This really is a small country. So small that I randomly met the father of some friends from the next community over, a craft vendor, on a beach an hour and a half away from here today. (Upon learning where I live, he pulled a picture from his wallet to show me his daughter. My response: Oh yea, I know her. She lent me a coffee thermos the other day.) So small that those who live here know the exact unmarked spots at which they can stand along the side of the road to be picked up by a bus. Since when was the 3rd mango tree past the river on the left the equivalent of a public transport stop? The size of the island comes in handy for me, however, as I rather enjoy the privilege of being a weekend tourist from time to time. Just hop on a guagua…and you're there! When you can get from coast to coast for under $10, the possibilities are endless.
I received a reward in the form of a pink-shirted, bouncy, smiling 18 year old Dominican young lady today. She had just returned from a week-long girls' camp put on by Peace Corps, which I couldn't attend as I arrived after the planning had already gotten underfoot, but for which I managed to get her a spot. She's very family and church oriented, and had us both a bit worried what it would be like for her to attend a camp where the themes ranged from Sexual Education to Women in Business, touching on Race Relations along the way. But despite her conservative background, her winning attitude and outgoing nature were clearly enough to make it a wonderful experience. As she bounced through the gate in front of my house, wearing her new pink camp T-shirt, and launched into stories about the week, I felt the immense satisfaction of touching a single life in a way that makes a positive impact. I wish I could have gone, but there's always next year. I'm here to be a facilitator, and facilitate I shall!
Monday, July 21, 2008
Hurry Up and Wait (written 7.17.08)
I do a lot of that here in the DR. I scrambled around with preparations for a charla (chat) about gardening and compost today, running over to the next community to borrow a thermos so I could have coffee at my meeting and painstakingly coloring visuals with my new markers (thanks to those who heard my cry and responded!). Small tasks like that take infinitely longer here, not to mention days of planning. Getting coffee and cups for this small outdoor meeting was nearly more stressful than planning the material itself! It worked out in the end, as things somehow do here, but not exactly as I had planned. The man I had asked to come speak arrived on time, gracias a dios, but he forgot the tape he was supposed to bring to put up our visuals. Luckily I'm the super-over-prepared-and-organized-Americana and had brought my own. We waited around for nearly an hour until about 8 people had shown up, then got the show on the road. About 20 minutes later, as he was concluding his talk, the bulk of the meeting showed up. I don't know how they do that, all show up equally late, but it's like there's some sort of unspoken agreement about how late you can be to different events, and I apparently haven't cracked the code. Anyway, we ended up going through the whole thing again, and those who had been there since we started surprisingly stayed for the 2nd go round. All the schlepping around I did to make sure there was coffee at the meeting paid off, because they seemed to enjoy it and it gave us a nice little break in between charlas. Running in between towns during the heat of the day, making flyers and visuals tediously by hand, and hunting down a coffee thermos like a seasoned hound-dog all for one informal little meeting about gardening! Never again will I take for granted the ease with which all of these things could be done in my native country. Sometimes it's rewarding to work so hard to make an event like this happen - but other times it's just downright frustrating!
We also had scheduled a trash clean-up with Brigada Verde for 5:00, and head spinning from the gardening charla, I had decided I wouldn't be overly disappointed if my kids didn't show-up. This frame of mind of course resulted in a turn-out of the youngest, rowdiest, most eager-to-pick-up-trash bunch that I could have mustered if I hand picked them. So off we went! Before long, we were much more spread out along the road than I wanted, trash bags busting here and there, but over all they did an enthusiastic job of collecting as much trash as we could. This didn't even put a dent in the amount that exists in the community, but that's not exactly the number one point. I want Brigada Verde to set an example for the rest of the community, every single person of which has it completely ingrained into their mind that throwing trash in the street is completely normal and acceptable. It's going to be a hard habit to break, especially until we get some trash bins up in here! But hopefully those that saw us working today to clean-up the roads will think twice next time before they throw their trash on the ground. They'll probably still do it, but at least they'll think twice.
