After much anticipation, grant writing, hurry-up-and-waiting, and endless community mobilizing, I was finally able to begin buying materials for the stoves this week. After going to the hardware store to get an estimate of how much money we would need to buy half the materials now, I traveled several cities and modes of transportation to the south in order to transfer the money from my account to that of the hardware store owners – 27,055 pesos, or 773 dollars, ¼ of our grant, gone in the blink of an eye. I felt satisfied knowing that I wouldn’t have to travel with this much cash on me, but it’s interesting how money flies so easily, even in the developing world. Especially in the developing world. Anyway, after this transfer, it was back to site to wait on the 5-6 large trucks that would be arriving in 2-3 days. That’s right, you heard correctly folks. I spend upwards of 1,000 U.S. in a country where that goes a long way, and can’t get a guaranteed arrival time, or even a date, for my materials. So I hurry-up and wait, something I’m very good at by now.
After a light afternoon rain, characteristic of the month of May here, my first truck showed up with a bed full of sand for mixing cement. We go house by house dropping the materials off, because I don’t trust that everyone would come pick their materials up from a central location before they could be stolen. On our way to our last stop, we’re flagged down by a dona who says there is another truck at her house, waiting on me to tell them where to go. So I hop off the sand truck and onto the bag-of-cement-sheets-of-zinc-1x4-rebar truck and make my rounds all over again. People seem in shock that materials have actually arrived, which I like to think is the reason they seemed somewhat ungrateful, saying things like “where’s the rest of it?” and “can’t you put it 5 feet to the left?” instead of “Oh gee, muchas gracias.” I have to remain positive, trying to see things from their point of view (which is, wow, this is actually happening, we might see this project through to the end), or else I will go crazy and feel less valued in equal but opposite proportion to the amount of work I put it.
At the end of yesterday’s deliveries, I felt tired but satisfied. I have been fretting for months about this material delivery business, and it wasn’t so hard after all. I waited around at home for several hours to see if another truck would show up, until about 5:00, when a heavy rain started and I thought they wouldn’t possibly send anything else for the day. I allowed myself a shower and a hot tea, and just as I was settling into the evening, a truck came roaring down the road in front of my house with about 300 cement blocks. I was expecting 300 cement blocks. But they didn’t stop in front of my house like the others had, and they roared by again about 15 minutes later with an empty truck, not so much as glancing in my direction. I hoped against hope that it was a coincidence…that someone else had recently ordered 300 cement blocks?
Too good to be true. I set my alarm for 8:00 this morning, as I had no idea when the next truck might show up, and as I was hitting the snooze at 8:15, an inappropriately happy voice, accompanied by large truck horns, summoned me from my little cabin to inform me that a truck full of sand had just roared past looking for me. I had just enough time to put on my glasses and Chaco’s before running to hop in the truck to make another round of deliveries. I found out that these same men, in fact, had left all the blocks at one woman’s house, and had to coax them into delivering them separately after we dropped off the sand. It was a trabajo fuerte – hard work – but that’s what we had previously agreed to, and I have recently promised myself never again to be stepped on by a Dominican man, if I can at all help it. By 9:45 we had everything sorted out, and I was able to go home, shower, and put a little sustenance in my already tuckered out body. All that’s missing now is 120 cement blocks and another truck of fine sand.
My daily routine, for the past 48 hours, has been conformed to the coming and going of trucks full of sand, cement, zinc, rebar, and wood. Depending on what I’m in the middle of (like shampooing my hair or eating lunch), I feel a certain sense of panic when I hear the sound of gravel being tossed willy-nilly by a truck-driver who has a certain self-assumed similarity to Jeff Gordon (he’s a Nascar guy, right?) Even sitting here now, calmly typing this story, I wince when I hear them coming over the hill. What can I say? I am a product of my upbringing, my familiar environment, and in America, we do this kind of stuff on a schedule!
