Built Tough

In a world full of randomness, I have more to add...

Last night, I was sitting in my living room with a couple of other peace corps volunteers and a my host brother tells me to come quickly and check something out in the street. I oblige, of course, and within seconds I am looking at a man staking down a four to five foot long snake on the side of the road. My first reaction is to let out a moan in disgust, and all the kids that have gathered around start laughing, because the gringa reacted just as they hoped to the dead snake. I run back inside to get my peace corps friends and my camera.

The man, who apparently is my neighbor, found the snake in a cave nearby and is about to cut it opent to extract the fat from the inside. Apparently, he can sell the fat in Santo Domingo to people who will boil it and turn it into a medicine that is used to help with asmatha and severe colds. The snake is a treasure of a find, and the man can easily get a 1000 pesos for just a few pieces of fat.

The snake at this point, is still twitching and slowly flopping its tail and head in the dirt road, as dead snakes do, and the man takes a twig and a razor blad and starts to delicately cut the stomach open. He works steadily and skillfully (this is clearly not the first snake he has operated on) and starts to carefuly cut the fat away from the rest of the snakes innards. By now, most of the neighborhood kids have gathered around and some adults too, and we all watch in anticipation and fascination as he works.

He slits the stomach open and eggs start pouring out. A grose visual, I know, but you have to realize all of this is happening on my street. In front of houses, with kids playing outside, old women walking to and from each other's houses, cars and motorcylces driving by barely phased by all the commotion.

The man has a blue piece of paper, one he may or may not have found just lying in the street. He carefully uses the razor and the twig to put the fat on this paper. When he is finished, he folds up the paper in 4's, sticks it in his pocket, uses two larger sticks to put the snake back in a bag and starts to brush dirt on the spilled guts and stomach of the snake (which in all honesty, I thought was pretty curtious. I wasn't sure if he was just going to let all that dead stuff hang out in the road and wait for the next rain to wash it away).

And life goes on. I think these last couple of weeks, that has been the most eye-opening experience for me. Dominican people are survivors. Nothing phases them. Literally. Nobody has potable running water- they deal. On the average day, for most of the country, power lasts about 10-12 hours- they deal. If there are weeks with NO power or clean water, they deal. Roads aren't paved, the government puts no investment in social structure, the education system is failing, everytime it rains streets are flooded and mud finds its way into houses, schools, businesses, bugs are everywhere- taking over your kitchen, bathrooms and houses, there is trash in the streets, cars, buses, motorcycles being run off of propane (no lie, people here put propane tanks in their trunks and run their cars off the gas because it's cheaper) so who knows what you breath in on an average day and yesterday there is a man cutting open a snake on the street- they deal.

I haven't decided if it is good or bad. Good for obvious reasons. Dominicans are tough, can deal with anything and despite this- are happy people. When I walk down the street and smile at a stranger, they immediately smile back and greet me with an "hola, ¿como ta?" This is not a cold American city, where everyone is their own top priority.

But at the same time, when people are always just dealing with things, what does it take to actually make change? A natural disaster. We learned that the country really didn't start drinking potable water exclusively until AFTER a big hurricane that destroyed most everything in the 90s. Now, every house in the DR buys water in blue jugs at their local store. Every other day or so, families exchange empty bottles for full bottles, to drink and cook with. But really, what does it take for real, serious and life improving changes to occur?

With that said, I have been inspired by the average Dominican's toughness. Let's just say, this last week+ my body has not been too happy with the food I've been eating. I was doing fine for a while, with no stomach problems, but alas, it is inevitable! A new country with new food- I knew it would happen eventually. I also caught a cold and have had "la gripe," the Dominican word for any sort of cold related sickness, for a few days. But I am in a country of survivors! I too will suck it up and carry on so it will not affect me or anyone around me. Life is too short to let your stomach get in the way.

(I have to admit, I called the Peace Corps doctor and was told to buy some miracle drug from the pharmacy that has greatly helped me with my digestion. So don't feel too sorry for me, all is well and getting better).