We also had scheduled a trash clean-up with Brigada Verde for 5:00, and head spinning from the gardening charla, I had decided I wouldn't be overly disappointed if my kids didn't show-up. This frame of mind of course resulted in a turn-out of the youngest, rowdiest, most eager-to-pick-up-trash bunch that I could have mustered if I hand picked them. So off we went! Before long, we were much more spread out along the road than I wanted, trash bags busting here and there, but over all they did an enthusiastic job of collecting as much trash as we could. This didn't even put a dent in the amount that exists in the community, but that's not exactly the number one point. I want Brigada Verde to set an example for the rest of the community, every single person of which has it completely ingrained into their mind that throwing trash in the street is completely normal and acceptable. It's going to be a hard habit to break, especially until we get some trash bins up in here! But hopefully those that saw us working today to clean-up the roads will think twice next time before they throw their trash on the ground. They'll probably still do it, but at least they'll think twice.
A Note on Animals (written 7.16.08)
Animals have never been so funny to me as they are here - a burro braying at the top of its lungs or a goat neatly cuddled into a pile of rocks, greenery woven into its fur, really get me to giggling. They just seem so much more alert and knowing here, like they know what I'm thinking when I look into their little mammalian eyes. The cows and goats are as startled as I at my new found ability to make their noises. Maybe the fact that I'm doing that at all means that I'm going campo-crazy, but their bewildered looks when I moo or bleat are more than slightly amusing to me. If I can't hack it in the Peace Corps, at least I can rest assured that I can make a living with…animal voices? Hm.
Dominicans Do the Darndest Things (written 7.15.08)
This will probably be a work in progress, an annotated list if you will, of things that Dominicans do that, to me, stand out as unique in one way or another.
- Say "But it's so early" each time you try to leave the house, even if it's 10:00 at night.
- Pronounce my name 180 different ways, even when I spell it out or pronounce it very clearly with a Spanish accent (sounds like "Meeka"). Is it really that hard?
- Allow their children to be naked way later in life than we would ever think about doing. Once they get to a certain age, they dawn a t-shirt, but may still wander around completely bottomless.
- Lay on the cement floor, with or without a pillow, to "coge fresca". The first time I saw my host dad doing this, I thought he was drunk.
- State the obvious in most situations. (i.e. You're walking down the street and it’s drizzling: "Te moje!" You're walking down the street eating a mango: "Comiendo mango." If it's 100+ degrees outside: "Esta sudando!")
- Put so many people on one motorcycle that you can't even tell who the driver is.
- Be completely appalled if you go out of the house between the hot hours of 12:00 and 4:00. Or anytime after 8:00. Or if you want to live alone. Or if you want your coffee without sugar. Or if you don't use rollers in your hair.
- Call my name, or something that resembles it, incessantly from afar, unphased by my constant responses of "si" and "woo". When I arrive and try to initiate conversation, stare silently, mouth agape. (Fortunately, only those age 4 and under tend to do this.)
- Call me "linda" (pretty) when I haven't washed my hair, put on make-up, or even cleaned my clothes in a considerable amount of time.
- Tell me I'm putting on weight and expect me to take it as a compliment - which, after an internal struggle, I do.
- Consider a pair of shorts and a machete to be perfectly acceptable summer-time work attire. Or walking down the street attire. Or going to the store attire. "No shirt, no shoes, no business" is as foreign here as I am.
- Hiss and make hand motions at me and expect me to respond positively.
- Be very excited about a meeting that's coming up in 3 days, and then completely forget to go.
- Have 3 first names, and then give two of their children the same name.
- Throw trash in their own front yards, and then take their broom outside to sweep the streets.
- Say "But it's so early" each time you try to leave the house, even if it's 10:00 at night.
- Pronounce my name 180 different ways, even when I spell it out or pronounce it very clearly with a Spanish accent (sounds like "Meeka"). Is it really that hard?
- Allow their children to be naked way later in life than we would ever think about doing. Once they get to a certain age, they dawn a t-shirt, but may still wander around completely bottomless.
- Lay on the cement floor, with or without a pillow, to "coge fresca". The first time I saw my host dad doing this, I thought he was drunk.