Of course, now that materials are arriving, everyone and their brother wants a stove. They literally tell me “inscribame!” Sign me up! And I can do little but gawk at them, shake my head with my lips sassily puckered, and tell them “too late!” I spent months trying to mobilize a group of 20-25 people to come to 3 meetings, getting their word that they would pay 500 pesos (not really that big of a sacrifice – the same as a week’s worth of food for 2-3 people) and it’s been like pulling teeth. I’m not sure what exactly were the main contributors to their reluctance – wariness that I would take their money and run? Maybe it wouldn’t be the first time that someone of a higher economic echelon had duped them. But be that as it may, I’m not here just to give. I’m here to work with the community, and sometimes I feel all they want me for is to give them stuff. The kids demand little things – “Give me a pencil! Give me something to drink! Give me a candy! Give me a book!” – and the adults ask for more. “Give me your necklace, give me a stove, find me a white girlfriend.” I try to remain positive, and think of the real, worthwhile connections I’ve been able to forge with a discouragingly small portion of my community. These relationships are what counts, and all the rest is just sticks and stones.
Monday, May 25, 2009
A Good Feeling (written 5.9.09)
When you greet a Dominican in passing and ask “How are you?” you might receive any one of the following responses:
Muy bien: Very well
Mejor: Better
Mejorcito: A little better
Alli: Here
Aleviado: Alleviated
Aguantado: Holding on
Luchando para vivir: Fighting to live
Entre dos: Between the two
I have felt all of these, and more, during this past week, in which two of my friends and colleagues came to give a First-Aid course in the dilapidated clinic in my site. By Dominican campo terms, it was a major success, although through my American lens, it was, at times, disastrous. Herein lie the details, through which I reflect on the good and the bad, and try to come away from this experience with a feeling of accomplishment.
Although there were 15 women I had either invited or who asked special permission to participate in this 5-day course, only 6 showed up the first day. We had planned the course weeks in advance, me desperately reminding them on multiple occasions to come, Monday turned out to be one of the many obscure Dominican holidays, and most of the women saw fit to skip out the first day. It’s such a mob mentality – they think, well, no one else is going, so why should I? This is (one of) the banes of my existence here.
All week long, the women showed up late, even when I’m begged them to be on time out of respect for our visitors. Very few afforded me this luxury, very typical Dominican behavior. My disappointment was, however, slightly diminished by the fact that once they did show up and we could start, they all seemed eager to learn. Embarrassed to practice the Heimlich and CPR movements, which were the topics of our successful second day of class, but eager just the same.
On the third day, we had some atmospheric issues. One of the women (actually a 19 year old girl) brought her screaming toddler to class every day, claiming she had no one else to care for him, and he was in rare form this day. Further, the heavy rain on the tin room made it difficult to hear, and finally, the women who work in the clinic, one of which specifically requested a medical course, had some sort of paperwork “emergency”, and retreated to a cubicle right behind the desk where we were presenting. They proceeded to cause such a ruckus, giggling and “working out the emergency”, that I had to ask them 4 times to quiet down, to which they responded rather haughtily.
Despite all of this, the women seemed to be learning and retaining a lot, considering that the majority of them probably didn’t finish high-school. We tried to make the course as hands-on as possible, but some of the information you just have to memorize. They took rather well to the manuals I printed off, and were very happy to hear that they didn’t have to turn them in at the end of the course.
