This last week, Remi came to visit me. He arrived July 9 and left yesterday, the 20. We had an awesome time, filled with beaches, jugo natural (freshly squeezed juice found on almost every corner of the DR), my DR family, Peace Corps friends and more.
Some highlights: The first three days Remi was here, we went up to Sosua (which is on the north coast close to Puerto Plata) and stayed in an all-inclusive resort. Remi found a great deal through Orbits, and the hotel offered two beaches, food, drinks and ocean gear to entertain us during the day. Remi also brought two fishing rods and snorkeling gear with him from the states, so we were well prepared for all things ocean.
We discovered a reef/rock place, called Three Rocks that we could swim too from our hotel. People staying in the hotels all around Puerto Plata and Sosua paid good money to get on a boat go out to the rocks, so we felt like bandits just being able to swim there. Remi has the sweetest underwater camera, so we got some great pictures of us snorkeling, fishes, coral and such.
We also rented a kayak a couple days and took that out into the ocean to check out our surroundings. Remi brought his fishing rod one time and even though he didn’t catch anything, it was still fun.
After our resort get-away (PS, did I mention that I took about 12 showers in 3 days, because there was HOT water. Heck, there was a functioning shower head, that’s reason enough for excessive showering). Anyway, after our mini-vacation within Remi’s vacation, we came back to my site and Remi got to see firsthand my life here in the DR.
Our first night in my site, we had dinner with my adopted Dominican family and they cooked us a big spaghetti dinner (Dominican spaghetti is something to be desired in my opinion, but Remi didn’t mind it too much) and insisted that Remi learn to dance the meringue and bachata. He and I started to dance, but my meringue and bachata dance skills are still forming, so my family’s neighbor pushed me aside and took Remi and showed him how it’s really done. The best part of the night was after the traditional meringue and bachata dancing, when they put on Michael Jackson and Remi busted out the robot and the moon-walk. They all went crazy –clapping and screaming- and started calling for every person close by, whether they were in their houses or walking down the street, to come watch the gringo dance. It was great, and I knew immediately after Remi’s dance performance, he would be welcomed back whenever he wanted.
We went fishing at the “presa,” which means dam in Spanish. It is the lagoon about five minutes from my house and it is, in my opinion, my town’s hidden treasure. Remi brought two collapsible fishing rods from home (again securing him instant popularity in my site), so we went out to the presa with my family and spent an afternoon fishing. Remi caught a few fish, but let them go. I caught one that was smaller than my palm but also let it go.
We spent the rest of the week in my site, Remi coming with me to my center while I hung out there and worked on some stuff. He taught one of the workers here, who is learning English and does pretty well, some photoshop. On Friday we had a trash clean-up day, to clean up the creek (which used to be a river) that runs through my town. It was good for many reasons, because picking up trash is always a good thing and Remi got to see exactly what I mean when I talk about the trash problems here in the DR. It looks like my center is going to have trash pick-up days every Friday. Now all my future visitors have something to look forward too.
On Saturday we drove out to Monte Cristi, which is the DR’s most north coast city and one of the oldest. It’s a quiet fishing community with a famous cliff beach. We drove out to the beach, searching for jugo natural the entire time, climbed some of the jagged cliffs and enjoyed the day. We ate lunch at a great seafood restaurant on the side of the road. We ordered some food that we had no idea what it was (I didn’t know the Spanish words and I forgot my dictionary), but everything turned out well and our mystery dish turned out to a type of seafood meatball.
After lunch, we went back to the beach and the waves were coming in strong. We spent about an hour body surfing and wave crashing, which has to be one of the most fun things to do in the world, no matter how old you are.
On Sunday we drove into Santiago and met up with some of my Peace Corps friends. I have told my friends here so much about Remi and Remi so much about my Peace Corps friends, that it was great to have them all meet in person. We just passed the day in Santiago, went out to eat for lunch and dinner (a really nice treat), laughed and exchanged stories. Remi and I stayed the night in Santiago, as he left yesterday morning bright and early for home.
