Rose Apple

When I was younger, I wanted a nickname. Not a shortened derivative of my real name, not a reference to my red hair… I wanted a cool nickname. Something ironic, something humorous, like Spike. Or perhaps a name of endearment, like Skittle – a wishful reference to my colorful personality.

Well, 27 years into the game, I finally I have one.

Originally, it was given to me while I lived in the central region of Thailand, during training. My host father asked if I had a Thai nickname yet, as if it was inevitable. I told him no and he offered to give me one. He said he would sleep on it and name me the following morning. As promised, my breakfast was accompanied by a thoughtful naming lesson. When I got to the table, I found a small piece of paper at my place inside of my bowl. It had five Thai characters scrawled with near-perfect penmanship. My host father read the word aloud.

“Chom-PUU,” he said clearly. I repeated.

“No, not ‘chom-pu’ – Chom-PUU.”

After a couple more tries, I managed to get the tones just right. If I pronounced the last syllable with a flat tone, I was saying the word for pink. That was not the nickname he intended to give me. He made it clear that my nickname was not ‘pink’ - because I am white. (Thais love reminding white foreigners routinely that they have white skin.) But when one pronounces the name with a rising tone on the last syllable, the word becomes Rose Apple.

A rose apple, similar to the apple, can be green or red. It is shaped like a pear and has a hollow center. The texture is somewhere between an apple and a watermelon, and has a mildly sweet taste. The rose apple was the first thing I put in my mouth after my arrival in Thailand. They were given to us after we landed in Bangkok. For this reason, the nickname seemed appropriate enough to me. I knew it was not a reference to my red hair. Thais do not refer to hair as being red. They use the Thai word for gold when describing my hair, which is a nice change.

Two and a half months later, I arrived at my site location in the Northeastern region, wherein a Thai colleague decided to give me a nickname. He said he had thought long and hard before finally deciding on . . .

Chom-PUU.

I laughed and explained the coincidence. He didn’t seem surprised that someone else should find the nickname appropriate, as if it was an obvious choice.

There are a handful of people in my community that know my real name, but they rarely use it. When introducing myself, it feels strange to use Megan. I usually provide my Thai nickname. When people call out to me, I immediately recognize it and turn in response. I am Megan no longer. This name – a name of which I have grown quite fond of – has become part of my identity as a Peace Corps volunteer.

I’ve noticed an increase in the amount of times I hear my name being called out during a standard day at site. When I step off the bus, tuk tuk drivers greet me by shouting, “Chom-PUU, where have you been?” As I walk from home to work, folks will drive by on their motorbikes and call my name as if to say “Good morning!” On my days off, I try exploring new areas of the community, but often run into familiar faces as they call out with warm greetings - always accompanied by the nickname, of course.

I couldn’t have asked for a more welcoming community. These people have been incredible. So when the government official that was appointed to be my counterpart jeopardized my placement, I became quite defensive. He couldn’t seem to behave professionally. Peace Corps has had to confront him three times now, and over the last two weeks, Peace Corps staff has considered relocating me to another province. The thought of leaving my new friends behind made my stomach turn with knots. How would I explain? How could I say goodbye when I promised everyone I would be here for two years. After everyone had been so sweet and warm with me, helpful, and enthusiastic about my presence, would they think I didn’t appreciate them?

With the third confrontation, Peace Corps changed up their approach. They decided to speak with my counterpart’s boss, the City Manager, as opposed to speaking directly with him. I don’t want to speak too soon, but it seems the third time might be the proverbial charm. My City Manager (his name is Sudket) must’ve handled the situation effectively. That creep is now avoiding me like the plague. He doesn’t even look in my general direction, let alone blow me kisses in front of his boys. Additionally, Sudket appointed a new counterpart for me to work with – his right-hand woman, Pii Yaow. Within the first few hours of our partnership, we had already exchanged project ideas and made plans to attend a project-planning workshop together.

I feel like I can breathe again. During those two weeks of uncertainty as Peace Corps staff weighed the options, I fell into a mild depression. It would have been devastating to leave my new home. I’ve worked hard to build these relationships with community members. I spent a considerable amount of money turning this government housing rental into a comfortable abode. I tried imagining what it might be like elsewhere. Chances are, my quality of life wouldn’t be as fortunate. I think I’m one of the lucky volunteers, as far as placement goes. My house is directly across the street from my office and within a five minute bike ride from the hustle and bustle of a small city. My community offers public transportation, which enables me to be completely self-reliant. I have a laundry service, two steak houses, a venue with live folk music, an agro-tourism resort, a public swimming pool… The list goes on. Basically, I want for nothing. Should I be relocated, I could very well be placed in the middle of nowhere, much like the majority of my cohort.

I’m determined. I will not allow my previous counterpart to jeopardize my credibility or placement in this community. And evidently, Sudket won’t either. I can’t tell you how lucky I am to have him on my side.

Today, Sudket came to my desk for the first time. Usually, government staff must approach him in his office, not the other way around. In fact, it’s rare to see him in outside of his office. I was both surprised and worried when I saw him approaching. Was he bearing bad news? No, he simply wanted to check in and make sure I was happy. Before returning back to his office, he placed a rose apple on my desk. “Chom-PUU for Chom-PUU,” he said. Albeit a small gesture, it meant a great deal to me. I was tempted to freeze the piece of fruit as a keepsake. However, I couldn’t help myself. I devoured the rose apple within minutes, a smile plastered across my face as I chewed.

So it is without a doubt that Chom-PUU can report back to friends and family back home with nothing but happiness on the horizon. Things are looking up, ya’ll. High fives all around.