Friday, July 17, 2009
Behind Bars
What does it say about the quality of life in a country when those that can afford to choose to carry out their lives behind bars? Literally. Those with resources fence in their front porches and windows with heavy duty re-bar, albeit decorative, to keep out things that go bump in the night. Schools always have at least a tall, locked gate, if not circular barbed wire atop 10 foot walls. We can't even dream of putting computers (which we received donated) into our library until we have bars across all the windows, and several layers of plywood nailed up to separate it from the neighboring classroom. Food for thought.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Camp Days (written 7.12.09)
Yesterday morning, we finished construction on the 20th and final fuel efficient cook stove in my community. I took a deep breath as I rode on the back of a motorcycle to my house (yes, it was walkable, but it’s hot, ok) where I bathed, had a coffee, and then set off to a neighboring community, where a PCV friend has recently finished construction on an aqueduct and was celebrating with an inauguration. We listened to speeches, ate huge plates of food, and danced the night away, me secretly celebrating my accomplishment along with his. Well, not so secretly.
Hey Mica, how are you? OHMYGODIFINISHEDSTOVESTODAY is probably closer to what it was like. Hm.
Anyway, I hosted breakfast at my house this morning for 4 PCVs and 2 Dominicans who work with the water volunteers. It stretched out into lunchtime – pancakes’ll do that – and by the time I made it down to the other end of my community, to a party I had somewhat grudgingly promised to go to, the main event guests had gone to the river. That was fine with me – I thought the whole reason I was invited was because they were expecting rich white-ish Dominicans from the city, some of which lived in/had lived in/or at least had been to “Nueva Yol”. So when I arrived to find the man of the house, who’s birthday we were to celebrate, with his wife and a few choice kids and grandkids, I was not at all disappointed. He was a little upset that I missed the morning events, but I reassured him that I would hang out until the owners of the out of place Hummer and Lexus parked outside his palm board house reappeared to finish their festivities at the tables they had set up behind his house. Socio-economic hierarchies are incredible here. I was late in arriving, but the woman of the house and her daughter-in-law had clearly worked their butts off to make this event as luxurious as possible for the city dwellers, of whom even the women didn’t seem to lift a finger to help.
When they actually arrived from their jaunt at the river it wasn’t all that bad – they smiled politely and basically ignored me, not at all the hideous “I speaka d’English” event that I had dreaded. I was fed well, as always, visited my host parents in the neighboring house, and was sent on my merry way to take some photos of stoves I had yet to document. The last of these stops was the house of one of my favorite women in the community, whom I was glad to have as the last stove recipient – end on a good note. She is a rare unmarried woman in her 30s who doesn’t have some sort of repelling physical attribute, as sweet as she can be, who lives with her equally kind and alarmingly active father who must be at least in his 70s. She was fixing her visiting niece’s hair, and as soon as she perceived that I was gonna set a spell, sent for a soda and we settled in to chat on the front porch, the coolest place on the top of the hill she lives on. On a whim, I asked her to do my hair as well, and after almost falling asleep under her gentle hands, left her house with an interesting braid across the front/ponytail combo. It was what I asked for, but didn’t quite come out like I imagined.
Next stop, informal English lesson. I don’t mind helping this particular girl who asked for help on an assignment, because she tries really hard and is determined to learn. She asked me to read an “exposition” that she had written and was to read in front of her class, and after thoroughly marking it up with corrections, I complimented her on how much of an improvement it was from the last work of hers I had read. As we corrected her paper, I stopped several times to ask her to translate some clumsy passages into Spanish so that I could tell her how to say what she meant in English. She could never tell me what it was she had intended to say, and finally opened another notebook from which she had copied the entire piece! She said that a friend had helped her write it, but she clearly didn’t know what the majority of it meant. Oh dear. But anyway, she’s trying hard, so I guess that counts for something. I left to make a phone-call, promising to return for the dinner of super-fried cheese and fried green bananas (quite less delicious than the tomatoe version). The call was dropped irretrievably right in the middle of a conversation with someone I had been looking forward to talking to all week, so I sulked back to the house and forced down half of what felt like meal 15 of the day.