And so, we can all be inspired by people who do what they can no matter their circumstances. Even the man who caught the snake. What a great week for him, as now he will have some extra pesos in his pocket. Life can be hard, it helps to be tough. But I am also thankful to be from a place where change is good. Where people never settle and are always searching for the better, even if sometimes that search is only self-serving.

What Dominicans are teaching me everyday, is to be grateful. We cant all control our life situations and we certainly cant control our birth countries, but we can be grateful for life. We can be grateful to live a happy life, whether you have hot water, potable water, electricity or a man cutting open a snake.

Jorge y Linda or "Gracias A Dios"

Wednesday night, April 15, 2009 was perhaps the strangest, most random and possibly interesting night of my life. Everyday since I have been in the DR has been an adventure. Filled with learning, hardships and unexpected events. Wednesday night, is no exception. I want to tell you all my story, but first I want to say that I do not wish to offend anyone, including you or the Dominican people. It's just too good of a story to keep to myself. And so...

Wednesday evening, around 6:30, I arrived back at my host family's house, as usual, to find my Doña, her mom (who is blind and also lives with us) and their church pastor all sitting in the living room having coffee and talking. A pleasant scene. I come into the house, do my thing and eventually make my way to the kitchen table, which is in the same room as the living room, and start studying out of my Spanish workbook (I know you are all impressed with my discipline). A few minutes later, the pastor, who is probably between the ages of 30 and 35 and dressed in loose jeans, a red PGA golf Polo and brown sandles, asks me if I am an Evangelical.

Here in the DR, 90 percent of the population is Catholic. Most of the 90 percent were born into the religion and do not actually actively participate as adults. As an adult, if you have made any choice about your religion, you are most likely an Evangelical or an Adventist. To give you an idea of how serious reglion can be here, my Doña here in El Seibo is an Evangelical and she attends church at least four times a week, sometimes twice a day on Saturday and Sunday. Also, in the DR, you have to believe in God. It is more forgiveable for someone to be a mass murderer than to not believe in God. No joke.

With that said, the pastor asks me if I am an Evangelical and I say "No." He then goes on to ask if I at least believe in God, I say yes and gives me a deep, appreciative, affirmative sigh. A few minutes pass and he asks me to join my Doña's in prayer from the bible. No problem. I don't mind and even if I wanted to avoid the situation, the house is too small to go anywhere when there is more than 4 people there. I stand next to my Doña's and he starts reading a verse from the bible.

Before I know it, the pastor turns to my blind Doña, puts his hand on her heard and starts slightly violently shaking her head. She puts waves her hands up and down and the words "el diablo," the devil, are said repeatedly. All the while, my other Doña, her daughter, has her eyes closed and is chanting to herself, "Gracias A Dios, Gracias A Señor, Gracias A Jesus, Dios Mio," which translates to "Thank you God, Thank you Sir, Thank you Jesus, My God.¨

This is all well and good, and at this point I am more curious than anything. Next the Pastor asks me to step in the middle of the circle. I do. He then asks me to repeat him in Spanish. Which in reality, is hilarious, because I don't speak Spanish and even having to repeat someone in English has never been my strong point. So he's saying very deep and powerful words with his eyes closed and I am supposed to repeat him. I try my best, but he is getting frustrated and opens his eyes and gives me look of disdain as I completely ruin sentences with my lacking Spanish skills.

It gets more interesting. Then he tells my blind Doña to go to her room and get the oil. I start to get nervous. I am still in the middle of the circle, my other Doña has yet to open her eyes and is still chanting to herself and raising her arms. My blind Doña returns with the oil and the pastor tells her and my other Doña to open their hands. He puts oil in their hands and before I can say anything, they are rubbing the oil on my arms and chest (I am wearing a tank-top), my legs (I am wearing shorts) and my face. Both my Doña's are chanting and saying "Gracias A Dios," over and over. The pastor then takes the oil and pours in ontop of my head. My Doña's are still rubbing my skin with oil, chanting, have both started to cry and now I have oil dripping down my scalp in all directions.

