Bola of the Century

I spent several days this past week helping out in other sites. There are two volunteers relatively close to me who invited American high-school groups to come help with the construction of aqueducts, and I was asked to come and help translate and also to provide a night of entertainment in the form of live folk music. I was amazed at the amount of trench those kids were able to dig in order to put in piping in order for water from the mountains to reach individual houses, and when we left the celebratory pig roast on Friday night, spirits were high. That is, until us visiting volunteers remembered that we had to cross 2 frigid rivers on foot in the dark in order to reach the house where we would be sleeping.

The community where we had been helping out was far back in the mountains, across several rivers, and even more difficult to reach lately as it had been raining cats and dogs. The last thing we expected, therefore, was to see a car inside the community at the festivities, and a revamped Range Rover with leopard print interior and a sound system to blow your socks off. After eyeing this vehicle, the volunteer I was visiting had the brilliant idea of asking for a “bola”, or a free ride, to his house on this person’s way out to the main road. Obliging and friendly, the driver loaded the 5 of us into the back, and off we set to traverse flowing rivers and flojo (weak) land bridges. The imagery I experienced from the inside of this unlikely SUV was uncanny.

As we sat on the leopard print seats and tried in vain to protect our inner ears, the car filled with a red glow from the tail lights, and I looked out the back to see three young boys running along behind us, their smiles illuminated by the necklace glow sticks that the American volunteers had handed out to amuse them. (As an aside, I noted that given toys and gadgets, such as the costume jewelry and flashlights the Americans brought, Dominican children suddenly seem far less different than those in the U.S.) They ran behind us the whole way home, deterred only slightly by the rivers, catching up each time with smiles never faltering.

I’ve had a lot of free rides in this country, but this one I will never forget. Having just spent all day in the trenches and the evening eating fresh roasted pig and dancing to Dominican songs, it was the perfectly strange ending to a more than vivid 3 days.

Interesting things I’ve done since my last entry…(written 1.31.09)

Stayed up until 3 am in a hotel lobby installing drivers for my new hard drive (the burnt out old one being the reason for the recent lack of blogging.

Taken my cat to a vet in the developing world (enough said) after spending several days at home with her in heat. (She can get out through the roof at night, you know…)

Removed several hearts from chicken breasts in order to cook them for dinner – the breasts, not the hearts.

Had an amateur manicure that required 6 bottles of nail polish. Yes, they were stunning.

Found a dead rat under my bed. And thoroughly mopped. And mopped again with Clorox.

Visited the high school to talk about MLK Jr. on his birthday, the American holiday.

Attempted to make arroz con leche, and failed.

Organized a First Aid training to be held in my community clinic, and led by other Peace Corps Volunteers, in March.

Invited some Dominican young’ns to my house to watch a movie in Spanish, and understood everything! (Not entirely fair, as I have seen Love Actually in English many times, Actually. )

Ridden up a mountain on the back of a Vespa that had a flat tire. And by ridden, I mean the driver made me get off and walk up the really steep parts. (I am after all, according to my community, putting on the pounds…)

Become much more proficient in my energy-efficient-stove building abilities by participating in a build in a neighboring community.

There are surely many more, but these juicy tidbits are what come to mind most readily.

Get Fit (written 12.12.08)

The lifestyle that Peace Corps volunteers lead, by default, has great potential to make us healthier. That is to say, there are lots of things we do (or don't do) differently than we have in the past out of current necessity or practicality. A few examples:

- I now go jogging, admittedly not really because it's good for me, but mostly because it reduces the amount of shock I experience when partaking in my ice cold shower. Did they have to place my water tank in the most sinisterly shady area of the property?

- We don't snack nearly as much (a ripe banana is a treat), and consume relatively little processed foods. Favorites such as macaroni and cheese and Dr. Pepper are merely a pipedream.

- Further, even if our favorite American foods and beverages were available in our sites, we couldn't afford them!

So that's why I'm skinny. Don't make fun of me when I come home. Just remember, I can get a tan in winter, and you can't.

Breaking and Entering

For all we try to give as Peace Corps volunteers, we'd be lying to say that we didn't take a lot in return. Some of it is just and expected: language acquisition, cultural awareness, and more specific rewards, such as the gratification we get when children display their new knowledge about the environment. On the other hand, we take things that are not rightfully ours as well, specifically free days at all-inclusive resorts, justifying it by acting disgusted with uncontrolled development that only marginally benefits a small number of Dominicans…while sipping our Mojitos and luxuriating by a pristine Caribbean beachscape.

This entry is a confession. We're not proud, but I do this for your entertainment.

