In My 23 Years

As the rain continues to pour from the heavens and run down the sloping streets, pooling every now and again at the bottom of a hill, I watch the gray world from my bedroom window, the occasional splash coming through the shutters of the other. Someone’s clothes still hang on the line across the street, waiting patiently for the sunlight that might dry it. There is no electricity, so I write by the light of my computer screen only, for the time it’s battery remains, and I eat warm bread from a newly purchased fridge that has become merely a cupboard. Riley lays on her towel, contentedly gnawing away at her bone. Correction, she is now tearing up the party hat I made for her out of construction paper, which has lain under the bookshelf for the past four days.

Before I continue, I must introduce Riley, of course. She’s about a two feet tall, maybe three feet long, mostly black with four tan painted legs and brushstrokes on her face. But you can’t look at her without noticing her giant, sometimes-floppy ears, and her tiny stubby tail that wags at the hint of your approach. She is about five and a half months old and came into my life quite unexpectedly.

I had known her for a few weeks before the incident, she belonged to the neighbor of my host family and would come out play on occasion. She took to me, being the only one in her world who showed her affection other than a tossed left-over. She was not named Riley then. She and her sister, of a different breed though same litter, would follow me to the river, the sister remaining at the water’s edge, the first bounding after me, sending up sprays of water in her wake. On one particular day, she started to follow me home. Okay, I did stop to encourage her every now and then, of course I was thrilled to have a companion for a couple hours without responsibility – not knowing that she would stay the night on my little patio, or under the stairs, wherever it is she slept.

The next morning I woke early to continue my newly made goal of running a few mornings every week. That was about a month ago. I haven’t felt much like running since then. And here’s why.

The little black dog, so full of energy and the need to be loved, followed me on my run. Up the hill, over the bridge, to my turn-around point… I kept glancing back at her, marveling at the endurance of someone so small. One time, I glanced back and she had squatted to do some business. I smiled and continued on, thinking to myself how wonderful it was to be in such a place, on such a morning, doing right by my body and having a small companion for my soul. The next time I looked to see if she had caught up, the breeze from a white blur cooled the dampness on my face as I turned. And there she was. Laying on her side, feet stretched out in front of her, unmoving.



The half hour I spent on the side of the road with her, after a passerby wrote her off as good as dead and moved her by her four legs to the dirt, passed slowly by until my message reached my project partner who came to my rescue. Though even he, saint among men here in the DR, laughed later at the sight of a girl crying over a dog. But he took me to our local veterinarian. A man who works mostly with the cattle and other livestock. He gave her a couple shots, and one more after he had spoken to one of the Peace Corps doctors famous with volunteers for being the point of support when all animals are concerned.

That entire day I spent next to her, she laying on my yoga mat padded with an old comforter, me there to roll her over every time she started to cry. The blood from her gashed tongue would dirty the water every time she tried to drink. But at least she was drinking. She didn’t eat that day, though what I cleaned up would have testified otherwise. It broke my heart to see her struggle so much to lift her self up just that tiny bit so she could pee. Thank god my apartment is all tile flooring. That night, I moved the yoga mat and comforter to my bedside and slept fitfully, dreading that she wouldn’t make it ‘till morning.

But she did. And the next, and the next. Until I was told I had to go eat, I could leave her and she’d be fine. So I left her in my apartment, snug in her comforter, recently washed by the rain and dried by the sun. And when I got back. There she was still, awaiting my return. A week later, she had learned to hobble on the three legs that still supported her. The one, I thought, was broken, and therefore wrapped up in a bandage from my med kit.

A couple of weeks later, I was called to the capital for an emergency training session on cholera, due to the recent outbreak in our neighboring country. I didn’t know what to do with Riley. The way people take care of their dogs here isn’t exactly the way we do. My neighbors have four dogs. Two are permanently tied to tries. The other two never leave the gated area of their yard. Where Riley came from? Well she had a shack and a chain, too. I tried to teach another neighbor’s son to care for her, since I had seen in him that capacity. But his mother decided to take him to a resort that weekend, last minute. So, Riley came with me. And though I had to pay 100 extra pesos when she threw up on the bus, everything else went smoothly. Not a peep or struggle the whole way.

I took her to the vet where they said they would keep her for the night and they said they would do an x-ray on her leg, but that it looked like there was something else wrong, too. Something not so easily fixable as a broken bone. The next afternoon I pick her up. Good news, bone is no broken. Bad news, it’s nerve damage. Worse news, it might not heal. Good news again, since she’s young, she has more of change that she may get some feeling back in her paw – as of now she has none. It will take months to tell. Bad news again, she is host to three different kinds of parasites including one that causes her to poop blood and an amoeba. Final news, meds included, Riley’s visit to the doctor cost about 4,000 pesos. More than a month’s rent.

         

Home again we went. As we start our regiment of morning and night time medications, hurricane Tomas rolls in. Four out of six geographical regions of PCVs in the DR were consolidated. We were put on standfast, no leaving our sites. Sit tight. Lucky for us as there are no pets allowed at the hotels where Peace Corps you during consolidation. By this time, Riley had learned that peeing was only acceptable on the newspaper and that other droppings were preferred outside, so I was happy. Happier still when I hosted my own birthday dinner and she behaved like an angel. I’ll let slide the few times she tried to stand on her hind legs to reach the food on the table. Or when it was announced to me that my adventure dog had taken herself for a walk in the rain amidst the hubbub of the clean-up. But she was there, proud that she gone to the bathroom in the right place. And though she had gone without me, without her leash, I was secretly a little proud, too.

I had feared, when I heard that my birthday dinner had gone from 5 people to 10, that I wouldn’t have enough of my fajita dinner to feed everyone. But, when my host mom surprised me with a lasagna and a huge pan of corn bread, it turned out to be a feast. I’m still eating left-overs four days later. Not only was the food satisfying both in quantity and taste, but the company was wonderful as well. The ex-pats of the Miches area sat in a circle, some of the tile floor, some on the hammock, some on plastic chairs, all around a home-made Pictionary board and their own hand-written word cards. Afterwards, we even had cake. A beauty that Darien and Henry had had made special for the occasion. It even included a candle.

Since then, the rain has washed out my theater group auditions and the electricity in the school’s computer lab… which means I’ve pretty much been hanging out in my apartment for the last few days, just me and Riley, takin it easy. I was a bit discouraged at first by my lack of work, my overabundance of sleep. But one thing I’ve learned in my 23 years, well more so in the past few months, is that sometimes you just have to go with the flow. And if that flow is the water rolling down the streets from hurricane Tomas, well – you pick up again once you can cross the river.

Marooned

Today is El Cedro´s high school graduation. A school day. The graduation isn´t until three this afternoon, but already, at 11, one of the teachers sits under the shade of a tree waiting for his car to be washed. His students will not receive any of the four hours of learning today.
It´s a big deal for these 28 students to participate in the graduation ceremony. They´ve somehow managed to make it through this thing they call a school system, though some are in their early twenties. They´ve waited through the summer to receive their national exam scores and will wait again until January if they´re among those who will attend a university. One among them is my youngest host brother, another, a computer student of mine who plans to become a doctor. These two are rarities, gems to be found among stones, glimmers of hope in an otherwise dim succession of generations.

I had a log conversation with the principal of the school yesterday, as I waited for prospective students that never came (my classes are supposed to start next Tuesday, and still I have no one inscribed). Juanito has been in the education business for 22 years and knows the system well. And as we conversed, he did not attempt to sugar coat the situation, he even admitted to our next-door neighbor, Haiti, has a better school system than we do. Juanito, however, has plans to abandon his country for green pastures. He will join his wife and three daughters already in Philadelphia, none of whom speak English.

He continued by saying that the Ministry of Education is as submersed in the corruption as the rest of the country. A principal does not hire his or her teachers; they are assigned to the school. Neither can he let them go of his own accord, for they would only pay off the nearest politician to keep their jobs. The Ministry itself is given less money than the budget of the first lady (vying for future votes for her husband – who can be reelected for as long as lives) and uses that money to print its own books as a way of saying “look, we´ve done something!” Unfortunately for all that receive the books, if they ever do, they probably won´t learn much from them at all. I flipped through the book titled ¨success communication in English.” It was indecipherable.

It´s common among Peace Corps volunteers to discuss the state of the Education System we work against. Saying we work with it, would be a stretch, though I´m sure that´s what Peace Corps would have us say.  In one particular conversation, we discussed just that – Peace Corp regulations, or restrictions, rather, on published content. One girl wrote an article for a small newspaper back home that merely touched upon the “corrupt government” here. Peace Corp struck that from the records. Wouldn´t let her publish it with the word ¨corrupt.” Since part of our mission is to “help promote a better understand of other people´s on the part of the American people,” I suppose politicians don´t count as people.

