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
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
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.
Día de las Madres (written 5.31.09 – Happy DR Mothers’ Day!)
Today, I made an important strategic move that will, without a doubt, increase my efficiency as a development worker in the DR – I went to church.
I had been many times to the Evangelical church, as my host parents attend religiously (pun intended), but had never been to the Catholic church, much closer to where I now live. What with it being Mothers’ Day, there was no time like the present, so I decided to stop by both to see what was shaking.
The Catholic service was very normal, adhering to tradition, to the extent that a young boy appointed acolyte was dressed in layers in the Caribbean, the robes over his own clothing. The Evangelical service, as usual, provides much material for interesting blogging.
There was all the usual loud group praying, and even louder group singing. But in honor of the day, a group of 15 year old girls prepared an anti-abortion, anti-drinking, and anti-disobeying-your-mother mini-drama, complete with street-thugs and old women, played by the same youngsters. To bring it all home, the pastor embarked on a heart-felt Mothers’ Day gospel, that somehow evolved, or devolved, into 6th grade sexual education. I always have a hard time understanding this man’s accent, but when I tuned in to the subject matter, I made a special effort to pay close attention. The best parts went something like this:
Pastor: Women ovulate every month.
Congregation: Blessed God!
Pastor: Then they have sexual relations, with their vaginas.
Congregation: Glory to God!
Pastor: And each time a man ejaculates, there are 7 thousand sperm!
Congregation: God be lifted up!
Pastor: And do you know what a virgin is? A young girl who has not known a man.
Congregation: Allelujah!
So on and so forth…
Sometimes I think they would “Allelujah” no matter what, as long as their pastor was confident in what he verily yelled at them, fists pumping all the while. I think he could very well say “It’s recently been discovered that eating 6 mangos a week will kill you” and they would support him to the very edge of the earth, although many have been known to eat that quantity in a single sitting.
I guess it’s good to know who’s got your back.
I had been many times to the Evangelical church, as my host parents attend religiously (pun intended), but had never been to the Catholic church, much closer to where I now live. What with it being Mothers’ Day, there was no time like the present, so I decided to stop by both to see what was shaking.
The Catholic service was very normal, adhering to tradition, to the extent that a young boy appointed acolyte was dressed in layers in the Caribbean, the robes over his own clothing. The Evangelical service, as usual, provides much material for interesting blogging.
There was all the usual loud group praying, and even louder group singing. But in honor of the day, a group of 15 year old girls prepared an anti-abortion, anti-drinking, and anti-disobeying-your-mother mini-drama, complete with street-thugs and old women, played by the same youngsters. To bring it all home, the pastor embarked on a heart-felt Mothers’ Day gospel, that somehow evolved, or devolved, into 6th grade sexual education. I always have a hard time understanding this man’s accent, but when I tuned in to the subject matter, I made a special effort to pay close attention. The best parts went something like this:
Pastor: Women ovulate every month.
Congregation: Blessed God!
Pastor: Then they have sexual relations, with their vaginas.
Congregation: Glory to God!
Pastor: And each time a man ejaculates, there are 7 thousand sperm!
Congregation: God be lifted up!
Pastor: And do you know what a virgin is? A young girl who has not known a man.
Congregation: Allelujah!
So on and so forth…
Sometimes I think they would “Allelujah” no matter what, as long as their pastor was confident in what he verily yelled at them, fists pumping all the while. I think he could very well say “It’s recently been discovered that eating 6 mangos a week will kill you” and they would support him to the very edge of the earth, although many have been known to eat that quantity in a single sitting.
I guess it’s good to know who’s got your back.
Walk-throughs (written 5.31.09 – Happy DR Mothers’ Day!)
Funny things happen when I walk through my community. Yesterday, an unusually tiny 5 year old on his bicycle stopped me in my tracks when he insisted, in all seriousness, that I tell him next time I’m going to go running because he would like to go.
I’ve seen all number of funny English t-shirts since I’ve been here – “Fat people are harder to kidnap”, “Drunken Monkey Brotherhood”, and “Baby Girl” worn by a teenage boy are among the favorites – and I’ve even seen a few from USC, my alma mater. But today took the cake. Walking through my very own site, I saw a boy wearing a t-shirt that said Gatlinburg, Tennessee! I tried to explain the significance of it to him, but since most Dominicans think most Americans live in “Nueva Yol”, the relevance was a little lost.
And finally, one of the school professors walked past me as I was leaving my house. She was carrying a beautiful handful of freshly picked roses, and dressed in a way I thought totally hip and beautiful, lots of colors and a silk scarf wrapped around her hair. I wanted to remember her, just as she was, and since I had my camera in my purse, I asked if I could take a picture. Her first reaction was no way! I look so ugly right now! (i.e. I haven’t forced my hair straight and put on 8 inch glittery heels) She finally agreed to let me take a picture, but only after she had removed the head scarf, positioned herself in front of an iron gate, and assumed a facial expression that was anything but natural. I long ago realized that beauty ideals here are very different from mine, but just once I’d like to snap a candid shot without everyone stopping to pose.