I hitched a ride in a passing car with a man who, had I known his disposition, I would have avoided if it meant walking to Santo Domingo – lecherous grinning, asking if I was married before I even got the door shut, etc. When I got out of the car, thankfully before we arrived to my house thereby disclosing it’s location to pervy mc-pervson, I walked up to a group of 3 girls and spoke with one about the strange, painful looking blemish that has recently popped up on her face. As I was speaking, another girl whose name I don’t know interrupted me to ask if I’m pregnant (I apparently need to work on my posture, or stop eating everything I’m offered. Or both.) I didn’t quite hear her, but I must have heard enough to throw me for a loop, cause I asked her to repeat herself, and she, completely straight-faced, re-asked her absurd question. I stared at her for a moment, told her no, and the other girls, sensing my shock, helped with “that’s just how she was standing!” I tried to conclude the conversation I had been having before I was rudely interrupted, but ended up just having to split with a “sleep well!” Being a single pregnant girl here has social connotations that pregnant teens in America could only imagine in their wildest nightmares, so I think that’s what shocked me even more than the insinuation of fatness.
That’s the campo. Dios Santo. Eso sol pica y la gente no son facil. I’m out.
Hey Mica, how are you? OHMYGODIFINISHEDSTOVESTODAY is probably closer to what it was like. Hm.
Anyway, I hosted breakfast at my house this morning for 4 PCVs and 2 Dominicans who work with the water volunteers. It stretched out into lunchtime – pancakes’ll do that – and by the time I made it down to the other end of my community, to a party I had somewhat grudgingly promised to go to, the main event guests had gone to the river. That was fine with me – I thought the whole reason I was invited was because they were expecting rich white-ish Dominicans from the city, some of which lived in/had lived in/or at least had been to “Nueva Yol”. So when I arrived to find the man of the house, who’s birthday we were to celebrate, with his wife and a few choice kids and grandkids, I was not at all disappointed. He was a little upset that I missed the morning events, but I reassured him that I would hang out until the owners of the out of place Hummer and Lexus parked outside his palm board house reappeared to finish their festivities at the tables they had set up behind his house. Socio-economic hierarchies are incredible here. I was late in arriving, but the woman of the house and her daughter-in-law had clearly worked their butts off to make this event as luxurious as possible for the city dwellers, of whom even the women didn’t seem to lift a finger to help.
When they actually arrived from their jaunt at the river it wasn’t all that bad – they smiled politely and basically ignored me, not at all the hideous “I speaka d’English” event that I had dreaded. I was fed well, as always, visited my host parents in the neighboring house, and was sent on my merry way to take some photos of stoves I had yet to document. The last of these stops was the house of one of my favorite women in the community, whom I was glad to have as the last stove recipient – end on a good note. She is a rare unmarried woman in her 30s who doesn’t have some sort of repelling physical attribute, as sweet as she can be, who lives with her equally kind and alarmingly active father who must be at least in his 70s. She was fixing her visiting niece’s hair, and as soon as she perceived that I was gonna set a spell, sent for a soda and we settled in to chat on the front porch, the coolest place on the top of the hill she lives on. On a whim, I asked her to do my hair as well, and after almost falling asleep under her gentle hands, left her house with an interesting braid across the front/ponytail combo. It was what I asked for, but didn’t quite come out like I imagined.
Next stop, informal English lesson. I don’t mind helping this particular girl who asked for help on an assignment, because she tries really hard and is determined to learn. She asked me to read an “exposition” that she had written and was to read in front of her class, and after thoroughly marking it up with corrections, I complimented her on how much of an improvement it was from the last work of hers I had read. As we corrected her paper, I stopped several times to ask her to translate some clumsy passages into Spanish so that I could tell her how to say what she meant in English. She could never tell me what it was she had intended to say, and finally opened another notebook from which she had copied the entire piece! She said that a friend had helped her write it, but she clearly didn’t know what the majority of it meant. Oh dear. But anyway, she’s trying hard, so I guess that counts for something. I left to make a phone-call, promising to return for the dinner of super-fried cheese and fried green bananas (quite less delicious than the tomatoe version). The call was dropped irretrievably right in the middle of a conversation with someone I had been looking forward to talking to all week, so I sulked back to the house and forced down half of what felt like meal 15 of the day.