Anyhow, as difficult as it is know that I´m swimming up stream, that I can´t reform the education system working with only one school, I have implemented my first course of action directly relating to the students and not directly involving technological instruction. I call it PODER. I came up with that acronym all by myself. I am so proud. Poder means power, and PODER stands for Programas Organizados de Estudiantes Realizados. Realizado – realized, complete or accomplished. I introduced the program to the teachers on Tuesday (it was supposed to be on Monday, but the school didn´t have electricity, my PowerPoint and I were forced to wait) and will introduce it to the students this coming Monday, si Dios quiere.

What exactly am I introducing? PODER is an infrastructure under which the students have the support and ability to form their interest groups. It is an extra-curricular organization, designed to foster a self-determining realization and encourage creative activity. Self-determining realization? That bit of mumbo jumbo is me trying to say that these students are a product of a fatalistic society. They believe that whatever happens is or was supposed to happen; that everything in their lives is because Dios quiere. Because God wants. Therefore, for them to realize that they have some control over the outcome of their lives, is huge. For them to feel that they have the ability to speak freely of their desires, to not only form a group around their own interests, but to govern it – well that´s just revolutionary.

This isn´t to say that I´m expecting a flood of students rushing to sign up. I´m expecting quite the opposite, really. But if they want an “Escojo mi Vida” group, a “Brigada Verde,” or “Encargados del Futuro” it´s all up to them now. It´s worked into the program that they´ll need to solicit an advisor, a teacher or community member willing to work with them and support them. I will of course, make myself and Peace Corps resources available to them, but I want them to realize that I am not a family member from The States sending remittances, that they will have to work for whatever it is they want.

The day after IST (In Service Training) concluded, where I developed the rudimentary idea for PODER, I headed out to a little place in the northern Cibao called Janico. Close to the city of Santiago, Janico´s ancestry is shown through it´s skin as having been mainly Spanish. A concern for me, as I knew our little film crew wanted to portray typical Dominican students in the struggle of a telenovela life. But, Janico has almost 24 hour electricity. It´s a lovely pueblo, and the perfect site for our character Luz to be lost and then found again.

Our cast was composed entirely of high school students, even the adult roles, and I was so pleasantly surprised by the enthusiasm and professionalism they displayed throughout the shoot. Their memorize/repeat educational structure became apparent through their acting, as they had to be told exactly what to do every time the slightest change to the script was made. Improvisation was not really within their capabilities. But like I said, they were great kids. And it was amazing to see their reactions when we showed them a teaser, a short compilation of the work they had done over those few days.

If they couldn´t improvise, I think the crew made up for it in spades. We had a group of people that just made things happen. If we needed a boom mic, we tied a regular one to a broom stick. We did the same thing with a light bulb to illuminate a shot. We fastened tin foil to a poster board to create a reflector and made a bed in a corner look like a whole room. Most of the crew had never worked in television or film before, so it was insane. But wonderful. Before the next shoot, in which we´ll be aided by proper equipment from an established production company in the capital, we are going to have a film 101 session, so that our squeaky machine purrs by the time we´re done. “Me Toca A Mi” (It´s My  Turn) might even have it´s run on Dominican television, if the production company get´s its way, though it´s main purpose is simply to accompany the manual to a Peace Corp youth group promoting healthy and life-bettering decisions.

My travels over the past 2 weeks didn´t stop their. From Janico I went to Imbert, a larger pueblo very near the northern coastline. What´s in Imbert? Well, aside from being the residence of a fellow volunteer and dedicated crew member, it´s right up against the 27 Charcos. If you´ve ever wanted to feel out of time, even out of body, this is the place. I, of course, did not have my waterproof camera, since it had recently broken. And, of course, they were out of disposable ones for sale when we got there. So I have no photos of the 27 pristine pools and waterfalls, of the lagoons and caverns that snake along, open to the sky and rain. I have no pictures of me being hauled up a natural water slide by one of the guides or of Becca jumping of a 30 foot ledge surrounded by the most beautiful fauna that I could never name. I cannot show you the limestone formations, the stalactites and stalactites on the rock that bordered a gently flowing, crystal blue river, or the utter serenity, the complete detachment from the world that you experience traveling through this system of cascades and charcos.  But I can tell you that neither words nor photos can capture it.

After a stopover in the Capital, where the heat immediately became a reality once again and the humidity a force to recon with, I headed back up to Miches to participate in a round of reef checking. We were up at five on Saturday morning to be out on the water by seven. At 9:04 exactly, our boats engine quietly rolled over and died. Thankfully, we had cell reception, better than we do on land actually,  and were able to alert the Park from which we had departed. They didn´t seem to think much of the situation, however, and four hours later, a boat came bouncing off the waves toward us with six Dominicans and a rope. Well, we didn´t get more than some small measurement of distance before they´re engine cut, too. They were out of gas, and ours wasn´t going to cut it. Their engine needed gas mixed with oil, which we didn´t have. So about another hour goes by before another three Dominicans come speeding up, oil container in hand and we´re finally on our way back to shore. Not a single reef survey taken. But we did discover a new place we might one day survey. We dubbed it Stranded Reef.

The next day was more or less a success. We did a single dive in a reef near a ship wreck and relocated a concrete lobster house, all out of a fisherman´s fiberglass boat. I was really excited for when we might get to continue with those other dives that had been on hold, as they are supposed to be some of the best in the area. But, lo and behold, I´ve caught the gripe (gree-pe) and cannot dive this weekend even if my congestion cuts itself in half. But I will film this special event the dive shop owners (Paul and Diane) are sponsoring – a gathering of eco-tourism leaders and environmentally concerned Samaritans. They say even that I might be able to use the footage in my documentary…

“Submerge yourself in the waters of the coral reefs, into a world that battles for survival against the nets and harpoons of fisherman who struggle feed themselves and their families.” This documentary will both educate the Dominican viewer on alternative methods to both provide for themselves and conserve their habitats as well as introducing the outside world to the splendors of the Dominican island and how their support of eco-tourism can help to affect a positive revolution of their economy.  More on that later. The ship is still being built to sail.

In the mean time, enjoy what is left of your summer. Subscribe to the site if you wish to have email notifications of it´s being updated, and leave comments to let me know you´re reading! Fare thee well for another few weeks.

A Whole Bunch' A Words

Today I had one of my tutoring sessions with a nine year old girl who has to think about how old she is before she answers to that question. I’m trying to help her learn how to read and write, which is no easy task. First there’s the matter of the child herself, who I swear would be classified as ADD in the states, and then there’s the whole other matter of the inept school system here in the DR. The children aren’t taught the alphabet, nor are they taught the sounds each letter makes. Instead, they are taught through syllables, starting with “ma” then “me,” “mi,” “mo,” “mu,” and so on. The result is that the kids, and even the adults, don’t know how to differentiate letters from sound snd have difficulty recognizing anything that isn’t a consonant immediately followed by a vowel. That’s on a good day.

Today was not a good day. What letters make up the sound “br” – I asked her. First she counts off “ba,” “be,” “bi,” “bo,” “bu.” When that didn’t work, “bra,” “bre,” “bri,” “bro,” “bru.”  Una “bra,” she decides, as if “bra” were the letter itself. Though, I have to complement myself here, because working with her has vastly improved my level of tolerance – though I still feel the frustration bubbling up, I’m able to suppress it a bit more than I would have.

After she left the house, unable to focus for the last half hour of our session, I asked Zuni (my host mother) if this was normal in a 9-10 year old. Apparently, it’s not too un-common, but even she admitted that this particular case is somewhat special. She’s sick – she told me. And also, she has something wrong with her mind. Okay, I had figured that much out. But sick? When her husband left the room, Zuni told me that the girl as well as her entire family, are HIV positive. I couldn’t quite make out if she thought the ability to learn and the HIV were connected. I did learn, however, that in the district of Miches, El Cedro has the highest percentage of HIV positive residents and that there are still “old men” who “leave there families and spread it with many women.” The community knows this, that HIV is prevalent, and most of them know how you got, too. But still I have not seen one condom for sale in any of the stores.

Anyway, I shall not go off on that soap box. I only wished to reflect on how real HIV became all of a sudden, to me. Though, at the same time, I understood how they feel it is so much less threatening than what we were taught in school. They know, even those we would consider impoverished, that they’re taken care of, and that they can live for at least another twenty years. The major difference here is that there medication is fully paid for by the government. Maybe that’s why there’s no money for the schools.

While I’m on the topic of money and schools, I should mention my talent show. I spent a little more than a month coordinating this event with a group of four women. A couple of weeks into our planning, on of the ladies daughter’s seemed to magically appear and take charge of what needed to be done, including recruiting participants. I was thankful for her help, so told myself not to be annoyed by her randomly showing up at my house and walking into my bedroom while I was sleeping, or things of that nature.

