Plewa of the Caribbean

2010- An Update

2010-01-13T14:16:00.002-05:00

Hello Blog world...

I wonder if there is still anyone reading this. I just wanted to give a short update on the situation in my town in the DR. But first, some background info:

As you all know I moved from there on November 12th. After that I went for a short visit to Haiti and was hosted by a former PCV of the DR. After the trip I flew home to Chicago, on November 20th.

Since having left my site I have been in touch with various people from there at least once a week. I heard about the earthquake in Haiti and called yesterday (the day of the quake) and like some other RPCVs (returned Peace Corps volunteers) was unable to get through. This morning I made contact and was told that everyone was fine (it appears that the quake did very little, if any, damage in the DR.) They did mention that the bookshelves in our library fell over, making me think that effects of this quake in our town, even though it was so far away, was significantly stronger than the one that hit Puerto Plata in October. (It was pretty tiny and I'm not sure that I even ever blogged about it.)

The situation in Haiti, as you know, was pretty dire before the earthquake. I was so thankful I got a chance to see the country, if just for a long weekend, before leaving Hispanola. I will remember that trip forever. I have seen at least 2 places I visited in Port au Prince in photos on the news- they have both been destroyed, the cathedral and the presidential palace.

I have posted some photos of my November trip as well as some photos of the end of my service on facebook.

The List

2009-11-17T11:21:00.000-05:00

I realize this blog won’t be posted until after I have left my site… but, today, November 7, 2009, my last Saturday in my site, I felt inspired to detail the things that I will and will not miss about this country.

I will NOT miss
-the stares
-the disrespectful attention from random men
-the unpredictable power
-the unpredictable water
-the dust
-the indirect communication
-the hand-out mentality
- motorcycles when I’m not on them
-the men who yell about baseball, politics, anything and everything else right outside my house
-the metal door across the street that scratches on the pavement
-the pigeons
-my money problems
-people thinking I have money and talking about that belief quite openly with me
-being constantly on my guard when not in my site
-pre-paid phones and calling cards
-the politics and the politicians
-feeling helpless
-feeling like I am not allowed to or shouldn’t express how I truly feel
-watching deep-rooted inequality on a daily basis
-watching adults treat children with disrespect

I will miss
-the clouds
-the weather
-sitting in rocking chairs
-interacting with animals and children on a daily basis
-watching Dominicans crack themselves up
-the fried food stand
-the music
-the dancing
-the fruit (and the juice)
-“red” flavor soda
-most of the people in my site
-most of the PCVs I’ve come to know
-the beach and the fish
-visiting people in their homes

I am (and have been for awhile now) been full of so many different emotions. Sometimes I’ve felt incredible highs, and other times it’s been the opposite. It’s “bittersweet” to be ending service, as many of you have suggested to me, and I guess that’s the right word… It’s an emotional rollercoaster. I’ve had a few personal challenges to deal with at the end that have made the highs and lows seem even more dramatic:

-I was burgled. In October someone (or some people) broke open a metal gate on the front of my house, bent it back and were able to slip inside. My wooden door had had a bad handle for a while and opened easily. They went straight to a drawer were I had been storing DR$58,000 pesos, about US$1600. I went to the bank many times to deposit the money as it had been raised and then took it all out just days before it disappeared. It was the money to purchase the land for the library/community center and we were finally about to purchase it. I was lucky enough to have a friend with me when I realized the money was missing (a few days after I realized the gate had been bent). The thief/thieves took nothing from my personal items, not even any jewelry that was located in a box just inches from the money in the same drawer, which convinced me that he must have been someone who knew me and was just looking for cash. It still stung, and telling the leaders of my community was a pretty sobering experience. (I applied for a grant last minute to help get DR$50,000 of the money back).

This experience obviously complicated what was already becoming an increasingly complicated time in my service. I was up to my head in debt at the hardware store and have since had to come to grips with the fact that I will have to leave my site with 2 large debts: that to the hardware store and that to buy the land. (The debt at the hardware store is the result of major miscalculations on the part of my “engineer” who had admittedly told me early on in the project that he wasn’t good at calculations…)

-My library/community center inauguration took place on October 31. It was attended by a large part of the community and it was a wonderful celebration of the work that we did together. I presented a number of the community members with certificates recognizing their hard work and they presented me with 2 plaques and the fact that they’d decided to name the library after me and had painted my name on the front wall, just under the name of the center. I was very touched and managed to enjoy myself very much despite all of the commotion. It was a little disappointing to not see as much support from Peace Corps as I would have liked, but in no way did it spoil the day.

The fact that we were able to achieve so much so late into my service also added emotion to my life at that point. I spent a month and a half being pretty much the only person in the community who had an idea of what this project was going to be and having any faith that it could be completed before I left. When it was all done (believe it or not, most of the larger projects were completed in the last 48 hours before the inauguration) I could hardly believe how everyone had come together and gotten it together in time for our celebrations. When I turned it over officially to the community during my speech at the inauguration I got a little choked up. How could we have done it so fast in the last few moments to even have anything ready to be turned over? And how could it be time to do that anyways? I got choked up again when my Escojo group presented me with their plaque. They said such wonderful things about me, and I was full of so much love for everyone. I wasn’t the only one with tears in my eyes.

See, it really is a beautiful thing that Peace Corps provided for me. Trouble is, IT’S NOT EASY! This really has been the toughest job I’ll ever love (at least I hope it was) for so many reasons! Some were so very simple to predict: poverty, living in poverty, isolation, losing touch with people back home that matter so much to me, etc. (Those also ended up being the easier ones to deal with.) Some I could have never predicted and suppose no one can ever be prepared for: watching Dominicans commit violence against Haitians, having to explain to people why they can’t receive a stove, coping with repeated deaths in the community, dealing with large quantities of cash, going through a burglary with my community, helping other volunteers through the loss of their pets to various causes, etc.

I have tried, through these blogs, to keep you involved in my service, or at least aware of more or less what I am doing. But, I know you are all intelligent enough to know that some things can never truly be explained; they had to be lived. I lived them, and now they’re almost over, and I can’t really explain this part as well as I used to be able to explain the annoyance of the loud music in the capital or the excitement of riding on motorcycles. The more that these culture differences became more of my life it was harder to know what to write or how to write it. Some of you might notice that frequency with which I wrote, the uniqueness, and the length of my entries beginning in May of this year was significantly changed. May and June were incredibly difficult months in my service. I didn’t want to write dark entries telling you all of my struggles and the struggles I watched a lot of my friends go through as well. This pattern kept up pretty much until now. Things have gotten better, and then worse again, and then better. It’s been a pretty dramatic roller coaster since May, but if it hadn’t been, maybe I wouldn’t feel and know in my heart that it’s okay for me to leave.

That’s why the list helps. At first the “things I will not miss” side was easier to write. (When I got here I couldn’t believe the heat, or the bugs.) But lately the “things I will miss” side is easier to form. I am ready to be home. My adventure is coming to its end and I’m okay with that. In order to be okay with that though, I need to remind myself of the challenges I have faced here, and not just the heat or the bugs, although they’ve been memorable, but the bigger picture ones as well. When I go home and do something nice for my mom I can feel pretty confident that her friends won’t all run over demanding I do them the same favor, and making me feel bad about me if I don’t. I can be pretty sure that the kids in my neighborhood will be allowed to go to school even if they don’t have a pencil, and that the cops will show up to investigate a crime within a week of it being reported (and that they will have gas in the car.) These are the things that have worn on me-caused me stress, and I’m ready for them to be in my past.

I’ve aged. (If they think the presidency ages people they ought to look at Peace Corps volunteers! When I got here people used to guess I was 16, 17 years old. Now I get asked if I’m still in my twenties! And the darkness under my eyes is a lot more pronounced than it used to be. I know the sun has done a lot of damage to me, as I’m sure the high-fat, high-sugar diet has as well.)

It’s hard to say how else I’ve changed: I am a lot more experienced… (Like that’s saying anything.) I know its cliché, but I know myself much better (I think living alone for 2 years forces that.) I am comfortable being alone (although I still like being around people, and a little noise everyone once in a while.) My standards are lower, probably for many things. But this isn’t necessarily such a bad thing; picture your reaction walking into an American fast food place and being told you can order whatever you’d like. Now picture what mine might be like (some of you know from first-hand experience what this reaction is, and this from a person who only used to eat fast food on road trips!) Speaking of road trips, I get carsick with the AC on and the windows up-I need the fresh air on my face. I like a little bling every now and then. I finally got my nails done Dominican style and I must admit, I really like them! (They have designs!) I think I’m more patient with some things and much less so with others. (I can’t really elaborate on that one.) I’m much more resourceful, and think my abilities have grown. (Even though I sometimes can’t believe it, I guess I was able to get some cool shit done here.) My Spanish has gotten much better, unfortunately, it came at the cost of my English. (Seriously, please help me to communicate with you when I get home!) I’m much less willing to do something physical if there could be a man around who could do it better or faster than me. (Like lifting or carrying stuff, although I think I’m still insulted when men assume I can’t do these things.) Here’s a good one for all of you- it doesn’t take as much to crack me up. (I laughed the other day at my hands. You had to have been there for me not to sound so crazy, but seriously, I laughed at my hands.) Probably the most important of all: I appreciate the people in my life so much more now, but I think I also expect more from them than I used to.

I guess that’s just to name a few.

And in the end...

2009-10-26T09:33:00.002-04:00

So I realize I haven't written a good, long update in quite some time. I feel bad, but I also have a good excuse: it's been busy. At this point I feel like it would be better to fill you all in on the last few months of my service when I get to see you in person, or maybe I'll give an account on this blog when I get home. The following is from an email I recently sent and I thought it might be worth it to post it here too.

"These past few weeks (and months really) have flown by and the moments I've had to just enjoy my site have been great, but mostly I've been running around trying to finish my projects and I've had a few major setbacks, which of course were upsetting. I hope that the library will be completed this week so it will be ready for our inaugurationon Saturday, with maybe a few finishing touches next week. Then I'll have about a week to just enjoy myself, do visits to donas and take a lot of pictures. It's going to be incredibly difficult to leave my site, but I hope that rejoining you all in the US will make up for it."

We Started Construction!

2009-09-26T11:37:00.005-04:00

Look! We finally began!

Also, Mike finally came to visit and was a huge hit with everyone in my town. Everyone agreed we wished his trip could have been for more time, but at least he was finally able to make it here.

And, as you can probably tell, I'm happy these days because construction makes me happy. :)

A Big, Long Update

2009-09-10T17:12:00.000-04:00

It has been a long, long time since I’ve updated my blog. I used to encourage other volunteers to do better updating theirs, always sure I’d never let more than a few weeks go by without updating mine. The truth is, I’ve been pretty darn busy and haven’t been spending as long on reliable internet as I would like.

So, to begin a proper update on my life:

June was pretty much taken up by my being sick and having my mom here to take care of me.

July was pretty much taken up by my trip to St. Kitts and having my sister come to visit.

August was pretty much taken up by my family coming to join me and my sister for a week, followed by me giving a class (and spending 2 nights) at the site of 2 friends of mine, followed by a few days in my site, followed by my the Close Of Service training in the capital for my whole training group, followed by 2 nights at a resort in Punta Cana with some people from that training group, followed by a few days in the capital to see 2 friends off (they were both leaving early from service), followed by lots of efforts in fundraising for the library/community center in my site, followed by the “Celebrating the Cibao” diversity conference that a bunch of us volunteers put on for some of the teens of our sites in the mountains, followed by more fundraising efforts in my site.

That brings us to September. On a work level, aka: not the time I was traveling or had visitors in my site, this summer hasn’t been so easy. Why? Fundraising for the land for the library/community center. Being reminded by other volunteers repeatedly that land has never been an issue for their construction projects, either because it was public land that they built upon or because someone donated the land, was very disappointing. It seemed like everyone I talked to was working on some sort of a construction project and that I was the only one with land issues. PC visitors have come to my site and remarked that people tend to be cheaper here than in other sites, ie: not offering coffee or juice to my visitors immediately upon our arrival to their homes. I didn’t really think it was such a big deal, and I always still loved my site and the people in it, but this was pretty ridiculous. (I still love the people in my site.) So, in addition to our need to purchase land, we were met with the obstacle of needing to pay a lot for land that my entire community told me wasn’t worth that much. A few weeks ago we were finally able to get the price of a piece of land next to the school down to about US$3,333. We have had about half of that raised and in the bank since April, but started to run out of ideas for fundraising. The price astounded all of us, but we were determined to get it all. Since April we’ve gotten money from a few community donors and a politician from our area. We hope to have the rest of the money by the end of this week so that we can begin construction next week. This was the date that I decided would be the very last day we could begin, if construction was going to be completed by the time I leave here.

The stoves project has been moving along slowly, with a couple of bumps delaying construction such as storms, sickness of both construction workers and my own, families not being able to pay the half-labor fee of $15 and being quite good at avoiding me when I’ve come to collect, and finally, running out of some of our supplies. (I did calculations repeatedly so the lack of supplies means that some people took too many of certain supplies or that the hardware store ripped me off.) There are 3 stoves left and they could be finished this week. We’ll see!

Escojo has been pretty weak this summer. Volunteers often decide to suspend meetings for the summer since its pretty common for kids to visit their relatives in other cities and for kids from those cities to come to the campo. I decided we should keep holding meetings because we did, with some success, last year. But, meetings this summer conflicted with baseball games and practices and with a group that’s more than 50% male, I rarely had more than 10 participants at a meeting. When we did meet we talked about fundraising, library organization, field trips, conferences, etc. Since the school year started up a few weeks ago, more kids have been coming to the meetings and we’re hoping to form a new group in another town not too far from here. Mostly though, we’ve been pretty busy with the library. I wonder what will happen to Escojo when I leave. I used to think it had the potential to keep going so long as an adult leader could attend meetings and help with logistics. Now I wonder if someone will ever step up and if we haven’t exhausted the topics that Escojo deals with in this area.

I was giving a course to the women’s community bank on women’s health until I got sick in June. They stopped holding meetings for a few weeks and it seemed like every time I was around there was no meeting, and every time I was gone they had meetings. Their interest in the course was okay, but they certainly have been fine without it. In general they are a group with a lot of potential, but they are missing some of the basics, like attendance and consistency.
So I certainly won’t remember this summer for huge work successes. I’ll remember wonderful visits. Perhaps if we’d been able to begin construction, regardless of having had the money to pay for the land or not, in May or June as was our original plan I would have thought differently about work successes these last 3 months… but, we’ll get there. A lot of people who talk to me with some regularity have been asking me lately what I would do if I couldn’t figure out the mess with the land. It was sad to realize that people were beginning to prepare me for Plan B, even when I wasn’t thinking about it. The truth was, and still is, that I wouldn’t take no for an answer with this project. I wouldn’t let the greedy parents of this community ruin this opportunity for their children. At the very least my project partner, my host mom and I would figure something out so that the books were utilized. But if it had been necessary, or if it is necessary someday soon, to call these land-owners out on the fact that they will singlehandedly destroy this opportunity for the community, I would, and I’m sure I’d have the support of the entire community. Everyone sees the necessity of this community center and people have been coming to read the books in my house for months. There is so much support for this project, that I know it will be successful, as long as we all decide not to take no for an answer.

We sawed, We sanded, We stained…We conquered.

2009-07-24T09:05:00.000-04:00

Julie arrived on a Tuesday. I’d spent the time between my visit to St. Kitts and getting her in Puerto Plata waiting, in the capital and at a friend’s site, for my community members to get it together and get us the land for the library already. (They finally did the Thursday after Julie got here.)

She arrived without her bags, as has become typical for people traveling to visit me. The first night we went to a hotel with AC (thanks Dad,) and ate (and drank) our hearts out. It was all soda, I swear. The next morning we swam and walked along the beachfront. Then we went to Cabarete to meet up with some of my friends who were celebrating their birthdays. We spent the night at another hotel with a pool, and swam again later. We had pizza and went to some bars and saw a man eating fire! The next morning included a ice cream-cake breakfast, with some leftover pizza followed by a sweaty journey home. Julie had brought with her 2 checked bags (with which we were reunited in Cabarete) full of surprises for me, including over 50 lbs of books for the library! Traveling all over the north coast of the island with these bags was a little less than ideal, as was the fact that every single bus driver tried to rip us off. I handled this repeated situation a little less-than gracefully, but Julie was a good sport about everything. Once we loaded up on groceries, we headed back to my site and arrived tired, sweaty and quite covered with dust.
We spent the next few days trying to figure stuff out with the supposedly completed land agreement. It was a little annoying to have to wait for the answers from my neighbors, but eventually it all got worked out and I am happy to say that we should be beginning construction on Monday! While we waited we spent our days organizing the books that Julie had brought me and playing softball once it wasn’t quite so hot outside. We also played a bit with Lina and Kitty… mostly Julie.

A few days ago we went to the hardware store. We ordered some wood and nails and whatnot to build a bookshelf for the library. The first step was measuring, then sawing, which both attracted some viewers. Once we had it sawed we sanded the wood and then stained it. By that time it was dark outside so we had to leave the second coat of stain for the following day. That afternoon we were finally able to begin constructing the bookcase and found that bookshelves take a long time to complete! Again we had onlookers and trying to drive those nails into our low-quality boards with an audience was quite difficult. This is largely due to the fact that the onlookers were all males and they had spent the past 2 days making bets with one another whether or not 2 American girls could actually accomplish such a huge task as to build a 4.5 foot bookshelf.

St. Kitts Adventure

2009-07-24T09:04:00.000-04:00

I arrived in St. Kitts just days after arriving back in my site after some time in the hospital. So, the vacation time came upon on me quite quickly, leaving me not super prepared for it all. Luckily, my friend Caroline had my back and had planned a marvelous week and a half full of activities for us to share.

It started with her and her friend Angel picking me up at the airport. I had woken up incredibly early to get my flight from Santo Domingo to San Juan. (Flying over Puerto Rico was incredible.) I then flew from San Juan to Basseterre. I was very glad to be greeted at the airport by both of them. Angel graciously drove us to the ATM, grocery store, and then to Caroline’s house. It was incredible! (I would undoubtedly spend much of the first few days with Caroline comparing everything to the DR, sometimes to the point that I must have been getting on Caroline’s nerves. I had to do this not only because this was my first time visiting a PCV in another country, but also because this was my first time visiting, for such a length of time, another Caribbean country.) Her “apartment” is lovely and very comfortable; it feels like it could be easily found in the US. We took our first day slowly, which I was more than happy to do, considering the lack of sleep I’d had the night before.

Thursday was a great day for getting a feel for her communities. She used to live in one and then moved to another and continues to work extensively in both. In the morning we went for a walk around the other community and to the school-library where she holds reading hours with school children. (The kids are encouraged to come to school after the school year officially ends to get them off the streets.) I could tell that a lot of the kids really look forward to Caroline opening the library and letting them show her how well they can read. I was all-too-happy to let a couple of kids show me how well they can read. It was really cool to show them little tricks about reading and watch them reuse those tricks later in the stories. (I know it seems like I should have encountered this dozens of times already in the DR with the slew of books in my house. Problem is, the kids in my town who can’t read yet either don’t come to read or don’t want to read and would just rather look at the pictures (which I encourage). Also, I don’t know that I’d be so great with Spanish phonics considering I learned to read in English…) The library was incredible. It struck me that the donations of English books must just be so much more abundant than of Spanish. And while I am thrilled for Caroline and the success of her projects as a result of this, I can’t help but feel a little jealous. (I also can’t help but thank my lucky stars that the population in my community speaks Spanish and not some language that would be even more difficult to solicit book donations.) Later that day we went to the community library in the community where she currently lives. There we organized books. This library, like the other, had a large selection (I’d estimate at least 10,000 books), all which had been donated, many it seemed came from Britain (which such memorable titles as “Football Greats,” “Exploring Britain,” and “Victorian Times.”) Caroline and her community have reached the luxurious point of having too many duplicates and donations in less-than-ideal states that she and I worked to weed some books out of the stock. Lucky for me, there were a number of books in French and Spanish that Caroline believed would be wasted sitting on her library shelves that she was happy to release to me!

Friday was another day for the catalog of adventures that only a PCV could experience. We went to Basseterre (on the other side of the island from where Caroline lives) and met up with 2 of her friends to go south, onto the peninsula. Our first stop, I was thrilled to hear, would be to a shallow, relatively calm stretch of swimming area (once you past the super-slippery rocks) to snorkel around a ship wreck! It was my first chance seeing a ship wreck on a snorkel adventure. (I’ve been snorkeling in Cozumel, Maui, Cayo Arena 3 times (near my site) and now to this incredible ship wreck. I was SO glad to have the waterproof camera from my parents, to photograph the whole experience. (You are definitely going to want to check out those photos.) After snorkeling we moved southward to a beach where a Rasta guy named Leon keeps an incredible beach bar. While sitting and looking out towards the ocean we saw what we thought were two sting rays either fighting or mating, because of their flying out of the ocean. After a moment, almost simultaneously, we realized that it was only 1 sting ray flying out of the ocean and that the other fin was actually that belonging to a shark! Leon got a pretty good look at the scene with his binoculars. The sting ray itself was huge, and fin of the shark was also quite large, leading me, and the other observers, to conquer that the shark must have been over 7 feet long. Eventually the sting ray stopped flying around and there was a lot less commotion. We’re pretty sure that the shark won that fight. Later we watched another huge sting ray swim almost completely on shore. There was a pretty large group of kids no the beach who started to throw rocks at the ray, so after a little while it swam away. We stopped to take some great scenery shots on the way home before passing through a sand strip of beach accurately called “the strip.” There we watched the sun set. Then we headed to a house party of another one of Caroline’s friends and ate delicious BBQ food. The next stop was a “concert” which ended up being just a political rally. At one point, a few minutes after I’d made myself comfortable stretched out on the lawn, there was rush of people from the crowd running toward our group. It took me a second to realize what was going on, and I was glad for Caroline’s guiding arm. Apparently the people started running when someone yelled, “shot!” It had obviously been a false alarm, and we later heard that the reason might have been to distract the audience from the speech of a teen member of the labour party, who was believed to be gay. (A group of pro-labour party teens had been invited on stage to give a presentation.) This led me to ask Caroline about tolerance of homosexuality on the island of 35,000 residents. (There are an additional 10,000 residents of Nevis, which brings the country population of St. Kitts and Nevis to a total of 45,000.) She told me that homosexuality is heavily discouraged under Rastafarianism, one of the religious bodies on the islands. Others practice one of many sects of Christianity with churches all over the island. Culturally, homosexuality is taboo, and Caroline gave me accounts of Kittitians laughing (out of feeling uncomfortable) about the issue. After the rush, we couldn’t really get comfortable again, mostly me. I went back to where I’d been laying down to get my flip-flops (I’d run away barefoot), and Caroline went back to get her cell phone which had been resting in her lap. So, we decided to go. It was July 3rd and right around midnight, the labour party blew off some fireworks. I wonder if they knew the significance of fireworks on what had only just become July 4th for the Americans watching from the sidewalk outside the arena.
Saturday was July 4th, and we were going to Nevis to explore and go to an expat party. We rode the ferry over to Nevis (it was a 45 min ride) with another one of Caroline’s friends. We were met by a number of her friends when we got to the ferry terminal in Nevis and we soon went to the Nevis Botanical Garden. It was beautiful, and a lovely way to spend the afternoon. After that we went to the party, which was at an old stone house, which had been beautifully refurnished. We passed a few hours there, listening to music and eating tons of delicious food. BBQ. I’ve missed it much. Eventually it got pretty late, and we all got pretty tired, and so we went to another volunteer’s house and spent the night.

Sunday July 5th we went to breakfast to a place that clearly caters to the large expat community on the island of Nevis (there are only 10,000 inhabitants of that island as it is, the bulk of which are expats.) After breakfast we checked out a few roof-covered restaurants on the beaches of Nevis but couldn’t do any swimming because of the rain. After a few hours we rode the ferry back over to St. Kitts.

Monday July 6th Caroline took me to a great store called Caribelle Batik which sells sarongs and other tropical-looking fabrics. It is located on the grounds of a relative of Thomas Jefferson (his uncle?). We also got to see the oldest tree on St. Kitts, which is over 350 years old. Then we went to Basseterre to look around and check out the PC office. It was much smaller than the one we have here in Santo Domingo, one more way I could compare PC in St. Kitts to the DR! Later that evening we went to a 6th grade graduation in her community which was quite interesting. It was certainly politically charged (Caroline lives in the hometown of the Prime Minister) and he was in attendance. The election is expected to be called in the next few months and the campaigns have begun. It was interested to get a sense for the political atmosphere of such a small country.

Tuesday July 7th we went to her reading hour with the kids at the school in her other village. The kids are very cute and once again I enjoyed listening to them read the same books that I grew up on. Later that day we took a walk with Caroline’s host sister to the coast near their home and got to play around in the sand and water. The sand up there was black, from the volcano, and the sand on the southern part of the island, the peninsula, was white. That night we attended a meeting held at the health center in the community where Caroline lives for teen mothers.

Wednesday July 8th we spent on a big circle around the island. We went to visit some shops and to see two plantation-inns, which were both lovely and probably very far out of our price-range. That evening we went to Brimstone Hill Fortress, a site I’d been looking forward to seeing since Caroline mentioned it to me in a pre-trip email. We went at dusk for a beautiful (rainbow-filled) sunset. It was picture-perfect. We met up with some volunteers later and went to get dinner and see a movie.

Thursday July 9th we woke up early to watch the sun rise over the “black rocks.” It was beautiful, despite the clouds blocking the sun for most of the sunrise. Later that day we went out to celebrate the birthday of another PCV at a touristy, though nice restaurant overlooking the port where the cruises park. Then we went to a seafood place and we all ordered pizza. Typical Americans I guess. We played with the Kittitian flag, trying to get it to stay upright for a photo, and seeing who could get it to stick to their head for the longest.

Friday July 10th was my last full day on St. Kitts. We did it right: day at the beach, nice showers and dinner at Caroline’s friend’s house and then we went out late, just like the Kittitians. We stayed out late, even later than some of the Kittitians and got one beautiful chance to dance, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t embarrass myself or anyone else either.

On Saturday July 11th we grabbed some breakfast with some PCVs and then took me to the airport, and so ended my St. Kitts adventure. All in all it was a great time, and I got to meet some wonderful people. I loved looking at the whole island, and trying some new food and listening to some new music, but most of all it was great to see Caroline.

Sick and Tired

2009-06-30T17:00:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago I came down with a fever. I wasn’t too worried; I get fevers here all the time. The fever continued, the worst was at night when I had to try to sleep under the tap-dancing pigeons and tail-thumping rats. They have lately had quite a lot of talent at keeping me up at night. One night I was so chilled that I decided I should check my temperature. As I shook the thermometer (we use the old-fashioned mercury kind down here) I crashed it into my cell phone which I was using for light. The thing shattered broken glass and bits of mercury all over my face. That was a pretty low moment for the past few years. I was too sick to change the sheets, especially in the dark, so I rolled over to the other side of the bed and prayed that that stuff about mercury poisoning was all just hype.

