They might be drunk, studious, pregnant, engaged in combat or in love, but they’re alright.
How do you know if you’re accepted in a new group? Look at who you’re friendly with, right? Yes. Look at who’s friendly with you? Yes. But what really lets us know is if we’ve made it with the kids.
Well I have pleasant news to report. I have finally formally been accepted by the kids in my neighborhood. Therefore, I am finally accepted into the community, or at least I like to think so. It started with some teenage boys sitting in on our Spanish lesson and deciding which of the Americans they had a crush on. Then they reported that to me once the other girls left. A 15 year old neighbor of mine has a crush on a 25 year old volunteer. Then my host brother and sister started some innocent wrestling and the other boys got involved; they started to pummel each other. Perhaps I would have been completely integrated if someone had pummeled me a little, but I feel okay about the way that worked out anyway.
Did I mention I am now the “hot, white, girlfriend” of a 5 year old? Yah, it’s one of my prouder moments. He wears underwear all the time, but doesn’t care much for any other types of clothes. That’s pretty common here actually. He’s one of the ones who insists on having his picture taken everyday.
I had the very interesting opportunity to watch a 2 year old get served and consume some beer the other night. His mother and grandmother gave it to him. He proceeded to throw up in front of us, and after I went home he allegedly went to the bathroom (both numbers 1 and 2) on the street. That’s the problem with 2 year olds; they just can’t hold their beer.
We had a tour of the Polytechnic School in my town. My host mother works there and her daughter attends classes there. They welcomed us to give a talk about teen pregnancy and STI prevention for next week. The faculty is concerned because there are about 75 students who live on the campus and every year more students get pregnant. We wondered if those pregnant women were allowed to attend classes when their bellies start to show. On the tour we got the answer to that; one very pregnant student wore a loose white shirt under her school uniform blouse, which she had buttoned up top but not on the bottom.
The school was impressive, perhaps one of the most well kept facilities I’ve seen since having arrived here. I did not anticipate that a public school would look as beautiful as this school did. The landscaping was just beautiful, with a gorgeous mountain view, and there was a computer lab with air conditioning! We later learned that the facility was a gift of Fidel Castro in memory of a Cuban revolutionary who was born in this area of the DR. His name was Maximo Gomez. Both the Dominican and Cuban flags were waving out front. Apparently all tuitions are paid for by the Dominican government. The only prerequisite is that the students get and 80% or higher on an entrance exam. I wasn’t too clear about the curriculum although we did get a tour of where they produce ham, cheese, and milk. A few days ago I’d gotten to try some ham that was produced there. It was pretty good. Then I went on the tour of the room where they prepare the ham, and even got to stand in the pig shower, without knowing exactly what it was at first. The good news is that I don’t think the experience has made me want to eat ham any less.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Saturday, October 13, 2007
And Now for a bit of the Techincal Health Stuff
We were asked to conduct some interviews with friends of our host mothers. The topic was health, the interview was 5 pages of questions long, which took about 20 minutes each. The results were fascinating.
It’s interesting the way wealth can be described here. Imagine, in you will, what separates a rich bathroom from a less impressive looking bathroom in the US. Here, as you might expect, the difference is quite different. A nice bathroom here will have a least a trickle of water coming out of a faucet, preferably in a sink, it will have toilet paper, a flush for the toilet, and my favorite, a toilet seat. A door is not required. (A really nice bathroom would also have soap and something to dry ones hand with.) A not so nice bathroom will have a toilet that can be flushed with a bucket of water, no sink, and no soap or anything to dry your hands with, no toilet paper or seat. And a typical bathroom in the places where we will be placed is actually a latrine, with a large, deep (hopefully) hole, hopefully with a cement block a little bit off of the ground to sit on. For hand washing we’re going to turn gallon jugs upside down in a net, then unscrew the lid to release a small trickle of water. It’s an ingenious thing that someone in Peace Corps developed for us to teach our communities, and without it, most people in the fields probably wouldn’t wash their hands after using the latrine or before coming in the house. I look forward to sharing that little idea with my community.
Of the 5 women I interviewed they all had working toilets, cement floors, cement walls and a tin roof. Those things make for a very nice home here. (The home I’m living in also has a toilet, cement floors and a tin roof. The walls are a mixture of tin and wood.) I would expect that with these fine furnishings (which are rare) they’d be among the more educated and perhaps have more of the correct answers to my questions. When compared to my fellow trainees, however, some of whom live in a community much worse off than the one I’m in, the level of education on these health topics is pretty much the same. For the most part, people don’t know the difference between HIV and AIDS and all of the women I interviewed believed that it can be shared by using the same razor. They can’t really name any STIs or too many forms of birth control. They don’t really know what a nutritious meal consists of. They believe baby formula is better for a baby than breast milk. And of the women I interviewed, all had had their tubes tied during their last births which were all C-sections. Many did not know why they’d had the C-section. Also, of the 5 women I questioned, 3 had lost a fetus or baby during the pregnancy or birth and didn’t know the reason why. Of 18 pregnancies among them, only 12 children are living today.
I have got my work cut out for me. Chances are the project site I will end up in will have less of the answers to these questions, but to be sure, Peace Corps asks that we interview about 100 women in our community. That is my job for the first 3 months of service. When I am done, in February, I will present my findings to the fellow health volunteers, and our leaders and trainers. I will define what I would like to work on, then get to it. After a year I will rejoin the group, revaluate my project, and make changes to help foster more growth for the second year.
It’s interesting the way wealth can be described here. Imagine, in you will, what separates a rich bathroom from a less impressive looking bathroom in the US. Here, as you might expect, the difference is quite different. A nice bathroom here will have a least a trickle of water coming out of a faucet, preferably in a sink, it will have toilet paper, a flush for the toilet, and my favorite, a toilet seat. A door is not required. (A really nice bathroom would also have soap and something to dry ones hand with.) A not so nice bathroom will have a toilet that can be flushed with a bucket of water, no sink, and no soap or anything to dry your hands with, no toilet paper or seat. And a typical bathroom in the places where we will be placed is actually a latrine, with a large, deep (hopefully) hole, hopefully with a cement block a little bit off of the ground to sit on. For hand washing we’re going to turn gallon jugs upside down in a net, then unscrew the lid to release a small trickle of water. It’s an ingenious thing that someone in Peace Corps developed for us to teach our communities, and without it, most people in the fields probably wouldn’t wash their hands after using the latrine or before coming in the house. I look forward to sharing that little idea with my community.