Because she had done so much, I also allowed her to manage the income from the ticket sales. And though I had my qualms about the Dominican system (ticket now, pay later), I let it be, hoping I’d be proved wrong.

After the initial chaos in the beginning of the night when we had no electricity, no equipment, and no participants, things started to go alright. My only wish during the event itself, which started 2.5 hours late, was that I wasn’t stuck behind the counter selling food, unable to really see any of the performances. The up side was, I had a watch over the money at that point and I took the money home with me afterwards to count. Oh, my other regret was that my host brother didn’t win, though I honestly believe he was the most talented there (and he would have given us back the 500 pesos that was the winner’s prize). Anyhow, after all our weeks of work, we only ended up making 3,175 pesos. That’s about 100 dollars. My goal was to be able to buy a projector for the school. And that’s not nearly enough.

Two days later, I’m sitting in the living room with my literacy student and in comes the girl who had been helping me, the girl who was the host for the event and who never mentioned me once throughout it. So she comes in and I figure she wants her purse back. It was what we were using to keep all of the money in during the event. I give her the purse and expect her to leave so I can get on with my lesson. But no. Oh no. Mira, she says. I had two hundred pesos of my own in my purse and I want it. Whether or not she was lying, I still can’t say. All I can say was that it was quite an unlikely story, since she had been using that same purse to collect the ticket money in. What made it all the worse was that Zuni was not home to help me deal with the issue. And she wouldn’t leave the house until I gave her the money. I made her sign a note explaining her circumstance, though I don’t think it will make the slightest bit of difference. What’s done is done. And I’ve learned my lesson.

On a completely new topic, I was finally taken to see the waterfall. It was gorgeous, though I have to say, quite savage. I returned from the excursion with my skin on fire from a combination of mosquito bites, make-shift saddle, and some irritation from a malicious plant.  And since we had to slide down the side of a rock on our bums, you can only imagine how pleasant it was to sit down for a few days after! But not only was the waterfall itself gorgeous, the way there was just as beautiful. We left the campo behind and entered into the mountains. You could really believe that no human had been there before, except for the packed earth of the trail. And now that I have a horse of my own, I plan on returning.

Yes, you read right – I have a horse of my own! He as of yet remains nameless but he definitely has personality. Apparently, so the men tell me, he does not trust women, having had little exposure to the female persuasion. So he plays very hard to get when I reach to pet him. But once I’m on, he’s usually pretty obedient. I say usually because on our way to the beach he stopped half way there and wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard I kicked him. Now, granted, I never kick a horse very hard because I don’t want to hurt them, and I also have this persistent belief that they shouldn’t be forced to do something they don’t want to do. Anyhow, I too was determined and so got down off his back, knowing full well that I could not get back up without help, him being bareback and all, and so walked the rest of the way.

On the way back, he was sluggish, andI wondered why, as most horses like going home. It wasn’t until a few minutes in that I started to notice a clicking noise as he walked that wasn’t there before. Great, I said to myself, my horse is throwing a shoe. A yup. The shoe was half way off and hell if I was going to try to get it all the way off. So we walked at a snails pace back to his pastures and succeeded in avoiding the moto drivers who thought it amusing to pass by us as fast as they could, as close as they could, in the dark.

So I hope that we will be friends in time. Until then, I shall change his shoes and give him his vitamins, or whatever it is I’m supposed to give him, and take the occasional ride to the beach.

And another smooth segue – I participated in my first Reef Check excursion off of the Miches coast line. The experience was quite an adventure. The dive shop is situated just by a river which lets out into the ocean, which is rather convenient to dock a boat at. Unfortunately, it’s rather inconvenient during torrential downpours, especially when the owners of the dive shop also live there, are new to the country, and have never experienced a flood.  After all of our theory training (recognizing fish and corals and invertebrates, etc) we set out for a full day of diving. It was nice and cool on the boat, as there was a constant drizzle, and we got to see a spectacular display of lighting on shore. Unfortunately, we had to pull up anchor much sooner than expected, as we noticed a line of brown water creeping steadily toward us from the direction of the river mouth.

Turns out that line in the water, was all the run-off from the flood which almost completely devastated their house. Not a nice thing to come back to after a day of diving. Anyway, we said that we would come back and help them the next morning with anything else they needed (the local Dominicans had already helped them mop up the layers of mud on their floor). At about one in the afternoon on that next day, just as we were arriving, it started raining again. Paul, the ‘male leader’ of the dive master team, was convinced that the house would be taken out by the next flood. So as the water rose, we spent the next hour and them some, relocating everything in their little house. By the time we were done, I stood, completely eaten by mosquitoes, waste deep in muddy water on their doorstep.

I haven’t spoken to them since that day, as we’re not scheduled for another dive until August, but I haven’t heard anything, so I’m assuming no news is good news. In the mean time, now that I’ve settled in with the Miches team, I have a place to go when I need to escape and a kitchen to cook in where all the food is paid for – courtesy of Columbia University. It’s not a bad deal.

Well, there’s another chapter in this novel of mine. In a couple weeks I’ll be off to my three month IST (in-service training) and that will be another. For now, I must put up a mosquito net around my freshly planted garden so that the chickens don’t eat my plants. Hasta luego!

Paraiso (Paradise)

Since I feel like it’s been so long since I’ve chronicled last, I almost feel obliged to bullet note the events of the past few weeks, since I know I can be prolific anyway ☺. The fourth of July was the most recent of events which deserves notations, so I’ll start there and work my way back.
I finally agreed to come out of my bubble (my site) and go with the group to a place called Paraiso (Paradise) down south. It’s on the eastern coast of the southern-most peninsula of the DR, which means that it was my first time swimming in the Caribbean since I’ve been in country. What was amazing, though, wasn’t necessarily the ocean itself, though the color was an unbelievable crystalline turquoise, but the world’s shortest river which lead up to it.

This river came out of a mountain stream, which meant it was cold, the coldest water I’ve felt in country, and amazingly clear. Some rented inner tubes to float the short way down, and others of us braved it feet first, bumping against the rocks on the bottom as we went. It couldn’t have been much more than a quarter mile before we found ourselves in a swirl of salt and sweet water after a bout of rapids. The contrast between the sharp coolness of the river and the bathwater of the Caribbean was almost startling. Even more so was the current. It was overpoweringly strong. Much more so than our beach here in the north and stronger even still than our beaches in Southern California. It wasn’t a rip tide though, just an incredibly strong push of the water.

Anyhow, that was the highlight of the weekend. I floated along a river to the ocean side where I allowed myself to collect a sample of the amazing variety of stones that populated the shore instead of stand. Some were so smooth they could have been polished marble. I have pictures, but unfortunately, most of them are on other people’s cameras – both of the beach and of roasting hotdogs and s’mores over the campfire. So I don’t know how long it will be until I get them. For now, I’ll just provide what I have.

The only other event that sticks out in my mind from the past few weeks is the discovery of our own river mouth. Starting from the nearby hotel, I decided to follow the river to wherever it went, ducking under barbed wire (of which there’s enough in this country to encircle the equator several times) and stepping over giant tree roots. The walk, though short, was mystifying. To see the trees seemingly grow out of the river and spread a canopy across the path made by the animals, to follow the butterflies and see the scuttling tiny crabs, to wonder at the splashes as I passed by – was all wondrous. Have you ever seen a sprouting coconut? By the time I reached the river mouth, I was already on such a high from my surroundings that the place itself seemed that much more amazingly alluring.

The sand formed a sort of gully, with jutting cliffs and sloping banks for the river water that went astray. The locals had used heavy driftwood to form a barrier between the river itself and the ocean, which created a sandbar between the two where the currents of hot and cold water mingled. Looking back, you could see the slightly murky river water bordered by a wall of think green and scattered coconut trees. It was beautiful. One day soon, I’ll return to photograph it.

Since the last time I’ve written, I’ve also given my first exam in the only set of classes that remained afloat during this flo-ho summer schedule. The curve seemed to be relatively normal, with an average score of 75, though some of my students still  couldn’t quite master the use of the mouse or the double click, let alone highlighting text and changing the font size. It’s coming together though. This month I now have three different levels, so three classes and have settled on a progression they might follow to reach a graduation in December. Vamos a ver.

I’ve also filmed my first event here (a church event of my brother’s) and edited it together for him. It’s – interesting, since I did it with my one camera and the lighting wasn’t great. But if I can ever get it up on line, I’ll let you be the judge of that.