On a Sunday morning I woke up feeling very faint. I knew I was going to pass out so I had to decide if I’d rather sit or lay down and pass out, still alone and still without anything to help me to feel better, or if I’d rather try to get myself some sugar or something. I decided to try. I ate a bite of leftover pasta and realized I couldn’t eat another one. Then I shoved some peanut butter in my mouth and, while drinking water, decided to try to get to the shower, and even sit in it if I had to, to try to cool off. On my way to the shower I passed out and fell. When I came to I heard the men outside my house screaming as usual and realized I was lying in the water from my bottle. It was their screaming and that water that sort of pulled me out of the fainting. Before I was fully conscious I ran my tongue over my teeth and thought that something felt a little off. I wondered, briefly, if I’d broken my teeth in the fall, but decided that I hadn’t-my mouth was still full of peanut butter anyways, so what could I really tell. When I became fully conscious I realized that I had, in fact, broken 3 teeth. I looked at Lina as I slowly stood up. She didn’t seem too worried. Then I looked at myself briefly in the mirror. It was not a pretty site. I got immediately in the shower.

I called to my neighbor, who wasn’t home, then called the PC doctor who told me to come down to the capital as soon as possible and go directly to the hotel they have us stay in when we’re sick. I called another neighbor, who came slowly down the street, to help me. She helped me to get a ride with a neighbor all the way to Santiago, and even came with. Before that I had to pack and try to get the house into some sort of shape for my departure. I filled the cat’s food bowl to the top, as well as the water bowl, and sent Lina off to the house of the woman who watches her. I had many visitors in those moments, even people who had never been inside my house before. They all came over to look at my teeth and feel the bump on my head. (I later figured out that I must have hit my water bottle into the sink, causing the sink to turn over, and then fallen back to hit my head on the bathroom wall. I didn’t cut my lips or my tongue which is how I figured that I’d fallen with the water bottle in my mouth.)

I rode to Santiago in a leather-interior jeep, with air conditioning, which was exactly what I needed. I’d put my foot down about getting a ride just to Isabela (which would have mean that I needed to get myself on 2 buses alone) or about taking a motorcycle anywhere. I’m so glad I did. My neighbor and the man who drove me to Santiago got me on the bus to the capital, from where I took a taxi to the hotel. I was glad to see some other PCVs in the hotel who were all very supportive, and all of them avoided the temptation to laugh at my yokel mouth.

The next morning I went to the PC doctor who sent me to get blood work done and then to go to the dentist. When they drew the blood at the lab I got very light-headed again, put this time I didn’t pass out because, as you might imagine, labs are well-equipped to deal with light-headedness. They put me on a bed with my legs up above my head and I laid there for a while, the lab tech coming in every once in a while to ask if I was ready to move. I wasn’t. She finally asked if I should go to the ER, which seemed a little dramatic to me, so I told her to call the PC doctor. She came back to tell me that the PC doctor said someone would come from PC to pick me up soon. Then she came back to say that actually, I’d be going to the ER. I told myself that if I could get up in that moment, I could probably avoid going to the ER, which did seem a little excessive. But, I really couldn’t do it. So, I let them put me in a wheel chair and wheel me down the street to the hospital. It was hot and people on the street stared at me, but I tried not to think about it.

When I got there I met what seemed to be hundreds of doctors, none of whom introduced themselves to me, although I was later expected to know whom they all were. I was so out of it and everyone asked me the same questions, but I tried to answer them all. A nurse came in and put in an IV needle which, and you must believe me when I tell you that I don’t ordinarily complain about such things this way, was the most uncomfortable, painful feeling. It felt like she was cutting my hand with a knife, and it didn’t feel much better when the IV entered my arm. This continued over the next few days that I stayed in the hospital. Every time the IV ran out, blood would drip into the needle and when they reattached a new IV the blood would reenter, quite painfully, with air bubbles which were also quite unpleasant. The antibiotics going in weren’t a treat either.

They finally got me up to a room, but along the way I was put through a few exams, again, no one ever telling me what was going on. When I got to the room, a very nice doctor explained to me that I’d have to wash my hair because they were going to do an exam of my brain the next day and I needed to have very clean hair. When I realized that there was no hot water in my room, I asked the nurse if she could get someone to fix it. She first told me I was doing it wrong. Then she admitted that it needed to be fixed. When she found out it would be a while before someone could come to fix it, she suggested that I take a cold shower because of my high fever. I told her I was cold so I couldn’t take a cold shower, and she told me that was ridiculous. I’d been working with the faucets for a while and was beginning to notice the lack of IV fluid entering my body so I simply told her I would not be taking a cold shower. (I was incredibly proud of myself for standing up to her like that.) Unfortunately this was only the beginning of the incompetence that I would get to see at the hospital among the nursing staff. I have about 10 other stories, but I bet you’ve heard of similar stories and can imagine pretty well what could have gone wrong: everything.

After my brain exam, and a few nights of getting no sleep, I was finally able to fall asleep. I looked like crap, and I was sweating profusely. I was woken up at some point in the afternoon to the PC doctor and my mom walking into the room! She’d come down as a complete surprise to me, and I was just thrilled to see her, but first I was completely out of it and almost thought I was dreaming. I can’t imagine what she thought when she looked at me in that state… So we spent the next few days in the hospital talking a ton. She would always encourage me to eat my soft foods, and I would try to explain how not-hungry I was. She was an advocate for me to the doctors and nurses, while I interpreted, and she went to get me chocolate and other treats which also helped immensely. I told someone just the other day, when you’re sick, there’s no one you’d rather see than your mom.

They took the IV out on a Friday and I was so happy I almost cried. It had been some of the worst pain I’d ever felt, including all of my aches and pains when I climbed Pico Duarte a few months ago and anything else I can think of, honestly ( besides one ear infection I had in high school which was very bad).

On Saturday I got cleared to leave the hospital, although they never did diagnose me with anything. My mom and I went to the hotel and stayed there until Wednesday. On that Monday I went with her to the dentist and got my teeth fixed, and according to people who have seen them, they look completely natural, although I can obviously tell a difference. On Tuesday I got some blood work done, a throat culture (my throat had been/still is) covered with white plaque which never responded to antibiotics, and I got my ears cleaned out. I was starting to feel much better, and now I completely do. So as I said, Wednesday we came up to my site, with diet coke and snacks in our bags. We got here quite tired, but came back to a home full of over a weeks’ worth of dust. I did my best to clean it up for my visitor, who I bet didn’t even care that it was messy. I had many visitors from my town, coming over to see if I was better and to check out my new teeth. I wasn’t completely better, but eventually the throat pain went away. I spent then, 2 full days with my mom in my site, dealing with the heat (we were without power, and so were without a fan) for those 2 days, but she was a great sport. She got a chance to see my site a bit and everyone remarked at how young she is. They still are asking me if she’s my sister. No one, despite the fact that they all have their children quite young, can believe that she is old enough to have a daughter my age. Maybe it’s also that I look so old.

I took her to Santiago to get a flight back to the US on Saturday. I’ll see her again soon, with my 2 younger siblings and my dad in a few weeks, after a trip to visit another PCV in St. Kitts this week. It’s going to be a very busy summer!

We Hate It When Our Friends...

2009-06-04T15:40:00.003-04:00

When I first got to my site, one of the most depressing things for me to observe was the family across the street from my host family’s house. It consists of 3 little girls (I refer to them as the muchachas) and their mother (who is just a few years older than me) and their father (who drinks all the time and is in his 60s.) She screamed all day long at them, he was never around, and when I did see him at home he had a bottle of rum with him, and the girls treated one another pretty recklessly, even going so far as to earn the littlest of the bunch the nickname of “the football” since she was treated as such. (The incident that cemented in my mind that name for her was one day when they came to play at my host mom’s house. The older 2 sisters had the baby loosely on a chair near the kitchen table. All of the sudden they were no longer near her and though her chin was resting on the table, her body wasn’t being supported by anything and was slipping. She banged her chin down hard on the table and crumpled underneath it. Of course, she was very shook up and cried, which was very unlike her because usually, like most footballs, she didn’t cry when treated roughly.)

But perhaps the most disturbing thing to witness about the family was when the father sent his daughters (of just 5 and 7 years) to the store to buy him some things. Those things: a bottle of rum and a few cigarettes sold individually (commonly referred to in the US as “loosies.”)

Tonight I witnessed an errand even more despicable. At the fried food stand where I spend most of my evenings, a little boy came up with something in his hand. I couldn’t see what it was but he stared intently at the fire going. He reached into the pit with what I guessed was either a cigarette or a cigar, no doubt having been sent to light it for his parent. I was right; when he withdrew his hand from the pit I saw that he held a now lit cigar. But there was something wrong, the flame hadn’t caught. So back he went with the cigar in his hand to attempt to light it again. Again, it wouldn’t take. Finally he withdrew a lit log from the flame and held it up to the cigar which he had placed in his mouth. By inhaling on the cigar while lighting it on the log he was able to get the cigar lit, and this was clearly not the first time he had performed this act. He replaced the log and as he was leaving I asked him how old he was. Six.

May Showers

2009-06-04T15:36:00.001-04:00

I have never been afraid in my home. Not once. I say this not to impress you, but merely as a matter of fact. I have never been afraid, although there have been many instances to be afraid, because of this recently-acquired ability not too feel too many real emotions. (It’s called a coping strategy and I do understand that it’s not healthy.)

That was true up until last night. You see, we’ve been having some rains lately. I guess that’s putting it mildly. It has been raining, without fail, at least once, every day for almost 2 weeks. And last night it wasn’t just rain to contend with, it was wild winds, loud thunder, and shiny lightning. (Yes, shiny.) I guess I should start at the beginning…

I was on the phone with a fellow PCV who was telling me about his water project. I commented on the strength of the winds and rain that had just picked up and he concurred that it sounded strong from his end. It continued and as it did, the lightning and thunder began. A bolt came down very near to me and I screamed. I apologized to my friend for having screamed into the phone, and considered hanging up with him but decided the distraction of talking to him might make this storm seem less dramatic. We continued to talk and then all of the sudden what seemed to be about 100 bolts came crashing down all around me. I screamed, took a minute to regroup and then there fell another one, so I screamed again. When I was finally able to put myself together enough to realize that I was screaming into my friend’s ear I got so embarrassed that I couldn’t stop laughing. So it went on like that for a while: screaming, laughing, and of course there was the plugging of the ears and keeling over on the floor because apparently things are less scary from the floor.

He continued to talk and I periodically interrupted his story with a good scream from another bolt. We decided that I was safe in my house, even if my roof was made entirely of metal (which formed a new leak from the rain, dripping into my “closet” which is the cardboard box from my refrigerator). I decided to move to a place where I couldn’t see the lightning as well: my bedroom. The doors in my house all began to crash closed and open from the air coming into the house and I realized that the cat had gotten out of her room. (She and my dog can’t be in the same room because they hate one another, so I’ve been keeping them separated.) So I went chasing after the cat, hoping to catch her before she found my dog, while the lightning and thunder continued. I got her, put her back, and then she was out again from the door having opened back up. She ran under my bed, which I had found out was where the dog was hiding, but neither animal attacked the other. Perhaps they were too petrified. (Certainly their owner would have been giving them reason to be alarmed if the lightning hadn’t had an effect.)

I decided to lock the dog in, and me and the cat out. In so doing I positioned myself to see what was going on outside again and got to see my power lines fall down as a piece of tin roof came rolling down the street. The sky went yellow from the storm (something I learned in Chicago is a sure sign that the storm is worse than originally thought.) The wind made the rain come in at an angle and before long there was rain coming into my porch and underneath my front door. On the porch I watched as 12 bags of cement got effectively ruined from the rain and as the ceramic, tin and steel beams got a nice bath. The rain also collected in a pool in front of my front door until later in the night when a neighbor was nice enough to dig a trench to lead the water away.

Eventually the sky turned from eerie yellow to mellow pink, and then it got dark. The lightning continued for a while but it wasn’t so bad that I stayed inside. I went to take some videos of the rain waters rushing down our street and forming a river in the unpaved road. It’s manageable, however, because it’s not the first time that has happened here, and it certainly won’t be the last.

How Many Times Can A Person Almost Die?

2009-05-06T14:06:00.000-04:00

Seven? Because that’s how many times I almost died this past week.

It began Monday morning. My friend and I were traveling out of civilization (ie: where there are paved roads and cell phone signal) and in order to do this we had to cram our bodies onto the back of an over-stuffed pick-up truck. The man told us there was no more room for 2 other people (let alone room for our 2 friends who would be joining us in a town along the highway later on) and he had a point. When we got on the truck had tons of food in the form of rice sacks and giant oil cans, as well as us and all of our bags. We told the driver to go slow because we didn’t want to die. He agreed but made little effort to live up to his promise once we were on our way. Every time it got bad I yelled at my friend to grab me (I was positioned between her legs) and I reached for some stranger (who I then deemed as my boyfriend). He told me not to worry, just to grab on as much as I needed. I wondered why he wouldn’t make my job easier by moving his arm so I could hold it instead of his pant leg. Then my friend made me reconsider what it was I was even wondering. Of course the creepy Dominican man would want me to grab on to his pant leg every time I got scared.

Along the way we had two episodes which could have been much worse: my backpack (filled, luckily with fluffy items and not with my two, expensive cameras) and a shopping bag belonging to my friend (filled with granola bars and toilet paper) fell off the truck and rolled away from us down the hill. Both times we stopped and the driver sent a young man to get our stuff back. I didn’t realize it right away, but both bags took the drop and roll quite difficultly; unsurprisingly the shopping bag ripped (thank goodness for double-bagging) and my backpack got a tear in it and my water bottle, which was safely attached to the backpack with a cheap karabiner, got a few scrapes. But it could have been much worse. Thinking about the sound my backpack made as it rolled away still sort of makes me laugh. Haha.

We picked up our friends who miraculously were able to mount the truck in some fashion, and even managed to position themselves better than we’d been positioned. Figures.

We made it to the base of Pico Duarte, the point from which we would begin our ascent of the largest mountain in the Caribbean. It was cold, but I knew the worse was to come.

Tuesday morning we awoke to the same sound we’d fallen asleep: river. We ate quickly at our guides’ house and then packed the mules and began our hike. The first hour and a half went quite well. We made this part of the trek in record-breaking time. Little did we know how inaccurate the signs were in terms of their predictions about how long the trails would take, and little did we know how much harder it would get. I’d stretched before we began but I soon found out it hadn’t been enough, or maybe it’d just been the wrong parts. After just a few hours my groin muscle started screaming at me to stop so I decided there was no harm in getting up on the horse. It’d been a while since I’d ridden a horse but I found out when I mounted him without a single problem that I still had it. His name was Sebastian and he was a jerk. He couldn’t handle the downhill parts for the life of him, so after just 15 minutes I got down. I got back up on him for about an half-hour later in the day. But the last stop I was dead tired, both my lungs and my groin muscle were begging me to slow down and take some advil (which I realized I’d left at home). Luckily my friend gave me some of hers and I hit a second wind like no one has ever seen. Two of us were incredibly in shape and another friend and I were not so much. But with this second wind I was able to keep up with the faster two. It didn’t hurt that we passed the time playing movie games, during which I kicked everyone’s ass.

We got to our first cabin after an eleven and a half hour hike. We were so exhausted and I honestly thought that our guide was trying to pull our legs when he told us at dinner (our only real meal that day) that we’d be getting back on the trail at 3:30 the next morning.

Unfortunately for me, he was not joking and we had to do that very thing. Well let me just tell you know I HATED hiking in the dark. Everyone else had remembered to bring their headlamps but I had of course left my in good use at home. The idea was that we’d hike up to the top (the last 4 kilometers of ascent) before dawn to be able to watch the sunrise from the top. Me and my slower friend were never going to make it by dawn, even when she decided to get on a mule. But, it was pretty cool to watch the sun rise as we climbed. (I also did enjoy the pre-dawn hike a few times when I turned off my flashlight to look at the stars and listen to the absolute stillness. But it was freezing to stop, and so sweaty when I went, so it made more sense just to keep going.) Even though it was just 4 kilometers up on that second day, I honestly considered repeatedly not going up. I was SO sore and my lungs just hated the atmosphere up there and the fact that I’d been so busy with stoves before this trip that I did absolutely no preparation of myself for the trip.

When I made it up, I almost cried. Our other two friends were already up there and had been for some time. They were frozen to the bone, but waited for us to take some photos and enjoy the view for a little while. We’d hiked all of this with the dog of our guides’ and he amazingly came all the way up as well.

The trip down was almost worse than the trip up. This time instead of my groin muscle and lungs hating me, it was my feet, ankles and knees hating me. Oh and my fingers swelled up to at least twice their normal size. I went so slow, while my other slow party member was off on the mule. The worst part was when I could finally see our camp again. Once I realized we’d made it I slowed way down. When I got there I discovered another problem: blisters. I couldn’t move for a while, even to get the breakfast/dinner we ate more than anything on the trip: hot chocolate with oatmeal.

We leveled with the guides: it would not be possible to hike any more that day after the longest day of our lives and just 4 hours of sleep. They were hesitant but finally agreed (at which point I again almost cried): we’d set out again the next morning. So we all took naps. That night we hung out around the fire making marshmallows and pigging out.

Thursday we woke up at dawn to begin our third day of hiking. We’d been warned that this trail would be dangerous if it rained, and guess what, it rained. We had to hike up and out of a valley to hike back down into another one. My slower friend and I rode the mules all the way up and just before getting to the top, my friend got thrown off of hers. We were all so scared for her, but luckily she wasn’t hurt too bad. After that, and considering the temperature and the rain I thought everyone was insane to want to keep going away from our base. The guide had said we could get stuck down in this new valley if it continued to rain because the mules wouldn’t be able to make the hike. Still, it was supposed to be beautiful down there and I wasn’t about to lose my group so when I was outnumbered, even by my friend who’d gotten thrown from her mule, I went along. Again it was a slow day, but luckily it was mostly down hill; that is, luckily for my groin and lungs. It was rather unfortunate for my feet, ankles and knees and just disgusting for my blisters. (One even began to discharge green puss!) But we made it, and it was beautiful.

When we got there we went straight to a waterfall in a river to bathe our gross bodies. I managed to get the least submerged in the frigid water, but I was able to wash my hair, which was my biggest concern. It started to rain so we went back to camp and ate and ate and ate. I read my friend’s New Yorker (I’d forgotten what culture was like) and then slept like a baby.

Friday morning was another early one. Once again my friend and I would be mule-bound. She would again get on Moreno, the mule who threw her the day before and I would again be on Morena, the wonder-mule who could carry me, my bag, my friend’s bag and a few gallons of water. I was not using a saddle or stirrups, but had once again decided that it would be easier just to go with it and try not to picture my own death. Sitting up there was a little precarious, what with my legs just sort of dangling by the mule’s face, but we made a good pair. I know this because I never did fall off. And neither did my other friend. One of the guides never left her side and when I realized that he’d run straight into a giant mud puddle on the trail with one arm on the mule and one hand reaching for her back, it dawned on me that his entire responsibility for that day was to make sure she didn’t fall off of her mule again. It worked. We both came close, far too many times, but we didn’t fall once! Success! We did have to get down a few times where the trail was just too bad, and so we did get quite muddy. We left the mules for the last 2/3 of the trip as well. It was mostly downhill at that point (even though my main concern on the last day was simply the blisters from hell) so we were able to move faster. We continued to play movie games with the other two and before too long (much later after our guides predicted, but exactly when I’d predicted) we got back to base and were all still alive!

We showered, some drank the beer they thought they’d earned and I drank the coke I knew I’d earned. We sat around shooting the shit with our guides and their family and were entertained for a while by a neighbor who was quite drunk. He started his interaction by calling me “Hey blondie!” (Why is it, I wondered, that I am getting so much attention on this trip when I’ve never looked or felt worse!) He kept calling to me, even though I ignored him, and finally came over, offering to sell me his cabbage for just 2 pesos. I took a photo which only egged him on more. He stuck his whiskey bottle to his two teeth and begged me to keep taking his photo. He finally left us, greeting each flower as “hello mother, how is your daughter? And you daughter, how is your father?” as he walked away.

The next morning we rode the very truck we came in on out to the city, and back into civilization. Again it was driven far too fast, but again we didn’t die, although we did get a little car sick. I got back to my site on Sunday, after spending one night in Santiago. I am nearly completely physically recovered at this point. The only things left are the blisters which were a couple of layers deep so I don’t expect them to go away right away. I’ll let you know when they do though.

Today in Animals

2009-05-02T17:14:00.001-04:00

When my friend was at my site learning how to make stoves I decided, with her help, that my rat problem had gotten out of hand and that something needed to be done immediately. So, we decided I would borrow my neighbor’s cat until November. She’s really cute and she’s NOT coming home with me! I named her months ago, Luna (moon, because she’s totally white), which I had completely forgotten, and I’m obviously smart enough to not call her Luna in a house where there live a Lina and an Eliza. So I’m calling her what I think is the only name that really fits a cat you’re unwilling to keep: Kitty. (But it’s also a really cute name.)

She and Lina do not get along and I know they never will. My friend and I tried a few things to get them to get along and they all failed. When she left I felt a bit like I wasn’t going to be able to handle the two animals on my own, but what I’ve been doing is leaving the cat in the house all day while I have Lina at stove construction, and then tying Lina up when I get home, tucking Kitty in one room, and then letting Lina have full range of the house. With stove construction, Lina and I spend very little time at home, so it works out pretty well anyways. Once Kitty is used to the house I’ll let her in and out of the back room so that she’ll still be able to come in to eat and hunt (which she will hopefully begin to do soon) but not get in Lina’s space. Lina can be a bit territorial.

But, if you can believe it, there is more news in the world of animals. At stove construction the other day I saw something quite frightening: my one neighbor’s dog came to the house where we were working and attacked one of the small dogs at the house. He really had the little guy in his jaws and he ended up only letting go when the mason smacked him in the side with a shovel. It was really scary to watch. When the dog got free he was obviously quite scared. At first I didn’t realize how badly he was hurt. He was bleeding a lot and went to hide behind the refrigerator. The mean dog’s owner ended up having to laso a rope around the little dog’s neck, right where it had been bitten to get it out of the corner. When he finally did the dog was such a mess. I did not take a step back because this felt like an emergency where I might actually be able to be of help maybe because I felt like I actually knew what needed to do, or maybe because I knew I’d take it more seriously than the Dominicans, or maybe a little of both. I got the hose and washed the dog’s neck thoroughly. The bleeding stopped and I got a look at the two areas where he’d been wounded, which were luckily not too deep and not too big. I told the owner to speak to him softly to calm him down and to make sure to wash the area with soap or alcohol (and not lemon and salt like the mean dog’s owner had said) and she mentioned she was going to get an antibiotic to give him as well. He made it through the night, which I took as a really good sign.
I was so grateful that Lina was not with me! I hadn’t been able to go to get her the night before because I’d gone straight from the bola race to a talent show in another town with my kids. Lina had been at every other day of stove construction and has been at the days since as well. She would have been tied up, so I can’t assume that the dog would have attacked her, but I’m just glad she got to avoid the whole thing.

Today at stove construction we got to see a good mixing of the animal kingdom. At one time in the house (where 13 people live, the most occupied house in the town) we had puppies from 2 litters (6), adult dogs (5), piggies (2), pigeons (2-3), hens (4), and chicks (10) all in the same 6 square foot area. I’m used to there being lots of hens and dogs, but the pigs were a new one, even for me, and I think Lina got a little scared. She’s not been enjoying the sounds that the metal used in the construction make, and with so many tiny animals around on top of that, I think she got a little stressed. She took it out on one of the animals but we got her to stop…still, it scared me and I’m nervous she’s nothing but a big bitch now. Oh and don’t ever think that she’ll share her food with you, because she won’t, and she’s all too happy to make you incredibly aware of that fact.

Bolas and Dead Things

2009-05-02T17:13:00.000-04:00

Some of you might remember that last year I participated in a “Bola Race.” It’s a hitch-hiking race sort of like the Amazing Race in which male and female pairs form and this year we raced from Santiago to Rio San Juan on the north coast. It was an incredible time, just like last year. Our group theme this year (as me and my partner decided to go in a larger group until he ditched us/me at the last leg) was Ninjas and it wasn’t just very creative, but it was also a lot of fun. We didn’t have to explain to too many people that we were ninjas, and amazingly some people were able to identify that in an effort to be ridiculous (which is almost always a common goal among volunteers) we’d incorrectly depicted the flags of Japan and South Korea on our headbands! (Who knew Dominicans could be so culturally aware, and about Asia nonetheless!) The idea with the theme is just another chance to be, as aforementioned, ridiculous, as well as to have a reason to be needed the free lifts (in our case it was because we were ninjas and people should feel it necessary to help ninjas) and to avoid mentioning that we are with Peace Corps. Most of the time, although as aforementioned we like to be ridiculous, we don’t like to give Peace Corps a bad name.

It turned out to be quite an adventure as I’m sure you could imagine. We were doing pretty well, and might have even been among the first to arrive, but we weren’t in it to win, and we were with the planners of the event, so it would have been wrong for us to win anyways. The hotel was lovely; it overlooked the ocean with a small beach right next to it. The cold water was a nice relief from the heat of riding in the backs of trucks all afternoon but we were hungry and in need of waves, so after some food we went to Playa Grande which is said by some (who haven’t been to my beach) to be the best beach in the country. I will agree it is beautiful, the sand was soft, and the waves were quite enjoyable, but I still think my beach is better (and I’m not big on the waves.) I managed, even though I was outdoors for a good 10 hours, to avoid getting sunburned nearly everywhere. My knees were bright red at the end of the day, but thanks to a strict regimen of aloe vera gel, I was able to avoid pealing. (I’m telling those of you who burn-invest in it!)

The next day I went home, and had to pay for those rides. When I got back there was a large, black, gross, dead bug waiting for me at my front door. It dawned on me after I took a photo of it next to a ruler that this is the second time I’ve come home and found something dead at my front door. The first time I just thought it flew into the door and died, but now I’m wondering if someone is trying to tell me something…

Wholy Holy

2009-05-02T17:12:00.002-04:00

On Holy Thursday, in preparation for Good Friday, a PCV friend of mine was going to go with some friends of hers from her town to get fish at the beach town near mine. She stopped through my town on the way to get me and her neighbors ended up knowing quite a few of my neighbors and we stopped by to say hi to quite a few people from my world. It’s always interesting and even a little bit weird for people from my life in my town to meet people from my PC life, but this topped all of that because it was Dominicans from another PCVs town who knew people in my town even before we each got to our towns. So we sat and talked a bit in English as they sat and talked in Spanish.