Of the 5 women I interviewed they all had working toilets, cement floors, cement walls and a tin roof. Those things make for a very nice home here. (The home I’m living in also has a toilet, cement floors and a tin roof. The walls are a mixture of tin and wood.) I would expect that with these fine furnishings (which are rare) they’d be among the more educated and perhaps have more of the correct answers to my questions. When compared to my fellow trainees, however, some of whom live in a community much worse off than the one I’m in, the level of education on these health topics is pretty much the same. For the most part, people don’t know the difference between HIV and AIDS and all of the women I interviewed believed that it can be shared by using the same razor. They can’t really name any STIs or too many forms of birth control. They don’t really know what a nutritious meal consists of. They believe baby formula is better for a baby than breast milk. And of the women I interviewed, all had had their tubes tied during their last births which were all C-sections. Many did not know why they’d had the C-section. Also, of the 5 women I questioned, 3 had lost a fetus or baby during the pregnancy or birth and didn’t know the reason why. Of 18 pregnancies among them, only 12 children are living today.
I have got my work cut out for me. Chances are the project site I will end up in will have less of the answers to these questions, but to be sure, Peace Corps asks that we interview about 100 women in our community. That is my job for the first 3 months of service. When I am done, in February, I will present my findings to the fellow health volunteers, and our leaders and trainers. I will define what I would like to work on, then get to it. After a year I will rejoin the group, revaluate my project, and make changes to help foster more growth for the second year.
Roosters on the Roof
It sounds like the name of some new computer-animated kids movie. And with a name like that, I would probably bomb at the box office.
I wish that were all that it was. We have roosters here, and although I haven’t asked, because I really don’t want to know, I’m pretty sure they are being raised for cock fighting. (Cock fighting is a very popular event here, and I’ve been encouraged to see it. However, I’m hoping the fact that the women stay in their homes most of the time will work to my advantage for once and I won’t be pressured to go see it.) When I first got here I would say there were about 4 or 5 roosters, perhaps 10 hens (although they are harder to keep track of because they sort of wander the streets at will), double the amount of chicks, perhaps 10 pigeons, and a huge chicken coop full of doves. I sleep next to the rooster coops, and the roosters and pigeons, and hens and chicks, like to fly up to the tin roof and make a lot of noise. And, as some of you probably already know, roosters don’t just crow at dawn. They crow 24 hours a day, sporadically and for no reason. Sometimes one will start to crow and the others will want to prove that they can crow louder, and then you’ve got a situation on your hands. They especially like to get at it between 4 and 8 am.
It has taken a lot of getting used to. And just when I was starting to get used to it, about 4 more roosters appeared. These new 4 are bigger and scarier looking than the ones that already live here, thus convincing me that they will be entered into cock fights.
I wouldn’t say that we eat a particularly large amount of eggs, so that perk of having the crowing doesn’t really exist. And if I was asked to describe the sound of the crowing, I’d think I’d say it sounds like defenseless animals are getting stepped on, but louder and bolder, and with a beat.
Speaking of defenseless animals, there are lots of stray dogs here. Some seem well cared for, well fed, etc. They are the minority and probably the meanest because like that old expression, it’s a dog eats dog world, and hardly anyone feeds the dogs or treats them well. It was the same in Chile. For a country that is focusing on feeding, educating, and taking care of the people, it is unrealistic to expect that they also focus on spaying and neutering their pets. I try not to let it bother me, and so far it’s working. I have been lucky in that I’ve only seen a hand full of dogs that look pretty bad. I would like to have a dog at my project site as a companion and to demonstrate another way to treat animals. I worry though that the dog would not be able to adjust from the world that it would live in here to one back home, and if I left it here that it would not be well cared for in my absence.
I will figure it out when I get to my project site I suppose. That, by the way, will be happening for a few days in mid November and then permanently after Thanksgiving. I should be aware of where I’m going sometime in the next few weeks and then definitely know a few days before I go on that visit. As I’m sure you can imagine I am very much looking forward to finding out more about my project site.
I wish that were all that it was. We have roosters here, and although I haven’t asked, because I really don’t want to know, I’m pretty sure they are being raised for cock fighting. (Cock fighting is a very popular event here, and I’ve been encouraged to see it. However, I’m hoping the fact that the women stay in their homes most of the time will work to my advantage for once and I won’t be pressured to go see it.) When I first got here I would say there were about 4 or 5 roosters, perhaps 10 hens (although they are harder to keep track of because they sort of wander the streets at will), double the amount of chicks, perhaps 10 pigeons, and a huge chicken coop full of doves. I sleep next to the rooster coops, and the roosters and pigeons, and hens and chicks, like to fly up to the tin roof and make a lot of noise. And, as some of you probably already know, roosters don’t just crow at dawn. They crow 24 hours a day, sporadically and for no reason. Sometimes one will start to crow and the others will want to prove that they can crow louder, and then you’ve got a situation on your hands. They especially like to get at it between 4 and 8 am.
It has taken a lot of getting used to. And just when I was starting to get used to it, about 4 more roosters appeared. These new 4 are bigger and scarier looking than the ones that already live here, thus convincing me that they will be entered into cock fights.
I wouldn’t say that we eat a particularly large amount of eggs, so that perk of having the crowing doesn’t really exist. And if I was asked to describe the sound of the crowing, I’d think I’d say it sounds like defenseless animals are getting stepped on, but louder and bolder, and with a beat.
Speaking of defenseless animals, there are lots of stray dogs here. Some seem well cared for, well fed, etc. They are the minority and probably the meanest because like that old expression, it’s a dog eats dog world, and hardly anyone feeds the dogs or treats them well. It was the same in Chile. For a country that is focusing on feeding, educating, and taking care of the people, it is unrealistic to expect that they also focus on spaying and neutering their pets. I try not to let it bother me, and so far it’s working. I have been lucky in that I’ve only seen a hand full of dogs that look pretty bad. I would like to have a dog at my project site as a companion and to demonstrate another way to treat animals. I worry though that the dog would not be able to adjust from the world that it would live in here to one back home, and if I left it here that it would not be well cared for in my absence.
I will figure it out when I get to my project site I suppose. That, by the way, will be happening for a few days in mid November and then permanently after Thanksgiving. I should be aware of where I’m going sometime in the next few weeks and then definitely know a few days before I go on that visit. As I’m sure you can imagine I am very much looking forward to finding out more about my project site.