By this point, my host brother has returned from work and the pastor doesn't break stride and pulls him into the center of the circle. In one foul swoop, my Doña moves the coffee table out of the way, the pastor turns my brother so his back is facing his Mom and pushes him backward so he falls lifelessly into his Mom's arms. My Mom quickly and gently lets him fall all the way to the floor, he lies there for about a minute, gets up, checks his cell phone and returns to chanting with everyone else.

While this is all happening, everyone has their eyes closed. I am the disloyal one, mostly because I am far too curious to keep my eyes closed.

Then it is my Doña's turn (not my blind Doña). By this point, she is nearly sobbing. The pastor takes her into the circle and proceeds to take the devil out of her and literally stomp it to death on the floor. More tears, arms waving and chants being sung.

Just as I thought it was over, the pastor singles me out again and calms the mood. He is quiet for about 15 seconds, as he builds the tension within all of us. I'm not sure if I should be scared, anxious, nervous or just all of the above. In a steady and slow voice, he asks what the names of my parents are. Thankfully for me, my parent's names translate easily into Spanish: Jorge y Linda (Linda means pretty in Spanish, which is perfectly fitting for my Mom. I also think it is one of the most common expressions in Spanish. Everything is "Que Linda," from a clean car, to a swept patio, to a new baby, whatever you want is ¡que linda!). Anyway, he begins to talk about Jorge y Linda and asks if I have brothers and sisters. I tell him yes and their names (Miguel is easy to translate, as is Meghan surprisingly, but Jim not so much). And he starts to pray for all of them. He tells me, "When your family is walking, when they are running, when they are teaching, when they are working, when they are eating God is with them." Then he tells me God is with me whenever I am doing these things as well.

It was pretty incredible, because as soon as I said, "Jorge y Linda," both my Doña's just started repeating their names and chanting louder and louder. There is some more crying and then the pastor silences all of us. He asks us to say prayers over him, which we do. The devil, el diablo, is taken out of him and stomped into the ground, and his tears pour out as well.

And then it is over. The whole thing took over an hour. We all hug and my Doña instantly starts making all of us dinner, the pastor starts to talk baseball with my host brother, my blind Doña sits in her rocking chair thing and I return to studying at the kitchen table with my skin and hair glowing in oil, like nothing ever happened. As my Doña is cooking, she repeats to herself, "Jorge y Linda," each time with a smile and a laugh. It honestly makes me laugh out loud in surprise happiness.

Then the Pastor looks at me very seriously and tells me to tell my family there is a pastor in El Seibo praying for them. That was my favorite part of the whole experience.

When I came home that fateful Wednesday night, I had no idea any of this would happen. When I agreed to be in prayer from the bible, I had no idea that moments later my whole body would be saturated in oil. The whole experience was pretty incredible, for many reasons... but one in particular, how affected both my Doña's were in such a relatively short amount of time. Their tears were real and straight from their hearts. They were not planned or practiced.

It also once again put my faith in the universe. I am convinced that sometimes people just know what's important to you, even if you can't speak the same language. Like the pastor making sure I understood to tell my family that "there is a pastor in El Siebo praying for them," or my Doña repeating, with a smile, "Jorge y Linda," to herself as cooked dinner.

Life works in mysterious ways. And let me just say this, no matter what you believe in, God, the universe's highest being, Jimmi Hendrix, whoever... he or she definitely has a sense of humor and is making everything happen for a reason.

One very good reason to be jealous...and other things that you may or may not be jealous of.

La Playa! Last Sunday we went to a beach in Miches, called La Playa Esmerelda. It was the most beautiful beach I have ever seen in my life, as this picture only begins to show. The ultimate abandoned Caribbean beach. It is sad, because it recently has been bought by a European company and will soon be a 5 star resort complex, but for now it is pristine, untouched by most humans and beautiful. If anyone would like to visit me, we will go. Somehow, someway we will make our way back to La Playa Esmerelda.

