That’s the name of a great bachata song on the radio a lot lately and it certainly makes a great title for a blog which is going to be about the past few days…
My nutrition class took their final on Tuesday evening and all did quite well. We had 10 women show up to take the test, 2 are Haitians who I had to read their tests to them because they don’t know how to read or write Spanish well though they both claim to understand it (though one really didn’t.) It was very difficult to give a test orally but obviously incredibly important for me to do. In that class period the class participants also filled out evaluations of the class, all saying that they’d had a great time, learned a lot and can’t wait to start on the next class. We’ll see if that enthusiasm remains. I have a feeling that might have been my only successful class with the health committee.
I also had assigned the delightful homework assignment of cooking dishes to share with the group, all of which featured our favorite food: green leaves. This part of the class period was extremely successful. The women were laughing, talking, comparing the recipes and eating their hearts out. All of the dishes were extremely delicious. A few women said that now, the class was worth it. I chose not to let my feelings get hurt.
The Sunday night before that class was also the night before the youth group’s final exam. (Both groups had to take an exam of what they’d learned up to that part, the nutrition class because we finished with nutrition and so that we can start with another class and the youth group so that they can be officially declared youth peer-educators and can start replicating what they’ve been taught among their friends and in other communities.) I’d invited two of the boys from the group who are very talented artistically to come over to work on a sign for the graduation. As the day grew, some of their friends started to show up and we ended up having quite a group of teenagers here. They asked me to play some American dance music and so I did my best with what I had, you’ll all recall that I’m not the biggest fan of American dance music, also my ipod hasn’t been updated since September. So I played some Ciara, Gwen Stefani, Outkast and whatnot… all of which came from mix cds you all have given me in the near past, so continue with that if you’d like the youths of my town to have any idea what youth culture in the US is like. Otherwise I’ll be forced to start playing Simon and Garfunkel and James Taylor. And no one wants that.
So the gathering turned into a review session and from that into a session on sex questions. At first everyone was really timid to open up and ask that question that they’ve been dying to know the answer to, but eventually they did and then I suggested they write the questions down and submit them to me anonymously and that idea was very well received. The question and answer session was fascinating and I was so glad to get to be such a key part of it. To show that there’s no shame in talking about sex, while also admitting to them that everyone feels that way, was incredibly moving. I also admitted that I’m not sure I’d be able to talk so openly in English about it, explaining that it’s more freeing to speak in Spanish about anything, especially sensitive topics. (It’s really true. It’s much easier to say pene than penis. Wow… I’m impressed I was even able to type it.)
So the next day was the big test. It was stressful to say the least but in the best sense. I knew they’d try to cheat and was amazed at the audacity they had in their methods. Wandering eyes, talking about the test outside of the classroom and at one point someone sneaked notes in to a girl who was still working. That was the bad sort of stress. The good part was grading all the tests while looking for cheaters in the classrooms and then giving a short test individually and running back and forth between all of the classrooms. My mind was in a hundred places and I loved it. Haven’t felt like that since college. Oh and then one of the girls broke down in tears because she knew she blew the test and the other kids were picking on her. Turns out the one that was being the meanest was a cousin and is 6 years older than her. I love these kids but sometimes they aren’t the most mature.
So I graded all the tests, many kids scored perfectly and then gave out stickers (thanks Mom) and their grades. Those who failed had to come study with me the next day, which they all did, and then we went over the questions they’d gotten wrong orally and they all passed. A few times I did wonder if I was dealing with someone with a learning disability, and I struggled to find ways to help some of the kids understand the concepts of the test, but as I said, they all passed.
Wednesday was the graduation and the party. I spent the morning cleaning the locations of the 2 events with some of the more involved kids and then waiting on my boss and some volunteers he was going to bring. They all made it in time and I was so thrilled to see them all. We told everyone to come at 2 so that we could start by 3:15. Two kids were the MCs and did a great job, another girl gave the welcome address, we had a prayer and sang the national anthem and then my boss spoke. He said some very inspiring things to the kids and the women, telling them this is only the beginning and they need to spread what they’ve learned with others. He also spoke of the place this country is currently and how much still needs to be done to develop it more. Then he spoke about me and thanked me for my hard work here and gave me much too much credit for all that we’ve accomplished in the community. I wish I had the language abilities to say how humble I feel sitting among these two incredible groups of community leaders and being told that it was me that did it all. Certainly I did something, but it took a lot of work, support, dedication, and also a lot of patience, from them.