- State the obvious in most situations. (i.e. You're walking down the street and it’s drizzling: "Te moje!" You're walking down the street eating a mango: "Comiendo mango." If it's 100+ degrees outside: "Esta sudando!")
- Put so many people on one motorcycle that you can't even tell who the driver is.
- Be completely appalled if you go out of the house between the hot hours of 12:00 and 4:00. Or anytime after 8:00. Or if you want to live alone. Or if you want your coffee without sugar. Or if you don't use rollers in your hair.
- Call my name, or something that resembles it, incessantly from afar, unphased by my constant responses of "si" and "woo". When I arrive and try to initiate conversation, stare silently, mouth agape. (Fortunately, only those age 4 and under tend to do this.)
- Call me "linda" (pretty) when I haven't washed my hair, put on make-up, or even cleaned my clothes in a considerable amount of time.
- Tell me I'm putting on weight and expect me to take it as a compliment - which, after an internal struggle, I do.
- Consider a pair of shorts and a machete to be perfectly acceptable summer-time work attire. Or walking down the street attire. Or going to the store attire. "No shirt, no shoes, no business" is as foreign here as I am.
- Hiss and make hand motions at me and expect me to respond positively.
- Be very excited about a meeting that's coming up in 3 days, and then completely forget to go.
- Have 3 first names, and then give two of their children the same name.
- Throw trash in their own front yards, and then take their broom outside to sweep the streets.
Grano por Grano… (written 7.9.08)
After a much needed vacation that could hardly be called relaxing - 6 nights in 6 different beds/tents really starts to take its toll - it was back to the campo for me, where daily life includes at least an hour of picking mango from my teeth and hand-washing clothes only to have them fall off the drying line and get dirty again.
I find it takes some adjusting when I leave my campo home, as well as when I return. This particular adventure took me to the city, after nearly a month in my site, where over 60 volunteers awaited an exciting 4th of July adventure to Bahia de las Aguilas, a beautiful beach in the southern tip of the country where desert shockingly gives way to lush palms and the bluest water you an imagine. It's really very shocking to go from doing my best to fit into Dominican campo life (where daily questions include things such as "why is your face still so white?") to vacationing tourist style (more or less on a Peace Corps budget, which is really quite different than regular tourists I must say) with a large group of gringos. We saw some beautiful sites, but were all a little anxious to go back to our sites, and with good reason: everybody notices when we're gone, and makes it a point to let us know. The sinking feeling I got when people asked me straight faced "where have you been" and "when did you get back" is what we call "campo guilt". Even though many young people are on summer vacation right now, my absence draws much more attention for obvious reasons, and I can't help but feel that leaving for any amount of time, whether it be a day or a week, results in a loss of the ground that I've worked so hard to build up.
Despite my campo guilt, everyone was excited to see me and clearly glad for my return, so now it's time to get back to work. We have Brigada Verde tomorrow, which I expect to be weakly attended due to the aforementioned vacation that has stolen away my members, and a meeting about gardening in the upcoming week. On Friday I hope to go to a nearby city (loosely defined as there's no ATM or internet center) to meet with the mayor about the possibility of sending a trash truck our way. Currently, everyone burns their trash or throws it "pra 'lla", which literally means "over there", and often is uncomfortably close to a water source. It's hard to scold people for throwing trash in the road when carrying it home just means they're going to burn it, releasing toxic fumes near their place of residence, or simply throw it somewhere else. Still, I've ground it into the heads of my Brigada Verde members that if I see them throwing trash on the ground, I'm going to be "muy triste"…very sad. It's a habit that's so ingrained in their daily lives that we can be in a meeting talking about not throwing trash down, and 5 minutes later upon opening a Halls cough-drop (candy here, they come in strange flavors like strawberry cream), they simply throw the wrapper on the ground. I holler and point and make a big fuss, upon which they laughingly and guiltily pick up the discarded wrapper, but I can't help but feel a little defeated when I realize that this paper has nowhere else to go. It makes you think about just how much the ugliness of realities like trash are hidden from view in developed countries like the U.S. We generate far less inorganic waste here, and yet it clutters the roads, forests, and waterways because the government hasn't taken the initiative to clear it out of marginalized communities like mine. Waste management is one of the most menacing environmental threats in the DR, and I hope to head my community in the right direction by getting a few strategically placed trash barrels and a truck that will collect regularly. Small steps, small victories. As they say here, "Grano por grano, la gallina llena su buche." Grain by grain, the hen fills her cheeks. With the amount of rice I consume every day, I should be there in no time at all!
