I've been a week in my new home in the campo, and despite the uncontrollable and constant sweating, bug bites, and creepy crawlies with whom I share a bedroom (and occasionally a bed!), it's already becoming home. I couldn't ask for a better host family, although we're still moving politely around one another and discovering our cultural differences and likenesses. I find that food is a great way to get to know people, and as I sat on the front porch popping beans from their garden, I could have closed my eyes and imagined I was popping green beans at home - that is if I closed my ears or pretended that anyone else in my family can speak Spanish.
My host mother is nothing but sweet and hardworking, but I often feel at a loss for words when I'm around her as our lives have to this point been completely different. So I decided to use the failsafe method in getting to know a Dominican woman of the campo: enter her kitchen. My host father had voiced an interest in me cooking them lunch or dinner, so they could try a little bit of food my style (and also, I think, they weren't quite convinced that a little white girl actually knew how to cook). So last Saturday, I rolled up my sleeves, and with the help of Mamin (my host mom) made a lunch that elicited the response "wow, this is like restaurant food!" I was beaming for the rest of the day, but keep in mind, it really wasn't anything that special: mashed potatoes, peas in a cream sauce, and fried tuna cakes - all items available in the local colmado. (What's a colmado, you ask? It's a great little system of small shacks that often operate out of one room of a family's house and sell basic food and household items, to make up for the fact that there are no grocery stores for miles. In order to make a complex meal, or if one has many items on their shopping list, it is not unusual to visit upwards of 3-4 colmados on your way home to obtain all necessary items.) The meal was special to them because it was different, and Mamin and I squealed like school girls and jumped back from the stove each time the mean tuna cakes popped hot oil our direction.
I've also given up any verguenza (shame) about playing the guitar and singing as loud as I like in the house, and they seem to welcome it as a change to the staticky radio or television. My host dad recognized the word "mother" from a Gillian Welch song called Orphan Girl, and after I explained the idea behind the song, he proclaimed it as his favorite. Not surprising that an Evangelical Christian would approve of a song in which a child asks God to be with her until she can be with the rest of her family in Heaven.
And speaking of Evangelists, I went to a church service with my host parents several nights ago and really enjoyed listening to all the teenagers showcase their singing and playing talents in karaoke style. I looked around the room with a smile on my face to notice that everyone in the church (all 15 of them) were happily and enthusiastically singing along, and all but dancing in their seats. I don't mind the services at all, and they're a great way for me to bond with the community. They are all so close at these times, and I feel lucky to be welcomed into a place where people are so supporting and loving of one another, and of perfect strangers, who are clearly well-intentioned.
The hardest thing in the Peace Corps by far, and not surprisingly, is starting out an entirely new life where you have no real significant personal contacts, where you have to put your best foot and best face forward everyday, where you have no one to really complain to or to hug and really feel good about it. On top of these barriers, my closest friends at the moment are 12-18 year old Evangelical Christian girls, the majority of which are required to wear skirts every day and are forbidden to dance in a country where shakin' what your momma gave you is the name of the game. They are sweet and helpful and fun girls, but our cultures and backgrounds are mercilessly different. I'm sure we'll all learn from one another and take valuable pieces of each other's life experiences as our own, but right now it's difficult to see a common ground. I'm lucky to have been plopped into a community that is ripe for activities, because otherwise I would be at a loss for what to do while I'm conducting my diagnostic over the next 3 months. We're looking forward to our 3rd Brigada Verde (green youth group) meeting on Thursday, and our second abonero (compost pile) on Saturday. I learned during training how to compost properly, as well as build a container completely from items that are locally and naturally available, and when I did an all call for helpers to build one last Saturday, I was in awe at the turnout. Not only did my Brigada Verde kids show up, but interested adults came too, and between the nearly 30 of us, we built a great compost pile at Noemi's house - she has an amazing home garden. To make it a little more official, I typed up a list of do's and don'ts for your compost that they really took to heart. We've planned to do another at my host parent's house this Saturday, and I can only hope that the novelty hasn't worn off and that everyone (or at least some) will show up to help. It was immensely satisfying when, during the building process of the last abonero, the jovenes (youngsters) started answering my questions of "what comes next?" correctly. I really feel like some of them could do the project on their own now, and after all, isn't sustainability what the Peace Corps is all about? Well in case you don't know, yes, that's what it's all about.