Then it was my turn to address the crowd. I told them it was the result of hard work and dedication that we were there and that I was so proud. I told them I consider them all my friends and think they are incredibly creative, enthusiastic and intelligent. Then I presented the certificates to 30 youths and 10 women. Then the youth group got up and performed a surprise they’d put together, a poem that spelled Escojo mi vida. And then… they gave me a certificate! They said some lovely things, things like you’ve showed us what we can do here, God sent you here to us, you can’t ever leave us, we love you. I was of course very touched, but again, also very humbled.
Then we made our way to the other space to have cake and soon after started the party. It was meant to be a sort of small fundraiser and ended up being more of a community gathering with no entrance fee. I bounced all over the place getting the snacks and drinks for the guests as well as dinner for myself and 2 volunteers who spent the night and other odds and ends. Luckily the party was right across the street from my house. We closed up shop around 10:15 after about 5 hours of dancing. My 2 guests danced up a storm and were both a huge hit. I also danced a ton and had a great time. It was a very sweaty affair.
I’m not sure if you can tell from what I’ve written, but a lot of hard work went into the whole day and despite a few moments of being a bit stressed, it was all completely worth it and I was really on cloud nine. It felt so incredible to be celebrating something so important and I can’t tell you how great looking around the room at all of the teenagers of the community felt. They were all so happy, dancing and laughing and that was the whole point.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
It's Been Over 9 Months...
…since I left home for DC and then for the DR. Time goes really fast, doesn’t it? A full school year has gone by and I know this summer is going to race by, and soon another school year will be starting. After 9 months, my opinions of the land, the people, the job, the PC and whatnot are pretty much the same. I remember a few months ago coming to a realization, but to describe it fully I need to begin by telling you all that sometimes it seems like my life here is living from time away from my town to time away from my town. That might be conference to conference (all of which are either required by PC or I feel are necessary for me to participate in), or conference to committee weekend (all of us volunteers can be on committees of volunteers that have special interests. I’m on the batey and border committee because of the Haitian population in my town, as well as the Celebrating the Cibao committee which plans a youth conference in August that celebrates the diversity within the region of the Cibao, where I live), or a short break away (such as trips to the beach, of which I’ve taken two since getting here, or trips to volunteers sites) to trips for work (making copies, using internet, getting forms signed, medical appointments, reimbursement stuff) to Santiago or Santo Domingo. Because it’s so expensive for me to get in and out of my town, I often compile these trips which is why I’ll often go 1 or 2 weeks without internet or cell phone signal, etc.
So, it sometimes feels like I go from one of those to the other. Which is to say, sometimes it feels like I spend my life here largely looking forward to the next time I get to leave my town. Now, sometimes it’s not such a bad thing: early on in my service I have had the opportunity to bring members from my community to conferences outside of the community 3 times which has served both them and me as incredible learning opportunities. Other times, even if it’s just me leaving, the trips are incredibly necessary to get stuff done to benefit the community. But sometimes the work isn’t the main reason for leaving and doesn’t bring me nearly as much satisfaction as seeing other volunteers and speaking English. I try not to be too hard on myself, and try to remind myself that perhaps if I had cell phone signal, as almost everyone of the other volunteers do, these opportunities to see other volunteers wouldn’t seem like such an escape.
This idea first dawned on me when I flipped through my journal and realized that after a time away from my town (a 3 day conference for example) I will fill pages and pages of the details of the days, whereas on any random 3 days in my town, I’ll likely not have nearly as much. Obviously part of the reason is that a conference is a change in pace, a part of the country I likely haven’t seen yet, and so there’s more to report. But that can’t be all. I’m working on describing the details of my daily life better in my journal, and will try in blogs as well.
The trips back from these events away from my town, I think, pose an incredible opportunity for reflection because the events usually can act like something of a security blanket, a chance to see very familiar faces and whatnot. I remember the first few times going back to my town from an event and asking myself how I felt about it. I was always relieved and happy to realize that at worst I felt fine about going back and at best I sometimes even felt a little homesick for the town. Lately I always feel fine, except if I’ve gotten some great news to report in town in which case I am ecstatic to share.
So a few months ago, as the novelty started to wear off of both the campo life of my town and the thrill of leaving to take part in whatever was going on elsewhere, I realized that these feelings (all that I feel in my town on a daily basis to some extent, and to a much larger extent, all that I feel on the way in and out of activities in other places) are going to be the feelings of my life for the next two years. When that realization hit, I must say, I was a bit less thrilled then when all was still new, different, and seemingly constantly changing.