The fish at the beach was incredibly delicious! My favorite meal here, without a doubt is fried fish with fried sweet potatoes (but not the ones we have in the US) with a cold beer or a cold coke, depending on what time it is/sort of mood you’re in. My friend and I sat and visited with her neighbors and their friends at the beach as well as with two volunteers who live at the beach. Because it was Holy Week it was incredibly noisy with all of the traffic coming through to go to the beach.

I went back to visit with those two neighbors again the following afternoon and spent the night. I went to see the one volunteer’s library the following morning which was great because I’d been so focused on stoves for so long and realized, with her help, that I’m going to need to devote a lot of time to the library as well. I bought some materials to get more organized after my meeting with her and have been sporadically organizing the books to get them library-ready. Kids have been by to help and to read, and they mostly like books that have lots of pictures of different things like Spanish-English vocabularly books, books about the human body, and atlases. It has been really interesting to see which books they enjoy and which they leave on the shelves.
I successfully avoided eating the big Holy Week treat which is called “habicuelas con dulce,” which roughly translates to beans with sugar or sugar beans. Believe me; they are in no way jelly beans! It’s a dish a lot like a pudding, which is typically served cold consisting of beans, sweet water that cooked the beans, and little, round, soaked sweet crackers. I had it last year and a few times before and since then and decided to avoid it at all costs in the future. Anything “con dulce” is likely to be something that I don’t enjoy.

On Saturday we executed a talent show to raise money for the library. The idea was inspired in large part by a talent show which took place at the Escojo regional conference the weekend prior, which of all of the PC conference talent shows was definitely the best. It was so good that I even decided to participate in ours and formed a dance to the song “Nuna Nuna.” Me and 3 kids performed and won 3rd place (out of about 6 acts) which made me realize, you’ve got to give a prize to the PC volunteer who organized the event! Still, it was exciting. The 2 acts that placed better than mine were also dances, one consisting of one guy and 6 or 8 girls dancing appropriately, and one of 3 girls dancing quite inappropriately, even though they are all very self-respecting girls. During the time I was setting up for it (which you can probably imagine was a bit stressful) I was being introduced to a child from New York who is here visiting his dad’s family. He is eight and he lives in Brooklyn and his dad brought him over to the house to present him to me. (Dominican parents tend to be incredibly proud of their bilingual children, and rightfully so, especially at eight years!) The boy could not be cuter and talking with him about life and the talent show in particular was really fun. I forgot how many questions little American kids ask and he was full of them that night. Even though I was busy I was happy to answer them (which made me wonder yet again why I shouldn’t be an elementary teacher, and why I shouldn’t move to Nueva Yol to work with Dominican populations). He decided to perform a few jokes which he practiced with me: are you smart or are you a slave? (Then you say you’re smart.) Count to three. (And then when you do it proves you’re a slave.) I was a little bit distracted when it was his turn to go on and it took me a second to realize he was just standing there. He turned around to find me and asked me to come out on the stage. He told me he’d forgotten what it was he was supposed to say, so I reminded him, and then he told me he forgot the Spanish words, so I reminded him. The audience wasn’t perhaps as forgiving as an American audience might be so they needed a little encouragement to laugh and clap, but I think he still felt pretty good at the end. It was an interesting night to say the least.

And I haven’t even mentioned the most interesting part about it: it was also a coming-out party! I had believed an adult neighbor of mine to be homosexual just based on the fact that he was single in his 30s (which really only happens here when the guy is mentally ill or gay) and that his job was as a housekeeper, which seems like it would be the last thing a Dominican man would do. I asked him early on about his being single and his response further confirmed my belief. He’d been missing for a while, off in the “town,” and the city. He came back for Holy Week and on the night of our talent show he put on quite a performance. In some down time we had before we were able to get the music system to work, people got restless. All of the sudden he had taken the stage in nothing but a pair of shorts. He started thrusting his body around very sexually, making everyone laugh hysterically. I was glad for the distraction from the fact that we weren’t ready on time. Later on in the show, during another period of downtime he came back. This time he had on a pair of silky, purple (and even though I hate using this word, it’s really the only word to describe what they were) panties, a see-through silky robe, a long wig, and a pair of platform heels. The who ensemble, I figured, probably wasn’t procured from his mom’s closet, but even if I could convince myself that it was, there was no way his shoes came from anyone else. They fit him perfectly and he knew how to move in them. My understanding of the lives of homosexual males in this country is that they sometimes (or always) dress in drag and don’t tend to stay in the campo. I took his performance to mean that he lives a separate life outside of our town and that this was his coming out party.

Easter Sunday was a little bit sad. I bought some eggs to hard boil and a coke to spoil myself with. Later my friend came to be ready to learn how to make a stove Monday morning. The stove making went well and that afternoon we went to the beach with a number of kids who ditched school that afternoon. The beach was so much cleaner than I’d thought it would be which was such a delightful surprise. We played in the sand and took pictures with Lina and, once again, ate some fish.

STOVES

2009-05-02T17:12:00.001-04:00

I had an incredible day a few weeks ago. I went to see the mayor in the town over from mine to see if what he’d said (that he’d let me use the truck to get the ceramic pieces that go inside the stove) would be able to work out. I had little faith, because we, as Peace Corps volunteers, have learned not to have much faith in Dominican politicians, but I was hoping to be surprised with good news. It worked out. After a little bit of a wait for a driver we were on our way to get the ceramic. The drive was about 2.5 hours and once we got there, it was all stacked into the back of the truck with only two breaks on the way home.

The real surprise was when I got back. Each stove has 12 pieces of different sizes and I picked up the pieces for 25 stoves, so there was quite a bit to unload at home. Out of nowhere appeared tons of Dominican men to help unload the stuff (which seems to be one thing that happens spontaneously here without fail that would probably never happen in the US). I was so glad to have their help, but became instantly quite embarrassed.

As I opened my door to let little Lina out of the house she’d been locked in for about 8 hours, I looked up to see some feathers on the ground. I found that she’d gotten into some trouble while I was gone. (Check out some photos online.) I was a little nervous that my neighbors would look inside to see the damage that Lina had done and think she was a ravage animal, or maybe I was more scared that they’d know about the wildlife animal problem that exists inside my home and think I was a terrible housekeeper.

But then, after a couple of very long days trying to go get hardware and tools for the stoves, we were finally able to begin construction in the first 2 days of “Holy Week” which are the days leading up to Easter. We began construction on the stove at the construction worker/mason’s house and finished it efficiently and with only a few moments of wonderment and experimentation, which we were all able to handle with patience and care. We made the first stove counter top green, and the following week made the second stove red. In that week the masons sort of flaked out on me so we were only able to finish one and one half stoves, but this week we have been working machines finishing that first half and two and a half more (and will finish two and a half more this week as well). Now that we know what we’re doing we’re able to finish one a day which is quite efficient, but I’m happy to say that the stoves are coming out incredibly well done.

The masons are a father and son team and they knew even before we began some of the basic tasks that are called for in the stove construction process such as mixing cement and laying cinderblock. Working with clay and ceramic have been things I have been able to teach, which has been really interesting. I have really enjoyed the work, though it is very dirty and wears me out more than anything I’ve done here before, mostly because I really like getting dirty and feeling like I’ve earned a good night’s sleep at the end of a long work day. I have also enjoyed getting to learn how to work with my hands on a construction project and it’s been really rewarding in such a machismo culture to hear the masons say when I give tips or correct their work, “but it’s she who knows!” (And then they even listen to me.) The dad in the team doesn’t like me to do any jobs that might make me strain myself or damage the perfect skin on my hands. (What he doesn’t realize is that my hands have been screwed for a while as a thumb-sucker-turned nail-biter. But, even though I thought he was nuts to be concerned, I’ve noticed cuts on my fingers all over the place and that I’m starting to develop calluses, let alone the dirt which is constantly under my fingernails.)

I’ve been getting a lot of attention for my wonderful work outfit (which you can see on my photo website.) I purchased a pair of work boots (just like the men wear!) because the job is just dirty! I also have found in this country that it makes sense to get my hair out of my face when I’m working on something (or traveling with the windows open). The ensemble gets a lot of notice from my neighbors who comment such things as “Oh, but Eliza is going to work!”, and “oh but Eliza is a campesina now!” Understand that I don’t believe that I look awesome in the outfit, especially at the end of a long, dirty work day. But it just makes good sense!

We start at 8:00AM and work until between 11:00 and 12:00 finishing a stove. After lunch we begin another stove and are done with that between 3:00 and 4:00. If we continue at this rate we should be done with construction sometime in June. I am usually showered and briefly recuperated by 5:00 which gives me a few hours of sunlight to be social and work on some other things like Escojo and the library. This is one of the more busy times I’ve had in the DR which feels nice, but it sort of also makes me feel like I’m neglecting some other duties, principally Escojo. The good news there is that the kids have taken over a lot of the tasks that I used to do and are doing a great job with them. We had a regional conference a few weeks ago and I brought one member from the new group and one from the original group and they seemed to have a great time. They are both very intelligent, like so many of the kids in my town, which is always so fascinating to realize.

If You Believe

2009-03-20T17:49:00.003-04:00

When I first started thinking seriously about Peace Corps and planning my life after college around it, I remember I watched a recruiting video on the Peace Corps website showing the different ways that volunteers live. There were several examples of humble homes from around the world. The female volunteer in Africa had a house that was very basic, and looked like it fit right into what I always pictured Africa would look like. The male volunteer in Panama had a small house that overlooked a giant valley, which I remember really struck me as one of the many types of natural beauty I hoped to encounter on my Peace Corps adventure. Another female volunteer talked about her house, where she had very little furniture, and a hammock that she said she just about lived in.

After watching the video, I remember being really struck by how drastic a life change this was going to be for me to make. I even spoke to friends about my shock. Should I have been surprised? Of course not. But I was.

It wasn’t a dramatic enough shock to keep me from moving forward with my application, but it did help me to realize one of the many ways my life would change in the Peace Corps. (Of course there were hundreds of other ways that my life would change that I never could have anticipated.)

I bring up this memory now because I’ve recently had another visitor from the US. Having her here brought into even more clarity the different lifestyle that I am now experiencing. When my family came here, just 2 months or so after I’d moved to my town, I could sense how they were feeling because I’d felt the same way just a few months before. I knew to tell them to wear bug spray and to warn them not to flush the toilet paper. I knew which reactions to look for, which ones would make me laugh, and of course to also be on the lookout for things that aggravated me about life here that I knew would get to them too.

But with this most recent visit, I failed to do that, at all. It’s been so long now that I don’t even think about throwing the toilet paper away, and I can kill a mosquito with the swoop of one hand. My house is no longer a rustic, rural dwelling, where my hammock is my only shelter. My visitor took a picture of the shower in my bathroom and said she was going to label the photo as my “shower, kitchen sink, my only water source…” I didn’t even laugh because to me, it’s gotten past funny. It’s life (and I consider myself to be very lucky to be among the volunteers who even have running water.) The shower is my kitchen sink because the hand sink that was installed in the house in August fell out of the wall the other day (it’d been drooping for months and I’d known it was just a matter of time). To you, the American reader, it sounds strange, but believe me, it’s even stranger that to me that this is not strange-it’s just one more of the many adventures that I get to life through here. (When the sink fell to the ground, I was just glad it hadn’t shattered. I pushed the hardware into the corner and set the sink in a bucket. A few days later I realized the puddles that kept developing were coming from the leaky hose connected to the sink, so I set about finding a way to keep it from dripping. Again, not funny, not strange, just one of those things.) Sometimes your sink falls out of the wall.

So yes, my house is rustic, but it’s mine now, just as my apartment in DC was mine, my tiny bedroom in Chile was mine, my 2 dorm rooms at AU were mine, and all the homes I’ve ever lived in with my family have been mine. They have each had their various perks (basements for romping, good neighbors for playing capture the flag, parks for climbing in, laundry service, pools, to name a few) and they have all had their own annoyances (flooding, neighbors with mean dogs and/or offensive bumper stickers,) just as my house here. (Recent perks: I’ve started to let Lina take naps in my bed with me (she’s sleeping at my feet right now) and tons of great junk food and other American gifts brought to the house by my recent visitor. Recent annoyances: new neighbors living about a foot from my back door with loud children who are terrified of me (but nowhere near as badly as their pop-singer-imitator mother is), and getting to add bees to the list of domestic creatures of the home.)

Church and State

2009-03-20T17:48:00.005-04:00

On Sunday, I attended a community meeting in the town over from me. The mayor of that town had invited me, as he claimed, to get a chance to discuss the request we’ve submitted to him for the library land purchase. What the meeting turned out to be was a discussion about whether or not the mayor should be ousted from his mayor ship.

The meeting was started by the Catholic priest of the nearest city. He was concerned for the community, as he put it, and knew that everyone agreed that what was best for the town ought be done. Apparently a meeting had been held the week prior which had gotten completely out of hand. So, he was the moderator of this meeting which he promised would be more productive. First he granted someone with complaints against the mayor to speak. The man spoke (with limited interruption) about the many ways the mayor has avoided being accountable with his money to the community members, and the curious ways that he noticed money was being spent.

Then the mayor spoke. He was interrupted repeatedly (and every time seemed less concerned, as if he almost wanted an excuse to not address what the charges that had been brought against him.) The priest had to move on to deliver a mass (it was a Sunday after all) and left another much less competent man in charge as moderator. People began to speak out of turn more rapidly and their tones reached higher and higher pitches. As things got heated, I looked around at all of the other faces in the room and wondered, again, what the hell I was doing there!

The meeting ended when people got too frustrated by their own interruptions and stormed out. Then the mayor left. He was very visibly angry.

It struck me that a priest would rarely be called in to moderate political talks in the US, or at least that is the hope. How many other communities in the world depend on their religious leaders to be more than just spiritual advisors? At what point is it no longer appropriate to ask religious leaders to be more than spiritual advisors?

Medical Mission: Part Deux

2009-03-20T17:48:00.002-04:00

I got to put a guy’s eye in.

Let me explain.

A recent medical mission came into the town: New York Eye Doctors! I was on hand for the full week to interpret. There were many jobs for interpreters, interviewing for patient intake, working on the various stations of the eye exam room, interpreting for doctors working on preliminary consults, and finally interpreting for staff for pre and post op. I spent the bulk of my time working intake and in the eye exam room, but I did get a chance to do all of the jobs. (And on the last day we all got to play eye doctor with one another and a real patient.)

On one particular morning in consults, I was called in to help a nurse who was working with prosthetic eyes. She had a patient whose eye was shrunken and dead, but had not been removed. She was fitting him for a prosthetic and needed my assistance to help teach him how to place and remove the eye for himself. He was having trouble with the prosthetic. So, the two of them worked on it for a while until he asked her if he’d be able to go to work that day. That’s when her cultural sensitivity kicked into overdrive. Not only was she then worried about fitting his new eye properly, but she was also concerned for his comfort and for his employment. At the same time, she was called, twice, by nurses coming out of surgeries to look for her, and both times the nurses had a lot of urgency in their requests for her.

I knew what was coming, but was still a little shocked when she looked to me. She told me he was not to leave until he’d removed and replaced the eye a few more times. She asked if I could oversee that. It was so clear to me that she was needed somewhere else that I nodded my head of course and waved her off to her other, more urgent job. But in reality, I was nervous.

He began to struggle some more with the eye. He had been, very obviously, in a great amount of discomfort fitting the eye into a crevice where before there had been nothing but fluffy tissue. His eye welled up as a result. He needed to get to his job, or who knows what might have happened, but it was imperative that he learn how to work with the eye before leaving. So, we got to it.

He struggled, acknowledging my encouragement, but all the while being unable to force the eye in. After watching with frustration for a while, as he tried to wiggle it in, I decided to be proactive. With his permission, I lifted his upper eye lid so that he could lower the lower lid and slip the eye in under the upper lid. Again he struggled, as I encouraged, until finally it was in! But that was only one part of the battle. He had been given a tiny suction cup to use on the eye to remove it. It was either that or pushing his own finger up and under the eye to take it out. He’d been unsuccessful with the suction cup in the presence of the nurse and had given up on it. So, he pushed his finger in, as I still held his upper eye lid, tear ducts flowing all the while, he got the eye out! Once more he put it in and then left, to come back the following day to speak with the nurse again about other cleaning the eye and the future.

As I left the room I held the wall, fearing that if I kept my arms to my sides I’d fall over. Not once watching hernia surgeries or eye surgeries had I gotten faint. But this time it was an eye, and it was staring at me, and I was right there in it, and so yeah, I felt a little faint.

The next day I asked to sit in with her and him again, and he allowed me to take a photo of the two of them working together with the eye.

Contact Me!

2009-02-23T10:00:00.002-05:00

http://claro.com.do/productos.aspx

Send me free text messages using the above link. Simply type my phone number 809 467 2780 into the top phone window (where it says numero), then a message of 160 symbols into the other phone window (where it says mensaje). Then press the green button (enviar). Be sure to tell me who the message is from!

I hope to hear from you all soon!

All the Joy that is Mine Today

2009-02-20T13:31:00.001-05:00

You know how good it feels to give money to charity? And, even though it probably shouldn’t, it sort of does feel better to give $100 than $50. Right? And, doesn’t it feel better to give to a charity that you know something about, rather than one you’ve never really heard of, or one that you’re not quite sure what they do? Okay, so take those two feelings and compound them by about a thousand, because in my case it’s not just that I’m the one who solicited the money and got to feel good watching you all donate over the course of the last month or so, or that it’s a charity that I know pretty well… it’s also that I’m the one in charge of the project and I LIVE in the charity. It means that I’m the one, working with your funds, who gets to watch the community get something it needs, and who gets to be completely accountable to donors back in the US. It means that I have given you my word, and that you have put your trust in my belief that this is a major problem, one that is so bad that it requires your generosity immediately. It means that people trust me, both my community members and my friends and family back home; $4,541 worth of trust you all have in me, and we all know exactly how I’m going to spend the money.

It’s an incredible feeling.

And I’m very happy to announce that today all of the money needed to make the stoves has been raised!

So now it’s just a matter of time before I can get the check from Washington, deposit it in a new bank account, and go to the hardware store to buy the supplies we need. Then the hardware store will deliver them soon after, and we’ll distribute the supplies to the homes where stoves will be constructed, and then we will get to work on the stove construction! And all because you helped me to fundraise, either by donating, convincing someone else to donate, getting the word out, or a combination of the three!

So now that this grant is filled, does that mean that there won’t be another opportunity to help support my work here?

No. I will soon have available online another grant to help with furniture and materials for the library. (I applied for and received a grant from USAID to pay for the construction materials, but we need to furnish the building and get some more library staples such as a set of encyclopedias.)

And, if you’d like to put off a financial contribution for a little while, some fellow volunteers and I are working now on a youth conference which will be held in August to celebrate diversity. I participated in the conference last year (it’s called “Celebrating the Cibao”) and it was a huge success; the two kids from my town who went with me both had an incredible time. (The conference was even written up in the Peace Corps newsletter!) We will be soliciting money for that conference from spring until we’re raised all we need. (The volunteers set the individual goal of raising about $100 each, so if just 10 of you donated $10 this summer, I’d get my part completed in no time. This year I was responsible for sending thank you letters on behalf of our group and we included a picture of the kids at the conference in the shape of “08.” The donations are all hugely appreciated, and are, of course, tax-deductible.)

So thank you! People have congratulated me, but I really want to say to you Congratulations! I’m so incredibly thrilled and am honestly at a loss to what could feel more rewarding than what I described above. I encourage you all to come see the stoves, or consider coming to help build them because that might be the next best thing to getting to be the one in my flip flops right now. Seriously. Thank you a thousand times! Or, four thousand, five hundred and fifty one times!

St. Valentine's Day

2009-02-20T13:29:00.000-05:00

I have learned to not enjoy Valentine’s Day. Ask many an American who hates the day why they do and I think you’ll hear, “why should we only celebrate love on February 14th?”, “it’s hard to remember,” or “It’s a commercial institution, created by Hallmark.” Ask a super-independent single female and she might tell you one or both of those reasons, but more likely she’ll tell you, “it is a day that makes single women feel crappy about themselves.”

As a single female, I have not enjoyed the day ever since bringing hard candies and chocolates into class on Valentine’s Day became a faux pas. (I learned that one the hard way in English 101.) If there comes a time when it’s no longer appropriate to give and receive candy on a particular holiday, then you can bet I won’t be on board with the day anymore. (This is why I no longer care about Halloween. People hesitated to give me candy when my sister was too young to trick-or-treat without a grown-up, and they really hesitate to give it to me now that she is old enough to be a her own grown-up chaperone.)

Things are different in the DR. For one thing, it’s not referred to as Saint Valentine’s Day. Even in a country full of Catholics, I have heard the majority of people refer to the day as “day of love and friendship.” It confused me a bit when I first heard that title. Someone had to explain that they were referring to Valentine’s Day. Cuz I was gonna say, “since when is there a day to celebrate love and friendship?”

Well maybe we should! Consider it- what matters more than anything, even more than hard-candies and chocolate? Love, right? Right. So, how come we can’t celebrate the day of love and friendship instead of the day of couples?

Dog Days

2009-02-20T13:27:00.000-05:00

I am currently reading two dog books. One is called Merle’s Door, about a mutt who is presumed to be a golden-colored Labrador, and the other is called Marley and Me, which is about a yellow lab. As I read these two books, which both declare Labradors to be the best pet on the planet I can’t help but wonder if these authors are on to something? I knew Labs were popular before, my family even believed that line about Labs being the best pets on the planet when they purchased Joey, a super rambunctious golden-Lab in 1994. (We were less convinced of this title when we gave Joey up in 1995.) So, is there a superior race of dogs? I can go along with the thinking that there are differences between different breeds of dogs, but could Lab-owners be correct in thinking that their swimming and retrieving dogs make better companions than all other breeds? (For that matter, does a “breed” even matter?) Could it also be true that different breeds have different personality traits, and perhaps the average American family just finds the Labrador more agreeable?

It’s hard to read these dog books and not compare every story to things I have experienced with Lina. I was looking at her the other day and considering at length, for the first time if you can believe it, the idea of whether she and I suit one another or not. I mean this both physically and in personality. Let me explain: a few months or so ago a friend of mine who had never before seen Lina was looking at photos of Lina and remarked “she looks like your dog.” What did she mean? Do Lina and I resemble one another? Is it like in the old joke (from 101 Dalmatians?) where a bull dog looks like a short fat man with a smushed face, and a carefully-groomed poodle looks like a thin woman in a close-fitting formal jacket with lots of fluffy trim?

But as I looked at Lina, and observed her actions, it dawned on me that my dog and I have a lot more in common than I may have ever realized. She isn’t fat but she isn’t thin. I think I could be described that way as well. She has floppy hair on her ears that hangs down on the sides of her face, which I’ve always said is a great face. Debates have taken place between my friends and I as to whether that hair should be trimmed or left to its own devices. I have always decided to do nothing because though it might be described as sloppy, it poses no threat to her sight. The same can be said to the fur on her face. Other dogs I have had have always had problems with hair on their heads growing downwards over their eyes, and hair from their noses growing up into the eyes and down over their mouths. Lina’s fur does no such thing. It’s almost as if she’s too practical for any such nonsense. Now I might not have a “great face”, but I do appreciate having my face completely clear of all of my sloppy hair, especially here in this Caribbean heat. I CANNOT be bothered with any such nonsense.

Okay, but that’s just how we look. What about ourselves? Well, Lina is my biggest fan. So while she’s incredible loyal to me, she isn’t always the most-friendly to others. There are of course great exceptions: the woman at the fried-food stand, the woman who watches Lina when I’m away, and her husband, the owners of Lina’s mom, and just about every member of my Escojo group. But Lina doesn’t like some of the people that live near the home where she stays when I’m away. Lina also isn’t a big fan of small children, or even some adults, that haven’t yet learned how to handle her (or other dogs) properly. This includes the little girl that plays here often. (She also doesn’t like anyone on a motorcycle, her mom taught her that one, and some Haitians get her to bark, again, just as her mom does.)

So how is she similar to me in this way? I have always been super-critical of anyone who hisses at me, any stranger who asks me about my marital status, even if they haven’t asked me my name, and anyone who makes sexist comments (and believe me, my definition of the word “sexist” is very liberal). I get snarly with such people, and sometimes even snap at them, and if it was socially acceptable to chase after their heels, barking, I just might. I make up things to tell them to get them to shut up and leave me alone if there’s no way I can immediately remove myself from the situation, and have even been known to pick a fight.

So what is the dog-equivalent of this scenario? People who don’t know how to properly pet! Petting is very ingrained in us as Americans. For example, would you ever go to pet a dog you’ve never pet before by moving your hand rapidly towards its head from high above the animal, and then snapping it away? Of course not! They’d think you were moving in to strike them. Would you instead move slowly and give a long, slow stroke to their back? Of course. Lina would roll over on her back and let you stroke her belly as well, since she knows that’s probably what you wanted to do all along.

I would be willing to be friendly with complete strangers if they approached getting to know me the way people who understand Lina do: slowly, using socially appropriate methods that won’t freak me out. Listen up Dominican strangers: don’t ask me for my boyfriend’s address-just talk to me about the weather.

How else are we similar? Lina is white with brown hair and brown spots. I am white with brown hair and freckles. Is that pushing it? When walking down the street on a mission, she can’t be bothered to remember to greet everyone she passes, even if they remember to greet her. (In my case it’s just flakiness and being easily distracted.) Lina currently finds herself in a situation where the food being offered to her most of the time isn’t that delicious. She has learned that if she holds out she will be offered chicken bones and meat scraps at the fried-food stand. I find myself in a situation where the food being offered to me most of the time isn’t that delicious, so I also hold out to cook for myself. Does that mean she and I are resourceful or spoiled? Could we be both?

Lina is very easily distracted, even from the best belly rub, by an interesting noise. Anyone who’s ever been in a room with me and TV knows that I am also very easily distracted. Lina loves going for long walks to places she’s never been and she certainly doesn’t let the possibility of getting dirty get in her way from a good hike. I don’t think there any denying that she got this quality from me. And she’s a natural swimmer. Alright, alright, I was never a natural swimmer (perhaps very far from it when I couldn’t stand the idea of water resting on my cheek, let alone anywhere near my eyes) but no one can deny that I have enjoyed swimming since at least 1999. At least.

Still, she enjoys sifting through poo on the side of the road (whereas I try to keep my interactions with poo to a minimum and only in the form of fertilizer), she greets her friends by sniffing them or chasing after them at full speed (and while I might chase my friends, I try to avoid sniffing them, especially the ones in Peace Corps), she takes pleasure in eating my things (whereas I just like to read them or wear them on my feet).