La Americana with the Camera
That, although I cannot confirm it 100%, as with Becks (or Bex), Bets, Eliza (pronounced Al lee sa), or Elizabeh and of course the usuals such as Americana, Gringa, Rubia (which although it means “blonde” refers to all white people), are my names here. Eliza is the most frequently used as the “th” sound is difficult for Spanish speakers to pronounce.
When I am finally able to upload photos you will get to see the proof that I am the Americana with the camera. The kids love it. There is a group of between 4 and 15 boys that stop by the house everyday to have their photo taken. For the most part they listen to me when I say yes, one photo now, and then we’ll do more tomorrow. Thing is, of course they’re cute and I want them to know me and feel comfortable playing with me, but the days are long and hot and me taking pictures of them isn’t necessarily the best way for them to get to know me.
The firefighters took us to a Fiesta Patronales, which until I have more details is basically a celebration all of the little towns here have, once a year, that is a huge deal, and everyone goes. They typically last about 2 weeks. We went to one which was about a bumpy 30 minute drive away. It consisted of a concert and some dancing. We danced with the firefighters and kids and each other, and it was fun. The one for the town I’m living in is Thanksgiving weekend, which is also the weekend of swearing in, the all volunteer conference, and the huge volunteer Thanksgiving celebration in Santo Domingo. There is little chance I’d be able to come back here to celebrate with them, though I’ve been invited many times. We will get a chance to celebrate with one of the other towns where volunteers are staying, so that should be fun.
Just before we left for community based training, literally a few hours before we left, some of the boys decided to cut their hair. The guy who did it doesn’t have a long history of hair cutting but had the tools to shave their heads, so he did. In total it was 6 or 7 guys who did it, which is a lot compared to how many guys are in the program. I tried to get a picture of all of them together but the day was hectic as I’m sure you can imagine.
All of the scenery shots on my photo website are at the end of my street or on the walk to training. They are, as you will see, gorgeous images. I can’t tell you enough how beautiful the mountains are here, nor can I describe the skies enough. If I took a picture, just one picture, of every beautiful cloud formation or beautiful sunset I saw, I would easily have 1000 pictures of the sky by the end of my service.
When I am finally able to upload photos you will get to see the proof that I am the Americana with the camera. The kids love it. There is a group of between 4 and 15 boys that stop by the house everyday to have their photo taken. For the most part they listen to me when I say yes, one photo now, and then we’ll do more tomorrow. Thing is, of course they’re cute and I want them to know me and feel comfortable playing with me, but the days are long and hot and me taking pictures of them isn’t necessarily the best way for them to get to know me.
The firefighters took us to a Fiesta Patronales, which until I have more details is basically a celebration all of the little towns here have, once a year, that is a huge deal, and everyone goes. They typically last about 2 weeks. We went to one which was about a bumpy 30 minute drive away. It consisted of a concert and some dancing. We danced with the firefighters and kids and each other, and it was fun. The one for the town I’m living in is Thanksgiving weekend, which is also the weekend of swearing in, the all volunteer conference, and the huge volunteer Thanksgiving celebration in Santo Domingo. There is little chance I’d be able to come back here to celebrate with them, though I’ve been invited many times. We will get a chance to celebrate with one of the other towns where volunteers are staying, so that should be fun.
Just before we left for community based training, literally a few hours before we left, some of the boys decided to cut their hair. The guy who did it doesn’t have a long history of hair cutting but had the tools to shave their heads, so he did. In total it was 6 or 7 guys who did it, which is a lot compared to how many guys are in the program. I tried to get a picture of all of them together but the day was hectic as I’m sure you can imagine.
All of the scenery shots on my photo website are at the end of my street or on the walk to training. They are, as you will see, gorgeous images. I can’t tell you enough how beautiful the mountains are here, nor can I describe the skies enough. If I took a picture, just one picture, of every beautiful cloud formation or beautiful sunset I saw, I would easily have 1000 pictures of the sky by the end of my service.
I Don't Practice Santeria
But he does.
We went to a Fiesta de pallo on Sunday. In other words, we went to a Santeria ritual. It was at the home of a community leader (who are pretty much the only people we’re meeting here because they are all friends with one another, friendly to us, the people our technical trainer first met when she decided to do training here, etc.) Anyways, she and her family have a room dedicated to the saints. And I have a secret… we got to see it! It was full of pictures of the Virgin Mary and saints, along with candles, lots and lots of candles which really warmed up the room. Outside of that room was an altar dedicated to Saint Michael. On the altar were all the things you’d expect to see on an altar, and a cake. A big white cake, with blue icing. (I didn’t get to eat the cake.) The man engaged in the ritual was about 30 years old and had those great Dominican eyes. Some people who looked like his sister and grandmother were helping him, bringing him bandanas, cigarettes, cigars and rum. They were for the spirit that entered his body (well the bandana was to wipe away all of the sweat he was getting from the dancing and rocking back and forth). His eyes were rolled back in his head for the entire time that I saw him in the trance.
There was quite a crowd gathered outside of the area, perhaps 200 people of all ages. I tried to figure out who they were, believers, Catholics, people who wanted to watch respectfully, or not, kids gathered to walk in the parade, to dance to the drums beating, to eat that huge cake… after a while the man got up on a horse and we followed him down the street. I’m not entirely sure if he had left the trance at that point, but he looked like he was among us more so than before.
Everyone I asked about it told me they’d seen these before, and did not think of it the way us Americans did. They weren’t searching for answers about what every little detail of the ritual meant and I guess they never had before either because they really didn’t know how to answer our questions.
We went to a Fiesta de pallo on Sunday. In other words, we went to a Santeria ritual. It was at the home of a community leader (who are pretty much the only people we’re meeting here because they are all friends with one another, friendly to us, the people our technical trainer first met when she decided to do training here, etc.) Anyways, she and her family have a room dedicated to the saints. And I have a secret… we got to see it! It was full of pictures of the Virgin Mary and saints, along with candles, lots and lots of candles which really warmed up the room. Outside of that room was an altar dedicated to Saint Michael. On the altar were all the things you’d expect to see on an altar, and a cake. A big white cake, with blue icing. (I didn’t get to eat the cake.) The man engaged in the ritual was about 30 years old and had those great Dominican eyes. Some people who looked like his sister and grandmother were helping him, bringing him bandanas, cigarettes, cigars and rum. They were for the spirit that entered his body (well the bandana was to wipe away all of the sweat he was getting from the dancing and rocking back and forth). His eyes were rolled back in his head for the entire time that I saw him in the trance.