All in all it was a wonderful week. I am so grateful he could come so early and see my life and world here. Now when we talk on the phone, and I tell him I went running around my “presa,” he’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. And it also made me excited for future visitors. So really, if you have some time off work and want to see a Caribbean island, there is an extra bed for you here.
Now that my mini-vacation is over and Remi is back at home, I will be working on my diagnostic presentation. My swearing-in group gets together August 4-8, where we all will present what we have been doing for the last 2.5 months in our site and our plans for the year, in Spanish. I have it all figured out, it’s just about sitting down and doing it. I feel like I’m in college again… procrastinating until the last minute, but I have a bit more motivation, because the presentation is in Spanish and in front of our project partners. And just like in college, whether I started with plenty of time or waited until the night before, it will get done. The important stuff always gets done.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
4th of July, DR style and trash clean-up crew.
Every 4th of July, Peace Corps volunteers from around the country get together to celebrate America’s birthday. This year, the festivities were held in a small, sleepy tourist town called Las Galeras in Samana. Samana is a peninsula on the east side of the island. It is beautiful and if anyone is interested in visiting and staying in an all-inclusive resort, I think we should go there.
The hotel we stayed at was called Hotel Marcos and was owned by a Canadian with a tattoo of an American bald eagle on his arm. The hotel, which was actually more like cabana style rooms, was right off the beach. On Saturday, the 4th, we took a boat trip to Playa Rincon, which apparently is one of the most beautiful beaches in the country. I can see how it has this reputation. By the time the day was through, there were probably over 60 Peace Corps Volunteers at the beach, playing football, relaxing in the sun and celebrating America’s birthday Caribbean style. It definitely didn’t feel like Peace Corps, more like a college spring break vacation.
That night our Canadian host had a bbq at the hotel with hamburgers, hot dogs, fries and potato salad. It felt sort of surreal to be there, on a beautiful beach, eating American food, speaking English and hanging out with other Americans my age. But overall, I am really glad I went, because Samana is beautiful and it was a nice change of pace.
I returned to La Caya on Sunday afternoon, after about seven hours of traveling in a mini-van, a mini-bus and finally a motorcycle. The motorcycle ride up to my site is my favorite. It is 5 km of a road in between farms. Inevitably there are cows coming down the road, being moved from one field to the next, or a couple of men of horses either trotting down the road or in the middle of it talking. The trees here in La Caya sort of remind me of Africa. Not that I’ve ever been to Africa, but they are the big flat top kind that you see in pictures of the African Safari. Every time I am on that road I feel like if someone blind folded me and put me there, I would have no idea where I was. I mean, just the surroundings with the tress, the farms, the animals, you could be anywhere in the world. Who knew the DR could look like this?
Anyway, the next day, Monday was our trash clean-up day. We were supposed to start at 8 a.m., but as I am learning, 8 a.m. Dominican time really means 9 (usually later). My Doña and I actually got started at 8 and by the time the rest of my team met up with us we had covered some good ground. It started off with seven of us, slowly moving up the main drag of La Caya, picking up trash in the street. All the people walking along the road would stop and stare at us and ask us what we were doing. Most of them commented on how they got the American girl working hard.
My Doña gave me an XX-L bright Green T-shirt to wear, because I didn’t have a green shirt and if we’re going to be saving the environment, then duh! we need to be wearing green! We made it all the way up to the main point in town (have I mentioned how there are basically only two streets here in La Caya. The main one runs north and south and is the same from the highway. The other hits it perpendicularly, running east to west. Where the roads meet is sort of the central meeting point in town, although the east to west road continues in both directions to other houses and neighborhoods in town). At the corner of the roads meeting is a small open lot where plastic bottles come to die. No joke. We worked on this field for over an hour, and by this time we had recruited more people from the street, so there were 10 of us or so. We worked for over an hour, filled 10 big black garbage bags, and barely made a dent in the plastic bottles, glass bottles and trash covering the ground.