Adventures

2009-02-20T13:26:00.000-05:00

I am always going on adventures… some are carefully planned, such as my recent experience whale watching, others just sort of happen, such as the whole suturing thing.

Yes, so I went whale watching. (Those are some pretty cool photos!) The day began in Samana, which is a city located on the Samana Peninsula on the Northeastern part of the country. I went to stay with a friend who lives near the city for 2 nights. She and another volunteer organized the whale watching excursion with a veterinarian from either Canada or the US (we’re not sure which) who now lives in Samana to study the whales and adopts dogs on the side.

Humpback whales! So, we took off on a yacht, and though it rained and the water was quite choppy, quite a few of us from PC turned out (give us a discount on anything and we’ll be there in large numbers). I brought both cameras to get photographs and video from the day, and while I’m so glad to have had my lovely camera, and awesome, big lens, I realized at the end of the day that I really didn’t get to see the whales too much because of my dedication to taking photos of them. I know I’m just a novice, so considering that I did get some pretty cool photos, but nothing that Time or Life magazines will want to buy. Still, it was incredible to see these huge animals so close up, and I get to be the one who took the good photos that day. We saw three whales.

I didn’t get seasick, which made me proud. We were out at sea for about 1.5 hours and then had to go in because of the waves. We got dropped off on an island not far from the city which on any other day would have been like a Caribbean dream. As it turns out, it was incredibly windy, so when we spread out on the beach, we got covered with sand. Instead we opted for the enclosed restaurants towards the center of the island. After a few hours we headed in for the safety of my friend’s house where we braved the rain.

It continued to rain all week, keeping me in Santiago on my way home from Samana. Two people died in a landslide not too far from where I live, and very close to where a few of my friends live. When I finally got back to my site, the sun was out, and I was done travelling, which was a very great feeling. (Sometimes a person just wants to sleep in their own bed with their dog at their side.)

That night my mom called with some very happy news: my grant received another donation in the amount of $1000, leaving me with just $276. Another family friend donated $200, so now there’s just $76 left to be raised before I can get the money to begin construction on the stoves. I cannot begin to tell you how good it feels to be me when I get news like that. It’s like how you feel when you donate to a charity you really believe in, plus how you feel when you’re the one that solicited the donations for this great charity, plus how you feel when you live inside the charity. See how it’s hard to explain?

WOW

2009-01-31T08:41:00.002-05:00

This is one of those times when I have so much I’m just bursting to tell and I don’t even know how to start. It’s like when I first got to country and every day was so much of an adventure and I didn’t know how to begin to write it all. I tended then to go chronologically, so perhaps that’s what I should do now.

Sunday evening I got a call. Could I please shuffle my schedule around to attend a med mission, to help interpret, just outside Santiago? These med missions are very popular, so getting invited to attend is difficult. I had petitioned the med mission committee (one of the many Peace Corps volunteer committees) to attend 2 other missions previously and been turned down both times. So I was thrilled that I was asked to come (apparently there had been a miscommunication and the committee hadn’t scheduled anyone for the mission), so not only was it not competitive to get to go, but it also wouldn’t count in the 2 med missions I’m allowed to partake in during my service because I wouldn’t be able to be there for the entire time.

I got to the mission on Tuesday. It was a bit of an adventure to find the place, but once I did I found it was beautiful. I found my way to the clinic and floundered, entering the clean areas without a face mask, hair net or booties over my shoes. Then I met some nurses who helped me get straightened out and put me to work registering patients for their surgeries. I took their personal information and then they were seen by the doctor to decide if they needed to be scheduled for this mission or for another in November. All of the patients were there because they suffered from hernias or similar problems (such as hydroceles, needing circumcisions, and cysts), and most patients were males. (Hernias are more common in males because the canal through which the testicles fall at the beginning of life sometimes doesn’t heal fully as the body develops. So the intestine is able to press through that muscle from that weakness (the definition of a hernia). They can also development when someone exerts themselves too much, such as doing too much heaving lifting.) I helped the doctor communicate with the patients a few times for some of the patient’s initial consults. If they were scheduled for the current mission they would move on to the waiting room (all patients needed to arrive at 7:00AM without having eaten anything for the previous 7 hours and wait for their turn) either that day or another day during the week. They tended to move small children up to the front of the list and completed 5 or 6 surgeries in a day in 2 rooms, so between 11 and 12 a day total.

So besides the clinic, my other role was the escort them from the pre-op to the OR. I would talk them off to sleep, and if the doctors decided to use local anesthetics I would stay by the patient to talk them through the surgery. I would periodically remind them they were doing a good job, that we were taking good care of them, that they were being strong and brave, and sometimes tell them if the doctors asked me to that a shot might sting and that it was important to hold still. If the doctors decided to give a general anesthetic then I simply had to be there to talk the patient off to sleep and be there when they started to come back. In the meantime I could circulate, watching surgeries or helping the kids in the waiting area to see their way to the coloring books that the doctors and staff had brought with them.

So Tuesday was a busy day. In the morning I worked mostly in the clinic, and then helped in a few surgeries, just with interpreting and sometimes running errands. I couldn’t get to sleep on Tuesday night because I couldn’t stop thinking about all that I had seen that day for the first time: human flesh being cut, human flesh being burned, human flesh being pinched, human flesh being tugged, human flesh being drained of its liquids, human flesh being removed, and human flesh being sewn back up. I’d never seen a surgery (or really much more than getting my own blood drawn) so close before, and even when I was so tired from being on my feet (the first time I’ve had to stand for so long probably since college) I couldn’t sit because I couldn’t peel my eyes away from what they were doing on those operating tables.

Wednesday was when the real fun began. After spending the morning in the clinic, I spent the afternoon in surgeries and found myself getting the opportunity to scrub in on a surgery, a hydrocele on an elderly gentleman. Before I even knew I’d be scrubbing in on his surgery I got to know him a little bit. He was very stoic, and then I talked him off to sleep as he muttered things I couldn’t make out.

Dr. Steve helped me to scrub in and was very cool about it. He then led the way into the OR and I followed, arms above my waste and touching nothing. In the OR I got a sterile gown on and a pair of gloves. It was really tricky to get the gloves on without letting my fingers slip out of the gown, but I had to do it to keep everything sterile. Once I was covered, I moved to the operating table and Dr. Steve told me to put my hands on the table. I left them there (terrified a bit to move them even ever-so-slightly because I don’t trust myself or my movements too much) until after the procedure had ended, he and Dr. Lora asked me to take a pair of tweezers. I held them pretty steadily. Then Dr. Lora asked me if I’d ever done any sutures before. (Earlier she’d let another non-medically trained person do a suture and I flipped! Why was he doing that, I wondered, and later felt slightly better when he told me he was pre-med. So at least he had that experience.) But where would I ever have done anything even remotely close to suturing? “No,” I told her, and I figured that was the end of that.

“Well why don’t you come around the table to my side over here.” I did as I was instructed and went to Dr. Lora’s side. She handed me another set of tweezers with a fish-hook-looking needle in them and instructed me to suture the patient. I’d seen them doing sutures for about 12 hours at that point, and to be honest, it did look pretty easy. So I decided not to defy my superior and go with the faith she’d shown in me. I picked up the instrument and looked down at the patient’s skin, which was almost completely sutured at that point. My hand didn’t shake at all, something I just realized, so I guess I actually felt confident. I pressed into the skin slightly, which was the easy part, and then the needle got stuck. Dr. Steve and Dr. Lora told me “it’s all in the wrist, just turn your wrist like you would a doorknob.” I didn’t get the instruction at first and sort of tried to jiggle the needle in (like you might on tough fabric.) Finally their instruction semi-clicked and I got the needle through. The cord they were using to suture the man was incredibly thick and sticky, as they’d said, it wasn’t what they were used to using in the US. (A lot of their working materials had been donated.) When I pulled the cord through it stuck, so I yanked a bit, but I got it. Then they handed it to me again and instructed me to suture the final one. So I took the instrument again and realized, “all I have to do is turn my right wrist,” and I did, and it went through perfectly. It felt so incredible to hear what they’d said and really get how that would work, and then get to see it work perfectly!

Then it was just such a rush to realize I’d just sewn a human beings’ skin. Wow. Me, someone with zero medical experience. Wow.

The day stayed good from there: I found out the grant I solicited to pay for the funds to my library project had gone through and I’d received the $4,999.97 that I’d asked for! The check is waiting for me in the capital right now. Then later I learned that the community service group I was a member of in college would like to donate the money they raise from the event I sort of started there to my stove project! Wow. Watching surgery, participating in surgery and then some great news about my work back in my community!

Thursday was another awesome day. I’d gotten used to the surgery aspect a little bit more as well as the flow of the center. So, I really took the opportunity to interact with patients. It didn’t hurt that the first 4 patients were all children. I felt nothing more strongly than the desire to be at their sides, reaffirming what everyone else was saying, that they’d be fine, but also wanting desperately to share with them that which I’d just come to appreciate so much: that what was about the happen to them was actually pretty interesting. The first patient was a 3 year old boy with a hernia. The doctors gave him a mask to play with and his mother stayed with him until we had to take him back. He got very scared and had a hard time once we were back there. He kept moving his head around, trying to avoid having the gas mask anywhere near his face. We all felt so bad trying to hold him still while the anesthesiology RN held the mask to the boy’s face. I tried to stroke his arm or his legs, which I found myself holding as still as I could while he kicked them. His surgery went well (as they all did) and his recovery was pretty smooth.

Next was a 14 year old. I could tell he was nervous when I first met him, so I tried to help him get his mind off of it. He was pretty hesitant to say much. The anesthesiology RN came back to start his IV. He got very scared and began to cry.

Imagine growing up in a small rural village, never going to the doctor until your abdomen hurt so badly you couldn’t take it. So the doctor says you need surgery and some American is going to do it. Perhaps you’ve never seen a white person up close before. You go to some Catholic retreat center, wait a few hours to be seen, they tell you to take off all of your clothes and then they say come back tomorrow. You don’t get to eat anything, come back the following day and wait a few more hours. People with terrible Spanish accents in ridiculous-looking outfits keep telling you that nothing is going to hurt and that you’re going to be okay. Someone comes at you with a giant needle, as she keeps insisting nothing is going to hurt. You know by now that everyone around you is lying to you and trying to get you to shut up. All you want to do is cry.

So at that point I about lost it, all internally of course, as I have learned is the most effective way to deal with Dominican ridiculousness. The Dominican woman (with a beard) who was assisting in the pre-op room told the 14 year old to stop crying because he was a man and men don’t cry. I was waiting for it, and I knew I’d hear it, and even though I was anticipating it, it still made me want to smack her in the face to hear it. It’s like when I see a mother here get frustrated with her crying baby and she hits him to get him to stop crying. And then she wonders why it doesn’t work.

Don’t tell a 14 year old boy nothing about what is about to happen to him and then tell him not to cry when he gets freaked out. Be honest with him; if he is almost a man as you say, then rationalize with him as adults. Sadly, it wasn’t just the Dominicans that held the patient to such a high standard.

I took the boy back to the OR. He walked, slowly because they’d given him a sedative, and as he was drifting in and out of consciousness, his body reacted and he tried to pull his arms up. His mother had told the doctors he couldn’t get a general anesthetic because her sister had had one a few years ago and had never woken back up. It’s a pretty typical story here. The doctors in the OR decided the boy wasn’t going to handle the local anesthetics and gave him a general one. Then one of the doctors made a comment in a frustrated tone that I couldn’t wrap my head around, “The kid’s 14 and this is such a simple surgery.”

But does the kid know this? Had anyone explained to him what was going to happen to him? Had he had a chance to have his questions answered, if he’d even learned the lesson that we in the US still haven’t even learned yet: what are you supposed to ask a doctor anyways?

I could have given the doctor some more slack if he hadn’t spent 2 years in another Latin American country, working and learning the language. Surely in those 2 years he’d been able to see what the poor experience in relations to Americans, white people in general, or other people of authority: total submission even if no one has told you what you’re submitting to.

So, if it’s not clear yet, I absolutely understood why the boy was freaked out and I wasn’t too keen on the idea to go over the mother’s head on the general anesthetic issue. But I’m not a doctor. I’m going to have to write that one down so I (and others) remember it.

He woke up slowly and was very groggy. He seemed to remember little of the moments before we went into surgery.

The next patient was a little 6 year old that I hung out with for a while before it was his turn to go back. I taught him how to give a high five, and I showed him some interesting things in the office so that he might look at the experience as an interesting one and not a frightening one. I showed him the coloring books and we talked a bit too. The doctor came back to examine the boy and realized the boy had had open heart surgery a few years ago. So he was going to be an old pro at this everyone thought. Luckily, they were all right. The doctor, the same one who’d made the comment I didn’t like about the 14 year old, won back some points with me. He asked the 6 year old if he liked planes and pilots. The boy did. “Would you like to fly a plane like one?” So he gave the boy a mask and told him later someone else would hold it so he and the boy could fly the plane. He was incredibly stoic as we walked him back the OR. And they started to fly the plane. It took a while and his body reacted to the gas, flinching a bit, but we held him and within minutes they started the procedure. I stayed and rubbed his hand and any other part of him I could get to safely. His surgery went well and his recovering was slow. I tried to stay by his side as much as possible. As he came to, he shook from the shock of the medicine and change in body temperature. After a while he began to wake up and started to cry, which is apparently quite common. He cried for a long time, and sure enough, it only took a little while for his parents, who had joined us in post-op, to start to tell him to stop crying. My tipping point was hearing the father tell him, “you’re a man, and you’re my son. Men don’t cry.”

I’m not a violent person, but if someone had set that man’s face in my left hand, and pulled my right one back, it would have been hard not to smack him in the face. Not only is it obviously very acceptable for a 6 year old boy to cry about anything, I think it is very acceptable for him to cry when it’s a reaction to the medication someone’s given him! Also, he was probably scared and cold, and being made embarrassed to be crying certainly doesn’t help a person to stop crying.

Nice thinking dad.

I attended the beginning of a woman’s hernia surgery and then had to leave to get back to my town to do some other pretty awesome things. On the drive over to my town I sat next to a small girl with crossed eyes. I’ve always thought of Dominican children as very cute, but when I looked at this girl I felt this incredible feeling to comfort her, and she wasn’t even in any pain. It was as if my medical experience made me look at the human body as something else, something that could be cut and prodded and pulled, almost like a fleshy machine, but the time working with the patients made me realize how profound we are, and how vulnerable. It’s a strange feeling, and I know I’m not expressing it well. Perhaps other people who have had a similar experience can relate.

The first thing I had back in my town was a session in the school about hand washing. (30 seconds of rubbing with soap, and use warm, running water! Count the ABCs (or Happy Birthday twice) to know when you’ve gotten to 30 seconds. Then rinse and dry with a clean, dry towel.) Saturday is International Youth Day, so in celebration of that I also decided to give out some toys to the small girls and boys! I had been supplied the bulk of the toys from my sister just about a year ago and had neglected to give them out because I couldn’t think of a fair way. At first I wanted to raffle them off to women in my women’s group classes (nutrition and first aid.) But when I had so many attendance problems, it seemed like a better idea to not reward the un-dedication with such awesome toys. Then I thought we could sell raffle tickets to the entire community on behalf of the Escojo group, but for our first run we sold less than 1/3 of what we had said we could sell (again from a lack of dedication on the part of the kids and community members) and so I decided to celebrate International Youth Day with a great hand washing session and toy prize.

I got to the school a lot later than I was hoping to because I had a really hard time pulling myself away from the mission, and ended up waiting for a bus to leave Santiago for almost an hour. I got to the school a little past 4 and ended up keeping the kids until past 6! They were supposed to get out of school at 5! The reason it went so long is because I did small group demonstrations of hand washing outside. There were 36 kids so we did 6 groups of 6. I’m not sure if they really even ended up getting the point that we have to wash with soap all over our hands for 30 seconds. Hopefully. At the end my goal was to ask them questions about the lesson and see what they remembered. Ideally the correct answers would earn the kids a prize. But, I wanted to give the cooler toys (such as the dolls and etch-a-sketches) to the younger kids so I separated the groups again. The kids who could answer a question got a toy first and then I just handed the rest of the kids their toys.

I think what prompted my sister to spend all of her Christmas money on the toys in the first place was because when I first got to my town I felt so sad to look at all of the kids here who had crappy, white, imitation Barbie dolls to play with. It made me really angry that no one was giving them (or perhaps no one was making) dolls that looked like they do. And the quality also made me angry. I think I could safely say that every single toy I ever had growing up was the utmost in quality (perhaps besides the toys inside goody bags from birthday parties) and the dolls I had always looked just like me. The boys’ situation here wasn’t much better: broken trucks, white action figures. You get the drill.

The enthusiasm definitely decreased as the age of the kids receiving the toys increased. By the end I was exhausted, trying to hand girls’ toys to the girls and boys’ toys to the boys and take pictures of the whole thing. The kids at the end (once the good toys my sister and mom had bought had already been handed out) got little games and things I’d collected over the year and were much less thrilled. That’s when I stopped taking pictures. Towards the end we also had some parents show up with their smaller children who weren’t yet school-age and I tried to scramble some stuff together.

I saved one doll for the little girl who shows up in a lot of my photos. I knew she was the main reason my sister had decided to buy the dolls, so I thought it was only fair that she get something. I gave her a stuffed doll and when she got it she was so thrilled. Her smile was so genuine and it made me so happy because I knew how happy it would make my sister.
I took a quick shower and then went to start our Escojo meeting. We’re going to try to form (another, hopefully more successful) new group, this time with kids from the community within walking distance and the kids who live here in my community who were too young last year. I had my doubts that people would actually show up, and can’t tell you how thrilled I was to see not only a huge group of kids from the original members, but also a ton of new faces. The new people were all super enthusiastic and very patient. We had no power so I lit 3 candles in the center of the room (also thanks to Julie- my sister savior) and we powered on. The 4 kids in charge of our Escojo group gave the first lesson: “What is Escojo?” At the end I talked just a little bit more. I get the feeling that this group is going to be a lot easier to start than the one last fall. The new kids all participated in the activities and helped us to quiet down the older members. It was great-there were moments when I could actually hear the person who was talking up front. What a nice change.

After a few days like these who could complain? Certainly not me.

Oh No

2009-01-31T08:40:00.001-05:00

This happened after the med mission and toys and new group meeting, but I didn’t want to end that blog entry on a sad note, so I decided to place it in another one.

The only news today is that there’s a Haitian man sleeping in the kitchen just behind my house. When my first neighbor told me this I thought to myself I wish I had an extra blanket and pillow to put out there. But when my second neighbor also alerted me to the situation, and told me that the man is “crazy” I told him not to worry about it. He mentioned that my doors are easily opened by someone who wants to, and it is true. I’ve heard too many stories of volunteers’ homes being broken in to, so I can’t really insist that my neighbor let it go. I’ve learned time and again it’s usually wise to trust the locals. So my neighbor wants to call immigration and get the man sent back to Haiti. It of course makes me sad to be directly involved in a situation like this, but my neighbor hasn’t called immigration on any of the other illegal immigrants living here, so it makes me wonder if there just might be a real threat with this man. My heart goes out to him, especially if he does suffer from mental illness, but I suppose it is better that I let my neighbor look out for him than risk having my house entered.

I'm Online!

2009-01-20T09:49:00.001-05:00

Check this out! And feel free to give!

https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=517-289

Of Rats and Me

2009-01-20T09:46:00.001-05:00

So, we’ve known the rats have been back for some time. I was too busy/didn’t have the right equipment to take care of them before I went home, so I assumed the worst had happened while I was gone: rats had taken over my home. Luckily, my assumptions were far (ish) from the truth. There was definite evidence that they’d made themselves at home in my home, despite my absence, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it could have been.

Once back and better equipped, I was ready to take these little f**ckers on, head on, or rather, neck-on. As I prepared the traps, I noticed one had broken and when I went to fix it, the whole thing exploded on my pointer finger. It didn’t break, but the trap did, and if it hadn’t when it spontaneously combusted, then I’ll bet it did when I chucked it out the window in an angry fit. Why oh why, I wondered, doesn’t the Peace Corps equip us with ice packs? I spent the day without being able to use the finger and noticed some blood under the fingernail. (For some reason it’s an injury I see all the time among volunteers here. Are there really that many exploding rat traps out there?)

I’ve set the trap out now for a few nights and so far caught just one. I was on the phone with a friend when the trap snapped. “What was that?” he asked me. I went into the other room to see what had happened, cautioning Lina to stay away. The poor little guy looked nothing like the rats I had caught the last time. They’d been big, dark grey and dirty. This one, at least from how it was positioned in the trap, looked smaller, fluffy white and brown, and rather helpless. Still, I decided, I would not take pity on these things that chew through everything in my house and leave their droppings around to let me know just how much track they’ve covered. They were the enemy, my enemy.

It didn’t make it any better when a few nights later I caught another, well, almost. The trap snapped, and I heard the squealing. I figured the squealing would stop and I’d be able to release the dead body in the back yard the next day. But it didn’t stop. Even when I put on the light to peer into the corner where the dying rat lay, it continued to squeal, and thrash about, banging the trap into the wall, a rather disturbing sound for someone trying to go to bed. I decided to cash in on my offer to yell for help from my neighbor, having decided that I can handle the rats when they’re dead, but not when they’re dying. Almost one year I made it without having to call him to kill a mouse, rat, cockroach, snake or tarantula. (That was mostly because I didn’t have too many of those animals stop by the house, that I knew of, but the ones that did I was able to take care of.) Freddy came over and went to the corner where the trap lay, empty. “I guess he escaped,” he told me. So the thrashing had all been an attempt to release itself from the trap, and not a last dying call for mercy.

Even as I write this, I can hear them having a dance party above me, scraping their claws over the between the “ceiling” and the tin roof, and thumping their tails all over as they move.

Broken Reasoning in the Mountain

2009-01-20T09:45:00.000-05:00

roA gay PCV friend of mine told me a story. His community members don’t know he’s gay and the other day while they were out in the hills, working on a project, one of the workers began to explain how homosexuality is the worst thing in the world. Most of the other workers just sat and listened. One rationalized that ‘while it may be the worst thing in the world, the times are changing and now if you go out to bars you’ll see male couples.’

The first man told a story about how one time he was riding in a public taxi and a male couple he suspected of being gay got in. Well, the man was so offended he demanded that the taxi driver pull over to let him out. There was so debate over whether the man should pay for the ride, and the taxi driver said, ‘you were in the car for such a short distance,’ so he let the man out without charging him. Then the man told his fellow workers, ‘I didn’t even tell the cab driver why I was getting out.’

Pity, I told my gay friend, his powerful statement just went to pot.

Back in the DR

2009-01-10T10:15:00.000-05:00

I’m back in my town and I must say the transition back has been pretty smooth. I spent a few days in Santiago and came back here on Monday. As I drove in I felt good, looking at the window and again reminding myself of how beautiful it is here. It’s sunny (perhaps too sunny) and warm (perhaps too warm-never thought the day would come when I’d complain about the warmth-admit it, you’ve never heard/read me say it’s too hot) but very green, and green is good. I don’t want to say that I miss the clouds in Chicago, but I sorta do. But still, green is good.

So, the drive in was good, and when I got here, the first thing I did was sweep. The dust was unbelievable. I had to sweep everything after dusting all of the furniture. I also had to cut a vine down that had grown in through my window. I must say, that was a first. I was glad to see hardly any evidence of rats (perhaps they’ve moved on?) and no evidence of pigeons having entered. After cleaning I could unpack. That all took awhile and then I was very sweaty so I bathed in really old water (and tried not to think about it too much, I reasoned that it was probably cleaner than the rivers or lakes I’ve bathed in before) and then I went to get Lina. I took a video of our reunion which you can see on the photo website. It was a lovely reunion. She is usually so excited to see me that she can’t stop barking but this time she seemed so relieved to see me that she couldn’t bark. She is as cute as I remembered and getting to see her again was one of the things that helped me the most to stay positive about coming back.

I also tried to stay positive about seeing the people again and it was great to see them. After I got Lina I went to a Three King’s Day party and just about everyone was there. Everyone was very happy to see me and asked me about my trip, and my family. They wished me a happy new year and I did the same. It dawned on me that one year ago I was at this same party and I took a lot of the same pictures I took this time, of a lot of the same kids, just one year younger. It struck me because that means I’m so much closer to the end of my service than I am to the start. Sure it’s dawned on all of you already I’m sure, but this was really the first memory I have of something that I did the year prior. (That’s probably because a lot of the things I did when I first got to my site were forgettable and I missed all of the December-Christmas celebrations this time.) It’s an incredible thing to consider because after being home I realize just how great a place it is (as if I’d really forgotten) and how much I want to be there again, while also realizing that I don’t have that much time left to get a ton done. As much as I want to be home among friends and family again, I know these 10 months or so are going to go much too quickly for my work.

After the party I checked in with the new president of Escojo who filled me in on all of the wonderful, productive things she has been up to. They managed to get the land we want to put the library on down to 2/3 of the original price and she’s started to solicit donations from town residents and family as well as from the mayor and important people. I was so impressed with all that she had done, despite some obstacles, and feel confident that when I leave, Escojo will continue to be active and do a lot of great work in the community. This was like my test run for when I actually leave, and I feel pretty confident that it’ll be okay when that day comes.

But my biggest concern about coming back was that everyone would pull the very Dominican thing and ask me, “What did you bring me?” So far it’s been okay, only one person asked me it seriously and I think she’s got to realize on some level that I didn’t owe her anything, so maybe she was kidding. (I doubt it, but still.) My answers were well rehearsed. For someone who I thought was kidding I said, “What did you save me?” and for women who I thought meant it I said, “I brought back lots of things to raffle in my new health class.” That didn’t seem to appease the one woman, but I don’t care. I really don’t have as much money as they think I do, and even more relevant is the lack of space I had to bring things back. Even with 2 checked bags (both weighing in at 50lbs) and 2 carry-on bags I wasn’t able to bring as much back as I would have liked. I got some candy and other small gifts for people as well as things for 2 raffles and lots of books for the library. (I did bring back an outfit for the granddaughter of the woman who watches Lina because she asked me to bring back some old clothes if we had any, and because I felt like I should bring something back for watching Lina for almost 4 weeks.) But otherwise all of what I have is communal, so people should be okay with that. I still haven’t seen everyone so we’ll see.

That night I hung out at the fritura with Lina and some people I hadn’t yet seen. I ate fried pork and fried plantains and felt good again. I really hope that feeling lasts. It’s nice to feel appreciated and missed.