I hitched a ride in a passing car with a man who, had I known his disposition, I would have avoided if it meant walking to Santo Domingo – lecherous grinning, asking if I was married before I even got the door shut, etc. When I got out of the car, thankfully before we arrived to my house thereby disclosing it’s location to pervy mc-pervson, I walked up to a group of 3 girls and spoke with one about the strange, painful looking blemish that has recently popped up on her face. As I was speaking, another girl whose name I don’t know interrupted me to ask if I’m pregnant (I apparently need to work on my posture, or stop eating everything I’m offered. Or both.) I didn’t quite hear her, but I must have heard enough to throw me for a loop, cause I asked her to repeat herself, and she, completely straight-faced, re-asked her absurd question. I stared at her for a moment, told her no, and the other girls, sensing my shock, helped with “that’s just how she was standing!” I tried to conclude the conversation I had been having before I was rudely interrupted, but ended up just having to split with a “sleep well!” Being a single pregnant girl here has social connotations that pregnant teens in America could only imagine in their wildest nightmares, so I think that’s what shocked me even more than the insinuation of fatness.
That’s the campo. Dios Santo. Eso sol pica y la gente no son facil. I’m out.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Las esposas
In (Dominican) Spanish, the word for handcuffs is the same as wives. Las esposas.
There's nothing more to say about that.
There's nothing more to say about that.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Shameless Plug
Another thing I didn't know - how much my Peace Corps work would depend on the fiscal generosity of people back home! But it's a good thing, because it gives everyone interested the chance to get involved. Thanks again to those who donated to my library project. For those who wanted to help but didn't quite get around to it, here's your chance! My PC colleagues and I are planning a summer camp for youth from our site, the theme of which is Diversity and Leadership. I participated in the camp last year with two young girls from my site, and it was a great experience. In order to make the camp happen, we need your help! Check out the URL below to see what you can do:
https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=517-290
https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=517-290
What I knew (written 6.27.09)
It’s hard to remember what I knew coming in to the DR. It’s an island: check. It’s in the Caribbean: enthusiastic check! But did I know that men as fat as Jaba the Hut (forgive me, real Star Wars fans, for the certain mis-spellings) sitting on the side of the street would see completely fit to kissy-face me as I ride by on a bus? Did I know how many chicken murders I would witness? Did I know I would have the opportunity to be a weekend tourist? Did I know that there were be so many children age 10+ that don’t know how to read? I dunno.
I definitely didn’t know that there would be so many people willing to work hard, side by side with me, and yet so many who would refuse to lift a finger.
For the past month, I’ve been working with a Dominican mason (we’ll get to that later…) and have completed 11 fuel efficient cook stoves – hopefully a few more by the time this entry actually gets posted – and it’s incredible what a difference the receiving family can make. When they are people who care about and respect me, people who are ready to work for the stove they’re receiving pratically free, it almost doesn’t feel like work. Almost. As close as manual labor gets to feeling like fun anyway. But when they are people who feel entitled, people who would rather sit on their porch and ask redundant questions than pick up a shovel, the experience is painful, to say the least. For example, today we finished the stove of my host mom’s brother, and due to his willingness to work – I think it was the first time I’ve heard “what can I do?” since we started the project – and his positive attitude made it a very rewarding experience. The stove came out looking great, like a rainbow; they’re all loco over bright colors on the top, and this particular man had 5 different colors. He was very satisfied with the product, and I left feeling refreshingly fulfilled.
As noted, working with a Dominican mason (male, which goes without saying really) is an accomplishment in and of itself. We butted heads at the beginning over things like punctuality, reliability, responsibility, etc. but we seem to have found our niche; it could just be that most recently, we’ve been working with families we both like more. It’s most likely the fact that I increased his pay, but he deserved it and we both knew it. Only 9 more to go, and then I can focus on my library, a project I’m so excited about I can barely sleep at night for all the ideas running through my head. A story corner, a photo wall, all kinds of things to make it a friendly place where people want to spend time and learn. Thanks again in advance to everyone who made this project a reality – pictures to come soon!
I definitely didn’t know that there would be so many people willing to work hard, side by side with me, and yet so many who would refuse to lift a finger.