I find it takes some adjusting when I leave my campo home, as well as when I return. This particular adventure took me to the city, after nearly a month in my site, where over 60 volunteers awaited an exciting 4th of July adventure to Bahia de las Aguilas, a beautiful beach in the southern tip of the country where desert shockingly gives way to lush palms and the bluest water you an imagine. It's really very shocking to go from doing my best to fit into Dominican campo life (where daily questions include things such as "why is your face still so white?") to vacationing tourist style (more or less on a Peace Corps budget, which is really quite different than regular tourists I must say) with a large group of gringos. We saw some beautiful sites, but were all a little anxious to go back to our sites, and with good reason: everybody notices when we're gone, and makes it a point to let us know. The sinking feeling I got when people asked me straight faced "where have you been" and "when did you get back" is what we call "campo guilt". Even though many young people are on summer vacation right now, my absence draws much more attention for obvious reasons, and I can't help but feel that leaving for any amount of time, whether it be a day or a week, results in a loss of the ground that I've worked so hard to build up.
Despite my campo guilt, everyone was excited to see me and clearly glad for my return, so now it's time to get back to work. We have Brigada Verde tomorrow, which I expect to be weakly attended due to the aforementioned vacation that has stolen away my members, and a meeting about gardening in the upcoming week. On Friday I hope to go to a nearby city (loosely defined as there's no ATM or internet center) to meet with the mayor about the possibility of sending a trash truck our way. Currently, everyone burns their trash or throws it "pra 'lla", which literally means "over there", and often is uncomfortably close to a water source. It's hard to scold people for throwing trash in the road when carrying it home just means they're going to burn it, releasing toxic fumes near their place of residence, or simply throw it somewhere else. Still, I've ground it into the heads of my Brigada Verde members that if I see them throwing trash on the ground, I'm going to be "muy triste"…very sad. It's a habit that's so ingrained in their daily lives that we can be in a meeting talking about not throwing trash down, and 5 minutes later upon opening a Halls cough-drop (candy here, they come in strange flavors like strawberry cream), they simply throw the wrapper on the ground. I holler and point and make a big fuss, upon which they laughingly and guiltily pick up the discarded wrapper, but I can't help but feel a little defeated when I realize that this paper has nowhere else to go. It makes you think about just how much the ugliness of realities like trash are hidden from view in developed countries like the U.S. We generate far less inorganic waste here, and yet it clutters the roads, forests, and waterways because the government hasn't taken the initiative to clear it out of marginalized communities like mine. Waste management is one of the most menacing environmental threats in the DR, and I hope to head my community in the right direction by getting a few strategically placed trash barrels and a truck that will collect regularly. Small steps, small victories. As they say here, "Grano por grano, la gallina llena su buche." Grain by grain, the hen fills her cheeks. With the amount of rice I consume every day, I should be there in no time at all!
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Night-Life (written 6.29.08)
Last night, for the first time since I moved to my community, I went out at night. There was a band playing, one of the guitarists of which is in my Brigada Verde group, so I walked to the top of the hill, accompanied by some very nice, respectful young boys/men (again, what do you call them when they're in their late teens??) who miraculously transformed into Tigueres the moment we got to the colmado. (An aside to define some terms: Tiguere is essentially a young man who's too cool for school, and around whom one must keep a watchful eye on their young daughters. A colmado is a little bar/convenient store, often with a patio where a band might play. They generally sell rice and beans by day, beer and rum by night.)