Home Sweet Home

2009-01-03T00:06:00.001-05:00

I spent a few days in Chicago and then flew to DC for some catching up time with friends and a wedding, which was lovely. It was nice to walk around DC and be reminded, yet again that it’s a great city and definitely where I want to go when I get back to the US. Seeing my friends from college was wonderful, and I was so pleased to find out that even in this crappy economy, they are all doing well, exceptionally well in fact. I got out a lot, and then on my last day it all caught up with me (or maybe it was just a Dominican curse) and I got real sick. When I got back to Chicago my mom and I went straight to the hospital to get me checked out. 9 days after my symptoms started and 4 days after I went to the hospital I was able to find out that I’d caught an intestinal bacteria. By that time my body (I thought) was fighting it off pretty well… a few days later I found out it wasn’t, so I began taking pills and rid myself of the stupid bug once and for all.

I spent some time catching up with high school friends, and did the tiniest bit of shopping. I cooked and baked a lot of delicious food with my crafty mom and sister just before the holidays. Christmas was a blast. I got to see my older brother for a few days before it and he left on Boxing Day; it was hard to say good bye again (we’d just gone 15 months without seeing one another.) My younger brother got home a few days before Christmas so we were all able to be together for the big day. We went to my aunt and uncle’s house and ate TONS of good food, including delicious mac and cheese. Oh, and then I found out my cousin was engaged! Oh, and a few days earlier I’d found out that a friend of mine has a baby! So, yes, life moves on even when I’m not around to boss people around (and tell them to slow down a bit…) Her fiancé seems very nice, I’d never met him before. Later in the evening my older brother dressed up as Santa and made us all laugh, and then as old people tend to do, everyone got tired and we all went home.

I spent New Year’s quietly in my house with my parents and 2 aunts. The Chicago television countdown was quite a letdown but we managed to enjoy ourselves anyways… well I at least I did. Again, it was another early night.

Only 2 days later it was time to leave! Bu then guess what happened?!?! I met up with another PCDR volunteer in the waiting area (what luck, right?) and on our flight to Miami, we had some maintenance problems which led me to (correctly) predict that we’d not make it to our connection in Miami. So, I talked the flight attendant into letting me and my new friend off of the plane and onto flights for the next day, with no extra charge. I just didn’t want to get stuck in Miami, and we would have otherwise. Good work me! So now I’ll be back in my site 2 days later than predicted because my bus doesn’t run on Sundays.

I can’t tell you how nice it was to see everyone on my trip home. Obviously the nicest thing about coming home is the people (no matter how much I tend to talk about the food) and don’t get me wrong, the food was great too… and I miss these people… but I know 10 months will go fast, and then I’ll be back. Hear that? I’ll be back! See you soon Chicago!

My Kind of Town

2009-01-02T23:52:00.000-05:00

My trip back home was a long one… it began with a bus ride from my town to the closest “city” and then another bus ride to the nearest major city. I was lucky to be accompanied by my host brother for the trip, which was nice. He said things like “good for you for having made it this long without going home,” and, “we’ll miss you, say hi to your family for us!” I went to the Hub in Santiago for the night, spent the night alone (watching Beaches and talking to my family back home.) The next morning I woke up early to get to the airport. When I reached customs and they found out I’d been living in the country illegally for a few months, they wanted me to pay a fine. (You see, PC is able to get us green cards to live in the DR but had some trouble with it right when it was time for me to go…) The man told me the fine was US $125 which I didn’t have on me. He asked how much I had and told me I could pay as much as I had. (Sound like he was going to pocket the money???) So I called a boss and VERY LUCKILY he picked up (which made me wonder, what if it hadn’t been a work day?) He told me he’d transfer the money to my account and that I should NOT pay the man, but speak to the man’s supervisor and get a receipt. So I did just that, after leaving the line to go get the money out of an ATM.

And thus began the stress of that day.

The flight from Santiago to Miami was fine. I watched Ghost Town. It was funny. I looked at Sky Mall and decided that it is the most frustrating thing for a PCV to read on their way home because it’s full of EXPENSIVE CRAP THAT NO ONE NEEDS BUT RICK PEOPLE STILL BUY. Sheesh.

When I got to Miami I found out that my flight to Chicago had been cancelled. I fought my way through a line, with people crying because their flights had been cancelled and I let them go ahead. I looked around at all of the strangers speaking English, who had light skin, and I freaked out a little, just a little. Americans looked so weird to me, and I really couldn’t figure out if it was just because I was in the US, if it was because I was in an airport, or if it was because I was in Miami. I decided it was the latter because people began to look much more normal when I got to Chicago… but it was still weird that they were speaking English.

I called home once I’d gotten myself on standby on an earlier flight to let my mom know about the change. Our agreement was that I wouldn’t call again unless I hadn’t gotten on the standby, but, luckily I did, so I didn’t call. I’d told her to watch the flight so that she would know when I’d land and wouldn’t need to talk to me directly. (You see, I didn’t have a cell phone that would work in the US.) So I landed in Chicago, early, hoping that my baggage would be on my flight. I waited for word from my family and for my baggage for one hour, walking aimlessly looking for a payphone and for some indication where my bags would be, if they’d ever get there. One hour was a long time and just as soon as my bag arrived, so did my family and I felt a great relief in the form of crying. I was tired, frustrated, and happy beyond belief to see them, and I let it out in that way… maybe it was a little weird, but my family didn’t mind.

We went for hot dogs on the way home, at my insistence. I had my favorite, a hot dog with grilled onions and BBQ sauce, cheese fries and a chocolate milk shake. Yum. I used to go to this hot dog place a lot on my way home from the airport during college and it was nice to do it again now. We caught up, ate tons, and laughed.

One Year Conference

2009-01-02T23:51:00.000-05:00

A little over 1 year into our service us health and water volunteers got together with our bosses to discuss our first year and our year ahead. The conference, like all PC conferences, was 2 nights long. It was held in the mountains and was a bit cool, but definitely doable. We spent time giving presentations of what we’ve been up to, how it’s been going and if we’ve been successful or not so much with our health goals: 1) nutrition for women and their families (and gardens), 2) sex ed for youths, 3) reproductive health for women and their families. (I feel I’ve done pretty well with numbers 1 and 2 and haven’t started with number 3 yet.) We were able to help one another generate ideas for future projects as well.

The last day of the conference all but 1 of us headed north to a restaurant which cooks delicious Indian-Dominican food and has rooms and a pool. We rented out the whole place and had a ton of fun. The food was great (and some of it was even spicy which was great because spice is a rare find in the DR.) We took some great photos of ourselves jumping into the pool and other such nonsense.

The next day I had to be among the first to go back to my town because I was supposed to have a meeting to discuss possible places to put the library. It didn’t end up working out the way that I thought it would but we were able to decide to work together (me, the youths, and other community members) to BUY the perfect piece of land, which hopefully will work! Keep your fingers crossed! The next day I wrapped up a lot of loose ends because the day after that, I left to go home for over 3 weeks! The night before I left my town my youths threw me a huge party which was SO great! They bought me Christmas presents and made me feel incredibly appreciated and loved. A few of my youths got really choked up to see me go and made me swore I’d come back to them. I know they didn’t have to worry, and now that I’m in the airport on my way back to them, it seems like I was right! I told myself to remember how good they made me feel so that I could ease myself into the transition back south easily. It’s always a struggle to leave home, but I know there will be some happy faces when I get back!

Thanksgiving

2009-01-02T23:50:00.000-05:00

The week leading up to the blessed holiday was a busy one. I volunteered a while back to compile the photos of volunteers from the last year into a slideshow for viewing at the Thanksgiving party. So, I had to go to the capital a bit early to put together the finishing touches for the slideshow. (I also signed up to help MC the talent show at the party.) During my time in the capital I helped some members of the baking committee with their treats, at the house where I was staying chocolate-chocolate cookies were made as well as 25 pecan pies. We were fortunate enough to be put up by some embassy and USAID families, and I got to stay at a lovely house with room for me and 4 friends. We had a lot of fun playing games, watching good DVDs, using their WIFI, eating their delicious food and taking hot showers with water pressure. It was lovely.

The finished product of the slideshow was incredibly well-received and if I do say so myself, it was pretty awesome. I spent way over 24 hours on it (not all in one sitting of course, I’d planned it for months and worked for it for a few weeks leading up to Thanksgiving week) and it was well worth it. The sound track, which is typically what can make or break these things, was incredible (each song at some point in the year prior had struck a chord with me in some way with regard to the PC experience). I got a lot of compliments on the soundtrack and people liked the way I set the music to the photos and videos. It was incredibly worth all of the effort I put it and it was a lot of fun.

On Death and Dying

2008-12-18T00:27:00.001-05:00

My neighbor died a few days ago. I’ve been to two other funerals in my town, both for people I’d never met. But this neighbor was actually someone I knew, and she was someone I would have like to have considered a friend. She was sick, always going to the doctor, too thin, and apparently had a blood disease. She was in her 30s.

My project partner came to my window to wake me up to tell me this neighbor had died. I was shocked and sad and went to see her mother. Her mother was a wreck. I’ve never been held so tight by a Dominican. She just sat, crying her daughter’s name, and then mine, and then her daughter’s… They bury the casket the day the person dies. The casket is wood with a window near the face. My neighbor looked exactly the same, but they’d bound a ribbon around her face, perhaps to hold her chin to her face.

I sat for a while in the house, listening to my neighbor cry and watching the reactions of people who came to visit her. A few hours later some snacks were given out and then we went to the town where we’d bury her.

I’d kept it all together until we got there. I didn’t break down, but it did finally reach me that my neighbor had died. It struck me when I watched the men in charge of moving her casket. One of the men was another neighbor, a gruff guy who carries himself like he’s a farmhand with somewhere important to go and then after work like he’s a guy with some serious rum to drink. Seeing him cry over the women who hardly had any visitors, but you could still tell everyone loved, was heartbreaking. I pictured this gruff guy going to school with her, back when they were younger; in my imagination they were the same age, though I don’t really know how old he is. Still, it pained me to look as he cried, openly in a culture where machismo rules. As I looked around at other people, it was the subtle ones that kept me thinking about how sad it really was, and how much it affected so many people.

You see, in this culture there tends to be either lots of acceptance or perhaps even encouragement for people (and particularly women) to be dramatic when someone dies. I’ve heard stories of women crying and screaming so dramatically that they pass out, and I saw people get so emotional that they had to be carried away, one because she collapsed and one because she couldn’t stop shaking. But, it wasn’t them that made me sad-it was all of the women whom I see on a daily basis whom I’ve never seem be anything but friendly and happy, who subtly reacted to the loss of their neighbor, a woman they’d known for their entire lives. But mostly it was the men.

Gettin' Healthy in the DR

2008-12-18T00:24:00.001-05:00

A few weeks ago us northern health girls got together (in the mountains) to hold a health conference. We were each able to bring 3 women from our communities to learn about different health topics. I tried to bring 4 women (one neighbor with a friend of hers and my neighbor’s two daughters) but the other 3 couldn’t come and so I left my neighbor to find the others to come with us, and amazingly, she did! All three women that came with me are incredibly dynamic and had a lot of fun.

We headed into the hills of the Caribbean (it was SO cold) and then went further on the back of a truck. It was beautiful, at the base of the highest peak in the Caribbean, but as I said, freezing. There was no cell phone signal where we were, and it was funny to watch the women from my town, who’d only gotten signal a matter of days in their town before the conference, to be unable to believe there was no signal in the area! We gave sessions on nutrition, health campaigns, cancer, HIV, STIs, and I gave one on First Aid, which I am pleased to report went very well. I also gave a yoga class which went very well- it’s fantastic to watch donas doing the yoga!

Immediately after the conference I went off to a stove-making workshop led by a volunteer living very far from me. It was great-I learned how to construct one of these improved, cement stoves and was glad to be able to get in there and get my hands dirty with the work. So, I look forward to the day when I can start construction in my town on these stoves!

This Land Is Your Land, Might We Have Some?

2008-12-18T00:23:00.000-05:00

Since September we’ve been working, slowly, but steadily at getting land on which to put a library. When I say we I mean me and my fantastic youth group. We’ve gone back and forth trying to decide whether closing off a public road is a good idea. I guess we decided it wasn’t a good idea and instead of trying to find a donation of land from the farmers (we tried many times, unsuccessfully) we decided to find a way to buy some land (hopefully at a discount) on which to put our library/community center (and perhaps also a community garden or playground or something else because the land is a lot larger than I was hoping for). So, if we’re able to get the land, we’ll have a large space which thrills me.

I just switched power over from me and 2 teens to a new group of 4 teens for our youth group. There’s a new president (I was the former president), vice president, treasurer and secretary. I have passed a lot of responsibilities over to the new president including soliciting donations to buy the land (and get that giant discount we are hoping for) for the next few weeks while I am home. We’ll see how it all pans out!

I’m Still Serving in the Caribbean

2008-11-15T17:25:00.000-05:00

I woke up this morning, like every other morning and let Lina out my back door on her leash. After a few minutes, like most mornings, she started barking and unlike most mornings, I went to see why. I’m quite glad I did because what I found out there was pretty shocking. A GIANT HERMIT CRAB! Well, not giant, but quite large, much larger than any I have ever seen before. (Check out photos on the photo website.)

As I looked at the hermit crab, I couldn’t help but wonder from where it had come. I will happily acknowledge that I am but 30 minutes from the coast, but still, that’s quite a long way for a little animal. Could a bird have carried it?

Am I suggesting hermit crabs migrate?
Not at all. They could be carried.
What? A swallow, carrying a hermit crab?
It could grip it by the husk.
It’s not a question of where he grips it. It’s a simple question of weight ratios. A 5 ounce bird could not carry a 1 pound hermit crab.
Well it doesn’t matter.
Listen, in order to maintain air-speed velocity, a swallow needs to beat its wings 43 times every second, right?
Please!Am I right?
I’m not interested.
It could be carried by an African swallow.
Oh yeah, an African swallow maybe, but not a European swallow, that’s my point.
Oh yeah I agree with that.
But then of course, the African swallows are non-migratory.
Oh yeah.
So they couldn’t bring a hermit crab anyway.
Wait a minute, supposing two swallows carried it together?
No, they’d have to have it on a line.
Well simple! They just use a strand of tree bark.
What, held under the dorsal guiding feathers?
Well why not?

Water, Water Everywhere

2008-11-15T17:18:00.000-05:00

In the last few days of October and the first few of November I finally went to visit my 3 water volunteer friends who actually live only about 3 hours from me (which is close in DR travel speak). But first, I started the trip at the site of an environment volunteer to get a look at the stoves that are in that town which are the same that I would like to put into my community at some point in the very near future. The stoves were HUGE and just by first glance I could tell how much better they are than the stoves that are typically used. The stove owner and the volunteer then explained how the stoves work and I was even more sold on the project.

We then went on a hike to the town of the first water volunteer that I visited. They supposedly live 1 ½ hours from one another but the hike ended up taking over 3 hours, partly because me and another volunteer that I did the hike with aren’t the fastest, but also because I had to keep changing shoes. You see, the path wound around a river that was easily crossed with the proper footwear that neither I nor the other female volunteer in our hiking group had. She had flip flops and I had both sneakers and flip flops. So, we were slow. The views from up in the hills were lovely, check out some photos on the website. We hiked also with the environment volunteer’s puppy, Wind. Adorable.

The water volunteer I visited first has a very small and very spread out community. I felt I was walking around in a jungle when I was visiting there. We had a lot of fun on the visit, although it was pretty short. (The next day I went to vote in Santiago by general absentee ballot that I cannot be sure ever made it to Cook County. On the trip I was able to pick up a tee-shirt that volunteers made which support our favorite candidate. So at least there was that.)

Later that day I went to visit another water volunteer and due to heavy rains, spent two nights at his site and put off a visit to water volunteer number three until the following week. On this visit I got a chance to take a walk of his town (hilly, very sweaty in the high heats of October.) We also watched lots of DVDs and cable. Yes that’s right, he still lives with his host family and so still has a television and so can somewhat still be in touch with the world. It was nice, as were the members of his host family. We cooked dinner for them one night (spaghetti with red sauce) and it was met with mixed results. Food that is liked by Americans is often just tolerated, if not hated, but Dominicans. This has been my experience.

So then in that following week I went to visit the third and final water volunteer in my area. The trip to his site was probably the most educational on what exactly it is that the water volunteers do. I went up to his water source and to watch the water brigades work (ridiculously quickly). It was actually pretty simple-looking, or maybe that was just my friend’s ability to explain it so well. I couldn’t get over how quickly the men were able to dig the trenches where the piping will go. My trip to his site took place just days after we did the “double dig” in the garden project that we are working on in my community. It was difficult to get hardly anyone motivated to do the digging for the garden and since it was mostly kids working on it, it went pretty slowly, and actually ended up being me doing most of the work. Meanwhile, at my friend’s site, 4 days a week, organized groups go out and up to work on their water supply. And while I’m happy for him, and my other friends who are having success on their aqueducts, it still makes me want to scream, “WHY WON’T PEOPLE DIG FOR GARDENS!?” I think I’m learning firsthand about Dominican (or human) priorities: power, paved roads, plumbing, and then who knows. I don’t think first aid classes, nutrition classes, or gardening projects are up there… I get the feeling that some of my friends in other groups such as community economic development, youth, or special education feel the same way. Water can give aqueducts, environment can give stoves or trees, but the rest of us are supposed to just train to make new fisherman.

So, I’m going to need these library and stove projects to work out. I might be reformatting the financing of these projects, switching the two grants so that I might be able to actually get some funding. What this means for you, my supporters, is that I might be asking you for money for a grant for stoves instead of for the library. But don’t worry, you can still get Spanish books and hand them off to be over my winter break. WHOOPDEEDOO!

Drama, Drama Everywhere

2008-10-22T10:24:00.000-04:00

I’ll fill you in on the drama that’s been taking place in my town.

First: a 17 year-old friend of mine has a 40 something year-old man who has been writing her love letters. This man is the father of a 15 year-old close friend of the 17 year-old. When the girl finally told me about the situation, she confided that he’d written her 3 times. She showed me one of the letters, and it was sick and I told her so. I think Dominicans a lot of times tend to be more dramatic than most Americans, and this letter was no exception. He said things that I found revolting, coming from a man so much older than her. The age thing is such an issue for us Americans, and I still don’t have a good feel on if it’s an issue to Dominicans or not.

I tend to keep my stronger opinions to myself here, trying always to make friends and avoid making enemies. I’m hesitant to talk about religion or politics, though many of you know I adore talking about those topics back home. I also try not to make statements about people, unless they are flattering, and usually only to their faces (because you never know who you might offend by speaking well of someone else.) Sometimes it feels like I’m walking on eggshells, and perhaps I go above and beyond what’s really necessary, but it’s still what I do. Only twice have I ever really spoken out, once a few months ago when this same friend showed me a book that referred to homosexuality and masturbation as unnatural (I shook the book in my hands and told her it was “shit”) and the other time when I told her how wrong I thought this situation with this man was. She didn’t react much to hearing that, mostly just listened to what I said. I told her in situations like this, you’ve got to wonder why someone with so much more life experience wants to date someone so much younger than he is. She nodded. And it’s obvious that it’s wrong that he wants to date someone just 2 years older than his own son, whom he hadn’t seen in years, apparently.

In addition to all that, the man gets on my nerves! It’s tiring to listen to people here when they think they speak perfect English, and in fact they are very far from it. He’s one of those people. He constantly throws out these words, one at a time, trying to teach the kids or something, and he tries to get me to go along with the disjointed, haphazard education. But he doesn’t even clue them in on what he’s saying, and it is my personal belief that in a group where there are people who speak more than one language, you should always go with the majority unless you specifically announce that you’re going to switch over. The man never tells anyone, which leaves us all there, looking at him stupefied, them because he hasn’t told them what he’s saying and me because he’s not saying anything that makes any kind of sense, and because he never gave a warning that he was going to switch over! ANNOYING! So even if I could ever get behind 40 something year-olds dating minors, I could never rally behind someone who abandoned their family, and has no linguistic manners.

Second: a 15 year-old friend of mine, who has a lot of problems at home, also confided in me about those problems. I referred to him in another blog as Alfie. I believe he’s gay, but he told me he wants to marry one of the girls in town. I try to be supportive with him, no matter what the circumstance, but it is hard to know what to say and how to react when he’s almost a man and still get’s smacked around at home, and when he doesn’t get a lot of support from his peers because of his flamboyance. What he told me was that his parents aren’t his birth parents, which is common enough here. He told me that he hasn’t seen his birth father in over a year or his birth mother in over 5 years; that they, or one of them, left him, a tiny, under-weight infant in a plastic bag with a very dramatic case of diarrhea, on the doorstep of the home where he lives now. That is what he told me, and that the people raising him have never hugged him. He reminded me that a hug I gave him a few weeks ago was the second hug he’s ever gotten. So of course I hugged him again. But what else can I say but that? I’m hoping to get him into training next year to be a regional coordinator for Escojo (someone who travels around, supporting the Escojo groups in their area where the volunteers have left.) In the group of regional coordinators I’ve heard that a few of the males are gay, which is interesting. In high school choir I found out that a few kids felt like they had nothing going for them but choir and our choir director, that they felt saved by him. I wonder if Alfie will end up feeling that way about Escojo.

Finally: me. Sadly, I might be the topic of some of the drama, well, me and Escojo. Before I arrived, the kids in town had very little in their daily schedules: school and church. Now, with some of them attending First Aid and gardening, and up to3 Escojo meetings a week, they are a lot busier. This has created something of a conflict among the coordinators of the various church activities. A few weeks ago we’d had a trip to the beach planned for a Saturday. The priest told the Escojo kids that if they chose to go to the beach instead of coming to mass, he’d have to kick them out of their Catholic youth group. So, a bunch decided to go to mass, leaving us without enough money to pay for the truck. So we cancelled the trip. After we’d cancelled I found out that the priest hadn’t come to our town to give mass in over 3 weeks, so when he didn’t end up coming that Saturday either, I wasn’t surprised, but was very disappointed. I told the kids, and they agreed that in the future we would make our plans and not let them be changed at the last minute by outsiders. I told them that if they agreed a date could work (even if there was mass scheduled) we would go for it. Everyone agreed that that was a great plan.

Last Sunday we were scheduled to give our first Sunday session to the group we’re forming in the other town. The priest had specifically (if indirectly) asked us to move the date from Wednesdays to Sundays at 4PM so that we wouldn’t have problems keeping track of the kids in the dark. I wholeheartedly agreed with his reasons and was happy to change. On our way out of our town, the priest showed up and asked where we were headed. Apparently he couldn’t come to give mass the Saturday before and had changed it to Sunday, at the same time we were supposed to be in the other town. Because of that, a lot of kids from our group were not going with us.

Last night, I stumbled into a meeting with practically every member of my Escojo group and the priest. Alfie was crying/screaming at someone on the other side of the circle and then she cried/screamed back. When I need my Spanish understanding to be perfect, it rarely is, and last night was no exception. Their problem had something to do with saying he’d be at mass and help clean up beforehand and as a result of not having come, a rumor spread that he was going to get in trouble. I couldn’t decide whether the awkwardness of being there was better or worse than the awkwardness of leaving, and then someone said the word “Escojo,” so then it got personal, but not as personal as I thought it could; soon after someone said the word “Elizabeth.” Only half the group new I’d even walked up, so I felt really torn about leaving. All I could understand that they were saying was that Escojo takes up a lot of their time, but I still heard my name mentioned about 4 times and couldn’t figure out what people were saying about me and Escojo.

I ended up deciding that the priest was probably very discouraged that the kids who used to have very empty schedules are now a lot busier, and as a result, his schedule is now a lot harder to manage. But I couldn’t get over the fact that people were talking about Escojo and me and no one had asked me to come to the meeting. Obviously I’d be happy to talk to anyone about Escojo, our schedule or anything else, but I didn’t like that I’d stumbled into that situation.

When the meeting ended I asked 2 kids who were in it what was happening. They asked why I’d left and told me not to worry, that everything everyone said about Escojo was great, that everyone supports it and us, and me. I asked them what people had said about me, and they said that only good things were said about me and that I shouldn’t worry. I asked why no one had told me to come to the meeting, so I could talk about things with them. They said they hadn’t known they’d be talking about Escojo and that anyways, their youth group meetings are only for the youth group members, which is also why they told me they couldn’t tell me what else people were talking about. So, I guess I just sort of have to trust them.

As for the schedule conflicts, I haven’t the foggiest. We changed the meetings to Sundays, just as the priest wanted. If he wants that time open for mass I honestly don’t know what we’ll do because there are only so many hours in a day, and a week. Without being able to meet after dark, we’re down the weekends, and since no one wants to meet in the morning (because they have to do chores) we are left to 2 weekend afternoons a week, both of which at hours other than 4PM on Sundays, are filled with other church activities in the 2 towns. So, we’ll see. But don’t we just really wish that the priest would take it up with me directly?

The Glass Is Half...

2008-10-16T15:06:00.001-04:00

February was a big month. I finished my diagnostic, so I finally began to work in my community, I moved from my host family’s home to a home of my own (my first time truly living alone), and I got Lina. October, although it’s only half-way over, is shaping up to be a big month too. I took 3 kids to the Escojo National Conference, I found out a new health volunteer is coming within days to live just 30 minutes away from my site, (and that there’s a potential that 2 more might be coming to the big town just 10 minutes away in the not-too distant future), and I GOT PHONE SIGNAL! Unfortunately, the sort of phone signal that now reaches me is not the same kind that is compatible with the Peace Corps cell phone network, so in terms of being in touch with other volunteers, I’m pretty much where I used to be, except (hopefully) in the case of emergencies. But, the good news is that I can now be reached by anyone willing to pay for the call, 24 hours a day, unless something happens to the cell phone tower; this is unlike my old situation which was “landline” access at my neighbor’s house, so I could only be reached during polite visiting hours, and sometimes not at all because the antenna would be out of whack.

The national conference was great. The three boys I ended up taking where selected because they excelled in interviews I conducted with the entire group and for their good attendance records. I think they had a great time in the various sessions, all having to do with the theme “Breaking the Silence.” So we talked about topics that otherwise can often go unmentioned in this country: abortion, sexual orientation, family violence, sex work, drugs and alcohol, among others. I think that they (like me) enjoyed the nighttime activities the most; on the first night we had a debate in which every kid got to argue a different position on those controversial topics, and on the second night we had a huge dance with some great decorations.

Today marks my official (well at least in my mind it’s official; I seriously doubt anyone in Peace Corps keeps track of things like this) half-way mark of service! I got to country on September 13th 2007 and my official end date is November 20th 2009, which I calculated to have a half-way point of October 16th and one half. So there you have it! (Still sticking to that by-line that it only really starts to matter at my one-year-of-service-completed/one-year-of-service-left mark. I still don’t feel like I’ve accomplished enough to be already half way, and I’m technically, I’m really not. That great day will take place on the 20th of November.)