For the past month, I’ve been working with a Dominican mason (we’ll get to that later…) and have completed 11 fuel efficient cook stoves – hopefully a few more by the time this entry actually gets posted – and it’s incredible what a difference the receiving family can make. When they are people who care about and respect me, people who are ready to work for the stove they’re receiving pratically free, it almost doesn’t feel like work. Almost. As close as manual labor gets to feeling like fun anyway. But when they are people who feel entitled, people who would rather sit on their porch and ask redundant questions than pick up a shovel, the experience is painful, to say the least. For example, today we finished the stove of my host mom’s brother, and due to his willingness to work – I think it was the first time I’ve heard “what can I do?” since we started the project – and his positive attitude made it a very rewarding experience. The stove came out looking great, like a rainbow; they’re all loco over bright colors on the top, and this particular man had 5 different colors. He was very satisfied with the product, and I left feeling refreshingly fulfilled.
As noted, working with a Dominican mason (male, which goes without saying really) is an accomplishment in and of itself. We butted heads at the beginning over things like punctuality, reliability, responsibility, etc. but we seem to have found our niche; it could just be that most recently, we’ve been working with families we both like more. It’s most likely the fact that I increased his pay, but he deserved it and we both knew it. Only 9 more to go, and then I can focus on my library, a project I’m so excited about I can barely sleep at night for all the ideas running through my head. A story corner, a photo wall, all kinds of things to make it a friendly place where people want to spend time and learn. Thanks again in advance to everyone who made this project a reality – pictures to come soon!
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Pay-Day (written 6.1.09)
The real one is coming up Monday, and rejoice! I can buy toothpaste and shampoo and cat food! But today, I received a different sort of payment.
Today, we finished construction on our first fuel-efficient cook stove. It may be the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. After months and months of endless planning, mobilizing, grant-writing, agonizing waits, and materials-gathering, even I had my doubts about whether this was actually going to happen. Today, it did, and everything else just melts away.
Looking at the underside of the tin roof, covered in the black char the doñas have been breathing for years, the simple tin chimney we installed seemed more relevant than ever. The doñas, of course, don’t care so much about this as they do about the aesthetic quality of the stove, and I would be lying if I didn’t say I feel so lucky to have masons who are proud enough of their work to pay attention to details. This is what this family was cooking on before, actually a step up from a lot of others, who cook with their pots balanced on rocks on the ground.
And this is what we made.
I hope this feeling lasts throughout the making of the other 19+. We picked a great family to start with, people that I’m very close to and who were more than willing to help with construction. I can only hope that the coming experiences will be half as rewarding as this one.
Today, we finished construction on our first fuel-efficient cook stove. It may be the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. After months and months of endless planning, mobilizing, grant-writing, agonizing waits, and materials-gathering, even I had my doubts about whether this was actually going to happen. Today, it did, and everything else just melts away.
Looking at the underside of the tin roof, covered in the black char the doñas have been breathing for years, the simple tin chimney we installed seemed more relevant than ever. The doñas, of course, don’t care so much about this as they do about the aesthetic quality of the stove, and I would be lying if I didn’t say I feel so lucky to have masons who are proud enough of their work to pay attention to details. This is what this family was cooking on before, actually a step up from a lot of others, who cook with their pots balanced on rocks on the ground.
And this is what we made.
I hope this feeling lasts throughout the making of the other 19+. We picked a great family to start with, people that I’m very close to and who were more than willing to help with construction. I can only hope that the coming experiences will be half as rewarding as this one.
Priorities (written 6.1.09)
Yesterday, my 13 year old neighbor told me that in order to celebrate the end of the school year, her teacher (male, but not at all outwardly lecherous) was taking she and a bunch of her (female) classmates to the park in a nearby small city, in order to dance. I asked lots of questions, trying to figure out why, what the possible goal could be, and all she could tell me was that they were going to wear short skirts and shake their little bodies “like this”. It wasn’t exactly what I would call chaste.
This is the same young girl whose father will not allow her to attend my youth group meetings, apparently having something to do with the fact that she attended one without first asking his permission.
I know I must remove my cultural lens, and all that jazz, but I’m pretty lost on this one.
This is the same young girl whose father will not allow her to attend my youth group meetings, apparently having something to do with the fact that she attended one without first asking his permission.
I know I must remove my cultural lens, and all that jazz, but I’m pretty lost on this one.
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