If I live from time away to time away, then that means I’m living for travel (which is being alone on obnoxious, expensive buses), for the chance that someone I know is in the PC office in Santo Domingo (but there’s always a chance that no one is), for packing and unpacking (two of my least-favorite activities because there’s always pressure to keep it to a minimum (because of the obnoxious buses) and consolidate, and because I constantly forget things), and for the chances to get together with other volunteers to hear them gripe about things here, and worse still, gripe myself. So while it’s great to have internet, phone signal, a chance to talk to English-speakers, it’s also lonely, frustrating, costly, and can leave me with a bad taste in my mouth if I’m not careful about how much complaining I allow to take place around me or allow myself to engage in.
It’s hard not to live from time away to time away though. I feel so much more productive out of my town. That’s where I’m able to communicate, get stuff to bring back for the community, and take care of buckets of stuff just for me. On my best days in my town I have a meeting where I get to teach a lesson to a hopefully attentive audience, but 4 days of the week I don’t have meetings and spend a lot of time sitting around feeling bored, whether or not I’m home alone or in a group where others are talking and I either don’t understand what they’re saying or have stopped listening for a second and lost the context (or never had it to begin with, which is the most common.)
What helps is the incredible realization that I’m still pretty early on in my service and before long I will have a lot more going on here to keep me busy. For example, the biggest day of this month is the 25th, a graduation of the youth group and the nutrition class. Over the summer I hope to train the youth group, now that they’ve learned the facts about HIV, pregnancy, birth control and family planning, healthy decision making, etc., in how they can best replicate this information among their peers and when school begins again, have a plan to start a group (or a few groups) at the high school they attend and then move out to the other communities in the area. With the women from the nutrition my plan is to give them the option about where we go from here. So far all they’ve learned is the facts about nutrition, but they too would benefit from a class on how to spread the information. After that a gardening class would be great, or women’s health, or first aid, or child care… I’d also like to have a chicken coop project and a clean/efficient burning stove project. The enthusiasm among the women is much less so than among the youths, so these next few weeks will be interesting.
So, it sometimes feels like I go from one of those to the other. Which is to say, sometimes it feels like I spend my life here largely looking forward to the next time I get to leave my town. Now, sometimes it’s not such a bad thing: early on in my service I have had the opportunity to bring members from my community to conferences outside of the community 3 times which has served both them and me as incredible learning opportunities. Other times, even if it’s just me leaving, the trips are incredibly necessary to get stuff done to benefit the community. But sometimes the work isn’t the main reason for leaving and doesn’t bring me nearly as much satisfaction as seeing other volunteers and speaking English. I try not to be too hard on myself, and try to remind myself that perhaps if I had cell phone signal, as almost everyone of the other volunteers do, these opportunities to see other volunteers wouldn’t seem like such an escape.
This idea first dawned on me when I flipped through my journal and realized that after a time away from my town (a 3 day conference for example) I will fill pages and pages of the details of the days, whereas on any random 3 days in my town, I’ll likely not have nearly as much. Obviously part of the reason is that a conference is a change in pace, a part of the country I likely haven’t seen yet, and so there’s more to report. But that can’t be all. I’m working on describing the details of my daily life better in my journal, and will try in blogs as well.
The trips back from these events away from my town, I think, pose an incredible opportunity for reflection because the events usually can act like something of a security blanket, a chance to see very familiar faces and whatnot. I remember the first few times going back to my town from an event and asking myself how I felt about it. I was always relieved and happy to realize that at worst I felt fine about going back and at best I sometimes even felt a little homesick for the town. Lately I always feel fine, except if I’ve gotten some great news to report in town in which case I am ecstatic to share.
So a few months ago, as the novelty started to wear off of both the campo life of my town and the thrill of leaving to take part in whatever was going on elsewhere, I realized that these feelings (all that I feel in my town on a daily basis to some extent, and to a much larger extent, all that I feel on the way in and out of activities in other places) are going to be the feelings of my life for the next two years. When that realization hit, I must say, I was a bit less thrilled then when all was still new, different, and seemingly constantly changing.