When we arrived, the mini-Tigueres and I, we immediately ran into the family of the guitarist, one of the more well off-families in my community. At first we all stood on the curb on the outskirts of the festivities, and I was a little afraid that's how it was going to be for hours, but the family soon invited me to accompany them to a table. When I asked my mini-Tigueres if they were coming to sit down, I was gently informed that Tigueres, even amateur ones such as my companions, generally stick to the shadows where they can scope everything and everyone out. Makes sense. If it sounds shady, that's because it sort of is.
Glad to have a place to plop, as I was unfortunately much more tired than I realized when I agreed to this outing, I accompanied the family (mother, father, and two gorgeous daughters in their 20s) to sit right next to the band, and right next to a table of Dominican men who looked like American football players. Here I began to intently observe the dating rites that are so particular to Dominican (or maybe just Latin) culture. The football-players of course immediately took interest in the Dominican women I was with, but since their father was present, a delicate dance of respect was performed. It began with the purchase of a large beer by one of the football-players, which he set directly in front of the alpha-male in our group (the girls' father). He then proceeded to alternate dance requests between the daughters, being careful not to show any favoritism, and danced much more conservatively with both than I'm sure he would have had parents not been present. As I was clearly included as part of the family on this evening, the football players asked me to dance too, after which everyone congratulated me on being able to dance merengue (not my favorite). They had all been on the edges of their seats, watching me with nervous smiles, until they satisfied themselves that I wasn't going to embarrass them by falling down or stepping on someone's toes.
While watching these interactions, as well as the strikingly familiar dating rites of the younger Dominicans in the crowd, was very entertaining and culturally enlightening, my favorite part of the evening by far can be summed up in two words: Menthe Dulce. This literally means "sweet mint", and is the nickname of this little old man who has to be at least 90 who walks (or hobbles really) daily from house to house, cutting people's weeds with his machete in exchange for meals. I didn't even know he could walk up the hill to get to the colmado, let alone take part in the festivities, but low and behold, come 11:00 on Saturday night Menthe was dancing a wild merengue with a young woman on the dance floor, sans walking stick! I couldn't contain my laughter, and the family I was with laughed at me laughing until we were all just tickled pink. They proceeded to point out each time Menthe entered the dance floor for the rest of the evening, and it never once ceased to amuse me. He was probably dancing wilder than anyone else on the floor, and although it could have resulted from a general lack of balance, something else struck me as even more likely: Menthe Dulce is a Tiguere in disguise.
When we arrived, the mini-Tigueres and I, we immediately ran into the family of the guitarist, one of the more well off-families in my community. At first we all stood on the curb on the outskirts of the festivities, and I was a little afraid that's how it was going to be for hours, but the family soon invited me to accompany them to a table. When I asked my mini-Tigueres if they were coming to sit down, I was gently informed that Tigueres, even amateur ones such as my companions, generally stick to the shadows where they can scope everything and everyone out. Makes sense. If it sounds shady, that's because it sort of is.
Glad to have a place to plop, as I was unfortunately much more tired than I realized when I agreed to this outing, I accompanied the family (mother, father, and two gorgeous daughters in their 20s) to sit right next to the band, and right next to a table of Dominican men who looked like American football players. Here I began to intently observe the dating rites that are so particular to Dominican (or maybe just Latin) culture. The football-players of course immediately took interest in the Dominican women I was with, but since their father was present, a delicate dance of respect was performed. It began with the purchase of a large beer by one of the football-players, which he set directly in front of the alpha-male in our group (the girls' father). He then proceeded to alternate dance requests between the daughters, being careful not to show any favoritism, and danced much more conservatively with both than I'm sure he would have had parents not been present. As I was clearly included as part of the family on this evening, the football players asked me to dance too, after which everyone congratulated me on being able to dance merengue (not my favorite). They had all been on the edges of their seats, watching me with nervous smiles, until they satisfied themselves that I wasn't going to embarrass them by falling down or stepping on someone's toes.