My sort of boss here at the centro stopped us, saying it was “demasiado,” or too much. Then we decided to go to the Sindico, or the mayor and city hall to ask if we could use a pick up truck on Friday to finish the job. The government officials were supportive, so our work will continue on Friday.
Except, I won’t be here. Remi comes in TOMORROW (yes I am just a little excited) and him and I are heading up to Puerto Plata for the weekend. I feel guilty for not being here, and I want to be here, but at the same time, if they can do this without me- all the better.
My goal is to have trash clean-up days once a week in different parts of La Caya, and to get more of the youth involved instead of just the workers from my centro. I was also thinking it would be really cool to turn that empty lot that is the burial ground for trash into a mini-park. Maybe then people would want to take care of it and throw their trash in garbage cans just down the road.
Lots to do. Lots to work for. In the meantime, I am wrapping up my diagnostic. August 4-8, my training class will get together in Santo Domingo with our project partners (we each have a Dominican counterpart we are supposed to be working with in our communities) to present what we have learned this summer and what our plans are for the next year, in Spanish. It will be a good feeling to get it done, especially since it is in Spanish. And then the work really starts. English classes, computer classes, youth groups… lots to do, lots to work for.
The hotel we stayed at was called Hotel Marcos and was owned by a Canadian with a tattoo of an American bald eagle on his arm. The hotel, which was actually more like cabana style rooms, was right off the beach. On Saturday, the 4th, we took a boat trip to Playa Rincon, which apparently is one of the most beautiful beaches in the country. I can see how it has this reputation. By the time the day was through, there were probably over 60 Peace Corps Volunteers at the beach, playing football, relaxing in the sun and celebrating America’s birthday Caribbean style. It definitely didn’t feel like Peace Corps, more like a college spring break vacation.
That night our Canadian host had a bbq at the hotel with hamburgers, hot dogs, fries and potato salad. It felt sort of surreal to be there, on a beautiful beach, eating American food, speaking English and hanging out with other Americans my age. But overall, I am really glad I went, because Samana is beautiful and it was a nice change of pace.
I returned to La Caya on Sunday afternoon, after about seven hours of traveling in a mini-van, a mini-bus and finally a motorcycle. The motorcycle ride up to my site is my favorite. It is 5 km of a road in between farms. Inevitably there are cows coming down the road, being moved from one field to the next, or a couple of men of horses either trotting down the road or in the middle of it talking. The trees here in La Caya sort of remind me of Africa. Not that I’ve ever been to Africa, but they are the big flat top kind that you see in pictures of the African Safari. Every time I am on that road I feel like if someone blind folded me and put me there, I would have no idea where I was. I mean, just the surroundings with the tress, the farms, the animals, you could be anywhere in the world. Who knew the DR could look like this?
Anyway, the next day, Monday was our trash clean-up day. We were supposed to start at 8 a.m., but as I am learning, 8 a.m. Dominican time really means 9 (usually later). My Doña and I actually got started at 8 and by the time the rest of my team met up with us we had covered some good ground. It started off with seven of us, slowly moving up the main drag of La Caya, picking up trash in the street. All the people walking along the road would stop and stare at us and ask us what we were doing. Most of them commented on how they got the American girl working hard.
My Doña gave me an XX-L bright Green T-shirt to wear, because I didn’t have a green shirt and if we’re going to be saving the environment, then duh! we need to be wearing green! We made it all the way up to the main point in town (have I mentioned how there are basically only two streets here in La Caya. The main one runs north and south and is the same from the highway. The other hits it perpendicularly, running east to west. Where the roads meet is sort of the central meeting point in town, although the east to west road continues in both directions to other houses and neighborhoods in town). At the corner of the roads meeting is a small open lot where plastic bottles come to die. No joke. We worked on this field for over an hour, and by this time we had recruited more people from the street, so there were 10 of us or so. We worked for over an hour, filled 10 big black garbage bags, and barely made a dent in the plastic bottles, glass bottles and trash covering the ground.