In the time between now and then I am hoping to complete 2 large projects with more success than they have started. The first is a garden project. I was able to get free seeds from the Department of Agriculture, but I have been unsuccessful in motivating my regular slew of women-participants to bring their children or husbands to come to gardening classes (as I doubted they’d be willing to do any of the heavy-lifting) so that stalled. That was, until I came up with the idea of switching the class times to weekends so that the high school kids (who have classes in the afternoons) can come to learn and to help. (They are the only super-enthusiastic people in the community anyways, and they all wanted to come when I first announced it.) I’m using the same technique to save the new youth group in that huge town one over from ours. We have been unlucky with having power on the nights of our meetings, and the sun is going down earlier and earlier now, so we had two unfortunate meetings where my kids were trying to get a group of over 50 to settle down and pay attention, in the dark! Besides that, the woman who lends us the meeting space got very irrationally angry that we were meeting in the dark and threatened to report us to the Catholic “dioceses” (which mostly consists of one (married) man on his motorcycle who totally supports us anyways.) But still, my main goal here has always been to make friends, and not enemies. So, I moved those meetings to the weekend as well, which makes me all-too-busy on weekends, and perhaps not busy enough during the week anymore.

Other updates:

FIRST AID: continues to be met with mixed results. This week it rained so attendance was limited to 4, but at least they were all adult women, the audience for which the class was originally intended. I think we have one more class, then a review session and then an exam. I don’t have a good feeling for how well people will do on the exam, mostly because I don’t really know how to differentiate between who’s really in the class and who just comes sometimes, like with the nutrition class, but actually worse in this one. After we wrap up I intend to educate the ladies (strictly ladies, I will not let the teens get involved in this part) about how to begin to spread what they’ve been learning: nutrition and first aid, as that is my primary reason for being here. (If only it was to master dominoes, which I have already done… many times over.) That will take us up to December when they’d lose interest for the holiday season (which technically already began on the 8th of this month, I was just informed) and when I go home for 3 weeks! Why start anything longer before a 3 week break, right?

ESCOJO in my town: we’re doing good. Our primary focus is the group in the town nearby, and they want to do it all again in the near year in the town one over on the other side of us. I think, more power to you! The whole main goal of Escojo is for the kids to get motivated and spread the word (about condom use, getting tested, not drinking tons or doing drugs, etc.) either in individual sessions to large groups or as a set in a course to large groups. As far as the library is concerned, we’ve hit a bit of a bump in the road: no one wants to donate the land. It’s unbelievable that in a town this size, in which every single resident is a farmer with loads of land sitting and going to squat a lot of the time, and in which everyone loves to read, we can’t get anyone to donate any land…yet. I am determined and have not given up hope. We’ve only asked a few people anyways. If no one will give it up freely, we would have to go through the government to solicit them to buy the land off of someone. That, obviously, could take years, time I, obviously, don’t have.

And a stall with the stoves project as well… the application for the funds from USAID hasn’t come through, and who knows when it might. And then, I’ll still have to apply for the money, which is dwindling. (I’m not sure if you’re aware, but we’re in the middle of a financial crisis here!) (I DON’T BUY IT! We’re still the richest of the rich, just give me the money to do the stoves, okay? Okay!) Anyways…that could hopefully begin in the start of the new year as well. If it doesn’t start then, then it might not ever… I know it seems crazy, but that’s a long project and I sort of have to know now to make sure I can finish it in before the more than a year that I have left.

In my personal life:

I feel like there are some people here who get me more and more each day, mostly the kids in the youth group, but also a select group of adult men and women (and even some kiddies). These relationships all thrive on my ability to laugh and myself and not take it too personally when they laugh at me.

Lina is in a phase of chewing her leashes to pieces in very clean cuts, which is frustrating. I learned just how attached to her (and defensive of her) I am when people started to tell me she gave me ringworm. I refused to believe it, and I still do. I think that it was her mother, because that dog really is dirty. Sad, but true. I try to keep Lina as clean as possible, and sadly no one says that for Lady, Lina’s mommy.

The rats and mice are back, and boy are the louder and messier than ever. I really dislike the tails. I guess I don’t like the razor-sharp teeth that can chew threw anything either… but the tails are super gross.

In the PC volunteer circle: I’m getting to know members of the group that swore in in May better and have been enjoying that. Things did, however, get a bit heated when a particular volunteer who agrees with me that Dave Matthews is good, that Jack Johnson is okay and the John Mayer sucks then said that Dire Straits and James Taylor are not good! Abomination! Obviously, he and I can no longer be friends. It’s okay though, the new group is swearing in at the end of this month.

And my hair is SO long and sadly, so unbelievable to manage! I think since my childhood this is the first time I’ve had such long hair and zero ability to do anything with it. I get comments all the time on it, mostly because it calls a lot of attention to itself, and not the good kind. People mention its length, its frizziness, and/or where exactly I have it situated on my head, but not once have I heard that it looks particularly lovely in the pony tail I have it in for the day. So the battle continues.

They Gave Her To Me

2008-10-09T13:23:00.001-04:00

Imagine the possible ways that that phrase could be used. I came across one when a friend of mine here in my community told me about the little girl who recently came into her life.

My friend is a single, approximately 34 year-old teacher who lives with her 2 brothers and mother, recently received another member to the house, a 5 year-old little girl who is very quiet and very cute. I knew my friend didn’t have any kids and then her mother confirmed that the little girl wasn’t hers. At a party a few weeks ago I finally got a chance to ask my friend about the little girl. Apparently the girl’s father died in an accident and then her mother died of cancer a few years ago. And then, “they gave her to me.” Just like that she said it. The little 5 year-old would from that day be in the care of my friend and finally came to live with her a few weeks ago.

Imagine that.

It's Even Worse Than It Appears, But It's Alright

2008-09-30T09:26:00.001-04:00

A friend said recently that we needn’t give this woman any more attention than she’s already getting because it’s not worth it. I wholeheartedly agree. My only comment is this: I know deep inside my heart that this is like one of those situations where it all just feels like a bad dream. Tomorrow, we’re all going to wake up and on Good Morning America Diane is going to tell us, “Wow, now here’s something you won’t believe… apparently they were just kidding! According to a statement released by the GOP this morning, the mention of her as his Vice Presidential nominee was meant as a joke! Wow, I mean, a lot of us commentators were a bit curious as to how she managed to swing that nomination and I must say, I’m a bit relieved that this was all just an attempt by the GOP to throw us for a loop! Imagine if a man who’d been in politics for that long, surrounded by so many intelligent advisors had really picked that person to run with!” And then they’d all start cracking up, as would we all as we watched. Perhaps they’d interview her and she’d be sitting there with some dead animal and a big ole smile saying, “Well, it was a fun couple of weeks, I must say!”

It’s been interesting to look at all of this from the perspective I have here, usually getting my news a few weeks (or months) late from Newsweek. What’s been even more interesting for me to realize is how very little I care about it. In 2004 I was very charged, prepped to support my man (even buying buttons and a tee-shirt) and inevitably crying when I watched his concession speech, being unable to imagine a world in which prezzy would be allowed to continue for 4 more years. But now… I’m here, and maybe it’s just that my priorities have shifted or that I can’t imagine a world in which our guys don’t win or it’s just a result of being so isolated or I know my vote (as he is my senator and I am voting absentee) won’t be counted or it’s DC withdrawal or something else... Who knows. But I really don’t care nearly as much as I used to. I feel no charge when I get a chance to watch CNN. I feel no anger when the maverick says his shpeal or righteousness when the Senator fights back. Perhaps it’s this: I’ve learned here that although it has to be dealt with, BS gets you nowhere, but in the world of US politics, when it’s coming out of these men (and women) left and right, I’m just too tired. We’re supposed to be educated; we’re supposed to be civil; we’re supposed to be the leaders of the free world. To spend so much time talking about beauty pageants and lipstick and unwed mothers and voting based on sex or race… it’s too tiring. These conversations on TV, the web, the radio, in print, they aren’t any more educated than a room full of pre-teens talking about the latest gossip in their grade.

So, perhaps it’s pretty great to be so isolated, so I can just bypass all of the ridiculousness.

One Year

2008-09-19T18:12:00.003-04:00

The clock has just struck midnight on September 13th. That means that I have been in this country for exactly one year. Wow.

The thing I have to always say about being one year into this is that it is really only a personal thing because as far as my work is concerned, I won’t really be a year in until the end of November which marks a year from being sworn in/going to my site. And even then, I didn’t start my real work here until February once I’d finished my community diagnostic…

But even so, I suppose it’s a milestone. Plus, look how long my hair has gotten!

So, it’s been a year without stepping foot on US soil. I’ve gotten a taste for some of the little things from back home while being here… hot showers at a resort I stayed at with the fam a few weeks ago, CNN just about any time I go to Santiago or to the capital, McDonalds about that often (if I want it), Coca Cola (I could have it on a daily basis if I really wanted)… But still, there are some things I haven’t had in a year. I’m not going to say for each of these if I truly miss them or if it’s just interesting for me (and possibly for you too) to consider going a year without them…
-Lou Malnati’s
-Potbellies
-Chipotle
-Hackney’s
-Starbucks
-the Dairy Bar
-MSNBC
-The Washington Post
-Benny, my puppy
-the metro
-pantyhose
-flowers
-stuffed animals
-Monopoly
-a decent produce department
-my mom’s California roll
-tennis
-floating in an inner tube
-fall
-winter
-spring
-too many birthdays
-high heels
-radio in English
-commuting
-Halloween candy, Thanksgiving leftovers, Christmas shopping, Valentine’s silliness, St. Patrick’s Day, Easter eggs, July 4th fireworks
-standardized tests
-coats during the day
-blankets at bedtime
-bratwurst
-Target
-Old Navy
-warm laundry
-Border’s
-coupons and discount cards
-throw pillows on couches
-fireplaces
-mini golf
-celebrity sightings (except the American Ambassador and the former DR VP)
-AIM
-Frango Mints

And now, an interesting quote from a song I happened to be listening to while I wrote this blog:
“I miss the playgrounds and the animals and digging up worms. I miss the comfort of my mother and the weight of the world. I miss my sister, miss my father, miss my dog, and my home.”
(I also miss my brothers, and friends.)

And now that day has ended. It was a great day. Let me tell you all about it.

Well, I slept in until 10 because I couldn’t get to sleep last night… I typed my blog and listened to music and rolled around in bed a bit because of the Coca Cola I had much too close to bed time. I cleaned my cabinets which were a mess (termites, rat poop, bits of plastic from food containers that had been chewed open while I was away on storm time), then took Lina for a walk of the community. We stopped at the house where I leave her when I’m away, one of her favorite hangouts. Well, it became one of mine too. I hadn’t known it before today but the woman who lives there is a fabulous conversationalist and we spent a few hours just chatting, which was lovely. She informed me that the cell phone tower that they are building a town over from me is scheduled to be completed in 2 days! I couldn’t believe it and am trying hard not to get my hopes up. It’s hard though… you all know how badly I wish I had signal.

After that I cooked lunch for myself (teriyaki rice with corn, very yummy-thanks Stephanie for showing me how) and watched DVDs for a bit. Before long I was summoned by some little girls (ages 5-9) who invited me to the evangelical church where they were going to put on skits about drugs and HIV. They were adorable, getting all dramatic with their “drug use” and then seeing the light as soon as someone suggested they follow Jesus and stop using drugs. They danced around singing about how happy they were to be “born again.” The one about HIV was interesting… apparently the girl with HIV didn’t have enough money for the “operation” so the other girls went to prostitute themselves for the money. Well all their effort was for nothing because she died of shock after learning what they had done. A bit more of a downer, but it still worked.

Bucket bath (though if I’d gotten in there around 4!! it could have been with the tap, [yeah storms bringing tons of water to the aqueduct!] which I found out was built by Trujillo as a thank you for using the beach town near me as a base L) and then some visitors. Four of the kids from my youth group came over to talk about the new group we’re going to form in the town nearby. They are thrilled and totally prepared to give the sessions, even the one on body parts! They are so mature and grown up. I told them it was my one year anniversary of getting here and after cheering for me they asked me if they ever did anything that bothered me. It was unnecessary to ask (I would never single anyone out, obviously) but it was nice to know that they are aware that being here and doing this isn’t always the easiest job. It was nice to just sit around and shoot the shit with them… I wish it was the only thing I ever had to do here.

Then a little girl came over to play and ended up being adorable and looking at books with me. She is so curious and really wants to learn about everything (she seriously spent the entire time she was here asking me questions, which amazingly didn’t get annoying.) While she was getting ready to leave just after the lights went out for the first time in about 3 days(!!!!), some other kids came over to buy condoms, one more reminder that I serve a purpose here, and I’m thrilled.

All in all, it was a fantastic one year anniversary.

Lucky

2008-09-19T18:12:00.002-04:00

Obviously Chicago is good for me. But, I’m pretty sure I’m good for it too.

Now, I’m not going to say that I’m inherently lucky and write a blog all about how I know that it’s true. What I am going to do is present a theory. You see, a few weeks ago I watched a football game of the Bears vs. the Colts, their challengers in Super Bowl 2007. The Bears won.
Today I heard something playing (in English!) at my neighbors as I walked by while doing errands. I thought it sounded like a Cubs game and went to check; the Cubs were losing to the Milwaukee Brewers, in the bottom of the 9th 6-3. Well, I knew it wasn’t over, though my neighbor told me “they’re losing,” with the tone like he was warning me not to get my hopes up. Of course, Soto went and scored a home run, getting 3 more runs for the Cubbies. Was it a miracle? Or was it a direct result of the fact that I had sat down to watch the game not moments before?

So, into a 10th, 11th and 12th inning the game went. No runs followed by more no runs. Finally, in the bottom of the 12th, another miracle: Cubbies win!

Except, it’s not a miracle. After 100 years of waiting for it, Cubs fans are going to get theirs. I feel it. It’s coming. And if it doesn’t, we can blame a new curse, the curse of President Bush.

And just like in the fall of 2005 (when the White Sox won), I won’t be in the country to celebrate.

In work related news, we had our first meeting for the new youth group in the town one over from us, last night. It went really well. 3 kids from here gave the whole talk, activities, teaching, all of it and they did a pretty solid job. They were very valiant to be the first to do it, but everyone else is thrilled for their opportunities. (They can’t believe that some of them have to wait a few weeks to give their talks! Success!) I was expecting a lot more kids to show up than did, we had around 30 (which is the size of the group in my town of about 450 people, whereas this other town is probably a few thousand people) but I’m sure more will come as word of mouth spreads how awesome it is. And that’s just the thing, I’m SO positive that I’m not the only one who thinks this group is awesome… these kids are thrilled to be involved, so enthusiastic and I love that! It warms my soul. My biggest hope (and thing I’m most sure of as well) is that this will be my most sustainable project I work on here. The English classes were obviously a huge failure, and the classes with the women (nutrition and now First Aid) aren’t going nearly as well, mostly because the women aren’t as enthusiastic or dedicated. So, way to go kids!

Fay, Gustav, Hanna, Ike

2008-09-06T11:46:00.002-04:00

Are the names of the storms that have in some way affected at least the north coast of the DR.

Fay hit on the day before my family flew home and left just about as quickly as it came in.

Gustav was a bit bigger and I was apparently supposed to have stayed in my site (but I was unaware that Peace Corps had even called the "standfast" warning since I was in my site.) I saw lots of lightening and we had some rain off and on for a few days.

Hanna hit hard, and hit twice. I was in the capital for it and predicted it wouldn't be a problem again the day after it first came. But of course, it came back for another whammy. As a result of heavy rains over much of the country and the impending Ike, we were all standfasted in the capital.

Ike is coming, and I got permission to move north to Santiago to be consolidated at a safe hotel instead of being standfasted in the capital. We'll see what it brings but for right now it looks like a very strong storm that will stay pretty far north of the island.

Luckily, none of these storms has done much damage to my site (although the region just 1 town over from my town, Monti Cristi did suffer some damage.) I won't be able to see my site with my own eyes until Monday to see what Hanna and Ike brought.

I am safe and keeping positive! I'll let you know what happens!

The E True Hollywood Story of PCV E. Plewa

2008-09-01T15:14:00.000-04:00

The day of the 25th of August started out like it would be just like any other day in the site of PCV and Van Morrison enthusiast E. Plewa.

“I remember I’d received some word that it might rain and I was thrilled when it did-it really helps to cool stuff off,” E. Plewa related in an August interview.

But cool off it would not. No, things were about to get quite hot in the town where she lived.
“I was scheduled to give a talk to my youth group about violence. I had no intentions of giving them a live demonstration.”

But despite her best intentions, at the end of the meeting, a civilized, very well-organized activity to keep the teens busy and having fun went terribly wrong. Some teens began the activity indoors while others waited outside. Some of the ones inside were circling the room stopping every once in a while to go down the “Love Train” (the name of the activity) passing a kiss on the cheek to the next participant until they reached the last person who simply got a little slap on the cheek. The activity was meant to be funny; a person leans in for a kiss and unexpectedly gets a quick slap to the face.

“What I didn’t realize before trying the activity in my town was that the whole reason the activity worked when I saw it performed quite successfully at a youth conference a few months earlier was because the kids there hardly knew one another and as a result weren’t about to slap one another with any force.”

But as the activity continued, the teens really started to get into it. One girl slapped a teen we’ll call Alfie to protect his identity, with a bit of force which this PCV took as a just one more example of Alfie’s tendency to get picked on. But she wasn’t too worried-

“When *** slapped Alfie with so much force I was of course startled a bit, but since *** is such good friends with Alfie and he tends to be the one to get lovingly made fun of, I didn’t take it too seriously.”

That, she would later look back on, as her biggest mistake of this ordeal.

“I should have told *** she shouldn’t have slapped Alfie so hard and told Alfie not to do the same to the next participant.”

Meanwhile, an unsuspecting teen girl waited in the doorway to be called in to participate. She assumed her position at the end of the line and when it came time for her “kiss” she leaned in and got an extremely powerful slap from the hand of a friend of hers, Alfie.

“I couldn’t believe what had just happened in front of my eyes, under my supervision.”
The teen girl bent over in pain, putting her hand to her face, covering her eye very delicately.
“In a situation like that, when fire just breaks out, and no one knows what to do, and you’re the one in charge, it can take a minute to react. I went to her side and started to stroke her back and head, asking if she was alright. I was obviously concerned for her, turning my back momentarily to Alfie and the rest of the group.”

With her back turned, the situation soon turned chaotic. Teens went off to different places all around the meeting room, some concerned for the girl, others reacting to themselves or with their friends, and a few even chasing after Alfie with hands waving wildly, some even began striking him.

“I left her side as soon as I saw what was happening to him. My worst nightmares of what could happen to him because of his sexuality and other differences came to mind and I flew to his side immediately.”

If things hadn’t steamed up enough, the PCV then screamed at everyone to sit down, trying to get a hold on the group.

“I just wanted everyone to sit down and give me their attention. I was sure she was going to be fine; it was probably more shock at being hit so hard by her friend than pain that she was feeling. I just knew if I could get everyone to sit, I’d come up with some way to handle this.”
While she thought it over, eventually the group settled down. Finally she knew what she was going to do.

“I told them that I was guilty for something and needed a chance to explain myself. I explained to the teenagers why I thought the activity worked at the conference and not here was because people were too shy to really make the slap hurt at all. Then I explained that it was my fault that I let the slaps escalate among the participants to get to be so strong to where it hurt. I apologized to her and turned to Alfie saying, obviously she is one of Alfie’s best friends and this was just an accident.”

But then the night took a very interesting turn. Alfie didn’t respond to the comment when PCV Plewa addressed him.

“I couldn’t believe he wasn’t saying anything. He is one of my closest friends here and I was standing there taking the heat for that and he wasn’t agreeing with me that she is one of his closest friends! Before I could even contemplate that maybe they aren’t as good friends as I thought, I turned again to the group and assured them that he’d agreed with what I’d said. I apologized once again and moved on to another topic. Then I gave her a huge handful of candy.”
Luckily, Alfie later approached the girl to apologize and she forgave him.

So, seriously now, this was a shocking night. I couldn’t believe he did it and spent a lot of time thinking over what could have motivated him to do something so reckless in front of a crowd of his peers, any one of whom could kick his ass, and most importantly, to one of his closest friends. The fact that this is “Alfie” I’m talking about here I decided has everything do with it. He gets hassled by everyone here, all the time, even his close friends for being different. No one has come out and said it, but I’m pretty sure Alfie is gay, and I think that most of the community thinks so too. In another activity I did with them a few weeks ago where everyone had to sit on each other’s laps to form a big, seated circle, no one would stand next to him so they didn’t have to have him on their lap or sit on his. That was when it first became blaringly obvious to me how badly they mistreat him.

After this whole incident with the slapping, my project partner, at whose home we hang out a lot (and were at last night) told me another story. Apparently after I went home last night all of the kids still there left Alfie laying sound asleep on a bed outside of the house, removing the light bulb from the socket above the bed. When my project partner came home later that evening she couldn’t see over to the bed (because the light was out) and so went to bed not knowing he was there. He apparently woke up around 3AM and went home getting into an extreme amount of trouble.

So, was he just fed up and saw a chance to blow off some steam and took it with a vengeance? I think so. So, what do I do.

I Hate What Caffeine Does to Me

2008-08-23T13:39:00.000-04:00

When I had my bout of the worst diarrhea this earth has ever seen back in October, I couldn’t handle the taste of rehydration salts. See, with diarrhea, the big fear is that we’ll all die from dehydration because it is a killer in the developing world. So, the PC makes us take these ridiculously disgusting salts to get over being dehydrated (they are simply sugar and salt mixed with water, but try it and you’ll see how gross it is.) If there is Gatorade to be had, we are allowed to take those as well, thing is, it’s so much more expensive than the salts. So anyways, back in October I took them both a ton for about a week not really even drinking water (or eating any food, obviously.)

Gatorade used to sort of be a luxury in my family, a nice treat for dinner or a job well done at a soccer game or something. The other day we went golfing, my Dad, brother and sister. At the end of the day everyone was, of course, tired and thirsty so Dad ordered us some drinks, 4 Gatorades. The experience brought me back to October, and not any of the good parts. Now PC has ruined Gatorade for me.

When my brother came to visit me in March I drank a coca cola everyday with him (he drank soda here the way some people chain-smoke.) When he left, I found myself craving a coca cola every afternoon, and on the afternoons when I didn’t give in I had terrible headaches. It’s happened again. I spent the whole week my sister was here enjoying sodas when she got them and then the whole week almost all of the rest of the family was here enjoying coca-cola lights.
Now, anyone who knew me in high school (and college for that matter) will tell you I’m quite opposed to soda, it’s high in teeth-eating-sugar and unnecessary calories, but here… I just can’t resist its sugary-caffeine-pick-me-up- and most importantly COLD afternoon goodness. So I officially HATE the coca-cola company for making me a bit of an addict.

First of the Fall and There She Goes Back

2008-08-23T13:37:00.001-04:00

Four weeks of visitors has just ended and I’m back at my site. It’s a great time to evaluate and feel and whatnot.

First was 2 weeks with Rebecca, a good friend from high school. She and I did a lot of super fun stuff and kept really busy. She was quite a hit in my town and people still ask about her, where she is, when she’s coming back, etc. She was willing to do it all and we really did. She and her wonderful family procured some Spanish-language books to donate to a library project that I want to do down here and I was so thrilled to open them all up and look at them. She also brought some candy and she and I ate that to our hearts’ delight. We also watched some DVDs, played with Lina, went for walks, went to the beach (and out to our famous sand island), and much more.

The next week was my wonderful, sweet sister’s visit to my town and she was also a great sport about it. I’d imagine she would say her favorite thing to do here was play with Lina, and she really got a lot of opportunities to do so. Unfortunately, I was visited by 2 PC peoples while Julie was here which really tied up 2 of her days here. On the second to last day we made it out to the sand island and the beach, and on the last day I took her up the mountain (with some youth group kids) to the waterfalls where I also went with Rebecca. Both of these days really tired us out.

The following day was the day we went to Puerto Plata to join our parents and our brother Tim at a 5-star resort. Walking in to that resort, especially because I was with Julie who wasn’t as used to my campo life, was INCREDIBLE for both of us! The resort (as it did all week) smelled wonderful. Everything was white and the ceilings were way off of the ground. After checking in and bringing our stuff to our rooms, Julie and I sat around and compared what made the lobby of the hotel different from my house here. There were some notable differences.

Seeing the family after the longest stretch I’d ever gone (8 whole months) was great and how beautiful it was to be greeting them in such a beautiful location as well. We spent the first few days relaxing beach and poolside. It was so lovely to have water and power 24 hours a day as well as a TV with some decent channels (although no Olympics).

Sunday night we explored the malecon in Puerto Plata and the old fort (built around 1600 to protect the city from pirates such as Sir Drake.)

On Tuesday I took them to the 27 charcos. They are 27 pools beneath something like 17 waterfalls over which you can climb with a strong guide who knows the terrain well. It’s an intense day, hiking, climbing, lifting your own body weight, swimming, wading, etc. I warned the family of that, but they still decided to go for it all, so we did. My parents’ reactions were the funniest. They both put on their “oh my God!” faces and were quite funny, but again, very good sports and really got into it after a while. (The first time I went up, with Rebecca, I remember being a bit surprised at how much involvement was required on my end to actually do it.) Tim described it as the best activity he’s ever done. SCORE! I didn’t jump many of the waterfalls when I went with Rebecca, and when I went with the family I did all but one, the biggest jump rock I’ve ever seen that only Tim was gutsy enough to do.

The next day we set out on a mission. All of us but Tim had read In the Time of the Butterflies and so we embarked to find the house of the Mirabal sisters (which is now a museum) in Salcedo. It was a bit of an adventure because we went in search of a hat (in Santiago after having looked for it when Tim was here in March and on this trip in 2 stores in Puerto Plata.) Luckily, we found it. Once getting to Salcedo we all agreed that the museum was lovely, very quiet and very beautiful. We didn’t spend too long there and on our way out encountered some more to make the trip an adventure. Some “thieves” (as they were described to me) had vandalized the road and effectively blocked it from letting traffic pass through by lighting tires and tree branches on fire. I wanted to be extra careful considering the fact that we were a car full of gringos. We waited for the police to arrive and eventually went through.

Thursday was a golf day. Playa Dorada Golf Course, ranked among the Top 100 Outside of the US by Gold Digest in 2005-06. I’m not sure we would have ranked it as high due to extremely dry conditions on the tees, fairways and greens. It’s the dry month after all. (I decided I think I’d rather the people in the towns have water before the golf course get a drop of sprinkler water… but I’m not really in charge.) It was still a very fun day. I made par once. That was nice. (For those who don’t know, between about summer 1995 and 2007 I never played golf once and of course hadn’t played since last summer until the other day.) After the waterfalls and the golf outing, I was QUITE sore.