While watching these interactions, as well as the strikingly familiar dating rites of the younger Dominicans in the crowd, was very entertaining and culturally enlightening, my favorite part of the evening by far can be summed up in two words: Menthe Dulce. This literally means "sweet mint", and is the nickname of this little old man who has to be at least 90 who walks (or hobbles really) daily from house to house, cutting people's weeds with his machete in exchange for meals. I didn't even know he could walk up the hill to get to the colmado, let alone take part in the festivities, but low and behold, come 11:00 on Saturday night Menthe was dancing a wild merengue with a young woman on the dance floor, sans walking stick! I couldn't contain my laughter, and the family I was with laughed at me laughing until we were all just tickled pink. They proceeded to point out each time Menthe entered the dance floor for the rest of the evening, and it never once ceased to amuse me. He was probably dancing wilder than anyone else on the floor, and although it could have resulted from a general lack of balance, something else struck me as even more likely: Menthe Dulce is a Tiguere in disguise.
Get Along Little Doggies (written 6.28.08)
With the half-wild nature of the work animals around here, particularly the horses, there's no shortage of entertainment on my little dirt road. On more than one occasion, horses have gotten loose (not surprising when you consider they're more often than not simply tied to a tree, or large stick even, with deteriorating rope) and come tearing down the path in front of our house. At this point the feint of heart, including yours truly, watch from a safe distance while two or more courageous cowboys begin the tedious process of slowly closing in on the terrified beast from both sides of the path, eventually lassoing it and riding it bareback to a field of poor fencing, where the whole process will inevitably begin again. It's amusing for me, although surely not for the owners, and even less so for the angry steeds.
A "doggie" of a different type, our neighbor's canine friend to be exact, has taken to following me everywhere I go. He's some sort of tiny terrier mix (named Terry - go figure), and he walks with me all around the community, taking short-cuts through the woods, climbing buildings to get cell phone service, stopping to chat with community members. He even sits patiently waiting when I reach whatever destination I had in mind, occasionally leaning up against me to show his affection. Everyone except my immediate neighbors seems to think he's mine, and it's pretty cute that he likes me so much, although with his tendency to jump for the first 5 minutes of your company, it took me a while to warm up to him. I think I'm just a substitute anyway, since the young boy who normally plays with him is on vacation.
As I was leaving the house the other day, Terry in tow, my neighbor (not his owner, but another) noticed that I was being followed. In an effort to scare the pooch into returning home, he quickly produced a whip (I still have no idea where from) and began cracking it wildly in the air and on the ground. Terry quickly took refuge behind me - smart little thing - and when he felt it was safe darted in the direction of home, with my whip cracking neighbor in hot pursuit. Although I would normally find this horrifying, for some reason this scene struck me as incredibly funny (I'm hard up for humor here sometimes), and I justified my giggles by reminding myself that the whip didn't actually ever touch Terry, but merely scared him. Apparently not enough though, because he was back today, following me even more dotingly than before.
I figured I would find a dog while I was in the Peace Corps…I just never guessed that one would find me!
A "doggie" of a different type, our neighbor's canine friend to be exact, has taken to following me everywhere I go. He's some sort of tiny terrier mix (named Terry - go figure), and he walks with me all around the community, taking short-cuts through the woods, climbing buildings to get cell phone service, stopping to chat with community members. He even sits patiently waiting when I reach whatever destination I had in mind, occasionally leaning up against me to show his affection. Everyone except my immediate neighbors seems to think he's mine, and it's pretty cute that he likes me so much, although with his tendency to jump for the first 5 minutes of your company, it took me a while to warm up to him. I think I'm just a substitute anyway, since the young boy who normally plays with him is on vacation.
As I was leaving the house the other day, Terry in tow, my neighbor (not his owner, but another) noticed that I was being followed. In an effort to scare the pooch into returning home, he quickly produced a whip (I still have no idea where from) and began cracking it wildly in the air and on the ground. Terry quickly took refuge behind me - smart little thing - and when he felt it was safe darted in the direction of home, with my whip cracking neighbor in hot pursuit. Although I would normally find this horrifying, for some reason this scene struck me as incredibly funny (I'm hard up for humor here sometimes), and I justified my giggles by reminding myself that the whip didn't actually ever touch Terry, but merely scared him. Apparently not enough though, because he was back today, following me even more dotingly than before.