My sort of boss here at the centro stopped us, saying it was “demasiado,” or too much. Then we decided to go to the Sindico, or the mayor and city hall to ask if we could use a pick up truck on Friday to finish the job. The government officials were supportive, so our work will continue on Friday.
Except, I won’t be here. Remi comes in TOMORROW (yes I am just a little excited) and him and I are heading up to Puerto Plata for the weekend. I feel guilty for not being here, and I want to be here, but at the same time, if they can do this without me- all the better.
My goal is to have trash clean-up days once a week in different parts of La Caya, and to get more of the youth involved instead of just the workers from my centro. I was also thinking it would be really cool to turn that empty lot that is the burial ground for trash into a mini-park. Maybe then people would want to take care of it and throw their trash in garbage cans just down the road.
Lots to do. Lots to work for. In the meantime, I am wrapping up my diagnostic. August 4-8, my training class will get together in Santo Domingo with our project partners (we each have a Dominican counterpart we are supposed to be working with in our communities) to present what we have learned this summer and what our plans are for the next year, in Spanish. It will be a good feeling to get it done, especially since it is in Spanish. And then the work really starts. English classes, computer classes, youth groups… lots to do, lots to work for.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Conclusion of the tarantula story...
I just realized I never finished the tarantula story. It’s quick and ends with man being victorious.
The weekend after I saw the tarantula run under the stove and I tried to bake it out or whatever, my friend Malia (an Environment Peace Corps Volunteer living in the mountains in the center of the country) came to visit. It was Friday night, around 9:30 or 10:00 and she and I had just got back to my house after a day of walking around my town, showing her the sites and meeting the people. I was standing in the kitchen and she was sitting at a bar stool type chair, both of us enjoying a peanut butter and crackers snack, when she pointed to the floor, about 10 feet away and started sort-of hyperventilating/screaming.
“Stace! Stace! Stace! Huge Spider! Tarantual! There!”
“Ahhahhh!” I screamed half out of fear half out of motivation to bring the end to this giant spider that I knew would find a way to make my life miserable in the future.
I ran around the small space of the kitchen in circles trying to think of what to do. Could I kill it myself? And if I did, with what? Should I attempt to cover it with a pan and just drag it across the floor outside, where hopefully the outdoor elements would take care of it? I frantically began to open the cupboards looking for a pot to cover the beast with. In the meantime, Malia had begun to whimper and was sitting on her feet on the chair, watching the giant spider to see where it would go next.
“This isn’t going to work,” I told Malia, as I held an oversized pot and lid in my pan. She looked at me and laughed and just shook her head. “Okay, you watch it, make sure it doesn’t go hide somewhere and I’m going to go get my neighbor.”
At this point I ran outside and realized that the guard (Placido is his name, by the way) who sleeps outside of my room every night for protection was walking around the house making sure everything was locked up. I saw him and frantically waved him over.
“Ayudame! Ayuadame! (Help me! Help me!),” I breathlessly said to him. At this point I couldn’t remember the word for spider in Spanish and just kept saying, “ayudame, ayudame!”
Placido calmly followed me into the house to find Malia looking panicked, crouched like a frog in the chair watching a very specific spot on the floor. I led Placido inside and pointed to the tarantula and said once more, “ayudame!”
Placido laughed to himself and these two crazy American girls scared to death of something so normal to him. He walked right up to the giant spider, without fear or hesitation and stepped on it as hard as he could.
“Ohhhhhhh,” Malia and I both belted out as we heard the crunch of the body collapse under Placido’s shoe. He looked up at us with a smile, walked outside to get a broom and without another word, swept the defeated and now dead spider outside.