Friday was a relaxing day both because we’d planned for one and because Tropical Storm Fay rolled overhead. Julie and I went to get massages in the afternoon and boy were those wonderful! I love massages and feel that 16 months is too long to go without getting one.
Which brings us to Saturday, today. Saying goodbye for months-long spans is never fun, as I’m sure many can relate, but this one was especially tough. Now that I’m not trying not to cry, I feel as though I let the flood gates open. I cried 3 times today and held back tears a lot more often. Every little thing almost set me off. Why was it so hard? Because it had been too long since the last time I’d seen my family? Perhaps. Because December seems far off? Perhaps. Because we’d had such a great week? Perhaps. The good thing was that I was not at all sad to be coming back to my town; it was really all about saying goodbye to them. Julie put it best, they should either stay here with me (which would be my vote) or I should go home with them. That’s what it’s really all about.

When I feel sad I find it’s the best time to gage just how I’m really doing. There were moments on my (long but not terrible) trip home when I felt disappointed to be leaving such luxury to be coming home to a bucket with which to bathe, to a home that had Julie in it last time I was there, and to wonder if I’d have power to use to drown my sorrows by watching DVDs. But, when I pulled into town and saw one of the kids from my youth group I felt a lot better and have felt okay since. And of course, picking Lina up helped a lot.

Julie Hearts Lina

2008-08-14T23:38:00.000-04:00

Hello all, this is Julie and E

We’re here on our 2nd day in E’s community and we wanted to write a blog post together with Lina. Lina says hola because she speaks Spanish and not English. ¡Ay ay ay ay ay!
Julie can’t stop laughing.

Julie got in at 1:45 on Sunday and then we went to get a cab to the bus station in Puerto Plata and then took a bus to Santiago. There we stayed at a budget hotel (US$15 a night) and we hung out with some of E’s PCV buddies at the place where the PCVs like to stay in Santiago. Julie liked it; the official language there is English. That night was dinner at an Italian place (delicious) and then talking and singing until 1AM. The next morning we took the time for one last warm shower before leaving for shopping and a very intense few hours en route to the community.

Julie will now describe the shopping trip: It was a store kinda like Target with a grocery store on the main floor and a Kohls on the top floor. We got ramen noodles, mac and cheese, and knock-off cereals. Then we went to get me my very own pair of havaianas in green. Then we went and we left to walk to the hotel bus stop and then E wanted to leave me at the soda bar by myself and I did not want to stay alone so we ditched our groceries, ran to the hotel and grabbed our bags and came back. Then we got hit on by some creeper and I was very happy that I didn’t stay there by myself.

And now E will describe the experience in her own words: So, when you have a 16 year-old sweety coming to visit, you think about all of the best case scenarios possible for a trip. You might also think about the worst. So far, Julie has seen some of the worst, including what she so accurately describes as our run-in with that “creeper.” Biggest ass**** I’ve met in the DR and of course, Julie is there to watch me chew him out. Here’s the play by play:

(Man stares at 2 white girls in a bus station in major metropolitan area of Caribbean. It’s a hot day and the girls are unable to sit in another spot of the bus stop because of the sun.) Girl speaks.
E: What?
Creeper: You’re hot.
E: Leave me alone. (Girl looks away then turns to her companion. Man mumbles something.)
Creeper: What did you say?
E: I said leave me alone.
Creeper: (Something snotty.)
E: I’m not going to talk to you.
Creeper: I’m not talking to you!
E: Good.
Creeper: (Irate) I don’t even like American women. (Pause) I like Dominican women. (Creeper looks around at other chauvinistic Dominican men in area as if to get them to agree with the sentiment. Instead of looking at the man they look at E as if waiting for her head to explode. Head remains intact.)

So that was it. Later, once the creeper had left, the men who were watching the scene were pleasant, offering directions, seats for our wait and asking what E’s companion’s shirt said, showing an interest in English. So… I suppose it could have been worse. Still, I was thrilled to be getting out of there!

(Told from the perspective of both, again.) Then we got on the bus with our smartfood popcorn (which we dropped more on the floor than were able to get into our mouths) and then we took a long bus filled with smelly eggplants and little kids heads sticking through the seat to E’s site. Once we got to our final destination we picked up Lina!!!!!!! (Which E’s companion was looking forward to very much!!!!) Next was a youth group meeting followed by cooking 3 boxes of mac and cheese because the first 2 were discovered to have maggots in them. (Julie discovered it was the water supply. Word to the wise, when storing contaminated water for extended periods of time, put some bleach in it first to kill the potential critters who might want to make it their home.) Sodas and sitting in rockers (as Julie says, “like good-old-fashioned whities,”) was next as well as ample time for Julie to bond with Lina. They are now lovers.

The next day there was some sleeping in followed by cereal consumption with warm milk. A visitor stopped by for a while and we ate cookies. After some reading and naps on the hammock together, the fun was to begin. E was expecting a routine visit from the PC doctor. When the doctor got here, she obliged E in removing Lina’s stitches from her recent spaying. Julie fed Lina peanut butter while E held her upper half and another PCV held the lower half while the doctor went in to remove the stitches. After about 5 minutes, the hot-pink stitches had been removed. Lina seemed more comfortable afterwards. Just as a bunch of random community members were coming for a visit (which is a very rare occurrence) a glass bottle of olive oil fell and shattered leaving a delightful cleanup while trying to ensure Lina was okay and keep the visitors from coming in and prepping for a class set to start in a few minutes and wrap up the visit with the PCV and doctor. E was a bit stressed, but she calmed down. The doctor found, in a hole in wall of a back building of E’s house, a brand-new litter of kittens. One is all white, one is spotted gray and white, and Julie didn’t see the other one.

The class went well, first aid and today’s topic was CPR. Julie sat there while everyone… “no offense E, but none of them did it right.” Then we had some spaghetti and cream sauce and again sat in the rockers like good old-fashioned whities and the power came on. Around this time we saw a large spider. A while later a large flying cockroach entered and went flying all around until E clobbered it with a shoe. (This was after cleaning up hoards of mouse poop that had not been seen before Julie’s visit began.) A few minutes later, Julie spotted a mouse in the corner and we made the decision to get in our bed nets. E would later describe this in a blog as a banner day.

A Hike in the Woods

2008-08-14T23:16:00.000-04:00

On another adventure during Rebecca’s trip in the DR we embarked on a very remarkable mission. She and I with a pretty large group from my youth group went for a hike into the hills/mountains near my town. The hike up was INTENSE to say the least. We hiked up a very steep hill (in the sun) and then up and down the hills behind that one until we reached a thick forest with very steep parts along a path up to our water source. The source, I found out upon getting there, is a beautiful set of pools under a few trickling waterfalls. (The idea that I am 30 minutes from the most beautiful beach in the world and 2.5 hours from those fantastic waterfalls was almost overwhelming, and seemed to be a great piece of info to mention in a blog so potential visitors would see one more reason to come visit.)

The other fantastic part of the trip was the fact that a young boy in my youth group cooked a fabulous Dominican meal for all us hikers when we were up in the mountains. You see, we were all responsible for bringing a few pounds of rice or spices or something to cook for the meal and he put it all together. The food was incredible, and the “con-con” (the burnt rice on the side of the pot, a Dominican delicacy, usually given to the pig, dog or other animal in the house, or the local PCV) was to die for!

The hike down the hill was much easier than up (obviously) and along the way we tried coconut water (and had limoncillo and passion fruit on the way up.) We made it home in much less time and I was delighted to see all of the little old ladies in my town waiting alongside the road to catch a glimpse of the crazy Americanas who went up the hill. They all seemed very validated when I told them that I was indeed quite tired after the hike as they knew I would be.

Lord I Was Born a Traveling (wo)Man

2008-08-14T23:15:00.000-04:00

My good friend Rebecca came to visit me for the first 2 weeks of 4 weeks of visitors I was fortunate enough to entertain between July and August. She wanted to see the sites as well as get a feel for PC life and I’m pretty sure she was successful in both.

I decided to see some of those sites with her. We decided to make our ways up to Sosua and Cabarete on the north coast, and the experience in Sosua was quite interesting.

After a lovely (but sunny and hot) day (during which we brought my sweet Lina in to get spade), we decided to go out for the evening and discovered there wasn’t a huge night life. We found a few bars open with a good mix of a foreign and local scene. What we didn’t know at first (or perhaps always suspected but didn’t want to believe) was that the locals present at the bars were mostly prostitutes looking for clients. Rebecca and I watched as couple after couple paired up. I went to the bar to get her and I some drinks and noticed someone making eyes at me. She was a very beautiful woman, with surprisingly large shoulders, and an usually thick neck. “Oh my, that’s a man,” I then realized.

Later Rebecca and I were approached by a young man (showed his ID to us and was saw he was 20 years old or so, though he looked like he could have been 17). He looked at Rebecca a lot (she had the lower cut shirt) and got me to interpret for him. He explained to her (or was it to both of us?) that he was a decent guy, worked security at a motel, and was nothing like these prostitutes all over the place here. She and I took it all in stride and eventually went back to our hotel unaccompanied.

Sad Day

2008-07-10T16:48:00.001-04:00

The camera of wonders and dreams is gone. With its absence I have a camera-sized hole in my heart and a ton of love for all of my wonderful friends and family members who have been nothing but supportive.

Its absence also brought me to the end of an almost 10 month cry-free spell. July 5th, in the year of our Lord, 2008, E. Plewa had her first cry session since September 10th in the year of our Lord, 2007. It was well overdue. But you know what, everyone said it would feel so good just to let it all out, and it didn’t. I felt just as guilty and deserving of being yelled at as I did before I let it all out. But, sadly for me, my family would not oblige me in the yelling, so that’s when it happened. This all took place in an internet café in a semi-private ‘workspace’ in the city of Pedernales.

How it happened: I left it on a bus and when I went back for it 3 hours later, it was gone, presumably taken by someone who was also riding the bus. I filed a police report and had it insured (as I had a feeling I wasn’t really meant to own something so lovely) and we’re pretty sure the insurance will cover most of it. Still, word to the wise: DON’T TRUST ME WITH NICE THINGS.

We were in Pedernales to go to a very beautiful bay called Bahia de las Aguilas, AKA: Eagles Bay. It was a few-day long trip to celebrate the Independence of our great land of the free and home of the brave. We had no fireworks and no BBQ but we still had an excellent day. People ate spaghetti o’s, sardines and tuna out of cans. (If you know me even a little bit, you can guess which of those I ate.)

Money, Money, Money, Money, Mon-ey!

2008-07-10T16:15:00.001-04:00

So, I only get news through Newsweek (which PC gets us for free but not for much longer, sadly) and very rarely from CNN (but I’m okay with a lack of CNN in my life.) As such, I don’t get news too often, but always in the same way: things aren’t going so well in the world right now. I hear there’s a economy situation with things like loans and oil affecting it, as well as some wars and of course problems in Asia and Africa.

Well, I thought I’d fill you all in on how the economy situation is affecting the life of Dominicans and PC volunteers in the Dominican Republic. Gas, as expensive as it is in the US is much more expensive here, especially if your main source is from someone who sells goes to the gas station that’s 45 minutes away once a week and sells it to the community out of old beer bottles and oil containers. So, this has led to a major increase in prices on the bus. My bus ride to the capital used to be 420 pesos and its now 510. I’m no wiz at math but I’d like to now remind us all that that is a lot more.

There were rumors that the federal government was going to increase our monthly allowances because things cost more lately, but the increase, which was rumored to be given in July, was not. We’ve all got our fingers crossed for August. The amount we get now, by the way is about between $260 and $320 a month. The rumor was that it would be a 17% percent increase. So we’ll see.

How Beautiful Is This Life?

2008-06-29T11:16:00.000-04:00

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.

It's Been Over 9 Months...

2008-06-29T11:14:00.000-04:00

…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.

Hispanola

2008-06-29T11:12:00.000-04:00

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.

Read This

2008-05-26T15:13:00.000-04:00

Some more insight into the situation for Haitians in the DR.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/25/world/americas/25dominican.html?pagewanted=1&ei=5070&en=fba28f02b24d8d08&ex=1212465600

Oh I Wish I Were an Oscar Mayer Weiner

2008-05-21T14:12:00.001-04:00

I don’t have much to say about the election except that I wish it was already over. Leading up to this week, I have ridden in more vehicles where people have fought (loud voices, yelling, screaming, all common) about the upcoming election. Here’s a rundown of the last few days of the election season.

Wednesday, May 14th: 2 days to election
AM (and into the PM): The men who hang out near my house, as well as some women (yay women-way to be heard!) got together to ‘talk’ politics. There was a HUGE banner for the current president front and center and there have been little ones for both candidates for some time now. What I feel is interesting and which I’m now realizing some of you won’t, all of these banners show the name of the candidate, as well as the candidate’s picture.

PM: “Caravans” of supporters of the 2 main political parties rolled through town, beeping horns, overloaded with political ralliers, of all ages, crying our either “PRD!” or “PLD!” When they finished driving they parked out front (as you’ll remember I live in what could be referred to as the “downtown” of my town) and proceeded to yell at one another over their political differences.

Thursday, May 15th: 1 day to election
AM: Rain, completely halted all political activities.

PM: More of the same from the night prior but, a bit less dramatic, less loud, interestingly enough.

Friday, May 16th: Election Day
AM: 6:00AM to be precise, noise starts as the poll opens at the school near my house. I decide to sleep a bit more and go to visit the polls around 9ish. My dona and project partner (of course, as they are the natural leaders of the community here) are in charge and allow me extra-special clearance in to observe. (Actually, I’m pretty sure no extra-special clearance was needed, the 2 very armed guards at the gate both let me walk right back and one offered me a bit of his breakfast.) What I saw was interesting, after showing their ID cards, voters, who came into the room in groups of 5 “to keep order,” got a ballot, a large sheet of black paper with colorful squares showing the faces and political party names of the various candidates. I was later told that there are 7 people running for president though I’d only heard of 5 before then. There were no other elections on the ballot. Perhaps I did need extra special clearance to get a peak at a ballot. I believe the way it was marked by the voter was with a marker and they simply made a mark on the box of the candidate (and which party, as a single candidate could be the chosen candidate for more than one party) they were voting for. So as I mentioned, my dona and project partner were there to hand out ballots, and they were assisted by 2 other women, there was another person at the door to keep order, and then a group of about 7 or so men with official election ID cards which also showed which party they were there representing. All the men were also leaders in the community. I asked them what exactly their role was and one explained that they are there to help someone with a ballot should someone need such assistance and want it from a member of their party, and to represent to the national party that the elections were done correctly. Something else I noticed was that as people showed their IDs to get their ballots, the woman checking off their name called it out so that these men could here. The men then checked off the person’s name from a list with photos of the community members they had in front of them. I think the idea is that they could later go find all of the members of their parties who had not yet voted later in the day and bring them to the polls. I’d seen these lists (which are quite extensive) being prepared ahead of time.

PM: The day progressed with a large group constantly gathered outside of the school to watch people come in and out. I saw a bit of nagging as some people went in, but pretty much everyone kept their cool. As the day went on people, the men particularly, got drunk. I think this is a pretty big event for the community, much like the Super bowl is for most of America, and like the presidential elections in ’04 were at AU.

The polls closed on schedule at 6 and then we waited for the counting. The poll workers had closed some of the windows but we could still see the results as they tallied them up on the chalk board. The armed guards noticed us crowding (at first it was just a small group of us, just me and a few kids from my youth group) and the one with a club drew it out to direct us back from the gate. I was the first to back away as this was my first time being approached by a guard with a club, though I wasn’t scared, as there was nothing to be scared of; everyone was smiling because they knew they probably shouldn’t be looking in but the guard didn’t mind too much, he too smiled as he moved us back. I got tired of waiting, went to sit, and almost as soon as I did I heard a ruckus. Miguel Vargas, of the PRD, had been declared the winner of the polling place. Obviously, as he’d carried the race here, there was a lot of celebrations for this news. This must have been around 7:45 or so.

I went off with a group of youth to play games, which I won because no one can break me; you know those games where you can’t smile? I’m awesome at them. Around 8:30 or so we heard that Leonel Fernandez, of the PLD, and the current president, had been declared the winner in a few towns near us. Immediately after, the woman who runs the place we were playing told us to go home. She said the street was no place for the kids, or me, as a foreigner/woman/younger person, I’m not sure, but I didn’t need to be told twice. It was a little odd, I felt, to go to bed quite so soon when a winner hadn’t been declared yet, but watching those kids not argue with her and listen to exactly what she’d told us, said a lot about the situation.

Saturday, May 17th
AM: Ruckus began early, from what I could hear, Leonel had won. A group of men was gathered across the street with their huge Leonel sign front and center and were drinking and making merry. I took my time getting ready to leave the house because I was pretty sure (and it turned out to be true) that talking politics, as a PCV who’s not allowed to talk politics and is uncomfortable doing it anyways, was going to be difficult. When I did finally leave, I learned Leonel won with 53% of the vote which means no second vote-that the campaigns are over! Woot! Miguel apparently got 41%. Of course there ended up being no problems after the election in my town, but I agreed that with the amount of alcohol consumed, the passions that rage inside these very politically active Dominicans, many of whom carry guns, that it was better to be safe than sorry and go home.

Celebrating the Cibao

2008-05-10T12:49:00.004-04:00

If you were looking for a way to donate in a PC sanctioned way to my efforts down here, here's a great opportunity. A group of volunteers are planning a youth conference in August called Celebrating the Cibao (the region we all live in) to celebrate the diversity of the area. It will be largely educational but also there will be a lot of fun, interactive activities and leadership activities as well. I will hopefully be able to bring 2 or 3 youth from my town to attend, but they have no money to pay for the expenses of the conference or the cost of trasportation to the site. So, feel free to contribute early and contribute often and in any amount! Let me know if you are able to contribute, and I'll be sure to keep you updated on where your money has gone. I guess I'll update you no matter what on this lovely blog. :)

https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=517-253

More on this: if you donate, the money goes to our camp, in my region of the country. So the more we raise, the more kids we can bring to the conference I'll be attending. Any questions, please let me know!

Oh Say Can You See…

2008-05-09T18:18:00.000-04:00

I met the US ambassador to the DR and his wife and a friend of mine and used his bathroom in his ambassador’s house. Marble. Silk. Water pressure. Super nice. The new group (there are 2 groups of volunteers each year) swore in the other day and I went, dressed in an Old Navy blue tank top, stretched out and sweaty, and a skirt I found in what’s called the “free box” which is a box where volunteers can give stuff to their other volunteers. I found it 2 minutes before the ceremony and it had a rip in it and it was white, black and pink, so I matched perfectly. I was so glad to be meeting the ambassador and stepping into his home, with his wife right there to watch, in that outfit and some flip flops. Side note: He doesn’t speak much Spanish. Also, the swearing-in ceremony was lovely.

At Any Given Moment

2008-05-04T13:49:00.000-04:00

I’d be one of these few things, in order of most likely:

In my house having me time: reading/writing in my journal/playing with Lina/writing a blog/downloading photos on my computer/watching a DVD, or lately I’ve started doing some yoga as well. We’ll see how long that lasts.

In a meeting; Sundays: the women’s savings and loans group, Mondays: English class followed by my youth group, Tuesdays: the nutrition course, Wednesdays: children’s play group. Might be adding an addition youth group meeting on Wednesdays or Thursdays. Get this, THEY asked ME for more! Hah! Success? I think SO!

Sitting with Lina at a fried chicken stand (what are called here frituras) or across the street from the fritura at my project partner’s house/the house where Lina’s (once again pregnant) mama lives. They play every day.

At someone’s house drinking juice or eating cookies or something, talking about whatever is new, although I wouldn’t say I’m really in on any of the gossip of the town just yet. Major events pass all the time with me not hearing about them or hearing about them because I overhear someone else’s conversation. In the past week there’s been some drama here: a Haitian boy who drives his motorbike way too fast (but don’t they all) crashed with one of the deaf men in the town. No one was hurt, but the next day the same boy hit my neighbor’s puppy and she didn’t make it. She was about the same age as Lina, same size and same colors. They used to play a lot. That event made me so much more dedicated to keeping her on a leash although none of the dogs here are and I know Lina hates it. Then yesterday someone from the town over shot someone else. It was a love triangle apparently and the guy who died was the girl’s other boyfriend. To hear people talk about it was very interesting: a woman from my town said, ‘serves her right for having two boyfriends… who is she to have two boyfriends?’ Interesting no, in a country where just about every man has 2 women or has had at some point many infidelities including many children from many, or at least 2 different, women.

Cleaning the house or the yard: sweeping/mopping every day, wiping dust off of various items, doing dishes in my shower, cleaning puppy droppings, picking up after myself, burning trash, tending to my recently started compost pile, etc.

In Santiago or Santo Domingo for committee meetings, conferences, medical visits, internet usage, grocery shopping, refueling the ole batteries, and the like.

It’s a good life. I’m happy most of the time. Ironically, that first most likely place you’d find me is the one that brings me the least amount of satisfaction or joy. I do love writing, reading, or watching DVDs at nighttime, but when I get lazy and allow myself to do that stuff during the day, I often find that I’m grumpy or discouraged. So when I’m able to pull myself out of bed (that’s not as depressed as it sounds, it’s mostly because I figure if I’m just sitting around, I may as well do it under the bed net and avoid getting bitten,) I find that I’m a lot happier, using my Spanish, getting to know the community, slowly, but surely.

Thats Me in the Corner, Thats Me in the Spotlight

2008-05-04T13:48:00.000-04:00

About a month ago one of the youth in my town came over and we had a late night (you know, like 8PM) talk. She’s really involved in her church youth group and I asked her if her religion was very important to her. She said it was and then explained a bit of why. Then she recited some prayers which I love to hear here because they are some of the easiest (and most interesting, linguistically, I think) things to translate. I told her so and she asked me to recite them in English. So, I said aloud for the first time in I don’t know how long, the Our Father and the Hail Mary.

A few weeks ago I went to visit the small community next to the one I live in. I passed by a few homes over there, trying to make the rounds and remind people I’m still here, even if I’m hardly ever here. At one visit, a woman who doesn’t live in the home stopped by. Let’s call her Betty. So Betty had a Bible and a hymnal. After a short conversation including asking me about my religiosity, she took my hand and the hand of the woman whose house we were at, to pray. I wasn’t surprised by any of this, although I haven’t been here too long to forget that such a thing would never happen in the US, or at least not in the crowds I roll with, but here it’s quite common. My host did not seem to be responding to any of it the way I was though, with nods, smiles, eye contact, and the like. When Betty left I asked, or maybe my host even volunteered the fact that Betty is a 7th Day Adventist and she tours the community, praying for everyone, daily. There aren’t a lot of 7th Day Adventists in the area. The 2 main religions here are Catholic and Evangelical.

A couple of days later I went to the south, to a volunteer friend’s house to celebrate with her, and 2 other Jewish volunteer friends, a seder dinner for Passover. It was lovely, and I found the matza. We read from the Torah in our native languages of Hebrew and Spanish… well, I guess no one in the group really speaks Spanish natively… but we did our best to understand, me probably more than the other 3 really needed to work at it.

A few weeks later an Evangelical neighbor of mine came over for the first time and took a look around the house. She was very inquisitive about the items in the house, picking up various things to look at them more closely. She spoke quickly about what she was up to and very soon asked, "Is there a Bible in this house?" I answered slowly, something that is not rare for me, and described that, ‘you know, as a matter of fact, there isn’t.’ My next thought could have been, ‘huh, I wonder how that happened.’ Without missing a beat she began a sermon (not that she was preachy in the secular use of that word, but she was very much so in the religious sense) on the importance of God in our lives and homes. I could tell that she’d given the sermon before. She told me she was then going to say a prayer, I asked if she wanted to sit down, and she said it’s best to pray standing, and so we stood and she gave the prayer. She blessed the house and then sang a song to God. A few days later she presented me with a pocket New Testament, Gideons, in English. I got to admit, it was the first time I’d looked at the Gideons version of the Bible, and I’m pretty sure the emotion I was feeling while reading the first few pages was offended. There was a lot of mention made to people who don’t follow the pages of the Bible and what’s going to happen to them. I think it’s fair to say that in general I frown on negativity, and the message in the introduction of the Bible was quite negative, among other things, in my opinion.

So obviously religion is something that’s really important to a lot of the people I see and work with on a daily basis, and although I consider it a fascinating topic of study, it’s not a major part of my daily life. There is a prayer in every one of the women’s group meetings I attend in the community, to open and close the meeting, and a lot of singing of religious songs there as well, and even the kids and teenagers sing religious songs or chants doing whatever: playing in the park, walking down the street, driving around. The fact that religion is not a large part of my life doesn’t create a problem, but definitely room for me to wonder and reflect. (I haven’t come to a single conclusion. As usual, It’s all just airy and distracted up there.)

As I climbed into bed the other night I was struck with the memory of how my older brother and I used to have to pray before getting into bed. "Our Father", "Hail Mary", and "Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep", praying for all of our family at the end of that one, right Mike? When was the last time I knelt beside my bed to pray? When was the last time I went to church for something besides acclimating into my community, because my host mom made me, for a funeral, to sing in an a capella concert, or to take pictures of its lovely interior? I honestly think the last time I went was on September 11th, 2001 because it seemed like the right thing to do that day. I could write for days on this topic, but I think it’d be too self-indulgent and probably not make for the best reading. So instead I’ll just leave you with what I can now remember of something that used to be a part of everyday of my life. I’m sure some of you can relate? Care to share? Or, can any of you remember these better than me?

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. (Never really realized that one ends with the word ‘evil’.)

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with Thee, blessed art Thou among woman, and blessed is the fruit of Thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, Amen. (Another not so pleasant way to end a prayer, although is that just my American fear of death coming into play and really it’s not so unpleasant?)

Now I lay me, down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, and guide me through the starry night and wake me with the morning light. (And then I think I rattled off the names of people I was supposed to pray for…) and God Bless Mommy, Daddy, Michael, Timmy, and Baby Julie, Grandma and Crampa and Cramma, cousins, aunts, and uncles (I won’t make you read all their names. That one is a lot lighter but I know my Mom changed the words for us from "and if I die before I wake…" to "guide me through the starry night." Much more pleasant, kudos Mom.)

All Those Little Annoyances

2008-05-04T13:45:00.000-04:00

When I got back from the capital the other day, ie: the place with doctors and solutions to medical problems, I noticed that I had 2 new "growths" on my thigh. I would describe them as a super itchy series of bug bites that are inflamed. I’m pretty sure that’s what they are, but you can really never be sure. It doesn’t feel so great to have just seen your doctor and then realize something might actually be wrong with you. (4 of my friends here have recently had staff infections.)