The fourth day was going very well, until a man (who already dislikes me because I once confronted him to ask, very politely, that he please stop shouting “Beeoo-tee-fool!” at me every time I pass his very centrally located home) waltzed in and sat down on the perimeter of the all-female class. I started to feel on edge even before he piped up, and apparently with good reason: as soon as my colleagues started talking about electrocution, an important topic here since everyone cuts wires to steal electricity, he butted in rudely to say “Well, you know what we do here? When someone has their hand stuck to a wire and is being electrocuted and can’t let go, we cut them with a machete, because the blood flow helps them let go”. My colleagues vehemently corrected this dangerous “campo myth”, and in fact had a few slides in their powerpoint dedicated to just this: “Nunca le corte! – Never cut them!” It’s obvious to us why this is a terrible idea, but the women needed to hear it. The man, feeling intellectually threatened in a machismo society, took his seat briefly, where he fumed and muttered to himself until he could no longer take it, hopping back up to yell at my colleagues “I don’t know what you do in your country, but that’s what we do here and it saves lives!” They proceeded to calmly try to correct him, and when I saw that that was going nowhere, I stood up and told him that this was a private course and he had to leave. Immediately, and predictably, he turned his anger on me, yelling at me that I needed to be more educated, as my colleagues simultaneously protested that they were doctors. He eventually stormed out, and stood about 10 feet from the clinic yelling back comments that I luckily couldn’t make out, finally walking away. What did the 13 women in the class do while this man was insulting me and my colleagues? Exactly what you would expect middle-aged, uneducated rural women to do: absolutely nothing. I was so enraged that this man had dared to question my friends and be so rude to me in the middle of a course he had not even been invited to, that I couldn’t even concentrate for the next 20 minutes or so. I wish I could have avoided the conflict all together, because the lawless campo is not exactly the best place to be making enemies, but I didn’t really see a way around it. He had to go.
Anyway, the rest of the class went smoothly, with the women doing their practicum at the end. We told them they had to pass it in order to take the written exam the next day, and most of them took it very seriously, except 2 of the women who work at the clinic, who left early without doing the practicum.
On the 5th and final day, I arrived to administer the written test alone, as my colleagues had done more than their share of work and had left that morning to return to their own sites. When I informed the 2 women who had left that they would not be passing the course as they had skipped the practicum (which I did not feel comfortable administering without my colleagues present), they were shocked (who knows why – we told them a million times it was mandatory) and issued a barrage of excuses. “I had something really important to do! My head was hurting, that’s why I left!” I had been fully prepared, since the night before, to fail them, but they ganged up on me, accompanied by a women who had come punctually to every class, saying they wanted to take the test. Finally, feeling the pressure of women twice my age who know the campo-ropes much better than me, I agreed to administer the practicum and let them take the test.
Out of 12 women, I caught 10 cheating. 10!!! I had specifically asked them before, and multiple times during, the test to not talk and to keep their eyes on their own papers, but like high-school delinquents, each time I turned my head one way, those out of my line of vision cheated. I had separated their chairs as much as possible in the tiny clinic, but there was no way to keep all 12 women far enough away from one another. I felt so disrespected, asking these middle-aged women to abide by a simple rule, and yet my threats were empty – I couldn’t fail the entire class. I try to reflect on it positively: they really wanted to pass the course, and they are not accustomed to being students. Their insistence on cheating showed a desire to get the certificates that a majority of them deserved. Still, it made me feel so cold inside.
Finally, I went over the tests with each woman, and passed them all. I was tired, and worn down, and it was a difficult situation to boot: some of the women who had participated most did far worse than those who had at times acted indifferent. Basically, I was just ready to go home and sleep. They all left beaming with their certificates, and I left to crash.
Thinking back on what I’ve just written, (I’m too tired to reread it), it seems incredibly dismal and complaint-riddled. I guess I just need to share with an audience who understands my American expectations at times, but I shouldn’t downplay the successful aspects of the course. My colleagues gave an incredible, patient performance. The women came with enthusiasm, and left a little more prepared to respond to emergency situations. They learned about breast-feeding, which many Dominican doctors stupidly advise against, and I would trust several of them to save me were I to choke on a cherry pit. Passing the test and gaining the certificate gave them notable confidence, and a deserved sense of achievement. It’s a big deal for these women to leave their homes for an hour, let alone 4 hours a day, 5 days in a row. Best of all, I can cherish the fact that we facilitated the sharing and multiplying of valuable information, even if the absorption level did not reach my dangerously high developed world aspirations.