If I live from time away to time away, then that means I’m living for travel (which is being alone on obnoxious, expensive buses), for the chance that someone I know is in the PC office in Santo Domingo (but there’s always a chance that no one is), for packing and unpacking (two of my least-favorite activities because there’s always pressure to keep it to a minimum (because of the obnoxious buses) and consolidate, and because I constantly forget things), and for the chances to get together with other volunteers to hear them gripe about things here, and worse still, gripe myself. So while it’s great to have internet, phone signal, a chance to talk to English-speakers, it’s also lonely, frustrating, costly, and can leave me with a bad taste in my mouth if I’m not careful about how much complaining I allow to take place around me or allow myself to engage in.
It’s hard not to live from time away to time away though. I feel so much more productive out of my town. That’s where I’m able to communicate, get stuff to bring back for the community, and take care of buckets of stuff just for me. On my best days in my town I have a meeting where I get to teach a lesson to a hopefully attentive audience, but 4 days of the week I don’t have meetings and spend a lot of time sitting around feeling bored, whether or not I’m home alone or in a group where others are talking and I either don’t understand what they’re saying or have stopped listening for a second and lost the context (or never had it to begin with, which is the most common.)
What helps is the incredible realization that I’m still pretty early on in my service and before long I will have a lot more going on here to keep me busy. For example, the biggest day of this month is the 25th, a graduation of the youth group and the nutrition class. Over the summer I hope to train the youth group, now that they’ve learned the facts about HIV, pregnancy, birth control and family planning, healthy decision making, etc., in how they can best replicate this information among their peers and when school begins again, have a plan to start a group (or a few groups) at the high school they attend and then move out to the other communities in the area. With the women from the nutrition my plan is to give them the option about where we go from here. So far all they’ve learned is the facts about nutrition, but they too would benefit from a class on how to spread the information. After that a gardening class would be great, or women’s health, or first aid, or child care… I’d also like to have a chicken coop project and a clean/efficient burning stove project. The enthusiasm among the women is much less so than among the youths, so these next few weeks will be interesting.
Hispanola
At the end of the month of May, I participated, along with about 15 other PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) in a conference called “A Look at Immigration, the Border and the Bateys.” It was put together by a committee of PCVs that deals with issues in bateys and on the border. I don’t live in a batey, nor is my community that close to the border, but I was encouraged to get involved in the committee after the events I witnessed of mistreatment of Haitians in my town last December.
The conference was thought-provoking. We heard from a number of Dominican and Haitian-Dominican experts and representatives from NGOs that are working in the area, as well as from a congressman from the capital who is very anti-immigration and caused quite a stir among the rest of the speakers.
The problems this island faces are profound and go back centuries. Being here to witness them in 2008 hasn’t been easy, although I am pleased to say that I haven’t witnessed any brutality in the way I saw it in December, since then.
But every day I am reminded of the divide and wish that there was more I could do. For instance, one of the speakers at the conference told us a story of a case in a town very close to mine where a Haitian got in a fight with or attacked a Dominican and as retribution, a clan of Dominicans got together and killed 17 Haitians and burned all of the homes where Haitians lived in the community. After this, the President visited the town and swore he would work toward improving relations between Haitians and Dominicans. I pretty sure everyone’s still waiting.
Today I made a mistake. I embarrassed myself. I felt like such an idiot afterwards, especially because my intentions were in the right place, as if that was all that matters. I know I came off as looking like the spoiled girl that I am. You see, there’s a health-promoter conference being put on by the health PCVs and only 3 of us from my group of volunteers were selected to participate, me included. Of course, just as I realized I probably should withdraw my name from consideration for participation, due to a lack of interest in that subject area in my town, I was selected. Since then I’ve been having a hard time getting women interested in accompanying me to the conference. So, on try number 6 I asked a Haitian woman who lives in my town if she’d like to come. As I was describing it to her I acknowledged that I understood she has her children to look after. She was shaking her head and I was getting more and more discouraged. She’s been the most active Haitian woman in these meetings, she speaks incredible Spanish and has helped bring other Haitian women to the meetings, so I really wanted her to come. She finally had to interrupt me to tell me she couldn’t go because she doesn’t have papers. Immediately I dismissed the idea telling her she wouldn’t need to present anything at the conference to Peace Corps in the way of papers and then realized she was referring to the multiple police check points on the high way.