Last week was Semana Santa, or Holy Week/Easter week/nobody works/some people work but mostly people visit each other within the country and take advantage of not working. So basically... it´s like a big spring break for the entire country.

My week was pretty relaxed, with computer training in the mornings and Spanish classes in the afternoon. The computer training consistent mostly of learning the expectations and limitations of working with computers in the DR. For example, working with computers when there is no electricity or internet. Which is two very common problems in the DR. Where we are right now, El Seibo, is the only place in the DR with 24 hours of electricity. Realistically, whereever I live, I will probably have between 12-16 hours of electricity a day. And most likely, the electricity will be shot off during the day, which makes running a daytime computer lab interesting, to say the least. It will be adventure, as has every day of my life so far in the DR.

We are also learning teacher training methods, for when we are in our sites and have the opportunity to train computer teachers there, or for when we teach our own classes. I can't say for certain, until I am assigned to my community, and I can asses comunity needs, but as Peace Corps IT volunteers, we are expected to give computer classes (such as Microsoft word, powerpoint, excel and possibly even photoshop and video editing if the resources exist) to our communities. As well as teacher training in all of these areas, so when we leave our communities in two years, our skills will be sustainable. I am excited for the teaching. I think it will be extremely challening, especially with my minimual Spanish skills and the lack of interest in education in the DR. However, I have hope, because people love technology. I mean it is amazing right. Look at what I'm doing right now, posting pictures and writing stories to share with my world back home.

So yes, people love technology and that is something I am grateful for as a Peace Corps volunteer, because I have a venue to help make my mark here in this country.

An aside: something else I am grateful for is the DR's respect and like of Americans and the United States. I feel really lucky, because I could very easily be in a country where Americans were disliked and distrusted. Here, everyone has a cousin or an uncle or a friend in "Neuva York," and so the connection to the US is one of trust and gratitude.

My main challenge is Spanish. I feel frustrated and anxious to be fluent NOW. No, I mean, yesterday. I want to be able to talk to my host families and all the people with as much ease as I do in English, but that is just not the case. It is a harsh and humbling reality, but one I can only hope with time with improve. People speak very fast here, very fast and they drop many endings to words especially the "s" sounds. So for example, the word "esta" becomes "ta." Or the word fiesta, is pronounced "fieta," which to someone who is learning Spanish like me, sounds like an entirely new word, not a common word that everyone knows no matter what language they speak.

A highlight from the week: I was standing on the sidewalk near the high school where we have training and a woman passing on the street grabbed my arm and said, "Soon, you're skin will look like mine," she smiled and contined walking. So in translation, my tan is looking good friends.

For everyone, I hope you all had a wonderful Easter on Sunday! And for all my Orthodox friends and family, I hope Holy Week goes well and Christos Anesti next Sunday! Enjoy the lamb! and please have an extra piece for me (or two or three, or seven or eight).

P.S. I have attempted now for three days to upload pictures with no luck. Hopefully sooner, rather than later I will get some uploaded to share.

El Seibo cont...

Yesterday, my time on the internet got caught short, so I just wanted to finish up a bit.

Where was I... education in the DR. As we are learning everyday, the poor education of the DR is what most contributes to it being a developing country. The government is more interested in investing in tangible, physical things such as a metro. Santo Domingo has a metro, but the DR has the second to worst (or possibly the worst, I can´t remember right now) education system in Latin America.

It´s interesting, because what the government does is reflected in the people. The people here are proud of the metro, as they should be. An underground transportation system is an accomplishment for any city. The Metro is a real thing, whereas people can see it, can use it, can talk about their expereince with their neighbors. Education is not tangible. Measuring someone´s growth through education is not something the average person can see, feel or discuss. And so, the interest for support among the goverment and even the people is almost nothing.