That’s all for now, folks! Thanks for reading and definitely don’t be afraid to comment and let me know what you think

The Evening in El Cedro

It’s nights like tonight when I can say that without a doubt, joining the Peace Corps was the best decision I’ve ever made. When you’re on the back of a moto staring up at the star dusted sky, mouth agape as the headlights bounce off the leaves of the coconut trees, you can’t help but think that anything that brought you to this point was god-sent. I think that’s really the first time I’ve been out at night here, in El Cedro, and it really was magical. The cool night air and the occasional flash of a firefly made me wish the trip into Los Urabos were more than a ten-minute ride. After this experience, I’ve set a goal for myself to figure out how I might be able to camp at the beach, so I might never have to leave the stars for as long as their out.

Saturday was a day of mixed emotions. I went with my host brothers and a bunch of their friends to the beach with my very own inner tube. The inner tube was a blast, especially with four boys trying to climb on it at once and the waves sneaking up on you from behind, and my waterproof camera became something of a novelty and delighted them all beyond belief. The unfortunate bit was the price the sea claimed for the fun we had. My waterproof camera no longer has a screen and my favorite sunglasses, my only truly good pair I’ve ever had, have been swept to the bottom of the Caribbean where they may forever rest in peace. And only after did I remember the split second decision I made to take them instead of leave them behind. Damn that split second. I can only blame myself. Though slowly, I’m learning that things – are just things, after all.

The rain has finally let up, which means the heat has started to sink in. I average about two visits to the river a day in-between classes and meals. I’m giving three beginners computer classes to adults and youth (and when I say beginner, I mean some of them have never used a mouse before) as well as an arts and crafts class, a literacy class for just a few kids of about ten who cannot read, and my Escojo Mi Vida class. All of them seem to be going rather well. My Escojo class, or my sex-ed class as I sometimes call it, was interesting. The first session was on self-esteem and making choices based on values and such. I was so grateful for the handbook Peace Corps had given us and for the time I had taken to make thorough slides from it. All I had to do was facilitate conversation, and hope they wouldn’t find out I could only understand about half of what they were saying. One of my brothers, though, said he thought it went very well. So I’ll have to believe him.

My committee and I have also started to plan for our biggest fundraiser of the summer – a talent show. If the excitement shown by the four women of my committee is any indication of how the town will react, I think we’ve got a winner here. I’ve seen first hand the talent that exists in this community, and so am rather excited myself. I also plan to film the event and add DVD sales to the fund raising chart.

Yesterday, I made spaghetti and sauce (with a modified recipe) for my family. Those who were brave enough to try it, said they really liked it, and Even, who came over after he had already eaten lunch, had a whole plate. I was proud. And oh was it lovely to have some familiar food. My host mom was made quite happy by the whole event as well. She becomes so distressed when I don’t eat. Not eating, to her, is not finishing an entire plate. So, meals and their preparations are a constant struggle. And I wish I had the words to tell her how much I appreciate the effort she puts into finding out what I like and trying to provide me with it. Oh, and the danger of having an ice-cream shop across the street from my house has finally become apparent. Today was the third consecutive visit.

Life is good here in the DR. And I know I’ve said this before, but I can’t wait to share it.

A Different Sort of Internet

I’ve decided that you only really learn what it means to troubleshoot when the internet is a moto ride away from the computers you’re troubleshooting, it’s slower than a landline, and everything you’re
trying to troubleshoot is in a foreign language. Oh yes, this is the world I live in. But there’s a certain sort of satisfaction that comes from each little triumph, and a certain acceptance that comes with the
things you can’t fix. Some of the issues I’ve fixed, others that I can’t fix are simply irritations (thus far, anyway). In so many cases since I’ve been here, I’ve had to abandon my quest for perfection in
the small things because here, there ain’t no such thing. By the end of today I hope to have all 10 of the schools computers up and running, frozen and perfect – with the exception of the explorer
window that appears at start up… oh well. You can’t have everything. But I swear that if I ever meet a spyware author, I seriously will meat him.

I’ve had a couple meetings with the faculty and one with some of the leaders of the community. Many didn’t show, so we have to have another just to organize a committee to get the fund raising going. We have, however, agreed that a good first goal is to get internet put into the school – I think. It’s always hard for me to tell what they really want. But so far, the rough plan is to give basic computer classes during the summer to raise money so that we might have internet by the
beginning of the next school year. I also hope to give an arts and crafts class with an emphasis on using recycled materials. We’ll see how that goes.

Something that’s been a bit of an adjustment for me, or at least a realization, is that the mentality here, even in meetings, isn’t so down-to-business as I am. I find myself wanting to sprint ahead with
these grand plans of a theater group and art classes to raise funds for internet, to spear head this enormous task of producing a teacher training video series… and everyone here is just cogiendolo suave. Just taking it easy. So, needless to say, a task I’ve had to add to my list is to learn how to start small and to have patience. Suddenly, two years doesn’t seem like such a long time at all.

I’m pretty sure it’s rained here every day since I’ve been back. So when they said May was the rainy season, they most definitely meant it. It has been oddly regular, also. Hot, cloudy, and humid in the
mornings with torrential downpours around lunch, which would cool off the air a bit for the evenings. Last Sunday, Evan, my volunteer neighbor, and I had the idea to hike out to beach that morning to beat the rains. Little did we know that the beach during and after the rain, isn’t anywhere you really want to be. The once crystal blue waters were now brown with runoff from the rivers, almost all the way out to the horizon where a strip of blue still remained untouched. The beach was spotted with litter that had also been washed down stream. It was a bit of a disappointment, but we got a lot of walking in that day, and some castigation for having done so. They look at me like I’m from another planet when they find out I’ve been walking. “A pie!?” they say, “Que lejos! Que peligroso!” But it’s really not dangerous at all, though lejos is more or less true, as it is an hour’s walk to the
nearest town of Los Guineos.

Anyhow, things are pretty tranquilo here, though I certainly have enough to do. Which is just the way I like it. Hope all is well, wherever you are, and I hope to hear from you all soon!

Can't Wait To Get Back to Miches

Tomorrow will have been a week since we’ve officially sworn in as Peace Corps Volunteers of the Dominican Republic and yet, here we sit, the 22 of us ICTers, still listening to the babbling of what I could only wish were a brook. I’d probably learn more that way anyhow. For some reason, beyond all comprehension, Entrena has invited representatives of the Ministry of Education to lecture us for three days on how to be trainers of trainers of literacy. Today is the second day and so far, it holds par with yesterday – reading and repeating, one and half hours of information stretched out to cover an entire day. And have I mentioned we already all this? Just as a concrete example of how efficient these people are, our agenda for the three days, which would have looked very nice on a single sheet of paper, was given to us in an eight page packet. And the massive amounts of literacy training booklets that they’ve handed us are all written in cursive. A great place for people to start who don’t know how to read or write.

Anyhow, back to the swearing in ceremony. It was a really nice formal affair at which the director of PCDR was present as well as the second in command to the ambassador to this country who happens to be a returned PCV. And now, I have a shnazy new certificate I can hang on my wall so that I might hold merit with the Dominicanos – man, do they love their certificates. The day following swearing in was the All Volunteer Conferenc where all 166 of us in country gathered to be given money belts and to meet one another. I know have special permission to participate in the Escogo mi Vida Telenovela project during my three month diagnosic phase (normally, PCVs aren’t allowed to be involved in committees during this period). I’ve also signed up to be a member of the Marine Interest Group (yay SCUBA! ), to participate in med missions translating between patients and US volunteer doctors, (when my Spanish is major, or course), and I’ve talked to all the leaders of the various youth groups.

In the time since then, as I wait restlessly to retur to my site, I’ve come up with a basic plan for carrying out my diagnostic. I’m pretty excited about getting to know all the teachers in my community – not to mention the youth – and anyone else, too J. Also since then, it’s been raining pretty much nonstop as we approach hurricane season. Beca and I were caught in a deluge yesterday on our way home from the training center. Of course, neither of us were equipt with an umbrella or money for a carro publico and both of us had our laptops in tow. So we ran from over hang to over hand, from colmado to colmado, undil we finally came to a place that had large plastic garbage bags – a rarity in this pais. Of course, they only agreed to give us one, so we had to saddle up Beca with both backpacks under the safety of our Dominican make-shift poncho. By the time I got home, all I had to do was add shampoo to complete my shower. And thankfully, our computers both made it through, safe and dry.

Speaking of survival, thanks to Peace Corps initiated Standfast, we’ve all managed to stay alive throughout the congressional elections of this marvelously civilized country who only had 43 deaths due to party disagreements and civil unrest. It’s particularly interesting, however, that with each election sicne the democratization of the country, voter turn out has continually decreased – yet, people and families still retain an ardent fervor for one party or another – not that there’s much difference between them ideologically or even politically, aside from the colors on their campaign posters and T-shirts… and banners, and painted cars, and painted buildings, and bumper stickers, and pretty much everything else you can color, paint, or dye. Even more interestingly is the fact that these posters and enlarged, whitened faces, are all that their campaigns consist of. That along with the constant guaguas driving throughout the communities blasting copy-written violated songs, words replaced with ‘vote for me’ lyrics. That and the occasional traffic jam caused by a caravan of people on motos sporting flags and making noise. Pretty amazing, huh? Now I ask you, my fellow citizens of America – are we that far off after our last election fuelled by T-shirts and Obama collectors edition china? From president to rock star to a red and blue face on a white shirt. Perhaps I need to readjust my definition of progress.