I figured I would find a dog while I was in the Peace Corps…I just never guessed that one would find me!
The Things I Learned on Mural Day (written 6.26.08)
One of the projects we learned about during training was community murals, a large painting in a public place, and in my case, with an environmental theme. I decided this was a good project to do with my new Brigada Verde group, and after securing paint donations (and lugging them home in a box on a bus, then on a motorcycle - every little thing just takes way more time and effort in the campo!), we met yesterday to do our mural. After finishing the lettering today, it's more than I could have asked for - a beautiful example of a group effort at environmental awareness that will be seen at one point or another by everyone in the community. The process that got us there, however, was interesting to say the least. So here are the things I learned on mural day:
-It's very hard to keep 17-23 year old Dominican males on track in public places where females are consistently passing by. Who knew girls were more interesting than painting an environmental-themed mural?
-The less qualified they are to paint (a.k.a. younger), the more they want to.
-The paints will get mixed, and debris will get in the cans. Better to give up stressing. Also, bodies, plants, electric poles, etc. will all be painted, regardless of how much you preach of wastefulness.
-There's never enough water to clean properly (esp. when the aqueduct isn't currently working), and instead fingers, sticks, and plastic bags bear the brunt of the job.
-If you start in the late afternoon (thought you were smart avoiding the heat of the day?), the sun will go down before you're done, even on long summer days.
-When it's time to leave, you may find yourself, previously the popular paint lady, suddenly friendless with a bag of gooey trash and 6 sticky paint cans to deal with, not to mention brushes that will be stiff as cardboard for the rest of their lives.
-If you can pull it off, it's very rewarding - and makes for a great photo-op.!
Swearin 'n Swattin' (written 6.24.08)
Anytime I have a good honest laugh here in the campo - which is rarer than one might think as I really hardly know these people - it warrants writing about, and this was definitely one of those times. I had a unique bonding experience today with one of the young men/boys (what do you call them when they're 17?) who participates regularly in my environmental youth group. He's quite the artist and was helping me put the finishing touches on the river rocks we painted as dominos when our conversation turned in the direction of language, as it often does with young Dominicans who are eager to learn English. After he cleared up the confusion I had with the Spanish words for some basic bodily functions (sneeze, yawn, hiccup, whistle, blow, etc.), I decided to step boldly forward and ask for his help with curse words. I figure I need to be able to recognize them in case they're ever used around me, but can guarantee that none will ever fly from my own mouth in the household of my über-religious host family. He laughingly told me the basics, but got so embarrassed and choked up when it came to the really bad ones that we both had a few good laughs - in between his long deep breaths that were an attempt to calm and prepare himself but really only made us laugh more. I told him he didn't have to say them if it made him that uncomfortable, but that they weren't at all offensive to me because I'd never heard them! I promised not to tell his mom (and again we laughed) and in the end, he settled for whispering them with a hand over his mouth or writing them on a piece of paper. He really is a nice boy, and I feel this experience definitely brought me closer to making a real friend out of a casual acquaintance.
There was absolutely no laughing, however, when I entered my room this evening and found what was waiting for me outside my mosquito net. So far I've been pretty lucky with things not getting inside (except two incidents with cockroaches that I'd rather not talk about), and the spiders here, although huge, are very timid and generally stay on the walls. Until tonight. Dun dun dun.
When I walked in my room, I saw a fat brown spider on the outside of my mosquito net, clearly a different species than the timid wall-dwellers, and decided immediately to swat it with a bandana. Upon doing so, there was a small explosion of tiny brown dots that immediately scattered in all directions, inside and outside the net, on the sheets, pillow, etc. That arachnid had laid her eggs on my net and the babies were fleeing for their lives! More angry that grossed out, I immediately set to exterminating the litter, but won't be surprised if I get that creepy crawly feeling (the same one I get when there aren't actually insects in my sheets) when I lay down to sleep tonight.