There was quite a crowd gathered outside of the area, perhaps 200 people of all ages. I tried to figure out who they were, believers, Catholics, people who wanted to watch respectfully, or not, kids gathered to walk in the parade, to dance to the drums beating, to eat that huge cake… after a while the man got up on a horse and we followed him down the street. I’m not entirely sure if he had left the trance at that point, but he looked like he was among us more so than before.
Everyone I asked about it told me they’d seen these before, and did not think of it the way us Americans did. They weren’t searching for answers about what every little detail of the ritual meant and I guess they never had before either because they really didn’t know how to answer our questions.
It was Just a Dream Some of us Had
The Cubs. Sigh.
I have started my community based training. The health volunteers have been broken into 3 groups in 3 little suburbs outside of a small city in the southwest of the country. The southwest of this country is similar to the southwest of the US, climate wise. It’s dry here, and it doesn’t rain here as much as the rest of the country, but it’s also pretty humid. And beautiful. I have a lovely view of the mountains on my walk to and from my house.
I adore my new host family. I live with a dona, her daughter and her son. Her daughter is 17 years old and stunningly beautiful. Her son is 25 and has super intense eyes as many Dominicans do. They treat me well, feed me well, and don’t insist that I eat more than I want to, the latter being a nice change of pace. The price of having the good mountain views are the cat calls I get on the street. Unfortunately I’m getting a lot more of those here than I did in the capital. It’s disappointing, but also understandable as there are no Americans here, let alone any people who aren’t Dominican. I’m hoping the frequency with which I experience that will dissipate as more people get to know me and the other volunteers and get to see that we’re here for a while. And as I’m experimenting with my walks down the street in methods to decrease the frequency of them, I’m finding the two most successful methods are also the best for me. One is of course, walking down the street with a Dominican. And when that’s not an option, the other is smiling at everyone and saying hello. Other options I’m still not sure will work are wearing glasses and long pants. Some other volunteers noted that when they wore their glasses they were less likely to get bothered and that this was also the case when they traded their skirts for pants. That works well for me as I hate to wear skirts.
The general pace of life, unsurprisingly, is much slower here. For those of us that are used to living in a college apartment, in a home of 6 people, or more recently, in a barrio with an awesome host family, some incredible new friends nearby, and lots of training and busy evenings, the slower pace hasn’t necessarily been a natural progression. But, I’ve decided to be positive and become friends with all of neighborhood kids. So far it’s been going pretty well. Another volunteer is living at the house attached to the town fire station and a ton of super friendly kids hang out there all the time. They’ve adopted us and it’s wonderful. I haven’t been friends with an eight year old in about 16 years, and I’d forgotten how fun they are.
A few days ago the kids took us on a walk around town, looked at some cool stuff including the oldest home in this town, which is almost 200 years old. Then we worked on a project with them. It was to demonstrate one of the community diagnostic tools us volunteers are supposed to use here. We had the kids draw a map of their community in 2 groups, boys and girls, and then compare the maps. What is probably supposed to happen is that the boys would include their houses, the baseball field, the park, and the girls would include their houses, and probably leave out the baseball field. Well, that was more or less what happened. The girls drew the school (and made it look gigantic) and drew just one baseball field. The boys drew 2 baseball fields, all of the corner stores and the cemetery. Interesting, eh?
My little 8 year old friend saw me coming up the street today and she ran to greet me. I’m popular here. Who wouldn’t love the Dominican Republic ? You too can be popular. Come join us.
I have started my community based training. The health volunteers have been broken into 3 groups in 3 little suburbs outside of a small city in the southwest of the country. The southwest of this country is similar to the southwest of the US, climate wise. It’s dry here, and it doesn’t rain here as much as the rest of the country, but it’s also pretty humid. And beautiful. I have a lovely view of the mountains on my walk to and from my house.
I adore my new host family. I live with a dona, her daughter and her son. Her daughter is 17 years old and stunningly beautiful. Her son is 25 and has super intense eyes as many Dominicans do. They treat me well, feed me well, and don’t insist that I eat more than I want to, the latter being a nice change of pace. The price of having the good mountain views are the cat calls I get on the street. Unfortunately I’m getting a lot more of those here than I did in the capital. It’s disappointing, but also understandable as there are no Americans here, let alone any people who aren’t Dominican. I’m hoping the frequency with which I experience that will dissipate as more people get to know me and the other volunteers and get to see that we’re here for a while. And as I’m experimenting with my walks down the street in methods to decrease the frequency of them, I’m finding the two most successful methods are also the best for me. One is of course, walking down the street with a Dominican. And when that’s not an option, the other is smiling at everyone and saying hello. Other options I’m still not sure will work are wearing glasses and long pants. Some other volunteers noted that when they wore their glasses they were less likely to get bothered and that this was also the case when they traded their skirts for pants. That works well for me as I hate to wear skirts.
The general pace of life, unsurprisingly, is much slower here. For those of us that are used to living in a college apartment, in a home of 6 people, or more recently, in a barrio with an awesome host family, some incredible new friends nearby, and lots of training and busy evenings, the slower pace hasn’t necessarily been a natural progression. But, I’ve decided to be positive and become friends with all of neighborhood kids. So far it’s been going pretty well. Another volunteer is living at the house attached to the town fire station and a ton of super friendly kids hang out there all the time. They’ve adopted us and it’s wonderful. I haven’t been friends with an eight year old in about 16 years, and I’d forgotten how fun they are.
A few days ago the kids took us on a walk around town, looked at some cool stuff including the oldest home in this town, which is almost 200 years old. Then we worked on a project with them. It was to demonstrate one of the community diagnostic tools us volunteers are supposed to use here. We had the kids draw a map of their community in 2 groups, boys and girls, and then compare the maps. What is probably supposed to happen is that the boys would include their houses, the baseball field, the park, and the girls would include their houses, and probably leave out the baseball field. Well, that was more or less what happened. The girls drew the school (and made it look gigantic) and drew just one baseball field. The boys drew 2 baseball fields, all of the corner stores and the cemetery. Interesting, eh?
My little 8 year old friend saw me coming up the street today and she ran to greet me. I’m popular here. Who wouldn’t love the Dominican Republic ? You too can be popular. Come join us.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Three Strikes I'm Out
Tomorrow there is going to be a strike and the entire city is going to shut down. We aren't allowed to go to training because we aren't allowed to leave the square block radius around our homes. Then we will have one more day of training the capital and then, me and the rest of the health volunteers are headed to our "Community Based Training" which is somewhere near the coast. We will be there for almost 6 weeks. During this time, I don't know exactly how often I will have access to the internet. So, for those of you who have enjoyed your semi-regular access to my entries, I'm sorry that I need to now yank it away, potenially for a while. Also, this will decrease the amount of times I am able to upload pictures.