Anyway – I’m done with my rant and of to compartir in PB&J sandwiches!! The highlight of my day. I shall have to think of something else to do during the next lecture. Love and best wishes to all <3

A Tour of the Area

I can’t believe I actually live here. This site is amazing and so far my family continues to be pretty great. I’ve discovered that they’re evangelical – which means that their four sons aren’t aloud to dance, among other things – which is great for me, though I’m still pretty sure the 19 year old has his eyes wide open, asking me if I’m aloud to marry while in the Peace Corps and all. When my fellow PCVs learned I had 4 host brothers, they all joked that I’d be one of the ones getting married. I guess he has the same idea. But they really are wonderful. Zuni, my host mom, really cares to find out what I like and don’t like – to eat I mean. And she’s actually gone out to by the things that I’ve said I liked, which pleasantly surprised me very much. And as for the religion, it hasn’t really affected me that much yet, I just hope they don’t ask me to go to church. Actually, so far, I rather like living with this kind of a religious family whose friends also forbid themselves from drinking and dancing and such. That makes for a much more comfortable and pleasant Friday night by my standards.

One of my project partners is also some sort of a tour group coordinator, so he got us (the four of us volunteers living in this area) a free tour around the area. It was absolutely lovely. We started by going to the top of a mountain with an amazing view of the mountain range and the lakes and ocean below. We had a local products tasting and saw a cock fight – that thank god was not a real fight-to-the-death fight – and then we ate lunch at the hotel, after which we took a horse ride to and along the beach, spent some time in the water, and then took a boat trip back across the lake to where we started. So this is an example of how generous the people are here, including my project partners. The tour costs about 150 US dollars. We got it for free. Time will tell how my project partners are work wise and how that whole aspect of it will go – but time we got.

I used to be quite anxious about what I should be doing with my time. But lately, I’ve gotten so used to taking afternoon naps that when I go back to the capital for our final training session, I’m going to struggle not taking them! I go to bed fairly early, but I find that I also wake up really early, partly because of the damned birds – so taking a nap works out pretty well, you escape the hottest part of the day that way, too. Here in El Cedro, it’s actually not all that bad. My bedroom has a zinc roof, though, so my room is pretty hot during the afternoon, hotter than it is outside. So nap time could take place on the floor depending on well the fan feels like working, but Zuni just brought in a new one which seems to be working great.

I can’t wait to share this place. I know I just got here, but I’m already anxious for people to come and visit. By that time, I’ll be able to give tours of my own

My Home for the Next Two Years, El Cero, Miches

This week is the week we’ve all been waiting for with baited breath. Sites were finally assigned on Monday. On Tuesday we had our project partner days where we met the people who had requested that volunteers be sent to the communities and then we went with them to visit the community we’ll be living in for the next two years. I was completely surprised and a bit overwhelmed when I got to my site and they had thrown me a welcoming party. Around thirty members of the community of El Cedro, Miches attended, listened to my introduction and my project partners’ presentations, and ate. I was amazed that they had enough food for all those people. A full dinner, too.

My host family is lovely. The mother is the secretary of the school, the father owns an auto repair shop that’s somewhat, kind of connected to their house. They have four boys between the ages of 17 and 22. Thank god two of them already have girlfriends. I was really afraid there for a second. The house is also very nice with 24-hour electricity and running water. There is no cell reception with the Peace Corps’ network, but the family has been quite generous in sharing their phone minutes so far. The best part about this place, though, is the view. We’re nestled in the foothills of the mountain range, green as green could be, and a river runs practically in the back yard – if there were distinct yards. The beach is minutes away as are a couple of lagoons. The only unfortunate thing is, of course, the presence of roosters in the morning and another bird, yet to be named, who fills the night with its all but lovely chirping on half second intervals to accompany the blasting music from down the road. Oh the noise.

The pueblo of El Cedro (meaning the cedar) is small, there is one school for all grades with a total of about 600 students and 11 teachers. I asked to be placed in a town exactly like this, with a motivated group of teachers and facilitators, which they all seem to be. They also have a fully functioning CTC (community technology center) complete with kindergarten and small library. I feel as though I’ve struck a gold mine, yet I’m not quite sure what to do with it now that I’ve got it. I am the only ICT volunteer out of 22 who has been assigned to work jointly with two labs, the school’s and the CTC’s, but they both seem so organized already that even with two labs, I’m afraid I’ll be difficult to find an area where I can help. When I return to begin my 3 month diagnostic after swearing in, I plan on sitting in on each of the teachers classes, to get to know them and their methodologies as well as the students. I also plan on observing the classes at the CTC. Other than that, vamos a ver.

My project partners seem great so far. One is the math teacher at the school and another is an encargado at the CTC. During our mini-seminar before departing to our sites, we planned out a rough itinerary for this week, something which they enjoyed doing and have actually adhered to thus far with punctuality, which is incredibly impressive. So far I’ve been presented to all of the morning classes at the school, the attendees of tonight’s Catholic church service (the experience of which I’ll refrain from elaborating on), boys at the basketball court, people at the ice cream shop and in various family’s homes. I look forward to Friday’s activity – a safari around the area including both lagoons, the beaches, and nearby towns.

There is so much more to say, so much that I’m feeling and experiencing, yet I’m not quite sure how to say it. The only thing I can really put into words is – wow – it’s actually happening. I mean, this is it. This is going to be my life for at least the next two years and I have no idea through which paths it might take me. It’s exhilarating, really. Overwhelming, exciting, and exhilarating.

Return to the Capital

The return to the capital wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. It was very much tempered by pizza for lunch the first day back and McDonalds the second, plus a visit to US soil and a swimming pool at the embassy. And to my delight, I haven’t heard a single rooster since I’ve been back. The only thing that would make this better is if I weren’t sick in bed. It’s just a cold, una gripe, but its zapped me of all motivation to do anything and makes the heat just that much more difficult to bear. I’m blaming Becca for giving me her illness! No, not really – I’m chalking this up to another lesson my body’s trying to teach me: don’t let yourself get stressed out over small things (like a kid’s documentary) cuz your immune system will plummet and you’ll like that even less.

The farewell bash wasn’t nearly as packed as our facilitator had anticipated, but I think it went well nonetheless. It was pretty exciting to see how the other two groups’ projects came out. I was really impressed by the company logos Sabrina’s graphic design team came up with, how they gave a presentation going over, in detail, how they developed each one. The newspaper team said they faced a lot of adversity in the way of kids not showing up or not doing the work, but they had a nicely laid out two 4 page paper to present to everyone at the fiesta. The documentary was well received, especially by the students who created it. I was somewhat disappointed, however, that none of their families had come to support them for various reasons. But the kids were beaming. Everyone wanted to take photos and to exchange emails, so we did and that was nice.

After the premier of our little film, our fluent Spanish speaker of the group, in his ever brightly shining positivity and support, introduced me to the audience as the directora whose passion and something else I didn’t quite catch made this happen. I was of course, thrilled to be recognized in this way and wish I could have spoken with the passion he spoke of, but my damn language barrier got in the way. All I was able to do was read off of a post-it note, but he said it came out well, which is good enough for me J. I said in our groups’ closing speech that their families and their community should be proud and that I was sure they’d be successful in whatever they went on to do with their lives. I’m not sure if it registered with them, but I hope it did, because they never hear that kind of thing from anyone.

Even though our documentary was essentially just a simple collection of interview clips with a few visuals of the factories in between, I guess it was enough to catch the eye of one of the men working for a local television station. To be quite honest, that’s about all I understood when he introduced himself to me afterwards. I’m not exactly sure what he wanted, other than my email, but it was really nice to be asked for my contact information instead of the usual other way around.

Before the party, my doña took me to a small tienda on our block to look for shoes. She knew I didn’t have any that fit the semi-formal dress code requirements of the party and the swearing-in-ceremony. To my complete surprise, she bought the shoes. She said it was something to remember her by, because “te amo mucho.” I wanted to print out all of my favorite family photos from the five weeks I spent with them and give that as a gift, since they don’t have very many photos. But when I found out that to print actual photos costs 20 pesos per photo, my brilliant idea was shot down. Fortunately, a veteran volunteer helped me through the process of “thinking around things” here in the DR and I eventually decided to print a card, on regular printer paper, that included all the photos. It wasn’t ideal, for my perfectionistic standards anyway, but she loved it, and I hope to visit again someday during my service and bring back with me the real photographs I originally planed to give. I miss little Jose already, too, always wanting to paint (scribble) or play cards (throw them down on the table). The little kids here do nothing but cry.

