I was sitting on a bus coming back from a relaxing weekend at the beach (it was birthday, ok! And the Peace-Corps wide “bola race”, in which we hitch-hiked in pairs across the country. Me and Michal came in 5th!) and although it was filling up, so far, no one had made a move to sit by me. Although I had begrudgingly moved my bag off the seat next to me, I was secretly hoping to have a little arm and leg room for the rest of the trip.
We made a stop and on the bus gets, literally, the fattest Dominican I have ever seen. This middle-aged Doña took one look around the bus and decided that sitting by me, the flacita blancita (skinny white girl) would be the best option, and proceeded to do so with much gusto. She was not at all shy about her overbearing presence, and made no attempts to remove her clammy upper-arm from the position it immediately assumed smooshed up against mine.
I’m an environment volunteer, so I feel obligated to chastise the youth in my Brigada Verde group when they throw trash on the ground. But when that imposing figure reached across me, without so much as an excuse me or an embarrassed smile, to throw a piece of plastic out the window, I surrendered immediately. Well, maybe not immediately. I slowly turned my face toward hers (only a few uncomfortable inches away), and was met eye to eye with a look that calmly said “I dare you”. Dominicans typically don’t think twice about throwing a piece of trash out the window, but I swear she knew what was going through my head when I looked at her.
And I lost.
When I got back to my community and walked down the street, I was caught up in about 30 immensely cuter arms, those of the children who had just gotten out of school and insisted on walking down the street with me, fighting to have their arms around my waist and their hands in mine. It’s good to be loved.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Home Library (written 3.18.09)
In response to an intense desire to read storybooks, and an equal but opposite lack of reading material, we’ve recently decided to start a public library in my community. The initial steps have been taken: we’ve chosen a location in the school, submitted a grant request, and had a very successful first meeting for which our Peace Corps librarian visited my site to get everyone excited; she’s Dominican and passionate about books, not to mention a experienced librarian, so she could contribute a lot that I could not. She was able to bring up several boxes of books to get us started, and the kids have already been checking them out, informally, a schoolteacher keeping a list of rentals in her classroom.
In the meantime, my house has become sort of a temporary library. I have about 30 kids books in Spanish that I will put in the library when it’s up and running, but for now the kids like to come by and read them here, or sign them out with a promise to return them.
Word has spread like wildfire that this library is coming, and I think what makes me happiest about the whole thing is that we finally seem to have settled on a project that seems equally important to me, the foreign development worker, and the community members. Our priorities have definitely been at odds in the past (for example, they want English classes, while I want them to learn how to read in Spanish first), so it’s nice to have found a middle ground in this project of obvious importance.
Shameless plug: I will soon have a grant online to which anyone interested can donate any amount they deem appropriate to the library. Link to come soon.
In the meantime, my house has become sort of a temporary library. I have about 30 kids books in Spanish that I will put in the library when it’s up and running, but for now the kids like to come by and read them here, or sign them out with a promise to return them.
Word has spread like wildfire that this library is coming, and I think what makes me happiest about the whole thing is that we finally seem to have settled on a project that seems equally important to me, the foreign development worker, and the community members. Our priorities have definitely been at odds in the past (for example, they want English classes, while I want them to learn how to read in Spanish first), so it’s nice to have found a middle ground in this project of obvious importance.
Shameless plug: I will soon have a grant online to which anyone interested can donate any amount they deem appropriate to the library. Link to come soon.
A Day at the Dominican Dentist (written 3.18.09)
No one likes going to the dentist, but we all must admit that we love that freshly clean feeling we get after an hour of picking with sharp metal instruments. Last week, I went for my annual cleaning, and although I was admittedly apprehensive to undergo this marginally uncomfortable procedure in the developing world, the office was clean and modern and the dentist spoke fluent English, so I figured everything would be routine. Physically and emotionally, it was anything but.
After the hygienist did the air test for cavities, miraculously finding none considering the amount of sugar we consume in this country, the dentist came in to do the cleaning, which took all of 15 minutes. This is because she picked my teeth faster and harder and less thoroughly than they have ever been picked, following up with a speedy brush and floss, all the while insulting me with a smile: “You’re a Peace Corps volunteer? You don’t look like one. You look like a city girl. Do you wear these boots and skirt in your site? Ya know, you kinda look like a baby. I’m pretty sure it’s because your front teeth are a bit jagged.” Of course, I could respond to none of this because her crazy hands were in my mouth, and then she was gone before I could thoroughly rinse away the small chunks of bloody gums (NOT an exaggeration) that she had separated from their rightful home in her flurry of “cleaning”.
My teeth felt not even the slightest bit cleaner afterward, and “baby” that I am, I cried wee wee wee all the way home.