While there I will have a new host family, which will be sad because I have really enjoyed living with the host family I am with now. But, I look forward to another great stay with another great host family.
So it is possible that the strike will turn into a riot, but we certainly hope it won't and I will be sure to update you all as to what happened when I next can. As they say here, Que te vayas con Dios! (I hope that you go with God. And that sort of means, be safe until I talk to you next.)
***The strike ended up being nothing big. I didn’t hear of any problems anywhere in the city much less our barrios. We looked at it like a snow day, popular with Midwestern children, of which there were a handful in my barrio. We sat around missing things as gross as McDonalds and Arby’s. (I would like it noted that I was not among the people who missed McDonalds or Arby’s. I’m liking my plantains, yucca, potatoes, and rice with every meal just fine.)
While there I will have a new host family, which will be sad because I have really enjoyed living with the host family I am with now. But, I look forward to another great stay with another great host family.
So it is possible that the strike will turn into a riot, but we certainly hope it won't and I will be sure to update you all as to what happened when I next can. As they say here, Que te vayas con Dios! (I hope that you go with God. And that sort of means, be safe until I talk to you next.)
***The strike ended up being nothing big. I didn’t hear of any problems anywhere in the city much less our barrios. We looked at it like a snow day, popular with Midwestern children, of which there were a handful in my barrio. We sat around missing things as gross as McDonalds and Arby’s. (I would like it noted that I was not among the people who missed McDonalds or Arby’s. I’m liking my plantains, yucca, potatoes, and rice with every meal just fine.)
In the Moutains
We were one with nature. On the first day I was there, we went for a walk to the local health clinic (which is incidentally right next door to the brothel). To get there were got to walk through a river. I got dirty. I lost my flip flops in the dirt about 3 times and they snapped apart twice. Both times the volunteer was able to fix them for me. It rained on our walk, a big, fat, Caribbean rain. For those of us who haven’t experienced too many Caribbean rains, it’s the kind that splatters on your skin when it lands. And of course it’s warm.
Everyone recognized her and loved her. And by default, they loved me too. They told us we were sisters and didn’t believe us when we said we weren’t. They wanted me to come work with them. I would have loved it, the community was so welcoming. And there’s plenty of work to be done there. But I also like the idea that she works there, and I’ll work in my own community, and will be adopted by that community the way she has been in hers.
She has a health promoters group, local women and men that meet every so often to discuss getting the messages of good health out to the community of about 3,000. She has art classes with the kids in her neighborhood every Friday night. I was glad that I got to observe one of those classes. The kids were a little shy with me until I brought my camera out. Then they wanted to pose and act goofy, and then look at themselves having done so. They were in stitches over those pictures. She’s hoping to turn that art group into a sex ed class at some point. She passes out condoms but they mostly get turned into balloons by the little kids, so that will be a process. The task that I found most interesting was working with the community and Dominican government bureaucracy to get the people in her community their birth certificates. Without a Dominican birth certificate they can’t benefit from social aid, take the high school entrance exam or go to high school, get a state-id, a passport, own property, get legally married, and many other things. Many people in her community don’t have them, and I got to go with a group of 4 people and her to work on the process. They needed to compile a lot of paper work which took many trips to the little city near the community. The ride costs about 1.50 $US one way, which is far too expensive for many people to make, in fact one of the people we went with has only been once before. He accompanied the volunteer to get his photo taken a few weeks ago. She told me he didn’t know how to cross the street.
We were supposed to go in a truck that belongs to someone in the community so that we wouldn’t have to pay. The guy didn’t show and we ended up having to take the motorcycles down the mountains. Adults can only have their documents processed on Saturdays and only between 8AM and noon. What we didn’t know was that in order to have one’s documents processed, a person needs to get a ticket, of which there are 15 handed out on Saturdays. We had missed the mark on that. The volunteer and I went back to speak to someone about the misunderstanding and we found a woman who was not so helpful at first. She acted like she was doing us favors, explaining the process to us repeatedly, each time leaving out details that she had told us before. We offered to help with the processing, showing ourselves back into the record room. That was interesting; it consisted of 2 men sitting in front of a ton of big bookshelves filled with huge old books which contained scraps of paper resembling what might have once been coherent pages. In order to get a birth certificate they need to look through those books to ensure the person hasn’t already tried to get one. Unsurprisingly they wouldn’t let us look through the books. I’m sure they thought we were nuts for offering. Basically, the process is long, complicated, and the staff is underpaid and doesn’t care to help those who really don’t understand. I can’t imagine the people in the volunteer’s community being able to understand it without her there to fight for them. They were disappointed they’d paid to come down the mountain for nothing, gotten all dressed up for nothing. But honestly, they didn’t seem too surprised, which almost made it sadder. Many of those people haven’t been to that small city, let alone the capital, let alone another country.
So back to being one with nature… we went swimming in the river. It was cold, which was great. But we didn’t just swim. There’s no running water in this community so the river supplies the water for many things, cooking, swimming, laundry, and of course bathing. So, we bathed. It was hysterical because as soon as we got to the watering hole a group of about 15 boys showed up to watch. The volunteer kept insisting that they come in a join us, and they did eventually. As soon as we were done, they all took off. It’s so lovely to be the weekend entertainment for the locals.
The community is working on getting an aqueduct to their area. I was fortunate enough to be around when the community leaders who have been working on the project came over with a document in English that they wanted the volunteer to translate. We both weren’t quite sure what it was we were looking at. It was a report put together by some Catholic relief organization neither of us had heard of, and it described the work which had been done on the aqueduct up to this point. Eventually we got to the part where it detailed what is to come. The organization was more or less informing the community that it had plans to finish the project in the spring of 2008. This made the men extremely happy. But what was especially touching was when the volunteer translated one part of the text, a quote by the community leader. He was so touched that this relief organization had reported what he had said about the project, that the community was prepared to work hand in hand, arm with arm, and head with head, to bring water to all. He, and the volunteer, began to cry.
The volunteer later told me that that moment was one of 2 of her favorite moments since arriving in her community. I am so excited for them to get water, and promised that community leader that I would come back to visit when they initiate the aqueduct. He told me there would be 3 days of parties. Let’s hope that it gets there soon.