Malia and I broke out into laughter and the sheer craziness of the last seven minutes or so. I got some bleach from the bathroom, put it directly on the spot of the murder just in case (you can never be too safe with germs). Malia relaxed, put her feet down, sat in a normal position in the chair and her and I finished our snack like it was the most normal thing in the world.
And this is just one of many more adventures I have yet to experience here in the DR.
The weekend after I saw the tarantula run under the stove and I tried to bake it out or whatever, my friend Malia (an Environment Peace Corps Volunteer living in the mountains in the center of the country) came to visit. It was Friday night, around 9:30 or 10:00 and she and I had just got back to my house after a day of walking around my town, showing her the sites and meeting the people. I was standing in the kitchen and she was sitting at a bar stool type chair, both of us enjoying a peanut butter and crackers snack, when she pointed to the floor, about 10 feet away and started sort-of hyperventilating/screaming.
“Stace! Stace! Stace! Huge Spider! Tarantual! There!”
“Ahhahhh!” I screamed half out of fear half out of motivation to bring the end to this giant spider that I knew would find a way to make my life miserable in the future.
I ran around the small space of the kitchen in circles trying to think of what to do. Could I kill it myself? And if I did, with what? Should I attempt to cover it with a pan and just drag it across the floor outside, where hopefully the outdoor elements would take care of it? I frantically began to open the cupboards looking for a pot to cover the beast with. In the meantime, Malia had begun to whimper and was sitting on her feet on the chair, watching the giant spider to see where it would go next.
“This isn’t going to work,” I told Malia, as I held an oversized pot and lid in my pan. She looked at me and laughed and just shook her head. “Okay, you watch it, make sure it doesn’t go hide somewhere and I’m going to go get my neighbor.”
At this point I ran outside and realized that the guard (Placido is his name, by the way) who sleeps outside of my room every night for protection was walking around the house making sure everything was locked up. I saw him and frantically waved him over.
“Ayudame! Ayuadame! (Help me! Help me!),” I breathlessly said to him. At this point I couldn’t remember the word for spider in Spanish and just kept saying, “ayudame, ayudame!”
Placido calmly followed me into the house to find Malia looking panicked, crouched like a frog in the chair watching a very specific spot on the floor. I led Placido inside and pointed to the tarantula and said once more, “ayudame!”
Placido laughed to himself and these two crazy American girls scared to death of something so normal to him. He walked right up to the giant spider, without fear or hesitation and stepped on it as hard as he could.
“Ohhhhhhh,” Malia and I both belted out as we heard the crunch of the body collapse under Placido’s shoe. He looked up at us with a smile, walked outside to get a broom and without another word, swept the defeated and now dead spider outside.
Malia and I broke out into laughter and the sheer craziness of the last seven minutes or so. I got some bleach from the bathroom, put it directly on the spot of the murder just in case (you can never be too safe with germs). Malia relaxed, put her feet down, sat in a normal position in the chair and her and I finished our snack like it was the most normal thing in the world.
And this is just one of many more adventures I have yet to experience here in the DR.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
It pays to be persistent while wearing sparkle jeans
Yesterday I had another meeting with the workers at my center and my “consejo” committee, or advice committee. I gave them an update on my diagnostic so far, and we made plans for the rest of the summer.
My diagnostic so far is going well… I think. My goal for June was to get the computers in my center updated and working well. Last week we had three men from our government agency (El Dispacho de La Primera Dama) come here and re-image, clone, and basically get all 21 computers in my center to have the same programs with updated virus protection, windows updates etc. I literally stalked the lady who works in the office in Santo Domingo for about five days previous, calling her twice a day to get some questions answered about our computers, until finally she picked up the phone and in English told me she was sending three “technicos,” (or technical worker guys) to come up to La Caya and revamp all the computers. The men came and worked for six hours on the computers. I asked them when the last time they had been to La Caya to work on the computers, and they couldn’t even remember. Neither could the staff at my center. This basically means no technical worker from the main office has been here to La Caya since the center opened three years ago.
So what did I learn from this experience? It pays to be persistent.