After the hygienist did the air test for cavities, miraculously finding none considering the amount of sugar we consume in this country, the dentist came in to do the cleaning, which took all of 15 minutes. This is because she picked my teeth faster and harder and less thoroughly than they have ever been picked, following up with a speedy brush and floss, all the while insulting me with a smile: “You’re a Peace Corps volunteer? You don’t look like one. You look like a city girl. Do you wear these boots and skirt in your site? Ya know, you kinda look like a baby. I’m pretty sure it’s because your front teeth are a bit jagged.” Of course, I could respond to none of this because her crazy hands were in my mouth, and then she was gone before I could thoroughly rinse away the small chunks of bloody gums (NOT an exaggeration) that she had separated from their rightful home in her flurry of “cleaning”.
My teeth felt not even the slightest bit cleaner afterward, and “baby” that I am, I cried wee wee wee all the way home.
20 Questions (written 3.18.09)
I often feel like I’m playing this popular car game here in my site. For instance, some conversations I had just today…
Conversation 1
Man I don’t know that well: Hey, has that guy come yet?
Me: Um, what guy?
Man: You know, the American who was going to come work in the next community over.
Me: Oh, THAT guy. Yea, they haven’t finished filling out their application yet, but when they turn it in they might be able to get a volunteer in their community.
Man: OK
Conversation 2
Me to my neighbor lady: Just wanted to let you know that the first-aid course has been rescheduled for May 4-8.
Neighbor: OK, well you know I have to talk to the women.
Me: Um, what women?
Neighbor: You know, the women I work with at the chocolate factory.
Me: Oh, THOSE women. I see. You’ll have to let them know you won’t be there on those days.
Neighbor: Yea.
It’s kind of like pulling teeth (see next entry). I don’t think it’s that they’re lazy, I think they honestly expect me to know what they’re talking about without specifying. I guess it keeps things interesting.
Conversation 1
Man I don’t know that well: Hey, has that guy come yet?
Me: Um, what guy?
Man: You know, the American who was going to come work in the next community over.
Me: Oh, THAT guy. Yea, they haven’t finished filling out their application yet, but when they turn it in they might be able to get a volunteer in their community.
Man: OK
Conversation 2
Me to my neighbor lady: Just wanted to let you know that the first-aid course has been rescheduled for May 4-8.
Neighbor: OK, well you know I have to talk to the women.
Me: Um, what women?
Neighbor: You know, the women I work with at the chocolate factory.
Me: Oh, THOSE women. I see. You’ll have to let them know you won’t be there on those days.
Neighbor: Yea.
It’s kind of like pulling teeth (see next entry). I don’t think it’s that they’re lazy, I think they honestly expect me to know what they’re talking about without specifying. I guess it keeps things interesting.
The Big Cheese (written 3.17.09 – Happy St. Patty’s Day!)
The activity that inspired this entry happened in the same weekend trip as the tree murder detailed above, but seems to warrant its own title and piece.
There are two kinds of Dominican cheese: white and yellow. This weekend, I learned to make the white, with the help of 14 year old Manuela, the prideful queen of regional cheese.
She was completely enthused, if a bit baffled, when we told her we wanted to learn how to make this delicious dairy delicacy. After all, she makes it and sells it every day of her life, and probably fails to see why it’s interesting, but nevertheless gave an enthusiastic two-hour accelerated course in cheese-making to the fascinated foreigners. Steps are as follows:
Mix several huge metal cans of fresh cows’ milk with a syringe full of some brown, grainy liquid (suggestions?) and let it sit for a while. After mixture thickens, use a long stick to cute a cross in it to let the whey rise. Let it sit for another while. Add a huge pot of boiling water and mix it for a bit, and let it sit again. Insert arms into plastic vat, up to shoulders, and slowly begin to form ball of cheese, by pressing the mass together delicately. When a manageable ball is formed, remove it from the whey into a separate container, and continue pressing out liquid until cheese ball (we’re talking like 30 pounds here) is hard. Cut into small chunks, add an incredible amount of salt, and then force cheese into small wooden boxes, weighted down with rocks to shape cheese into blocks. Let it sit for a while, then sell it all to community members.
The omission of times, quantities, and really any form of measurement is no mistake; that’s just how Manuela rolls. It was a ton of fun, and resulted in a delicious treat to boot!
There are two kinds of Dominican cheese: white and yellow. This weekend, I learned to make the white, with the help of 14 year old Manuela, the prideful queen of regional cheese.