New volunteers, like myself 6 months ago, are overwhelmed by more experienced volunteers' stories of walking into a beachside all inclusive resort, eating, drinking, and making merry for free, and not a single eye batted by the staff. After all, as long as you tip, they have nothing invested in kicking you out. They all made it sound so easy and normal, that on our first trip to a popular resort beach, we though we couldn't go wrong. We walked straight in, beachside, and hung out by the pool for a few hours, albeit unable to get free drinks because we didn't have the required wristband, but still energized by our smooth entry. After swimming in the pool, we were unable to ignore our grumbling bellies, and thought we would try our luck at the open buffet. Rolling our sleeves down, we sat and feasted on mediocre cruise-style food, happy as pigs in mud, until a server appeared and asked to see our wristbands. Gulp.

One of the people in our group, smooth as always, quickly, oh, we thought this was a restaurant and heard the food was good, but we'll gladly pay. Taking full advantage of our mistake, the waiters escorted us to the front desk and charged us an arm and a leg, and another arm, for our meal. I won't say the price out of embarrassment, but I will say that it was a sickeningly large portion of my monthly Peace Corps salary.

Second time's a charm, right? No, that's the third time, coming up next paragraph. So the second time we tried to stick it to the resort-man, several of my volunteer friends were staying legally at a resort for a conference, and tried to sneak a few of us in the front door to pass the evening, prepared with the story that we were guest speakers for the conference and that we needed just a few hours to prepare. That went over poorly. The end.

And finally! Down on my luck, wondering why the older volunteers told us these glittering stories of free food and drink at resorts if it was harder to get in them that it is to break into the Louvre, we finally struck gold. Discovering a resort that, for whatever poorly planned reason, does not provide its guests with mandatory wristbands, we were able, on our second try (can't keep a good volunteer down!) to walk right in beachside, and enjoy the fruit bar, food bar, and bar bar for hours, laying in the sun, swimming in the pool, and feeling less sad every minute about our previous failures.

So what has Peace Corps taught us? If you don't succeed, try try again! And also, dignity may get you respect, but it sure doesn't get you into an all inclusive resort.

How's the Weather? (written 11.20.08)

In my nearly 9 months in this country, I cannot recall a single time that I've heard a Dominican voice contentment regarding the weather. And we talk a lot about the weather. Usually it's unbearably hot, but as we're entering "winter", and it's been a rainy week, it's been atypically chilly, if there is such a thing in the tropics. It's been nice to actually need the beautiful afghan my cousin made me at night, but as for the rest of my community…I'm not sure they'll make it out alive. Everyone has donned their beanies and jean jackets, looking like something straight out of Grease, and the first thing mentioned in any conversation I've had over the past few days is how cold it is. Yesterday, as I sat in outdoor conversation with a t-shirted young man, he was visibly shivering!

We're talking, bottoms, 55 degrees here, at 4 AM when it's at its coldest. Maybe it's ME that won't make it out alive, as I'll be in TN for Christmas where I'm sure 55 is the high… Guess I'll just have to stay indoors and eat a lot and take a lot of hot showers. Darn.

Growth and Progress (written 11.19.08)

With the slow pace of my life here in the campo, I've been able to pay more attention to the way things grow. My cat changes from kitten to lioness more every day, the cucumber and tomato seeds I planted have sprouted up perkily, and even the hair in my armpits I document more closely. I've learned to sit and watch and be patient, although the progress part of it all is less forthcoming. I still hold out hope that my money will be here by January to start construction on fuel efficient cook stoves, but the Dominicans are much more patient that I, with their perpetual response of "si Dios quiere" - if God wills it. There's only so much creative work I can do in the community, with youth groups and the like, without a large chunk of change to back me up.

For all their talent at waiting and putting things off for another day (Scarlet O'Hara style, they'll "think about that tomorrow"), Dominicans are a very loud bunch. I wake several days every week to my neighbor screaming, about what I have still yet to determine. Children way beyond the age, in my opinion, where crying to get what you want is excusable, emit blood-curdling, through rattling screams with alarming regularity; students constantly try to outdo one another, as well as their teachers, in classroom volume; and teenagers who wish for a free ride from a passing truck don't merely sport a smile and an upturned thumb - they cry like banshees until the driver takes notice, at which point they scuttle around the vehicle, suddenly undecided of whether or not they wish to hop aboard.

It's amazing the amount of noise that can come out of such a seemingly calm location. If we could just get the motorcyclists to take advantage of modern day science - anyone heard of a muffler? - our lives would be completely different. Peace Corps project, anyone?

The Guagua Diaries (written 11.11.08)

I never feel more like I live in developing Latin America than when I'm riding along in a guagua, headed to my site. I look out the window and see Haitian workers chopping weeds, Doñas carrying buckets of water, and trash fires at every glance, all to a background of merengue tipico. I feel as if I am simultaneously in a movie and observing one. I could be filming these scenes, or be the one on film from the outside of the bus, my head pressed against the smudgy glass. It is a serene and beautiful experience.