We find out our site placements on Monday, though they knew yesterday during our meeting and still wouldn’t tell us. I know I’m going to be working in a school, which is great, but that’s the extent of my knowledge as of now. During our meeting they basically told the eight of us working in schools that we were chosen to do so because we demonstrated an ability to work without any structure or support, neither of which we’ll be getting from the Ministry of Education. For this role, they say, we’ll need to be headstrong and self-motivated, good with fundraising, and willing to role with the punches. That last one will probably be my biggest challenge.

There is a supposed structure of the committees that we’ll be working with once we get to our site, but that’s assuming everyone shows up to the meeting and is on task, which is almost never going to happen. So they gave us some starting out techniques that might help in our initial meetings and ways to capitalize on the excitement of the town to have us there during our first few months.

I’ve worked a little on my project vision – my teacher training classes that will eventually lead to the development and production of teacher training videos. One of the others working in schools has helped me to translate my vision statement into Spanish and we will be sitting down to discuss an rough curriculum for the training sessions. He was a substitute teacher for a while before coming to the Peace Corps and I’ve seen how great he is up in front of a class, so I’m really looking forward to collaborating with him on this project. We even aspire to bring our most motivated teachers together to film the videos as an incentive for the to meet like minded individuals as well as a little travel. We’re not aloud to apply for Peace Corps grants during the first three months, but I don’t imagine we’ll be shooting before then anyway. When we’ve sketched out our class outline, I’ll post it up along with my vision statement. I’d really appreciate if those of you with teaching experience could comment, critique, or offer suggestions.

Until then, I await with great anticipation the announcement of our project sites and the five days we get to visit them before swearing in.

Leaving El Seibo

We leave El Seibo this week. It’s insane. Although I know so much has happened in the five weeks since we’ve been here, I feel like it’s been no time at all. Each day is a week, each week a day. We accomplished the task of putting together a documentary with youth of El Seibo, many of whom showed a genuine interest and dedication. We learned to cook empanadas and taught how to cook quesadillas. We’ve given two classroom presentations – in Spanish – and we learn at least a couple of new words every day. We’ve had dinner on the rooftops of El Seibo and traveled to its campo. We’ve been lectured and chastised about the appropriateness of our dress, how to not sit with our legs propped up, and to take at least a bucket bath in the evenings so they won’t think you’re heathen (although I don’t think anyone thinks that’s a problem since you have to take a couple showers a day just to cool off). We’ve learned to set up computer labs and how nothing we’ve learned will probably work, since nothing works in this country the way it’s supposed to. For the most part, we know what we want now, what we’d be the best at, whether its teaching teachers or teaching youth or teaching English. And now we wait, the painful last week, before they tell us where we’ll be spending the next two years.

Wednesday is our project presentation / bon voyage party in the Auntamiento (City Hall) of El Seibo. It’s a chance for our youth to be recognized for their accomplishments in a way that they rarely ever are here, as well as a time for us to say thank you to the pueblo for accommodating us. We are the first volunteer group to do this, apparently, so we’re all eagerly awaiting the outcome. Ann, our facilitator, anticipates half the town and people looking through the windows.

I’ll be a bit sad to leave my host family here. I really have grown quite attached to them. In fact, the only thing I’ll be happy to get away from is the rooster pen under my window. I think the next Nobel Prize should go to the person who genetically engineers roosters without vocal chords. Roosters and small yippy-yappy dogs. And speaking of noteworthy achievements, I’d just like to give a shout out to one of my best friends for getting into and going to Columbia’s Graduate Nursing School and her boyfriend for getting into and going to Stanford for a graduate degree in business. Amazing, guys. Of course, this means I’ll have to get a PhD to compete – but I got time

I haven’t been much in the frame of mind to write lately, which I hope will explain the rather random assortment of topics for this entry. Every time I thought of or experienced something worth noting, I told myself I’d remember it for later. Of course, I’ve forgotten most all. So those jewels of commentary have disappeared forever into the void of my mind. But never fear, I still have a small portion of that wealth of words to come.

Today I returned to a market we had once visited as a class. Last time, I must have been so preoccupied with the hisses and advances being made that I didn’t really notice the surroundings. This time, I was by myself instead of with a large group, so I’m sure that made a difference, and I found myself in a much more amicable mood. The thing that struck me the most about this market wasn’t that the tables were pilled high with an assortment of clothes, uncategorized or without any sort of order, but that those tables were situated amidst tired, rusting carnival rides. Ropes to hold up the canopies were tied to the carrousel and bamboo support poles leaned against the Farris wheel. A string of shoes hung across a line strung from the once high speed swings.

Though I returned from the market empty handed (as I’m running low on cash, could not find sandals for 100 pesos, and am too stubborn to cambiar my dollars or withdraw funds) I felt as though I left with a newfound sense of wonderment. I cannot place it. I cannot explain how I really saw those abandoned rides in the middle of piles of clothes and shoes, how I really felt being one of those people milling around, browsing, ducking under ropes and climbing over poles . But it left me with an odd sensation, like I’d been through a time warp or a Steven King novel. It wasn’t uncomfortable or unsettling, it was merely another sense of the Dominican world, a strange mix of times and technologies that I had only ever seen as obnoxiously inefficient before.

I’m sure I will remember more of my final days in El Seibo as memory is triggered by other occurrences, but for now I must seize the opportunity for a nap. The roosters seem relatively subdued. I shall return to write after the end and before the beginning. Our time in limbo, in Santo Domingo where the next step will be revealed.

Youth Group Kickoff

We had our youth group kick off this week and it was amazing. One of our biggest projects while we’re here in El Seybo is to work with a group of high school students on a technical project, guiding them through a structured process but letting them dictate the theme and giving them the opportunity to have some hands on experience, which they get so little of here. I was fortunate enough to be given my very own opportunity to head one of the three projects, and of course, we’re making a documentary. My team is awesome, they’re as excited about the project as I am. And the jovenes seem to be dedicated and genuinely interested as well. In just one meeting, we were able to give them a charla on the nature of information through the media, responsible documentary production, and how to conduct and effective interview. We were also able to decide on a topic from ideas that they pitched and voted on. It’s actually rather perfect because the topic they chose is to introduce or expose their audience to the two factories in town. This allows us to split up the project, giving them more personal experience and making production efficient at the same time. We plan to film all of next Saturday and spend the entire next week editing. I’m going to give my team an editing tutorial before I give the lesson to the kids, so that we’re all on the same page with the wonderfully advanced editing program: Windows Movie Maker.

All this also means that I’ve had the opportunity to break in my new camera! I had some issues with the quality of the image at first, but eventually figured out that I was retarded and had the gain turned on in broad daylight. It’s a good thing it happened during the training sessions and not during the real meat of the project. The kids won’t actually be using my camera, for a number of reasons, but the primary reason being that we as a PCV team hope to put together a documentary of the experience. A sort of movie within a movie, or behind the scenes, if you will. So they will be using the video functions on some of our still cameras as we look over their shoulder and try not to be too obtrusive with our slightly larger camera.

Our first planning meeting for the project was hosted at my house and I decided to splurge and order us a pizza. I figure that since I don’t spend money on alcohol and generally end up with more left over at the end of each pay period than the others, I could afford to treat them. And a few days later, since we had already borrowed the projector for our charla, I hosted a movie night. I wanted to provide food for this too, so went on an obscenely long search for chips and salsa. After bringing back the bottled salsa and explaining to my doña that I planned on adding fresh ingredients, I took a nap. When I woke up, a gigantic bowl of salsa was already made along with fried eggplant and a carrot and potato dish. The movie night ended up costing me as much as the pizza, so I don’t think that I’ll be hosting anything else while in El Seybo, but it was definitely a success and a lot of fun.

My new novio sat with us throughout most of movie night, though he couldn’t understand a word of it. He sat right by my side the whole time and had a heyday with a newly discovered treat: popcorn. I’m so in love with this boy, he’s the most adorable 2 years old ever. He’s actually being raised with manners, to cover his mouth when he coughs, to be respectful, and he’s quite intelligent too, I think. He calls me E-isa, he knows me, remembers me every day and is my ever devoted eating compañero. When I got back from the beach today, he saw me coming down the street and ran to bring me home.

Which brings me to Playa Esmerelda. Today we finished out the week with a much needed escape to an amazingly beautiful bay, which we had almost to ourselves. Ann, the best trainer ever, manipulated some funds to rent us a gua-gua and take us there for the day. However, a few of us chose to sit in the bed of her truck on the way up which was the ride of a lifetime. Not only did we have 360 degree panoramic views of the lush green mountains, but we got to experience the cool rain as we drove through them. I loved it so much that I rode in the bed of the truck on the way back, too – though this time I stood up, holding onto the railing of the cab, the whole hour and a half back. It was amazing. The beach itself was wonderful, the water was warm and for practically the whole bay it was shallow enough to stand. Palm trees and mangroves shaded the area, Sabrina brought her water-polo ball, and when the sun finally did come out, it washed our stresses away.