In the US, there is a direct correlation between more education and a better life. That notion is a new concept here. I believe though, that things are changing here in the DR. As more people leave the DR to get work in the US (there are over 4 million Dominicans living in the US, mostly in New York City), education is making it´s presence and importance known. Slowly but surely.

Kids here alternate between attending school in the morning, from 8-1, or in the afternoon, from 1-5. There usually is at least an hour of recess per school day, and the resources itself for classrooms, textbooks, teachers and other learning materials is beyond limited.

Here in El Seibo, I have two host brothers who are 13 and 8. The 13-year-old, Jeffery, loves learning English and can actually speak it and read it fairly well. However, his English comprehension is non-existent. The other night we were reading a comic strip in English out of his English textbook. He could pronounce most of the words, but he had no idea what he was saying or what 95 percent of the words meant.

The education learning style here is the "bucket system." Teachers just tell information to kids and their minds are supposed to be like an empty bucket, just filling up with information. As most of us can guess, this is highly ineffective and kids end up memorizing everything while actually learning and retaining very little.

Despite this, the potential in these kids is incredible. I see it everyday in my host brothers. Jeffery wants to be a pilot and study in Canada. He asked me what the capital of Canada was and if it snows there everyday of the year. Like most children of the world, with even some education, there is an immense desire to learn about their world here in the DR, and the world abroad.

I found myself torn between supporting him and knowing the reality of the situation. I decided to be idealistic and tell him with lots of hard work, he could do anything he wants. I´ve decided everyday to make some mention of Canada to him, just so he knows there is one person in this world who believes he really can do anything he wants, include live in a place where it snows everyday.

But as mentioned, there are serious limitations here. Until the government sees the value in investing in education, the DR will continue to fall behind other Latin American nations and other developing nations of the world, no matter how many metros are built.

The newness of April and El Seibo

March is over. Gracias A Dios. It´s not that I have anything against March, it´s just that I think this March was the longest month of my life. So much happened in just 31 days, I´m convinced if I got through this month, I can get through any month.

For all of April, I will be in El Seibo for technical training. El Seibo is in the east part of the country, if you could possibly see on this map. It is drier here than in Santo Domingo, with less rain and more dust.

So far, I am enjoying El Seibo for its size and more tranquil environment. For example, I can actually walk around this city by myself in daylight AND during the night. Granted, I´m not even trying to walk downtown past 8 p.m., but I can walk from a fellow volunteer´s house in my barrio after dinner and not have it be a big deal whatsoever.

Our technical training (as I understand it) will range from opening up computers and understanding what makes them function, and not function in the DR, to learning how to teach classes for computer programs such as Excel, Word, Powerpoint etc. Most computers here in the DR are at least 5-7 years old, and nearly all of the software is from 2002. So, all Microsoft programs are the 2002 edition. It definetly proves to have its limitations, but at least there is some infrastructure.

Twice a week, we are assigned to work in computer labs around El Seibo. My group is assigned to a children´s daycare or school (I´m not quite sure what it would exactly qualify under). It´s actually a pretty sweet building, with a computer lab, complete with 10 functioning computers WITH internet. In two weeks, we will have to teach a class to kids here pertaining to anything we want. So possibly a class on how to use Powerpoint or Word, or even how to use Google to search for information on the web.

Less boring stuff... My family here is great. I live in a three bedroom house with my Doña, her mom (who is blind) and goes by Mami, her two nephews, Jeffery who is 13 and Issac who is 8, and her son Ralpho who is 20. I have a room to myself as does Mami. My Doña, her son and her two nephews all share the third room.

The two little boys are my best friends here. I taught them how to play Crazy Eights, or "Ocho Locos," and now I´m almost positive there will not be a night here that we won´t play. I am helping Jeffery with his English. The education system here in the DR, to be honest is pathetic.

And I´m getting kicked out of the lab. More later.