Also, I have doña friends to protect me from the drunk, ignorant creepazoid, so no se preocuppen (don’t worry!). And this morning, walking down to the store to buy some detergent, I got a good feeling. It’s hard to explain, but it happens in one’s site at times, and seems to be a mixture of factors. In this case, it was sleeping 10 hours, hearing good news about the meeting held Thursday about the library we’re starting, arriving at the store on a Saturday to find nice old men instead of young ones who tend to harass, returning to my neighbors’ to help shell tamarind, and being gifted a huge steaming bowl of asopao – a stew with chicken and rice. Sometimes, you have to just take it easy and recover, and that’s exactly what I plan to do for a couple days.
Muy bien: Very well
Mejor: Better
Mejorcito: A little better
Alli: Here
Aleviado: Alleviated
Aguantado: Holding on
Luchando para vivir: Fighting to live
Entre dos: Between the two
I have felt all of these, and more, during this past week, in which two of my friends and colleagues came to give a First-Aid course in the dilapidated clinic in my site. By Dominican campo terms, it was a major success, although through my American lens, it was, at times, disastrous. Herein lie the details, through which I reflect on the good and the bad, and try to come away from this experience with a feeling of accomplishment.
Although there were 15 women I had either invited or who asked special permission to participate in this 5-day course, only 6 showed up the first day. We had planned the course weeks in advance, me desperately reminding them on multiple occasions to come, Monday turned out to be one of the many obscure Dominican holidays, and most of the women saw fit to skip out the first day. It’s such a mob mentality – they think, well, no one else is going, so why should I? This is (one of) the banes of my existence here.
All week long, the women showed up late, even when I’m begged them to be on time out of respect for our visitors. Very few afforded me this luxury, very typical Dominican behavior. My disappointment was, however, slightly diminished by the fact that once they did show up and we could start, they all seemed eager to learn. Embarrassed to practice the Heimlich and CPR movements, which were the topics of our successful second day of class, but eager just the same.
On the third day, we had some atmospheric issues. One of the women (actually a 19 year old girl) brought her screaming toddler to class every day, claiming she had no one else to care for him, and he was in rare form this day. Further, the heavy rain on the tin room made it difficult to hear, and finally, the women who work in the clinic, one of which specifically requested a medical course, had some sort of paperwork “emergency”, and retreated to a cubicle right behind the desk where we were presenting. They proceeded to cause such a ruckus, giggling and “working out the emergency”, that I had to ask them 4 times to quiet down, to which they responded rather haughtily.
Despite all of this, the women seemed to be learning and retaining a lot, considering that the majority of them probably didn’t finish high-school. We tried to make the course as hands-on as possible, but some of the information you just have to memorize. They took rather well to the manuals I printed off, and were very happy to hear that they didn’t have to turn them in at the end of the course.
The fourth day was going very well, until a man (who already dislikes me because I once confronted him to ask, very politely, that he please stop shouting “Beeoo-tee-fool!” at me every time I pass his very centrally located home) waltzed in and sat down on the perimeter of the all-female class. I started to feel on edge even before he piped up, and apparently with good reason: as soon as my colleagues started talking about electrocution, an important topic here since everyone cuts wires to steal electricity, he butted in rudely to say “Well, you know what we do here? When someone has their hand stuck to a wire and is being electrocuted and can’t let go, we cut them with a machete, because the blood flow helps them let go”. My colleagues vehemently corrected this dangerous “campo myth”, and in fact had a few slides in their powerpoint dedicated to just this: “Nunca le corte! – Never cut them!” It’s obvious to us why this is a terrible idea, but the women needed to hear it. The man, feeling intellectually threatened in a machismo society, took his seat briefly, where he fumed and muttered to himself until he could no longer take it, hopping back up to yell at my colleagues “I don’t know what you do in your country, but that’s what we do here and it saves lives!” They proceeded to calmly try to correct him, and when I saw that that was going nowhere, I stood up and told him that this was a private course and he had to leave. Immediately, and predictably, he turned his anger on me, yelling at me that I needed to be more educated, as my colleagues simultaneously protested that they were doctors. He eventually stormed out, and stood about 10 feet from the clinic yelling back comments that I luckily couldn’t make out, finally walking away. What did the 13 women in the class do while this man was insulting me and my colleagues? Exactly what you would expect middle-aged, uneducated rural women to do: absolutely nothing. I was so enraged that this man had dared to question my friends and be so rude to me in the middle of a course he had not even been invited to, that I couldn’t even concentrate for the next 20 minutes or so. I wish I could have avoided the conflict all together, because the lawless campo is not exactly the best place to be making enemies, but I didn’t really see a way around it. He had to go.