Semana Santa

Slammed my thumb in the car door, got bitten in the nose by a Chihuahua, sat in the backseat of a car with seven other people, visited a campo, saw the DR’s biggest cathedral, witnessed the dominant political party take over a beach, watched as floating candles marched down the street, and finally saw an embrace of African heredity – this was my weekend.

Today was the final day of Semana Santa, the week during which the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ is remembered and celebrated. For the younger generations, it’s an excuse to party.  Friday morning we left early to visit the campo where my don and dona have their roots. Everybody seemed to be part of the family in some way or another. I think we changed locations three times. We started out in what I can only assume was a yard or someone’s house, though I’m not sure the house was one building. I think the rooms were independent of each other, each room a separate building. While there, my don went in search of a horse for me to ride after hearing that I liked them. The horse he brought back was in the best shape I’ve seen a horse in a long time, with metal chains for reigns and blanket saddle with no stirrups. Each child got a little vuelta around the area and then they sent me off – though I didn’t go very far.

After, I thought a very large group how to play Uno – my suggestion for anyone who tries to do this in the future is to pretend that a rule of the game is that when you use a wild card, you have to call out a color you already have. Everyone played colors, no one matched numbers unless it was drawn to their attention, some drew cards until they got a wild, even if they had a handful of what they needed. Everyone ended up holding twenty of the same color, everyone had to keep drawing, and the game never ended. Thank god for the call of the river.

This river was a lot nicer than the others in El Seybo. It was clear and blue and warm. A three year old, one of my dona’s grandchildren, attached herself to me for the duration of our session at the river, so I didn’t actually swim, but she was the cutest thing and I was happy to be her buoy. After the river, we paid a visit to my don’s sister and I watched as everyone but the children poured from a rather large bottle of rum. We returned to the pueblo after dark, exhausted but happy.

The next morning, my dona’s daughter-in-law asked to take me back to Higuey with her and her family. Of course I agreed and when dona said yes, I piled in the back seat of their wonderfully air-conditioned car with the three-year-old on my lap and her two older siblings beside me. The central attraction of Higuey is the cathedral built in the seventies in a very modern style. They are very proud of their cathedral and it was the first stop we made once in the town. Their apartment is small but very clean and nicely kept. They have two TVs, a computer, a laptop, and they both have cell phones. She explained to me that they both work in informatica with degrees from the university in the area. She lived with her aunt as a child because her mother could not afford to send her to school.

After a short stint in their apartment and a visit to her grandparents’ home, we departed for the beach, El Macao, on the far eastern coast somewhat near Punta Cana. The water again amazed me, but what was even more impressive was the sea of purple hats and T-shirts that swarmed the beach and the purple flyers that littered the ground. If I haven’t already mentioned it, this is campaign time. And by campaign, I mean the few months before the election where the thousand plus people running splash their faces on as many billboards on flyers as they possibly can. The party in office now sports the color purple. Another is white, and I’m not sure what the others are. All I do know is that there isn’t really a distinction between liberal and conservative. There isn’t really a distinction at all. Your party is decided  by whatever member of your family happens to be running for office in that particular party. And there’s someone in every family running. Anyway, adults and children alike paraded down the beach in a stream of purple, supporting not the policies or even the promises of a candidate but simply his giant face, whitened by some editing program, looking down on the crowd.

Little Carla, the three year old who didn’t want to go too far out into the river, had no problem at all wondering into the breakers after some time on my hip. We had fun, I took sort of a nap amidst the thundering music played by giant speakers in the back of an SUV, and when we got ready to leave I was definitely ready. We got in the car and headed out, but stopped at a colmado a short way away. I thought they were refilling their water gallons, but as it turned out, her brother had bought a large beer, and her husband, the driver, had every intention of drinking on the drive home. I think she thought it was funny how concerned I was about it, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t like it too much when he had to give up his drink, but when I said I was uncomfortable, she understood, to my great relief. I’m still pretty sure he wasn’t completely sober. I really did like this family, they were so sweat to me, but I couldn’t believe that these were two educated people with their three children in the backseat of a car during the most notorious week of the year for drunk drivers. And that’s the DR.

I got home safely, though. I’d almost forgotten the joys of guagua transportation, bounding along on squeaky metal seats, men hopping on and off the bus to sell junk. Morena, one of my dona’s daugthters, and Jasmine, her sister-in-law, picked me up from the bus stop and walked me home. They were concerned about me walking by myself in the dark. Overall, from start to finish, I thought those two days were lovely, a true display of both the positives and negatives of being part of a Dominican family.

To wrap up the weekend, my host brother took me to a small gathering at what I later learned was the house of a voodoo practicing family, though the Christian influence was prolific. I watched men singing and playing the drums and people dancing. We didn’t stay very long, but it was great to see that there are Dominicans who embrace their African heritage.

And here I am in bed, hoping the dogs stop barking long enough for me to fall asleep and that I don’t dream about the presentation I have to give in Spanish on Tuesday.

Club Wow

Last night every single one of us made it out to Club Wow. And despite the name, it actually was pretty impressive. We pretty much dominated the club until about eleven when the locals started to arrive. But I loved how integrated everyone was, within the group, I mean.

There were twenty-two of us, but everyone danced with each other, talked to each other, and made sure everyone else was having a good time. I’m pretty sure we combined every dance style possible into one evening, but that definitely made it easier for me to dance with someone else. I’ve always found it difficult to be lead, but when it’s crazy to start with, it’s not so bad. We have a couple of Latin guys in our group, so I got some lessons, too!

This morning, the four of us in one part of town met to execute a project we’ve been given. We needed to assemble a group of kids and divide them up by sex, having each group draw a map of their community. We started out with two boys and one girl.

We asked them if they had friends who might want to participate and ended up with maybe ten kids. Everyone had their own idea of what a map was to look like, so we ended up having at least ten, but I think the exercise was successful in that the kids know us now and we’ve seen what places are important to them.

Afterwards, a swarm of them followed me home. Everyone wanted to go to the river or show me their houses. A bunch of them followed me back to my house but eventually lost interest after I had shown them the photos from that morning. One girl stayed and insisted that I see her house. So I went with her across the street. Her house consists of two rooms: one that serves as a sitting area and kitchen and another with two beds where her mother, her grandfather, and herself sleep. It was by far the sparsest accommodations I had seen since I’ve been here, but she was so proud to have me come and visit, to share her house with me. From what I can see, the residents of the community have very different standards of living, though they live in the same neighborhood. There’s no judgment or discrimination within the community, it’s just a place where you live. Most of the time, it’s difficult to discern who lives where anyway, since everyone is constantly at each other’s houses. But I was honored to be a part of it.

After lunch, some of us did end up going to the river. Amber and I, the girl who shared her house with me, a few boys, and of course, my host brother as a guide. It was a different river than yesterday and definitely an exercise in immunity building, but it was close by and we had no trouble walking there. Little Nancy held my hand the whole way.

Most of the river was shallow enough to stand, so we waded up stream to where there was shade somewhat cleaner water. The boys would climb up a mango tree and shake down the ripe ones, which we would then eat. After I got over the fear of contamination, the experience really was quite delightful.

And to end a beautiful day was wonderfully (relatively) cool evening, complete with full moon and barking dogs.

El Seibo - My New Home

We got rain today! It actually just started coming down as we were leaving the river and its vista behind. We saw the water droplets on the water’s surface before we felt them. I like El Seibo so much more than Santo Domingo. It really is a world of difference. The pueblo is more or less contained within two main streets that are kept relatively (and I underscore ‘relatively’) clean. The river was a five-minute car ride away through sugar cane fields and savannah-like expanse of land. From a distance, it seemed untouched. When we got to the water’s edge and saw a car and a slew of motoconchos just hangin out in the water, I was a bit reluctant to partake in the swimming of the river. There were at least 30 people in one area of the river, so we made our way further up stream of the masses and the autos, our guides (my host brother and his friend) not really understanding why.

I’ve settled in with my new host family which is a lot more tranquilo than my other one. Instead of nine kids, my doña has five, but only two live here. The daughter is 32 and has a two year old son who is the sweetest thing. This family actually does instill manners in their children. Her son is twenty and a bit of a tiguere, but not in the worst way – he’s actually sitting next to me now, doesn’t really understand the concept of private time. But then again, not many Dominicans do. Her husband is nice and not as antisocial as most other dons, or so I hear. The doña herself, Ana Celia, works for the Primera Dama and is much calmer than my other doña who stressed me simply with the volume of her voice and high-strung-ed-ness. The best part is that they don’t serve the same food for every meal every day.

