of my time and energies since high school.
Having completed a hitch
hiking adventure to California one month previous, my Peace Corps training
excursion in a major university setting, became a sort of crowning point for a
years’ worth of adventure and personal growth.
During the training I celebrated my 20th birthday, marking
the end of being a teenager, though still quite young. I felt like I had entered manhood, or at least
a new dimension of maturity. Not having lived in a college dormitory, or
mingled with Ivy League graduates, I became more aware of my limitations and
developmental needs, while seeking to adapt to the new group environment.
When Sargent Shriver, the
Peace Corps Director, came to visit with my class, I sat in awe, as it felt
like he was a direct descendent of President Kennedy, not just a brother-inlaw.
He projected a believable, charismatic spirit that inspired venturing into the
unknowns of doing good deeds in a foreign culture. I was turned on to live the embodied dreams!
In 1963 Pakistan was known as
West Pakistan and East Pakistan.
Nowadays, it is known as simply Pakistan and Bangladesh to the east. Pakistan
was not on my number one hit parade of countries to which I would have chosen
to serve as a Peace Corps volunteer, as I held little or no knowledge of its
existence. Polynesian Island placement
appeared to be more ideally suited!
Later I learned my rural background was viewed by placement personnel as
a best fit for the agriculture-development work to be conducted there.
The three-month training
program was intense, varied and informative, stretching my brain cells along
the way. Class topics ranged from the
socio-political aspects of Pakistan to diesel engine repair to water
purification methods to soil enrichment to daily Urdu language immersions. Esteemed academics and Foreign Service
Officers were part of the lectures as well.
Pakistani-native faculty greatly augmented the learning process, and
even facilitated the organizing of festivals, complete with cooking of native
foods. Every day, we were led in hearty
physical training experiences, ranging from running, playing soccer, swimming
and basketball, all directed by a gruff Eastern European who demanded effort in
all areas.
Three developments around
physical training stand out, one of which led to my downfall: First, soccer became a new sporting
undertaking for me, and occupied a good bit of free time. Since I was not
physically suited for the positions involved in running and kicking, I
naturally emerged as a goalie, a position in which I learned to excel. Ultimately, I was chosen to play on one of
the all-star teams that competed for a campus-wide trophy. Receiving acclaim from the college level
players on my team became a boost to my social standing in the class. As much as I desired a non-athletic
experience, sports played an important social role.
Secondly, one of the
conditions of physical training was for everyone to be proficient swimming in
the local pool. Since I had no swimming
experience, this was a big challenge.
Over time, as skills developed, pool time led to playing water polo,
which can get a bit rough and tumble in its applications. At one point while traversing the pool with
the ball, I was pummeled by an opposing played and dunked under the waters’
surface. An aggressive retaliatory response
resulted from me wherein the other person was pummeled; The observing staff viewed my reactions
unfavorably and gave me a negative check mark on my proverbial report card,.
Thirdly, near the end of the three-month
training period, while playing a very competitive, physical game of basketball with
the training director in attendance, my physical “bump” with an opposing player
resulted in his falling and breaking his arm.
I had no overt empathy and consolation, for in the heat of competition,
my adrenaline was flowing full force, and at some level probably felt some form
of righteous indignation. As an
after-thought, I felt unduly taunted.
Another, and final negative mark was added to my report card, and very
likely confirmed my unsuitability for service.
Final selection of class
members was filled with mystery and intrigue.
Little envelopes, containing directions to a specific room, were posted
on a large board. A designated staff
person then conveyed the results, Selected or Deselected. My slip directed me to a psychiatrist,
looking and acting the stereotyped role, complete with reading glasses and a
pipe! This man methodically conveyed to
me that I was “deselected,” along with five others I learned later. The bottom line was concerns about my
maturity and resulting ability to function in a foreign land while under
stress. This meant I was fired, along
with five others. I had failed,
profoundly!
In a state of shock, I gravitated
to a young couple, Dartmouth graduates no less, and who sought to comfort me. For the first time in my life I became
overwhelmed with grief, sobbing uncontrollably.
The following day I was
escorted to the airport by a very compassionate female staff person, whose
parting words still resonate within me.
“This is not the end for you.
Think of it as a new beginning, carrying the experiences with you. You have a long life ahead of you. Be brave.”
Returning to my family home
in Iowa, humbled and disappointed, I took a few days to grieve and define the
next step. I chose to return to Los Angeles
with new determination to complete my education goals. Upon arrival, I sought
out a prior acquaintance, and focused on employment. Employment became at Robinson’s Department
Store, working in the Stamp Collection Department, known as serving
Philatelists. In January 1964, I
returned to college at Pepperdine, which holds another story.
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