After we took the people into town to try to get their paperwork processed went to the market which was loud, big, and smelly, and then we met up with another volunteer and the trainee who was visiting her. We ate, and then did something I honestly wasn’t sure I ever wanted to do. We entered a legitimate Dominican women’s clothing store. We all tried on Dominican clothing and I insisted on taking photos because the clothes are meant to be seen, and because I didn’t think anyone would believe that I actually tried them on. (The volunteer I visited isn’t pregnant-you might notice her in a big green top, we just thought those shirts that fit like that are funny because they could hide a preggers tummy so well.) These clothes were the kind you see all the time in the capital and in that little city, but honestly, never ever in the campo, what I’ve been referring to as the volunteer’s community. There people wear hand me downs and lots of shirts from the U.S. It’s funny to see an older man in a shirt that says “Jump Rope for Heart” or little boy in a shirt that says “brat.”
So a question for you to ponder, would you like to live in a place with no running water, where you had to bathe in the river, and without a birth certificate? Think about it. If you answer yes to either of those 1st two, you might want to think about joining Peace Corps. And honestly, you all, no matter what you think now, you all could live like that.
Everyone recognized her and loved her. And by default, they loved me too. They told us we were sisters and didn’t believe us when we said we weren’t. They wanted me to come work with them. I would have loved it, the community was so welcoming. And there’s plenty of work to be done there. But I also like the idea that she works there, and I’ll work in my own community, and will be adopted by that community the way she has been in hers.
She has a health promoters group, local women and men that meet every so often to discuss getting the messages of good health out to the community of about 3,000. She has art classes with the kids in her neighborhood every Friday night. I was glad that I got to observe one of those classes. The kids were a little shy with me until I brought my camera out. Then they wanted to pose and act goofy, and then look at themselves having done so. They were in stitches over those pictures. She’s hoping to turn that art group into a sex ed class at some point. She passes out condoms but they mostly get turned into balloons by the little kids, so that will be a process. The task that I found most interesting was working with the community and Dominican government bureaucracy to get the people in her community their birth certificates. Without a Dominican birth certificate they can’t benefit from social aid, take the high school entrance exam or go to high school, get a state-id, a passport, own property, get legally married, and many other things. Many people in her community don’t have them, and I got to go with a group of 4 people and her to work on the process. They needed to compile a lot of paper work which took many trips to the little city near the community. The ride costs about 1.50 $US one way, which is far too expensive for many people to make, in fact one of the people we went with has only been once before. He accompanied the volunteer to get his photo taken a few weeks ago. She told me he didn’t know how to cross the street.
We were supposed to go in a truck that belongs to someone in the community so that we wouldn’t have to pay. The guy didn’t show and we ended up having to take the motorcycles down the mountains. Adults can only have their documents processed on Saturdays and only between 8AM and noon. What we didn’t know was that in order to have one’s documents processed, a person needs to get a ticket, of which there are 15 handed out on Saturdays. We had missed the mark on that. The volunteer and I went back to speak to someone about the misunderstanding and we found a woman who was not so helpful at first. She acted like she was doing us favors, explaining the process to us repeatedly, each time leaving out details that she had told us before. We offered to help with the processing, showing ourselves back into the record room. That was interesting; it consisted of 2 men sitting in front of a ton of big bookshelves filled with huge old books which contained scraps of paper resembling what might have once been coherent pages. In order to get a birth certificate they need to look through those books to ensure the person hasn’t already tried to get one. Unsurprisingly they wouldn’t let us look through the books. I’m sure they thought we were nuts for offering. Basically, the process is long, complicated, and the staff is underpaid and doesn’t care to help those who really don’t understand. I can’t imagine the people in the volunteer’s community being able to understand it without her there to fight for them. They were disappointed they’d paid to come down the mountain for nothing, gotten all dressed up for nothing. But honestly, they didn’t seem too surprised, which almost made it sadder. Many of those people haven’t been to that small city, let alone the capital, let alone another country.
So back to being one with nature… we went swimming in the river. It was cold, which was great. But we didn’t just swim. There’s no running water in this community so the river supplies the water for many things, cooking, swimming, laundry, and of course bathing. So, we bathed. It was hysterical because as soon as we got to the watering hole a group of about 15 boys showed up to watch. The volunteer kept insisting that they come in a join us, and they did eventually. As soon as we were done, they all took off. It’s so lovely to be the weekend entertainment for the locals.
The community is working on getting an aqueduct to their area. I was fortunate enough to be around when the community leaders who have been working on the project came over with a document in English that they wanted the volunteer to translate. We both weren’t quite sure what it was we were looking at. It was a report put together by some Catholic relief organization neither of us had heard of, and it described the work which had been done on the aqueduct up to this point. Eventually we got to the part where it detailed what is to come. The organization was more or less informing the community that it had plans to finish the project in the spring of 2008. This made the men extremely happy. But what was especially touching was when the volunteer translated one part of the text, a quote by the community leader. He was so touched that this relief organization had reported what he had said about the project, that the community was prepared to work hand in hand, arm with arm, and head with head, to bring water to all. He, and the volunteer, began to cry.
The volunteer later told me that that moment was one of 2 of her favorite moments since arriving in her community. I am so excited for them to get water, and promised that community leader that I would come back to visit when they initiate the aqueduct. He told me there would be 3 days of parties. Let’s hope that it gets there soon.
After we took the people into town to try to get their paperwork processed went to the market which was loud, big, and smelly, and then we met up with another volunteer and the trainee who was visiting her. We ate, and then did something I honestly wasn’t sure I ever wanted to do. We entered a legitimate Dominican women’s clothing store. We all tried on Dominican clothing and I insisted on taking photos because the clothes are meant to be seen, and because I didn’t think anyone would believe that I actually tried them on. (The volunteer I visited isn’t pregnant-you might notice her in a big green top, we just thought those shirts that fit like that are funny because they could hide a preggers tummy so well.) These clothes were the kind you see all the time in the capital and in that little city, but honestly, never ever in the campo, what I’ve been referring to as the volunteer’s community. There people wear hand me downs and lots of shirts from the U.S. It’s funny to see an older man in a shirt that says “Jump Rope for Heart” or little boy in a shirt that says “brat.”
So a question for you to ponder, would you like to live in a place with no running water, where you had to bathe in the river, and without a birth certificate? Think about it. If you answer yes to either of those 1st two, you might want to think about joining Peace Corps. And honestly, you all, no matter what you think now, you all could live like that.