There was absolutely no laughing, however, when I entered my room this evening and found what was waiting for me outside my mosquito net. So far I've been pretty lucky with things not getting inside (except two incidents with cockroaches that I'd rather not talk about), and the spiders here, although huge, are very timid and generally stay on the walls. Until tonight. Dun dun dun.
When I walked in my room, I saw a fat brown spider on the outside of my mosquito net, clearly a different species than the timid wall-dwellers, and decided immediately to swat it with a bandana. Upon doing so, there was a small explosion of tiny brown dots that immediately scattered in all directions, inside and outside the net, on the sheets, pillow, etc. That arachnid had laid her eggs on my net and the babies were fleeing for their lives! More angry that grossed out, I immediately set to exterminating the litter, but won't be surprised if I get that creepy crawly feeling (the same one I get when there aren't actually insects in my sheets) when I lay down to sleep tonight.
Dropping Mangos and "C"s (written 6.21.08)
Invited by a volunteer in the next community over to come to her house this morning for a pancake breakfast, including coffee made without a cup of sugar, I gladly awakened earlier than I would have naturally and set off for the hike to her house (the second half of which is straight uphill) and even got a free motorcycle ride for part of the way. After I thanked Billy, or Peely, or something like that for the lift, I set off on foot to find the house. The fact that I didn't know exactly where I was or how to get there didn't really bother me since all you have to do is ask "where does the American live?" and you'll be pointed in the correct general direction.
On a particularly narrow and steep slope, I was enjoying the moment's breeze in the otherwise stifling heat (which arrives despicably early) when mangos started falling in large, loud numbers entirely to close to my head for comfort. The man I had stopped to talk to covered his head with his hands and I followed suite. Before long I found myself running up the hill for fear that I would receive a concussion from falling fruit and wouldn't be found for days! It was worth it in the end: the pancakes were delicious, complete with mango topping!
I haven't had very much trouble with the Cibaeño accent up until now, even though the people that populate this region are notorious for dropping consonants, particularly s's and r's. I started my house-to-house interviews this week, however, the goal of which is to find out which potential projects most suit my community (stoves, latrines, gardens, etc.), and have really had to invest a lot of energy and brainpower into understanding what these people are saying. Case in point: today, I met and interviewed a woman who does not, under any circumstance, pronounce hard c's or q's - for instance, "cat" and "car" would be "at" and "ar" - which would be hard enough to understand in English. In Spanish, it might as well have been Swahili, Mandarin, or any other language of which I have no knowledge. I managed to make out most of what she was saying through context clues, but I left feeling very drained from our 20 minute conversation. Twenty-one interviews down, 79-ish to go…I should be a pro at the regional accent within the next 2 months! Either that or my community will be very confused when I present my findings and nothing I say resembles what they told me.
On a particularly narrow and steep slope, I was enjoying the moment's breeze in the otherwise stifling heat (which arrives despicably early) when mangos started falling in large, loud numbers entirely to close to my head for comfort. The man I had stopped to talk to covered his head with his hands and I followed suite. Before long I found myself running up the hill for fear that I would receive a concussion from falling fruit and wouldn't be found for days! It was worth it in the end: the pancakes were delicious, complete with mango topping!
I haven't had very much trouble with the Cibaeño accent up until now, even though the people that populate this region are notorious for dropping consonants, particularly s's and r's. I started my house-to-house interviews this week, however, the goal of which is to find out which potential projects most suit my community (stoves, latrines, gardens, etc.), and have really had to invest a lot of energy and brainpower into understanding what these people are saying. Case in point: today, I met and interviewed a woman who does not, under any circumstance, pronounce hard c's or q's - for instance, "cat" and "car" would be "at" and "ar" - which would be hard enough to understand in English. In Spanish, it might as well have been Swahili, Mandarin, or any other language of which I have no knowledge. I managed to make out most of what she was saying through context clues, but I left feeling very drained from our 20 minute conversation. Twenty-one interviews down, 79-ish to go…I should be a pro at the regional accent within the next 2 months! Either that or my community will be very confused when I present my findings and nothing I say resembles what they told me.
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