This last weekend, another volunteer, Amanda, who lives about an hour away from me, came to La Caya to visit and continue to help me with the computers. On Monday, Amanda and I uninstalled a few unnecessary programs the dispacho installed, fixed Rosetta Stone (a language learning program) that the technicos installed but couldn’t get to work and began to install a type of user protection program. All in all, the computers are coming along and I think I will be able to have them up and running well by the end of the month.
As mentioned before, the meeting with my team went well. We discussed many things about the center and what other funds need to be raised to get more equipment here in the lab. My team is really interested in starting an Environment youth group here, and I am all for it. We made plans to have trash pick-up days for a week starting July 6. I told them that I will be at the center at 8:00 a.m. everyday with a bag in hand; ready to go with whatever youth wants to, to start picking up trash in the streets and around the community. We also decided to give an incentive to the youth by putting an announcement on the radio that if the youth comes with me to pick up trash for an hour, they get an hour of internet free at the center (a great idea from my good friend and fellow volunteer Malia).
The trash situation in this country has been one of the biggest surprises to me. I’ve analyzed it over and over in my head and what I’ve decided is that people here have no concept of what trash is. That may seem abstract, but let me explain. When people buy anything with a wrapper or a coke bottle or anything that has a waste product, like a candy bar or gum or whatever- when they finish they literally just throw it on the ground. Even in their own homes. They just throw all this stuff outside or on the ground in their house. Now, don’t think that Dominicans are dirty and just walk around on trash, because that is not the case. They throw their waste on the ground and then later that day or the next day, the sweep it all up into a corner or their yard away from site. Out of site, out of mind.
Oftentimes, this ends up being a river. All the trash from the people is thrown into the town’s river and it just sits there until the rains come (oh and they come, let me tell you). Then all the trash is carried downstream to another community, where it becomes their problem. Again, out of site out of mind.
Another example of the non-distinction of trash… Dominicans really are a very clean culture- you only wear clothes once before washing, people bath twice a day at least, houses are mopped and cleaned daily, and everyone racks their yard daily as well. But it’s the dirt and the leaves and the branches that they are trying to get rid of, that they think is trash. In my adopted family, there is Angel. He is Anyi’s three-year-old son and he is a terror. Anyway, one day I asked him to help me pick up trash in the yard and so I started picking up wrappers, a coke bottle etc. About five minutes later, he ran up to me and held out his hands full of leaves and broken branches and dirt and told me it was “basura,” or trash.
In my broken Spanish, I tried to explain to him how what man makes is trash and how what nature makes is natural. Yeah, that went over real well. He just sort of looked up at me with this non-understanding look and after a few seconds just went back to playing in the yard.
So long story short, the fact that my team here at the center wants to start an environment group with the youth of La Caya is awesome. And picking up trash in the streets is a great way to start. We talked also about eventually planting more trees around the lagoon close to my house. It’s about starting small and being persistent. That is what I learned with my repetitive phone calls to the dispacho about my computers, and it is the same concept I will apply to this environment group.
In other news…slowly but surely, I am letting the Dominican culture take me over. A couple of examples: yesterday for dinner I had boiled plantains. That’s it, just boiled plantains with a little olive oil drizzled on top and it was delicious. Two weeks ago or so, I went shopping with one of the girls from my adopted family in the nearby town of Jaibon. I bought a pair of capri jeans with sparkles on the pockets and a tank-top with frilly lace on the collar. Never in my wildest dreams would I ever have guessed I would buy and actually like anything with sparkles or frilly lace.
I learn everyday that this is the point of living, working and integrating into a new culture. You eat food you wouldn’t normally eat. You dress in ways you never thought you would (I am seriously going to take a picture of myself in my Dominican outfit and upload it here, it’s pretty great to see me in girly jeans) and you learn things about yourself you never knew existed.