My room is clean, which is such a relief, and I have a real shower. What’s more, is that I can stand under the un-heated running water. I still haven’t figured out how to use the toilet yet, as it’s connected to a tank whose water source has to be turned on and off. So that’s been interesting. It’s not as hot here as it was in Santo Domingo, but for some reason my room seems to always be quite warm. And lucky me, the rooster coop is right below my window. P.S> earplugs do nothing in the way of blocking out rooster noise. I might not even mind eating them… as long as I don’t see them butchered.

We finally graduated sex ed today. It’s amazing how much time they spent on the topic. That and alcohol moderation. And you’d be surprised how many people weren’t well informed. There were tons of people who didn’t know about rip tides either. It’s so hard for me to imagine not knowing, but I guess not everyone lives by the ocean. Apparently there was a PCV whose brother drowned in a rip current because he didn’t know what the hell he was doing. It makes me wonder what I don’t know that’s common knowledge to others. I think Peace Corps has done a pretty good job of telling us what’s culturally acceptable here and how to protect ourselves and so on – but no one can prepare you for everything.

 The twenty-two of us ICTers are getting to know each other much more now that we’ve come to El Seibo. The ones I liked, I like even more, and the ones I haven’t liked, I’m learning to tolerate. We start our lab training on Monday, which means we start memorizing a million technical terms in Spanish. As if I wasn’t having enough trouble with simple words like toilet and floor. But it’s great, because with every step we take in the direction of actual Peace Corps service, things just get better. We’re all antsy to get a move on and do away with all this practicing-giving-surveys thing, but I like having English speakers around. It’ll definitely be a whole ‘nother story when I’m alone in a campo somewhere, unable to communicate with any sort of eloquence. Pero, soy de aquerdo que that’s when you learn the most español.

Baja Panti

Of all the events or ‘dinamicas’ or information the Peace Corps could give, the Volunteer Visit was by far the best. Over the weekend I visited Stephanie who lives in a small barrio of El Limon called Baja Panti in this wonderful house – and she’s the best.

My first day there, we walked over a hill behind her house and swam in a river or crystal blue water, a wonderfully refreshing surprise after the fear they have instilled in us of contaminated water.  In fact, this was the weekend of water. The day after, we hiked to El Limon waterfall and spent some time in the pools there.

 On our final day we took a couple horses over the mountain and to the beach, where the water was so clear I could swim out past where I could stand and see the bottom.

However, contrary to how it might seem, my experience wasn’t simply wonderful because of how often I was able to escape the heat. It was wonderful because I truly got a sense of what life is like a year into PC service (other than being able to take off on a Friday morning to hike to a waterfall). After bathing in the rio, she took me around the town and introduced me to all three labs she works in. The fact that she has three labs is unusual, as most people only have one, but I think her situation is ideal. She has a variety of projects she can work on intermittently as well as all of her self-driven classes. I sat in on three of these classes, one that was a teacher training, one that was a computer class for kids, and another called “escojo mi vida” that is a peace corps wide youth group teaching kids and informing them how they might take control of their lives.

My weekend with Stephanie was fabulous also because it reaffirmed the positivity I’ve begun to feel about working as an ITC PCV. I shared with her some of the ideas I have for youth group projects and technology classes, all of which she gave great feedback for. She gave me advice on how to approach my first three months in site, how to get in with the community and develop a repore, how to best appeal to the youth with printed invitations and other such trifles. The encouragements and truths she offered fed this optimism, in spite of tales of tarantulas.  She’s even interested in collaborating on a documentary project with me and has invited me to be a member of the Gringo Grita staff – the tri-annual magazine printed for DR PCVs.

While in El Limon, we happened across a house in the process of being built on a hill overlooking a green vista, the town beneath hidden from view. The owners of the house emerged and Stephanie stuck up a conversation with them in typical Dominican fashion. As it turns out, they’re the king and queen of El Limon. They own practically half the town, including the expansive vista and the land that the aqueduct is on, all of which was inherited. We assumed that they are descendants of the Spanish and that the land was conquest, they were quite blanca, after all. And as we walked back down the unpaved road into the town, we marveled at how little has really changed since the days of ‘colonization.’ The gringos up on a hill while the others live in squalor.

Walking down this same hill, I couldn’t help but notice how there is an everpresent smell that permates life here in the DR. In the city it’s exauhst, rotting rivers, and littered streets. In the campo its fire. People burn their trash and the smoke seems to cling to everything. I’m not a smoker, but if you checked my lungs, you’d never know it. The only place to really escape it is submerge yourself in the only fresh water remaining.

As with everything and everywhere, there were also the small things that brought a sense of wonder and beauty to my short trip. As I lay in bed and watched the fireflies zig zag across the room, the realization struck me that when you meet a fellow Peace Corps volunteer, there’s an automatic assumption that you’re meeting a future friend. Spending the weekend in Samana with Stephanie showed me this for the second time since I’ve been a trainee. She, like Sabrina, didn’t know me from Adam (or Eve), but the faith she had in the yet unseen bond between us, not just as PCVs, but as people, assured a connection. I think that’s what makes Peace Corps volunteers special , at least the ones I’ve met – the idealism and the faith that we all have more in common than we might think

Homesick

Today had a rough start, after a fitful night’s unrest and a bout of something similar to homesickness. The theory that Peace Corps time differs from real time has begun to materialize for me yet again. Each day seems so much longer, for all that we learn and all that we make. When emails get lost or the internet fails us once again, I’ve found that there’s always a way out of what seems like darkness. Since I’ve been here, frustration has materialized in the rather strange form of giddiness and a relishing of humor other than sarcasm. The first time I felt distanced from real time, this was all I needed. I laughed with newfound friends and received a hand made card the next day, though I was already feeling back to normal. This time, it took a little more. When the laughter subsided and I was left to my own devises under the canopy of my mosquito net, I felt uneasy. After an entire day of festering fear, the phone finally connected and all it took was a voice from miles away to restore my relative joviality – even though the phone card ran out at eight minutes flat.

But why have I become so dependant on the spoken reassurance that people are missing me on the other end? Perhaps because I have fallen into Peace Corps time, the Twilight Zone on an island where knowledge of the past seems more like a wish than truth. Or perhaps I have never been able to admit how much strength I draw from knowing people miss me.  So let me say now that every word sent from you to me means the world. That yes, I am able to bear the distance because I have the faith that you’ll be there when I return, our bond as strong as ever – but a reminder every now and then never hurt.

On a completely different note, I had my first interview with my APCD (Associate Peace Corps Director – in charge of the site placements) and my PCVL (volunteer leader), who I of course told that I would really, really, really like a place near a clean water source where I might benefit from the occasional hydrotherapy. Though, in a slight adjustment of procedure, I was asked a question pertaining to skills I never thought would be so popular in the DR. Apparently, a group of second year volunteers has set out on a mission to create a telenovela based on all the charlas for the Escojo Mi Vida series. None of them have much production experience, so they’ve asked me if I’d be interested. Um – yes! So after training and my three months of the community diagnostic phase, I will be taking part in the production and postproduction of the Peace Corps’ very first education soap opera.

And this is why I love my life.

Some DR Trivia

I saw my first parrot here the other day. It was just hanging out on a power line, chattering away. And today I learned that the first recorded Carnaval in the Americas took place in the DR, which makes sense if you consider that Africans were brought over as slaves fairly soon after it’s colonization. The DR is also the largest exporter of organic cacao and a major player in the sugar game. However, the single largest influx of money comes as gifts sent home from Dominicans living in the States. I really didn’t know how to feel about this. Another semi-random though interesting fact is that the word hurricane comes from a Tahino word, for which the Mayans had a similar word to call their god of storms, Hurakan.

Thursday I leave for Samaná, the small peninsula off the northeastern coast of the island, to visit another volunteer for the weekend. The purpose of this visit is to experience life as a volunteer before the real work starts and to get a taste for some of the various living conditions we might be placed in. Apparently, I’m extremely lucky to be visiting this part of the country – though I say I’ll be lucky if I end up there. The volunteer has told me to bring a swimsuit along (great sign!) and to be prepared to hike a little with my camera in hand to visit a waterfall. So I’m quite excited for this weekend.

We talked a little more about race in the DR and watched a brief documentary depicting how Dominicans view themselves. Despite the fact that this film was made in the early 90s, the mentalities still hold true today. Dominicans will never call themselves black and seek whiteness in a partner to better the race by producing whiter children. They hate Haitians because they are black, and often use those words interchangeably. I don’t understand things here. Here, they are not the minority and still they do not want to be who they are. Is there no where in the world where skin color is simply a description?