Anyway, the rest of the class went smoothly, with the women doing their practicum at the end. We told them they had to pass it in order to take the written exam the next day, and most of them took it very seriously, except 2 of the women who work at the clinic, who left early without doing the practicum.
On the 5th and final day, I arrived to administer the written test alone, as my colleagues had done more than their share of work and had left that morning to return to their own sites. When I informed the 2 women who had left that they would not be passing the course as they had skipped the practicum (which I did not feel comfortable administering without my colleagues present), they were shocked (who knows why – we told them a million times it was mandatory) and issued a barrage of excuses. “I had something really important to do! My head was hurting, that’s why I left!” I had been fully prepared, since the night before, to fail them, but they ganged up on me, accompanied by a women who had come punctually to every class, saying they wanted to take the test. Finally, feeling the pressure of women twice my age who know the campo-ropes much better than me, I agreed to administer the practicum and let them take the test.
Out of 12 women, I caught 10 cheating. 10!!! I had specifically asked them before, and multiple times during, the test to not talk and to keep their eyes on their own papers, but like high-school delinquents, each time I turned my head one way, those out of my line of vision cheated. I had separated their chairs as much as possible in the tiny clinic, but there was no way to keep all 12 women far enough away from one another. I felt so disrespected, asking these middle-aged women to abide by a simple rule, and yet my threats were empty – I couldn’t fail the entire class. I try to reflect on it positively: they really wanted to pass the course, and they are not accustomed to being students. Their insistence on cheating showed a desire to get the certificates that a majority of them deserved. Still, it made me feel so cold inside.
Finally, I went over the tests with each woman, and passed them all. I was tired, and worn down, and it was a difficult situation to boot: some of the women who had participated most did far worse than those who had at times acted indifferent. Basically, I was just ready to go home and sleep. They all left beaming with their certificates, and I left to crash.
Thinking back on what I’ve just written, (I’m too tired to reread it), it seems incredibly dismal and complaint-riddled. I guess I just need to share with an audience who understands my American expectations at times, but I shouldn’t downplay the successful aspects of the course. My colleagues gave an incredible, patient performance. The women came with enthusiasm, and left a little more prepared to respond to emergency situations. They learned about breast-feeding, which many Dominican doctors stupidly advise against, and I would trust several of them to save me were I to choke on a cherry pit. Passing the test and gaining the certificate gave them notable confidence, and a deserved sense of achievement. It’s a big deal for these women to leave their homes for an hour, let alone 4 hours a day, 5 days in a row. Best of all, I can cherish the fact that we facilitated the sharing and multiplying of valuable information, even if the absorption level did not reach my dangerously high developed world aspirations.
Also, I have doña friends to protect me from the drunk, ignorant creepazoid, so no se preocuppen (don’t worry!). And this morning, walking down to the store to buy some detergent, I got a good feeling. It’s hard to explain, but it happens in one’s site at times, and seems to be a mixture of factors. In this case, it was sleeping 10 hours, hearing good news about the meeting held Thursday about the library we’re starting, arriving at the store on a Saturday to find nice old men instead of young ones who tend to harass, returning to my neighbors’ to help shell tamarind, and being gifted a huge steaming bowl of asopao – a stew with chicken and rice. Sometimes, you have to just take it easy and recover, and that’s exactly what I plan to do for a couple days.
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