I have been thinking a lot about what this experience will mean to me in two years. It is sort of ridiculous to think about really, because I can’t control the future and it is silly to try. But what I am learning so much everyday, is that I have to be flexible. The minute I start to be strong-headed, narrow-minded and determined to do things only my way, is when nothing gets accomplished. So, here’s to clothes I will only wear in the DR, food I will only eat in the DR and the chance to become a better person from it (even if it does mean sparkles and frilly lace).
My diagnostic so far is going well… I think. My goal for June was to get the computers in my center updated and working well. Last week we had three men from our government agency (El Dispacho de La Primera Dama) come here and re-image, clone, and basically get all 21 computers in my center to have the same programs with updated virus protection, windows updates etc. I literally stalked the lady who works in the office in Santo Domingo for about five days previous, calling her twice a day to get some questions answered about our computers, until finally she picked up the phone and in English told me she was sending three “technicos,” (or technical worker guys) to come up to La Caya and revamp all the computers. The men came and worked for six hours on the computers. I asked them when the last time they had been to La Caya to work on the computers, and they couldn’t even remember. Neither could the staff at my center. This basically means no technical worker from the main office has been here to La Caya since the center opened three years ago.
So what did I learn from this experience? It pays to be persistent.
This last weekend, another volunteer, Amanda, who lives about an hour away from me, came to La Caya to visit and continue to help me with the computers. On Monday, Amanda and I uninstalled a few unnecessary programs the dispacho installed, fixed Rosetta Stone (a language learning program) that the technicos installed but couldn’t get to work and began to install a type of user protection program. All in all, the computers are coming along and I think I will be able to have them up and running well by the end of the month.
As mentioned before, the meeting with my team went well. We discussed many things about the center and what other funds need to be raised to get more equipment here in the lab. My team is really interested in starting an Environment youth group here, and I am all for it. We made plans to have trash pick-up days for a week starting July 6. I told them that I will be at the center at 8:00 a.m. everyday with a bag in hand; ready to go with whatever youth wants to, to start picking up trash in the streets and around the community. We also decided to give an incentive to the youth by putting an announcement on the radio that if the youth comes with me to pick up trash for an hour, they get an hour of internet free at the center (a great idea from my good friend and fellow volunteer Malia).
The trash situation in this country has been one of the biggest surprises to me. I’ve analyzed it over and over in my head and what I’ve decided is that people here have no concept of what trash is. That may seem abstract, but let me explain. When people buy anything with a wrapper or a coke bottle or anything that has a waste product, like a candy bar or gum or whatever- when they finish they literally just throw it on the ground. Even in their own homes. They just throw all this stuff outside or on the ground in their house. Now, don’t think that Dominicans are dirty and just walk around on trash, because that is not the case. They throw their waste on the ground and then later that day or the next day, the sweep it all up into a corner or their yard away from site. Out of site, out of mind.
Oftentimes, this ends up being a river. All the trash from the people is thrown into the town’s river and it just sits there until the rains come (oh and they come, let me tell you). Then all the trash is carried downstream to another community, where it becomes their problem. Again, out of site out of mind.
Another example of the non-distinction of trash… Dominicans really are a very clean culture- you only wear clothes once before washing, people bath twice a day at least, houses are mopped and cleaned daily, and everyone racks their yard daily as well. But it’s the dirt and the leaves and the branches that they are trying to get rid of, that they think is trash. In my adopted family, there is Angel. He is Anyi’s three-year-old son and he is a terror. Anyway, one day I asked him to help me pick up trash in the yard and so I started picking up wrappers, a coke bottle etc. About five minutes later, he ran up to me and held out his hands full of leaves and broken branches and dirt and told me it was “basura,” or trash.
In my broken Spanish, I tried to explain to him how what man makes is trash and how what nature makes is natural. Yeah, that went over real well. He just sort of looked up at me with this non-understanding look and after a few seconds just went back to playing in the yard.