Somewhere on a Desert Highway, She Rides a Harley Davidson
Yes, yes she does. She had only been on one motorcycle ride in her life, through her neighborhood, going about 15 mph, for about 5 minutes, on her father’s bike, and the whole thing landed her with a rather large burn on her leg. But when it became quite clear that she was going to be riding one in the mountains for about 30 minutes to get to her volunteer visit, and that there was no alternative, she decided not to freak out, and instead channel her inner biker chick.
And that’s just what she did. And now, she’s the leader of the pack.
“She” would of course be referring to me. And it’s all true. Well, I didn’t quite ride a Harley Davidson, and I didn’t quite ride on a highway as much as it was a dirt road, but if anything what I did makes me cooler because the various bikes I rode probably wouldn’t be allowed on American roads. Seriously. They were all banged up, with seats varying from uncomfortable to downright painful. And my favorite part was when the volunteer I visited and I rode one at night. It didn’t quite have a light that worked, and there were moments when we really couldn’t see 3 feet in front of us. Oh and the best part was when we drove through a river. I decided that I wasn’t going to die because I had my Peace Corps issued helmet, and that I probably wouldn’t even crash because the volunteer I was visiting had only crashed twice in 8 months, and one of them was just a few days before I got there. So honestly, what were the chances that she’d crash again?
The best part of the motorcycle ride was what was going on all around the motorcycle. What I’m referring to now would be the mountains, the fields of rice in front of the mountains, and the thing that makes it all Caribbean, the palm trees. The mountains are green and rolling, and are framed by those incredible trees. The foreground has little colorful homes, most of which are brightly colored and look as though a rain storm would knock them over, while also looking like they’ve been through many a rainstorm before. And I’d be neglecting your imaginations if I didn’t make mention to the animals; huge cows and horses everywhere. And chickens, goats, pigs, and dogs too. All incredibly undernourished, but when the human population is undernourished, you can’t expect the animals to be living like American pets.
You’re all smart people and probably understand that the pictures I’ve put on my website don’t do the scenery justice. But, I have to emphasize again, it was so much prettier than what you can see. So, you should all come and see for yourselves.
So, when are you coming and what are you going to bring me and my community? On this, I’ll be putting up a list of things that might be helpful donations when I get to my community and see what they need. Then, perhaps we can coordinate people bringing those things down here in their suitcases when they come to visit. Shipping is just too expensive and too risky. But I’ll keep you updated on that list when I form it. Also, for cheap calling cards, I've been told to check out viapin.com. I should have a cell phone come November so look for more info on that soon.
And that’s just what she did. And now, she’s the leader of the pack.
“She” would of course be referring to me. And it’s all true. Well, I didn’t quite ride a Harley Davidson, and I didn’t quite ride on a highway as much as it was a dirt road, but if anything what I did makes me cooler because the various bikes I rode probably wouldn’t be allowed on American roads. Seriously. They were all banged up, with seats varying from uncomfortable to downright painful. And my favorite part was when the volunteer I visited and I rode one at night. It didn’t quite have a light that worked, and there were moments when we really couldn’t see 3 feet in front of us. Oh and the best part was when we drove through a river. I decided that I wasn’t going to die because I had my Peace Corps issued helmet, and that I probably wouldn’t even crash because the volunteer I was visiting had only crashed twice in 8 months, and one of them was just a few days before I got there. So honestly, what were the chances that she’d crash again?
The best part of the motorcycle ride was what was going on all around the motorcycle. What I’m referring to now would be the mountains, the fields of rice in front of the mountains, and the thing that makes it all Caribbean, the palm trees. The mountains are green and rolling, and are framed by those incredible trees. The foreground has little colorful homes, most of which are brightly colored and look as though a rain storm would knock them over, while also looking like they’ve been through many a rainstorm before. And I’d be neglecting your imaginations if I didn’t make mention to the animals; huge cows and horses everywhere. And chickens, goats, pigs, and dogs too. All incredibly undernourished, but when the human population is undernourished, you can’t expect the animals to be living like American pets.
You’re all smart people and probably understand that the pictures I’ve put on my website don’t do the scenery justice. But, I have to emphasize again, it was so much prettier than what you can see. So, you should all come and see for yourselves.
So, when are you coming and what are you going to bring me and my community? On this, I’ll be putting up a list of things that might be helpful donations when I get to my community and see what they need. Then, perhaps we can coordinate people bringing those things down here in their suitcases when they come to visit. Shipping is just too expensive and too risky. But I’ll keep you updated on that list when I form it. Also, for cheap calling cards, I've been told to check out viapin.com. I should have a cell phone come November so look for more info on that soon.
You Can't Stop the Beat
Nor can I, as much as I try to. You see, there are these songs, well, there’s one whole CD of songs, but 2 in particular that Dominicans just can’t get enough of. They are sung by one guy, who don’t tell any of the locals, but I don’t even think he has that good of a voice, nor do I think the songs are that catchy. They are called “Vete” and “Es tan dificil,” and let me tell you I want those songs to vete but it es tan dificil.
I thought that I might experience a bit of a break from those 2 particular songs when I headed off into the mountains to visit a Peace Corps volunteer. Oh how much that was wishful thinking. You see, no matter how poor, remote, dirty, hungry, or sick, these Dominicans just can’t get enough of the meringue and the bachata. So believe me, no matter how much I’d like to stop these 2 beats, I will be unable. Perhaps someone will release another CD to take the place of the one we’re listening to now, but I don’t anticipate that happening anytime soon.
Those songs played at least 3 times each the night we went out to the car wash, and when I visited the volunteer for the weekend, you better believe they played at the dance hall we went to, again, multiple times. The dance hall was quite interesting. Like a lot of the places she and I visited, there was just one light bulb to light the entire room, which was pretty big. It hung above a bar which was serving up 2 things: Brugal rum and Presidente beer. Those are definitely the 2 preferred drinks here in La Republica Dominicana.
The hall was filled with old men mostly, probably about 50 of them, although there was a handful of men in their 40s or 30s. Also there were about 5 kids, one of whom, who couldn’t have been older than 5, picked up a cigarette at one point and was smoking it until the volunteer went over and grabbed it from her, telling her that those things could kill her. Of course there were us 2 white American women, and perhaps 3 or 4 local women. So, as you can tell by this ratio, I did a fair amount of dancing. Problem is, I’m really not any good at meringue or bachata yet, despite trying to dance with my host brother and having a lesson with the other volunteers. The problem, as I’m sure many of you women already know, is that each partner I dance with has a very different way of leading. And then there’s the discomfort factor which exists as soon as I look up and see a large group of local men looking, scratch that, starring right at me. What happens next is I lose track of the beat and my feet, and ultimately step on his feet or just generally mess up. I’ll get it sometime though. I’ve got over 2 years to learn.