The next day I went out to some gardening… in flip flops. They were the perfect shoes for the activity in some ways, I was digging in a trench sort of situation in really wet mud (makes it easier to dig). They were not the right shoe choice to fight against bug bites. I think I got one or a couple of bug bites from something that I’m allergic too, either that or this bug that got me is just really mean, or was really pissed off. Anyways, it’s made my big toe much larger and sore, super itchy in a painful way, puffy and red.

Then I went out gardening today and stumbled upon a huge nest, perhaps the size of 4 deflated basketballs, of those biting ants. You’ll remember them from my experiences in community based training back in October, the guys that liked to camp out in my bed. They’re merciless. I avoided them narrowly a few times today, and then didn’t, and instead dropped my hose on their nest without realizing it until they were all over my right leg, the same leg with the big-big toe. I looked a bit ridiculous whacking at them and had a bit of a crowd watching me because a woman doing manual labor here is unheard of, and therefore a spectacle. Of the 3 men who walked past me before, all 3 offered to do the job for me, and then they, and some women in the area, stopped to watch. I don’t know how it looked, me, the only white person for kilometers and kilometers, doing man’s work, with my foreign work gloves and my Cubs hat, sweat dripping, digging into a very rock-filled earth for God only knows why, in the sun. I must have looked nuts.

So when the ants took over my leg, I gave the Dominicans what I think they really wanted: validation that it was stupid of me to try anything manual on my own. And I was so tempted to get a guy to come do it. Instead I just decided to let the ants win this round, ran inside to rip off my shoes, socks and pants to try to kill any stragglers. As I went to slip on other shoes, however, I found something on the ground which was quite pokey and in the fact that you now know that I knew it was pokey, you might realize that I punctured a bit of my foot on said item. It bled a bit and so it was at this point that I was really starting to have fun. I hobbled to the shower, did my best to get my various weird skin situations clean and then applied the about 5 band aids necessary to try to heal these various gross things going on.

Later in the day I went looking for cell phone signal on my new phone. My legs found, instead, prickly bushes and my flip flops (wouldn’t you think I’d have learned not to wear them?) found thorns that pricked through my shoes and into my toes and the soles of my feet a few times. But, again, there was an audience, this time of people wondering what the strange, gringa is doing climbing into the cow pasture on the hill. So, reactions to the pain were held in (as always) and dealt with later in the form of a large amount of chips and chocolate.

I am Strong, I am Invincible

2008-04-23T15:54:00.000-04:00

I am woman. Hear me roar.

Never again in my life will I let someone tell me, or even imply, that I “don’t have the chops”; that I’m not “tough”. Why? Because I know that I am tough and I DO, in fact, have “the chops”. How can I be sure? Well, as I’ve mentioned, in my house there exists a rat situation. I bought some rat traps, deciding that of all my options, they were the best. (Option 1. Most likely for success and least disgusting. Buy a cat. Why it wasn’t plausible: already have my hands full with one animal; am not prepared to treat it the way Dominican cats are treated; can’t bring it the US; can’t imagine leaving any animal behind. Option 2. Second most likely for success and slightly more disgusting. Rat poison called “Three Steps” because after eating this, illegal poison, the rats are only able to take 3 steps before they die. Why it wasn’t plausible: didn’t like the idea of putting rat poison in the house with pigeons cohabitating the rats’ living quarters and my puppy here in the house as well; tough to find rats once they’ve been killed up over the ceiling. Option 3. Third most likely for success and very disgusting. Rat traps of super sticky paper. Why it wasn’t plausible: requires some way for the rats to die once they’ve been trapped: suffocation, starvation, being bashed with a bat, etc. and I didn’t think I could bring myself to do it. And then, there would be the whole removing the rats from the super sticky paper which I was told requires ripping off their feet. Sheesh.) So we went with rat traps, which while they’re gross, they don’t require me to do procure an animal, they don’t risk poisoning the innocent and then going to look for dead bodies, and they don’t require me to do any killing.
Instead, all I had/have to do is bring the trap with its prisoner outdoors and lift up the little bar to release the prisoner to a grassy graveyard.

So three times I have now done this, and I think it proves I’m pretty f***ing tough. I could have gotten a muchacho to do it for me, as they took care of my wasp situation the other night (procuring blow torches by lighting sheets of Newsweek magazine on fire while pressing the button on a can of bug stuff like Raid. It was a huge blow-torch of fun for the boys and scariness for me, as I’d realized that my house is made largely of wood.) But I did not call a muchacho. I did it myself. I know plenty of males, the toughest of all, who I know haven’t yet had the pleasure of disposing of dead rats and if they were provided the opportunity to try it out, would pass if given the option. If you’re such a male, feel free to comment and boost my ego even higher after my great accomplishment.

Despite the title of this blog entry in no way did I mean this to be an entry about gender. Good heavens no. I merely felt incredible about my feats of daring and wished to share. I encourage individuals, both men and women, to try disposing of dead rats. It’s a rush you won’t believe ‘til you’ve tried it!

Haha… that’s not true even a little bit.

I Choose My Life

2008-04-23T15:52:00.001-04:00

Escojo mi vida. It’s the name of our youth initiative. There are youth groups all over the nation with current youth and health volunteers as well as groups that have continued to function after their volunteers have left; something like 60 in total.

My group is going really well. We have meetings every Monday night after an English class that I give (in English last week I brought in many different clothing items and proceeded to put them on while the kids told me what they were in English. Then we sang the song from “High School Musical” called “What Time is It?” to practice a recent lesson on time.) In Escojo I am about to begin the sexual education portion of the initiative after giving a few sessions on healthy decisions, values, etc.

I remember as late as sophomore year of high school in my health education class wondering how the woman in front of us, a sexual educator from a nearby NGO, could possibly allow herself to speak to a group of sarcastic, self-centered and arrogant teenagers about a topic as sensitive as sex. Despite my trepidation, she seemed comfortable and even confident in front of the classroom, even as she yanked a condom down over her arm to show us how large they can stretch.

A lot has changed since then because now I can see that for as embarrassing or nerve-wracking as it could have been for her, even if only when she first started, it comes down to the fact that it’s just necessary to talk openly with youth about sex. If she didn’t, and I don’t, who will? The public school system in both the US and the DR are supposed to give in depth sexual education to students but who’s to say that’s the best way- that those kids are comfortable asking their teachers sensitive questions? That the teachers, especially here, have been properly trained? Parents can’t be depended on, though some might argue they should be the ones doing this sort of education, because there’s no way to ensure that they are thorough and objective in what they present. Other community leaders are another potential, which I think can sometimes be a reliable option. And we know a lot they learn about comes from their friends and classmates.
But I can say with certainty that in my community, there are 18, 19, 24 year olds who still don’t know the basics about reproduction, who are dying to find out more, so much so that they have managed to overcome their Dominican verguenza (shame or embarrassment) to ask me questions.

The idea is that I teach the youth and then they teach their friends in both unstructured and structured settings. For example, if I give a course on sex ed and teach them how to replicate the information, then their friends at high school (or middle school) who might have heard what we’re up to can ask them questions. Later, we will, as a group, go to other communities spreading what they have learned in sessions, hopefully motivating those youth to start their own group.

Two weekends ago two highly intelligent and very motivated girls from my Escojo group and I went to a regional conference for Escojo in Santiago. The conference consisted of about 50 youth in total either there with the roughly 15 volunteers who also participated, or representing their communities, where volunteers used to work. We participated in sessions on various themes such as What is Escojo?, What are HIV and AIDS?, How to Give an Interesting Session, Gender Disparities, Discrimination and HIV, How to Plan a Project in Your Community, etc. In the evening they played education games and gave a talent show. They (and the volunteers) paid nothing to participate and transportation was reimbursed. That, as well as a grant that I am currently applying for, was paid for by a large grant that is a part of the President’s Initiative on AIDS. They girls received tee-shirts and really seemed to be having a good time, though by Sunday it seemed to me that they were both really anxious to get home. When one girl (a 12 year-old) got to her house, she almost fell into her mother’s arms. These kids are hardly ever away from home, though they both told me they weren’t homesick.

I’d say the conference was a success and was very interesting. There is also a national conference for the same amount of time and a day-long sub-regional conference that is a much smaller deal. We are also encouraged to meet regularly with other groups in our area, something I am hoping to do soon.

My group is mostly male, something pretty rare among Escojo, and seems to be forming a solid group of about 20 though attendance is usually around 25. The participants are interested in the topics, which makes me very happy because I was nervous they’d be too embarrassed to get into a lot of it. Two sessions ago we had a very open conversation about condoms with hardly any giggling. I’m pretty convinced people are starting to see the benefit for participating and aren’t just coming for the free treats I hand out at the end of every meeting. And that is what matters most.

I AM ON THE INTERNETS!

2008-04-17T08:51:00.002-04:00

Finally, my day has come...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iD0uKbbON5g

If you have already clicked the link, you can probably guess that I am the one donning the, always classy, green polo shirt.

That dance was a part of the talent show at a conference I recently attended with two girls from my youth group. Other volunteers, as you can see, also participated and it went really well.

I learned the dance in a period of about 30 seconds because I elected to be on the phone with some very important people while everyone else spent a good 30 minutes learning it. That is why, as you have seen, I spent the entire dance looking at other people to remember the steps. And the reason for the difference in costume, those other volunteers had not yet showered that day, but me and my partner had. So perhaps we were not the best looking partners, but we were definitely the cleanest.

My Dog Eats Garbage

2008-04-12T14:53:00.001-04:00

And other disgusting things. Her favorites are water bottles, water bags (very Dominican, you’ve got to see them), juice cartons, paper-especially very easy to shred like toilet paper, and since you can’t flush it here, she really likes to get her paws on used toilet paper, and of course there is bones and other animal products which abound at my house because the yard is where a lot of animals come to chew on grass and I live next to a fried chicken stand (so there are chicken bones everywhere) and across the street from the butcher (so there is every other kind of bone everywhere).

I recently related to a friend via email that owning a dog in this country is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. It was the kind of thing I didn’t realize I actually felt until I was writing it and I’m still not sure that level of drama is appropriate, but it sure is tough. Every day, or at least it feels like it, she has some new medical issue for me to try to deal with.

It started with the bones. As I mentioned, they’re everywhere, something one doesn’t need to worry about in the US. I’ve heard chicken bones are the worst but that all bones are bad for small puppies. Even if I watch her 24 hours a day to keep her from getting at bones, she’ll manage to find them. So I either become her enemy for pulling them away from them, or give up. Then it was fleas, all the time. Her mom has an infestation that I really hoped someone would take care of, but they haven’t, and I didn’t want to keep her from playing with her mom, especially during those first few, very important, weeks. The good news is I got some flea meds from the US and I think they might be working. Then it was that she hardly eats her dog food. Personally I think that has to do with the fact that she knows there are bones all over outside and the dog food couldn’t taste as good as the bones, so she waits. Then I was pretty sure it was parasites which are super common here. She’s had all the shots she can have to this age already and I gave her a de-parasitic medicine and still she doesn’t eat so much. Around the same time people started to tell me she looks pretty thin (which I think is more a result of how fast she’s growing and not that she’s not eating enough) she started to get brown dots in her coat that hadn’t been there before. People here are terrified of anything that makes skin darker, which I guess I’ve found out includes animals. They told me it’s because she’s sick but the change in color isn’t just on her skin, it’s on the fur as well so I really don’t know. Another hair-dermatological ailment is that she’s over 3 months old and still hasn’t needed a haircut. I saw her sister a few weeks ago and she had much longer hair which was in need of cutting. I was totally prepared to write that off as different genes (which I do think it is) but then I’ve noticed she’s been shedding a lot as well. That didn’t make me too worried though because I’ve heard with the changing seasons people’s hair will fall out and mine sure has too in the last few weeks. Perhaps comparing humans to dogs was where I made my first mistake. Finally, ticks. This is the problem that has given me the most to worry about. I first noticed them when I came back from a trip away and they were everywhere. She must have been so miserable scratching at them. They’re huge, difficult to grab (so I’ve been using tweezers which Lina now hates), disgusting, and borough into her skin so when I do finally get them, they make her bleed. The worst (this next part is not for the faint-hearted) was when I had to pull about 8 of them out of her ears. That didn’t just make her bleed but it also left the blood to mix with a large amount of crud which I hope was just dirt and not tick droppings. She now also doesn’t like q-tips.
So when I pet her these days I’m not just petting her, I’m searching for ticks almost constantly, and finding them much too often. Hopefully her next dosage of the flea meds (which are also for ticks) will kick in and get rid of them once and for all.

The logical answer is to go to the vet. Thing is I have a vet, the brother of my don and my project partner’s husband, who lives close by and offered to help. I am thinking of getting a new one in Santiago but getting in and out of there is going to prove to be very challenging and most likely every time I go I’ll need to spend the night in the city, if not two nights, which by myself isn’t so easy on our salaries, but with a dog as well will be even more difficult. More importantly than the money is the time away from my community that that will require. So perhaps you see why this is a bit more complicated than it would be in the US.

In other ways things are going well with her. She enjoys belly rubs and lying under, on top of, or near my feet. She’s got some good toys from the US that she loves, which makes her a bit more spoiled than her Dominican neighbors. I’m trying to start to train her, working on not barking, biting, chewing things or jumping on the furniture. When I get that sorted out, (if I get that sorted out soon, if not I’ll start anyways) I’m going to start training her to come, sit, heel, etc.
In other animal news: rats, all the time, everywhere. I’ve cut off the routes to their sources of joy in my house which are of course garbage, food, but also interestingly the crayons that my family brought me from home. But they still like to come visit. The only way to really get rid of rats here is to have a cat but I refuse to get another animal, for many reasons, so I’m going to have to buy traps. The pigeons are also up there between the ceiling and the roof and I’m pretty sure they are here to stay. One fell through the hole in the ceiling in the kitchen the other day. Getting it out was funny… I’d been sweeping with the door to the kitchen closed and when I got up to the door I flipped when I saw the huge, gray pigeon just sitting there on my floor. I backed away then went back for a photo. A few hours later I went in to finish sweeping and it didn’t care for that and finally made its way to the large hole in my window covers and flew out. I also have found a number of large spiders of late, but none are tarantulas. They are almost that big, but I’m pretty sure they don’t bite, so I haven’t disturbed them. I think of it as one more thing to eat mosquitoes, which have I mentioned are SO much less of a problem in my new house than they were with my host family? Perhaps it’s the spiders (although there were a good number of those in the other house too) or perhaps it’s that I’m very vigilant in covering my water.

Seriously, I used to get 4 or 5 bites a day minimum there with full sleeves and/or repellent, and here I get that many in a week, often without sleeves or repellent!

So we’re a big happy family here, and even with all of this, people ask me how I’m able to live alone.

I Came, I Saw, I Bolaed

2008-04-12T14:52:00.001-04:00

Peace Corps tradition in the DR, as of 3 years ago, a bola race from point A (in this case Santiago) to point B (in this case Las Terranas, Samana Peninsula). That was the race this year. Now, what, you may wonder, is a bola? Well my friends, a bola is a free-ride. IE: we hitchhiked from Santiago to the beach. It was SO much easier, more fun and faster than I ever would have thought. (We made it there faster than we would have on public transportation by a matter of hours!) We, my team partner and I (a male, all teams are male-female groups of 2 for everyone’s protection,) took a public bus out of the city (it’s hard to get rich city-folk to take pity and offer a ride) with a large group of gringos. We parted ways with some and joined some others once out of the city and took something like 8 or 9 different bolas to get to the beach.
One of my favorite parts of the day was when my mom called me on my cell phone to talk and I was on the most dangerous ride I would catch that day. Half of the group was sitting in/on a pile of rubber tires towards the front of the bed of a pickup truck and the other half (including myself at the very back) were sitting on boxes that were stacked (as were the tires) incredibly high and not so securely. A friend of mine literally had my back though, so I wasn’t going anywhere. Still, I took the call and was very honest and up front about what it was I was up to. There was nothing to hide because bolas here are a part of life and are much safer than hitchhiking in the US. Everyone in my group of gringos with whom I was traveling agreed that we had no reservations about bolaing in the DR but would never hitchhike in the US.

My other favorite part of the day was when we got dropped off on a 2 lane highway (which does not indicate much about anything because almost all highways here are 2 lanes) with relatively little traffic. A friend of mine looked at the first vehicle to come our way and declared, “We’re getting on that.” I laughed hysterically because the vehicle to which she was referring was a Mack truck with no bed attached to the back. There was no way we were getting on the back and no way we’d all fit inside the cab. Well, with the exception of one person, we all got right into the cab when to my amazement the driver pulled over for our group of 6. The other member held on tight to the back and soon joined us up front on the bed in the cab when the ride got to be a bit bumpy. The driver was very quiet and very cool and took us pretty far in what was surely not only the best bola we caught that day, but that anyone racing caught that day.

There were 12 teams in total and my group of 3 teams tied for 3rd. We came in behind a team who got only 4 bolas (were very lucky to have had their first driver suggest they take them a much shorter route than the rest of us took and very lucky also to get so far with so few drivers) and another group who took our same route who passed us in a small town at one point as we were looking for our next ride. There was a bit of time between our group and the teams that came in after us and I was pretty proud considering it would be that much more difficult to get a ride for 6 than a ride for 2.

We played on the beach for the next day and a half and on the third day, I woke up at 5:45 to get back to my site 12 hours later. (Should have been 3 hours less, if my bus hadn’t gotten held up in Santiago.) But all in all it was a fantastic experience!

Reflections of the Way Life Used to Be

2008-04-12T14:50:00.000-04:00

It’s been over 6 months in country and as I was looking back in my journal the other day, I came across some interesting or funny passages that I thought I’d share with you.

“Lunch was good-finally some beans and rice.” AH!

“After dinner he and I sat on the patio, which is gorgeous, in rocking chairs and talked.” Funny to look back on this now because I remember wondering if I’d be able to afford to buy a rocking chair for my house when I finally had one and even heard from a volunteer at some point that she purchased one and wouldn’t let anyone else sit in it because it was her spot. Some of you might know how incredibly comfortable they are and I was worried that my move-in allowance wouldn’t be enough to afford one. Turns out my house, which had some furniture in it already, had 10 rocking chairs! (4 are useless as they have no cushions, but still 6 working rocking chairs!)

“Finally it was time for a shower. The water is out so I got to experience a shower using a large container of water and a cup…the situation was fine but I couldn’t help but smile. Where else but the Peace Corps would a person like me get to experience something like that? Ultimately I fared pretty well, although I think getting the shampoo out will be the hardest part. Also, washing my feet will probably prove to be a challenge. I was smiling for the “shower,” myself, the Peace Corps and all of those who have come before me and are old pros at the skill, and my friends and family back home who wouldn’t believe it until they tried it, and would never try it twice.”

“As I was just showering I decided I was born for this job. I love it. The stuff that would phase other people, including some of the people in our 52, in no way get me down. I’m not even bothered by machismo here, which could e that there’s less, or it could be that I don’t mind it. I’ve got thick skin and I am convinced that I am not leaving early. Of course, never say never and if I get too sick I really won’t have much choice, but I am so confident that I won’t be the reason I go home I sort of throw myself a party every once in a while in my mind. I’m so content.”

“When the electricity comes back on, a cry is heard and everyone breathes a sigh of relief.” That has turned out to be true of Santo Domingo (in both barrios where I’ve now stayed), Santiago, San Juan, and my community.

“We got our PC badges and just as I thought, I don’t look so hot. My hair is stuck to my head from sweat. But I suppose these things happen and it would probably serve me well to get rid of my vanity.”

“One week in country! And it was an awesome day…We had some Presidente, were loud, and spoke English.”

“I just killed a HUGE FLYING COCKROACH. I did it all by myself and I am so proud.”
“2 songs play almost 24 hours a day here. It’s getting to where I don’t want to hear them again. Years from now they will bring back fond memories, but now they’re obnoxious. They both played repeatedly at the Car Wash last night. That would be so not allowed in the US. I really don’t get how it’s possible that everyone isn’t this sick of these songs-I’ve only been here 1 ½ weeks!” (Those songs were of course Vete and Es Tan Dificil which I came to love a few months later. Vete is the reason I like bachata now and perhaps it’s because I live in the campo, far away from colmados where they blast those 2 songs 24 hours a day, but I enjoy hearing them on occasion these days…so I guess years from now, when they would bring back fond memories turned into months from now, and yes, they do bring back fond memories.)

“Everyone left to get their new motoconcho (motor-taxi) helmets. I get the feeling I look goofy as it is so big and I am so small and I don’t even have any hair hanging out to let someone know there’s a head on top of that body…”

“Rash spread, is now on my legs, butt, lower and upper back. To combat it the nurse gave me an oral Benadryl. It knocked me out-made me quite dizzy and generally drunk feeling. I’ve definitely never reacted to a pill like that before. I was cracking everyone up.”

“We went to the beach and all was glorious. The water was perfect, bright blue, and the weather was awesome…A friend brought goggles and I’m so glad. The reefs were awesome. I saw fishies, tons of them. Swimming so much felt so good.”

“The ants took over my body last night. Every time I tried to fall asleep I had trouble because they were crawling all over me. I started to think I was imagining it too.”

“Then we loaded into the truck and headed into the mountains. The back isn’t comfortable with everyone in it, but it is good for conversation. The drive was interesting. There were moments when it looked like we might die. There were moments when the truck jolted backward down the mountain. But it was fun-real fun, like one of those Disney rides, except real.”

“ ‘Rancho Espanol.’ That is where I am most likely going to spend the next 2 years of my life. (Wrong! My town is not called that even though that’s what my boss told me!) What I know now: small, approx 1000 people J (actually more like 400 people), near the coast J, hilly, not mountains, accessible J (HAH! How untrue!), electricity and water J, near water group (somewhat true), near many other volunteers, Santiago, 1.5 hours away (more like 2.5 hours away and not so close to so many other volunteers), 1 hour away from the closest health volunteer from my group (not true), will be living with the head of the school, the teachers are the leaders of the community J, a health group has been created for me J (and were shortly dissolved afterwards), no clinic.”

Hope you enjoyed those flashbacks!

At Last!

2008-04-12T14:43:00.000-04:00

The Creole classes wrapped up nicely, though our teacher wasn’t anything to write home about… and yet, here I am, writing to readers at home, about him. Still, my only real goal for the week was to learn some greetings so I could properly acknowledge Haitians on the street of my community. I’m pleased to say that I was able to achieve this goal. I spent a lot of the week looking forward to seeing the facial expressions of Haitians here when I shot them a “bonjou” instead of “hola.”

I got to do this today, my first day back from the course and one extra night in Santiago. I said “bonjou” or “bonswa” to every Haitian I passed today and got smiles from everyone, and one group called me over as I was passing to ask me where I’d picked up Creole. I was thrilled and had a huge smile from ear to ear. They laughed when I threw out the fun, slang expressions our teacher had taught us (as I’d hoped they would) and FINALLY were super eager to engage in conversation with me. SUCCESS! Even if that is as far as it goes (which I know it won’t be because I haven’t even greeted every Creole-speaking member of my community yet, and, I have plenty more to learn and impress them with…) I’ll be a very happy girl. Also, I had a guy offer to work with me on Creole if I’d teach him English. Funny how one greeting could have potentially landed me a language tutor. Interesting to note that that hasn’t happened with Spanish-speakers, even when I’ve asked for help.

After giving an English class to a group that went in 3 months from 20 participants to 4, I attended the women’s group meeting. I was excited for the meeting because I hadn’t been to one in over 3 weeks and we were finally going to celebrate March birthdays. It ended up being the most dramatic, tense-filled event I’ve attended here, if not everywhere I’ve ever been. My project partner, another woman and I were the March birthdays. The other woman suffers from epilepsy and I’ve seen her have convulsions once before and get the feeling they are pretty rare. Well, she got one at her own birthday party. I wish I could say that was where the drama ended. The woman who’d just watched my puppy for the week (in which time Lina got significantly bigger and I’m so sad I missed those few days) got very upset over the bank account my dona and the other leaders of the group opened to keep the groups money. No one here is particularly rich but the woman who watched Lina is a bit worse-off than most in my community. It’s hard not to be 100% sympathetic to a poor person’s concerns about their hard-earned money, even if that person is perhaps confused about the situation and is taking it out on your dona. But, my dona was respectful, mature and on the ball. After a few minutes of screaming, some crying, threats to quit the group by more than one member, and everyone telling everyone to calm down, my dona (who I should probably mention is the president of this group) was able to not only get past the tense moment, but also get the meeting back on track. We had some cake and red-soda and went on our ways after a bit.

On my way through Santiago on the trip home I got a call from a friend who wanted me to stay in Santiago and have lunch… as will often happen, lunch turned into spending the afternoon, calling the community to pass the word along to the woman watching my puppy that I’d be back a day later, and then spending the night. What wasn’t so inevitable was what we did for dinner. We went to a huge grocery store looking for steak, a type of food I haven’t had in well over 7 months. We ended up coming out of the store with steak, veggies, couscous, crackers, fresh spices, bread, fruit, salami and cheese. The meal cost $9 each (also known as 3% of our monthly allowance) and had already been heavily subsidized by the expense account of a businessman from the US who might start to work with a volunteer who was also there, so you can just imagine how much food, how expensive, and therefore how delicious, it was. We appreciated it anyway, and that is what truly matters.

Did I mention that I’ve found the way to bring the Dominican and Haitian cultures together? On Easter Sunday, the day I went down to the capital for Creole training, I rode in a rather full bus (it’s a very large travel day here.) The man who collects the money (known as a cobrador) addressed the group about collecting the money depending on where we were being let out. My ears perked up when he mentioned my stop and when he looked at me to verify my stop he said something quickly that was hard to hear over all the other noise in the bus. I did my noise to signify “what?” that a lot of Dominicans do and here’s where the fun started. He clarified, I nodded and then he launched into a tirade to the bus community, “say what you will about Haitians, at least they learn the language, but these Gringos, they don’t have no respect and don’t care to spend the time to learn the language.”

Wow, huh? I sat in disbelief as this guy went off like that and looked between him and the woman sitting next to me who seemed to be trying to tell if I really did understand the language and comprehended what he was saying. The other patrons on the bus either laughed or nodded along to what he was saying. When I related the story to some volunteers later that night, one who has a bit more experience in this country than me, they agreed it was terrible and that one with more experience said that’s when you’ve got to use the swear word that only Dominicans use (thus proving you not only speak the language but also have been here long enough to pick up Dominicanisms), shake your head disapprovingly and look away from everyone in a very dramatic way. Another option that I thought of was just to go ballistic on the guy-take out all my built up aggression against Dominicans on him. Say things like, “Do you even know who I am? I am a volunteer, working with the youth and the poor in this country-your country, and who are you? A cobrador? You collect money on a bus.” Boy to I wish I could relive that moment and do one of those two wonderful things.