Alright, I thought to myself, how are we going to solve this one? Sure, there are about 5 check points between us and Santiago, but after that (the conference is in Jarabacoa) there probably won’t be any. If we go on the bus that leaves right from here we might be okay as far as the cobrador (bus doorman) goes for bribing the police to let us pass without problems. Alright, I conceded, that’s a bit risky. So then a million other ideas ran through my head including me insisting we get through without problems because I’m a Peace Corps Volunteer, damn it! Of course, I might get the Peace Corps into trouble if I tried that one. Headlines would read, “Peace Corps Volunteers Working as Human Traffickers.” Delightful. And then, and I’m not proud to admit this, I considered that as long as the police didn’t see her face we’d be okay, so if we just put her in a hooded sweatshirt and pull the hood up real tight...
Well of course I didn’t think of that being a reason she wouldn’t be able to come because it’s not a problem for me, never has been, and never will be, and because it’s not a problem for the Dominicans who go to these conferences and who leave their town every so often. Can you imagine having to explain to some ideological-know-it-all- twenty-something year-old-white-chic that you can’t go to her great conference with her because you don’t want to get carried off by the police for not having papers? If she did come and did get caught the best case scenario would probably be deportation to some town right over the border. Her husband and children would be here, with no idea where she was. I don’t want to describe what the worst case scenario could be.
The conference was thought-provoking. We heard from a number of Dominican and Haitian-Dominican experts and representatives from NGOs that are working in the area, as well as from a congressman from the capital who is very anti-immigration and caused quite a stir among the rest of the speakers.
The problems this island faces are profound and go back centuries. Being here to witness them in 2008 hasn’t been easy, although I am pleased to say that I haven’t witnessed any brutality in the way I saw it in December, since then.
But every day I am reminded of the divide and wish that there was more I could do. For instance, one of the speakers at the conference told us a story of a case in a town very close to mine where a Haitian got in a fight with or attacked a Dominican and as retribution, a clan of Dominicans got together and killed 17 Haitians and burned all of the homes where Haitians lived in the community. After this, the President visited the town and swore he would work toward improving relations between Haitians and Dominicans. I pretty sure everyone’s still waiting.
Today I made a mistake. I embarrassed myself. I felt like such an idiot afterwards, especially because my intentions were in the right place, as if that was all that matters. I know I came off as looking like the spoiled girl that I am. You see, there’s a health-promoter conference being put on by the health PCVs and only 3 of us from my group of volunteers were selected to participate, me included. Of course, just as I realized I probably should withdraw my name from consideration for participation, due to a lack of interest in that subject area in my town, I was selected. Since then I’ve been having a hard time getting women interested in accompanying me to the conference. So, on try number 6 I asked a Haitian woman who lives in my town if she’d like to come. As I was describing it to her I acknowledged that I understood she has her children to look after. She was shaking her head and I was getting more and more discouraged. She’s been the most active Haitian woman in these meetings, she speaks incredible Spanish and has helped bring other Haitian women to the meetings, so I really wanted her to come. She finally had to interrupt me to tell me she couldn’t go because she doesn’t have papers. Immediately I dismissed the idea telling her she wouldn’t need to present anything at the conference to Peace Corps in the way of papers and then realized she was referring to the multiple police check points on the high way.
Alright, I thought to myself, how are we going to solve this one? Sure, there are about 5 check points between us and Santiago, but after that (the conference is in Jarabacoa) there probably won’t be any. If we go on the bus that leaves right from here we might be okay as far as the cobrador (bus doorman) goes for bribing the police to let us pass without problems. Alright, I conceded, that’s a bit risky. So then a million other ideas ran through my head including me insisting we get through without problems because I’m a Peace Corps Volunteer, damn it! Of course, I might get the Peace Corps into trouble if I tried that one. Headlines would read, “Peace Corps Volunteers Working as Human Traffickers.” Delightful. And then, and I’m not proud to admit this, I considered that as long as the police didn’t see her face we’d be okay, so if we just put her in a hooded sweatshirt and pull the hood up real tight...
Well of course I didn’t think of that being a reason she wouldn’t be able to come because it’s not a problem for me, never has been, and never will be, and because it’s not a problem for the Dominicans who go to these conferences and who leave their town every so often. Can you imagine having to explain to some ideological-know-it-all- twenty-something year-old-white-chic that you can’t go to her great conference with her because you don’t want to get carried off by the police for not having papers? If she did come and did get caught the best case scenario would probably be deportation to some town right over the border. Her husband and children would be here, with no idea where she was. I don’t want to describe what the worst case scenario could be.
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