I’ve seen all number of funny English t-shirts since I’ve been here – “Fat people are harder to kidnap”, “Drunken Monkey Brotherhood”, and “Baby Girl” worn by a teenage boy are among the favorites – and I’ve even seen a few from USC, my alma mater. But today took the cake. Walking through my very own site, I saw a boy wearing a t-shirt that said Gatlinburg, Tennessee! I tried to explain the significance of it to him, but since most Dominicans think most Americans live in “Nueva Yol”, the relevance was a little lost.
And finally, one of the school professors walked past me as I was leaving my house. She was carrying a beautiful handful of freshly picked roses, and dressed in a way I thought totally hip and beautiful, lots of colors and a silk scarf wrapped around her hair. I wanted to remember her, just as she was, and since I had my camera in my purse, I asked if I could take a picture. Her first reaction was no way! I look so ugly right now! (i.e. I haven’t forced my hair straight and put on 8 inch glittery heels) She finally agreed to let me take a picture, but only after she had removed the head scarf, positioned herself in front of an iron gate, and assumed a facial expression that was anything but natural. I long ago realized that beauty ideals here are very different from mine, but just once I’d like to snap a candid shot without everyone stopping to pose.
Gourmet Eating (written 5.30.09)
After several days at a conference center in the middle of nowhere with all 18 of my colleagues from the environmental group, at which we gave our mid-service presentations and shared project ideas and successes, 8 of us headed off to Monte Cristi, a beach town on the north shore, to celebrate making it this far. One year down, one year to go! And since we’re all at the point where we’re well-integrated into our communities and actually able to get things done, it should be a busy second year.
Monte Cristi, a town not unlike other coastal spots in the DR, offered several hotel options, all equally infested with inordinate amounts of mosquitoes (even for the Caribbean), so we chose one near the launching spot for small boats that take groups of people to any one of the seven small islands off the coast that offer tranquility and excellent snorkeling, although apparently not in the murky water month of May. But not matter – we still had a great time with a whole island to just the 8 of us for a day!
The first evening in Monte Cristi, we all settled down to a few beers and a fish dinner, an excellent break from the norm of green banana moosh, which we saved for breakfast the following morning. As we were finishing off the fish, one of our friends popped out a fish eye and promptly spooned it into his mouth, explaining to our horror that he always savors this part of a fish dinner. Not to be outdone, to try something new, and to impress my friends, I popped one in my mouth as well. To a chorus of “oohh!”s, it popped right back out into my spoon. Reflexes. Determined, I summoned up all my courage from the depths of my stomach and popped it back in. It wasn’t the taste so much as the mucus-like texture that was insurmountable. A few chews and it was done for, wash it down with a sip of beer, try not to think to hard about what I just did to prevent bringing it back up. Whereas my friend’s fish eye had had a hard pupil-pit that he spat out, mine was pure mucus through and through. Is that better or worse? Who knows. I wish I could say it was an important cultural experience, but the Dominican waitress was quick to regard me with disgust. But my friends all think I’m totally cool, and isn’t that the most important thing in life?
Monte Cristi, a town not unlike other coastal spots in the DR, offered several hotel options, all equally infested with inordinate amounts of mosquitoes (even for the Caribbean), so we chose one near the launching spot for small boats that take groups of people to any one of the seven small islands off the coast that offer tranquility and excellent snorkeling, although apparently not in the murky water month of May. But not matter – we still had a great time with a whole island to just the 8 of us for a day!
The first evening in Monte Cristi, we all settled down to a few beers and a fish dinner, an excellent break from the norm of green banana moosh, which we saved for breakfast the following morning. As we were finishing off the fish, one of our friends popped out a fish eye and promptly spooned it into his mouth, explaining to our horror that he always savors this part of a fish dinner. Not to be outdone, to try something new, and to impress my friends, I popped one in my mouth as well. To a chorus of “oohh!”s, it popped right back out into my spoon. Reflexes. Determined, I summoned up all my courage from the depths of my stomach and popped it back in. It wasn’t the taste so much as the mucus-like texture that was insurmountable. A few chews and it was done for, wash it down with a sip of beer, try not to think to hard about what I just did to prevent bringing it back up. Whereas my friend’s fish eye had had a hard pupil-pit that he spat out, mine was pure mucus through and through. Is that better or worse? Who knows. I wish I could say it was an important cultural experience, but the Dominican waitress was quick to regard me with disgust. But my friends all think I’m totally cool, and isn’t that the most important thing in life?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)