If you’d like to download some music to know what exactly it is I’m hearing 24 hours a day, and believe me, I mean 24 hours, you can try to look up those 2 songs, though I’ve been told they are sung by a few people so I don’t have the artist name to give you. The other song that plays pretty frequently that I wish would play more often as it is super beautiful is La Travesia by Joe Veras and the album name is the same. There’s one part (which plays twice in the song) that is my absolute favorite, and I’ll let you guess what that might be.
I thought that I might experience a bit of a break from those 2 particular songs when I headed off into the mountains to visit a Peace Corps volunteer. Oh how much that was wishful thinking. You see, no matter how poor, remote, dirty, hungry, or sick, these Dominicans just can’t get enough of the meringue and the bachata. So believe me, no matter how much I’d like to stop these 2 beats, I will be unable. Perhaps someone will release another CD to take the place of the one we’re listening to now, but I don’t anticipate that happening anytime soon.
Those songs played at least 3 times each the night we went out to the car wash, and when I visited the volunteer for the weekend, you better believe they played at the dance hall we went to, again, multiple times. The dance hall was quite interesting. Like a lot of the places she and I visited, there was just one light bulb to light the entire room, which was pretty big. It hung above a bar which was serving up 2 things: Brugal rum and Presidente beer. Those are definitely the 2 preferred drinks here in La Republica Dominicana.
The hall was filled with old men mostly, probably about 50 of them, although there was a handful of men in their 40s or 30s. Also there were about 5 kids, one of whom, who couldn’t have been older than 5, picked up a cigarette at one point and was smoking it until the volunteer went over and grabbed it from her, telling her that those things could kill her. Of course there were us 2 white American women, and perhaps 3 or 4 local women. So, as you can tell by this ratio, I did a fair amount of dancing. Problem is, I’m really not any good at meringue or bachata yet, despite trying to dance with my host brother and having a lesson with the other volunteers. The problem, as I’m sure many of you women already know, is that each partner I dance with has a very different way of leading. And then there’s the discomfort factor which exists as soon as I look up and see a large group of local men looking, scratch that, starring right at me. What happens next is I lose track of the beat and my feet, and ultimately step on his feet or just generally mess up. I’ll get it sometime though. I’ve got over 2 years to learn.
If you’d like to download some music to know what exactly it is I’m hearing 24 hours a day, and believe me, I mean 24 hours, you can try to look up those 2 songs, though I’ve been told they are sung by a few people so I don’t have the artist name to give you. The other song that plays pretty frequently that I wish would play more often as it is super beautiful is La Travesia by Joe Veras and the album name is the same. There’s one part (which plays twice in the song) that is my absolute favorite, and I’ll let you guess what that might be.
I'm Hot, You're Hot, She's Hot, He's Hot
And sometimes that heat can be super bad. No, I haven’t fainted, or even gotten sunburned (which is really remarkable considering my heritage and the Peace Corps amazingly bold move of holding out on giving us the sunscreen they promised for a few weeks).
What has happened is I’ve gotten a rather nasty case of heat rash, or should I say what I thought was heat rash. It developed after a day of playing outdoors all over my back, which you probably already know from personal experience is not a fun place to have an itch. When I poured cold water of it, even though the air was quite warm, I shivered and shivered. Still, our Peace Corps nurse did not believe it was heat rash and instead thought it could be a reaction to soap or to laundry detergent. Luckily it went away after about 5 days. I switched to the local soap in an effort to avoid the soap which could have done that to me, and in an effort to trick the mosquitoes into thinking that I’m a local and it’s not worth it to bite me.
Some of you might know what’s like to go days without feeling AC in temperatures upwards of 85 degrees. But do you also know what that’s like without running water, beaches or pools? I am in no way trying to complain about what I’m going through. What I am trying to do is try to express as an outsider what life is like here for the majority of Dominicans. I would guess that most of them don’t even own a fan, or have the means to keep one powered either. Truth is, I praise my lucky stars that I was stationed here and no to Eurasia where it’s cold pretty much all year long and no one has heat. I’d rather it be 100 degrees and humid with no AC than it be 30 degrees and cloudy with no heat. And I swear, you just can’t beat the skies here!
So now it’s time for you to tell me when you and your body had a clash with nature. For example, my story would be when I went skiing in Chile and got the worst sunburn in the history of sunburns, puss coming out from all areas of my face, which was swollen and puffy and it hurt to eat, laugh or smile, or frown for that matter. I’m inspired to ask this because I’m so proud I’ve seen such lovely things and not gotten sunburned even a little. Nature must like me more here.
What has happened is I’ve gotten a rather nasty case of heat rash, or should I say what I thought was heat rash. It developed after a day of playing outdoors all over my back, which you probably already know from personal experience is not a fun place to have an itch. When I poured cold water of it, even though the air was quite warm, I shivered and shivered. Still, our Peace Corps nurse did not believe it was heat rash and instead thought it could be a reaction to soap or to laundry detergent. Luckily it went away after about 5 days. I switched to the local soap in an effort to avoid the soap which could have done that to me, and in an effort to trick the mosquitoes into thinking that I’m a local and it’s not worth it to bite me.
Some of you might know what’s like to go days without feeling AC in temperatures upwards of 85 degrees. But do you also know what that’s like without running water, beaches or pools? I am in no way trying to complain about what I’m going through. What I am trying to do is try to express as an outsider what life is like here for the majority of Dominicans. I would guess that most of them don’t even own a fan, or have the means to keep one powered either. Truth is, I praise my lucky stars that I was stationed here and no to Eurasia where it’s cold pretty much all year long and no one has heat. I’d rather it be 100 degrees and humid with no AC than it be 30 degrees and cloudy with no heat. And I swear, you just can’t beat the skies here!
So now it’s time for you to tell me when you and your body had a clash with nature. For example, my story would be when I went skiing in Chile and got the worst sunburn in the history of sunburns, puss coming out from all areas of my face, which was swollen and puffy and it hurt to eat, laugh or smile, or frown for that matter. I’m inspired to ask this because I’m so proud I’ve seen such lovely things and not gotten sunburned even a little. Nature must like me more here.
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