She was completely enthused, if a bit baffled, when we told her we wanted to learn how to make this delicious dairy delicacy. After all, she makes it and sells it every day of her life, and probably fails to see why it’s interesting, but nevertheless gave an enthusiastic two-hour accelerated course in cheese-making to the fascinated foreigners. Steps are as follows:
Mix several huge metal cans of fresh cows’ milk with a syringe full of some brown, grainy liquid (suggestions?) and let it sit for a while. After mixture thickens, use a long stick to cute a cross in it to let the whey rise. Let it sit for another while. Add a huge pot of boiling water and mix it for a bit, and let it sit again. Insert arms into plastic vat, up to shoulders, and slowly begin to form ball of cheese, by pressing the mass together delicately. When a manageable ball is formed, remove it from the whey into a separate container, and continue pressing out liquid until cheese ball (we’re talking like 30 pounds here) is hard. Cut into small chunks, add an incredible amount of salt, and then force cheese into small wooden boxes, weighted down with rocks to shape cheese into blocks. Let it sit for a while, then sell it all to community members.
The omission of times, quantities, and really any form of measurement is no mistake; that’s just how Manuela rolls. It was a ton of fun, and resulted in a delicious treat to boot!
Breaking and Entering Part II (written 3.17.09 – Happy St. Patty’s Day!)
Although we don’t receive training in it, breaking and entering seems to be a pivotal part of the Peace Corps experience. First the all-inclusive resort, and now, none other than the house of another volunteer. I was visiting my boyfriend in his site over the weekend, and we decided to go down the street for a barbecued hotdog – a fancy campo date, to be sure. When we arrived back at the house, we played a familiar game: “Do you have the key? No you do”. It’s always him, but this time, he had left it inside the house, and as we had padlocked the door from the outside, we found ourselves in a bit of a pickle. Having no other option, he decided to try to break down the side door, which we perceived to be the weakest entry to the house. After giving it two solid kicks, we decided the little palm-board house was going to come down before the door did; nice to know he lives in a secure home, but I must say an inconvenient time to figure it out.
Both of us working hard not to panic (locksmiths aren’t exactly on call out here), I realized that although the door was padlocked, if you pushed on it, it still opened about three inches before the lock caught, and what to my wondering eyes did appear in the line of sight those three inches provided but the key! It was hanging on a nail on the wall about 7 feet from the crack in the door. Ever the eco-friendly environmental volunteer, my solution was… “Hey! Let’s pull up that skinny baby tree and see if we can reach the key!” This worked surprisingly well, and within 5 minutes we were indoors sitting on two plastic lawn chairs (one of which I broke the next day - long story. Actually, it’s really not; I’m just a clutz.) surprised and satisfied with our ingenuity.
To quote an exasperated homeowner: “I really can’t keep that key there anymore.”
Both of us working hard not to panic (locksmiths aren’t exactly on call out here), I realized that although the door was padlocked, if you pushed on it, it still opened about three inches before the lock caught, and what to my wondering eyes did appear in the line of sight those three inches provided but the key! It was hanging on a nail on the wall about 7 feet from the crack in the door. Ever the eco-friendly environmental volunteer, my solution was… “Hey! Let’s pull up that skinny baby tree and see if we can reach the key!” This worked surprisingly well, and within 5 minutes we were indoors sitting on two plastic lawn chairs (one of which I broke the next day - long story. Actually, it’s really not; I’m just a clutz.) surprised and satisfied with our ingenuity.
To quote an exasperated homeowner: “I really can’t keep that key there anymore.”
Friday, March 13, 2009
Behind the Times
Dear Friends,
Today I discovered something beautiful: all the wonderfully kind and supportive comments that you all have been leaving me!
I've never pretended to be particularly technologically savvy, and that combined with the limited amount of internet time I get...well I've just never noticed all the comments you guys are leaving. It has put me in such a wonderful, positive-energy mood to read all of your words, and I thank you so much for keeping up with me! Maybe it was even better this way, cause I just spent the last 20 minutes reading a year's worth of your friendly writing, and I was a bit like a kid at Christmas.
So I must apologize for not responding to all your comments, but I sincerely appreciate them and promise to keep up with them better in the future. Your support gives me the energy to keep going, and now I'm feeling particularly rejuvenated!
Love,
Mica J.
Today I discovered something beautiful: all the wonderfully kind and supportive comments that you all have been leaving me!
I've never pretended to be particularly technologically savvy, and that combined with the limited amount of internet time I get...well I've just never noticed all the comments you guys are leaving. It has put me in such a wonderful, positive-energy mood to read all of your words, and I thank you so much for keeping up with me! Maybe it was even better this way, cause I just spent the last 20 minutes reading a year's worth of your friendly writing, and I was a bit like a kid at Christmas.
So I must apologize for not responding to all your comments, but I sincerely appreciate them and promise to keep up with them better in the future. Your support gives me the energy to keep going, and now I'm feeling particularly rejuvenated!
Love,
Mica J.
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