So long story short, the fact that my team here at the center wants to start an environment group with the youth of La Caya is awesome. And picking up trash in the streets is a great way to start. We talked also about eventually planting more trees around the lagoon close to my house. It’s about starting small and being persistent. That is what I learned with my repetitive phone calls to the dispacho about my computers, and it is the same concept I will apply to this environment group.
In other news…slowly but surely, I am letting the Dominican culture take me over. A couple of examples: yesterday for dinner I had boiled plantains. That’s it, just boiled plantains with a little olive oil drizzled on top and it was delicious. Two weeks ago or so, I went shopping with one of the girls from my adopted family in the nearby town of Jaibon. I bought a pair of capri jeans with sparkles on the pockets and a tank-top with frilly lace on the collar. Never in my wildest dreams would I ever have guessed I would buy and actually like anything with sparkles or frilly lace.
I learn everyday that this is the point of living, working and integrating into a new culture. You eat food you wouldn’t normally eat. You dress in ways you never thought you would (I am seriously going to take a picture of myself in my Dominican outfit and upload it here, it’s pretty great to see me in girly jeans) and you learn things about yourself you never knew existed.
I have been thinking a lot about what this experience will mean to me in two years. It is sort of ridiculous to think about really, because I can’t control the future and it is silly to try. But what I am learning so much everyday, is that I have to be flexible. The minute I start to be strong-headed, narrow-minded and determined to do things only my way, is when nothing gets accomplished. So, here’s to clothes I will only wear in the DR, food I will only eat in the DR and the chance to become a better person from it (even if it does mean sparkles and frilly lace).
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
And the rain shall bring...
The last two nights here, it has rained nearly the entire night. This is wonderful, because it cools things down immensely and makes it quite pleasant to sleep, because you are not constantly waking up from sweating. However, the rain, as I have learned over these short few weeks is a double-edge sword, because dun, dun, dun… it brings out the critters.
And oh the critters, crawlers and creatures that come out after the rains on this tropical island! For example, the last time it rained two nights in a row… I woke up in the morning to make breakfast and there was a spider hatching in my kitchen, with not even joking at least 100 baby spiders all over the sink and counter. That was a fun time, trying to clean and kill as many of them as possible. Luckily, I found the Mom and took her outside far from the house (I didn’t kill her because she’s the good kind of spider that eats mosquitoes). Then, that night when I came back to my house, there was literally and I am not exaggerating, 1000 ants coming out of a hole in the outside stairs into the kitchen. I got some bleach and went right to the source (the hole) and that seemed to take care of the problem. And then just after I destroyed the army of ants, I turned around and there was a toad the size of my palm sitting at the bottom of the steps. Now with him, I just let him hang out, because 1)I don’t want to touch him 2)As long as he’s just chilling there and not trying to jump in the house, eventually he will make his way back to wherever he came from.
After experiencing all of these things in one day, I thought I was prepared to handle most small, to medium sized creatures of this Caribbean island. Until yesterday. Again, it has rained two nights in a row, so when I woke up yesterday morning and made breakfast. As I was throwing something away, I noticed there was something rather big and brown behind the trash can. With a closer examination, I immediately realized it was a tarantula. And not just a small tarantula… this thing was seriously the size of my hand. The body alone was the size of my palm and with the legs it made it as big as my entire hand.
Of course I screamed and jumped back and if there would have been a strong enough table to support me, I would have climbed on top of it so fast, the legs of the table probably would have broken just from the abruptness of my actions. I didn’t know what to do, so I stared at the giant spider for what seemed like forever (in reality it was probably like 30 seconds) and then decided my best bet was to try to cover it with something and drag it across the floor to outside where I could somehow kill it with a broom or a shoe. Or maybe, once I got it outside I could just scream loudly enough for my neighbors to come over and help me with the execution.
None of these thing happened. I attempted to cover it, and it immediately ran away behind or under the stove (who really knows?) and out of my site. I wasn’t quite sure what to do, so I continued to make breakfast and turned the stove on, in attempts the heat might do something to it (kill it? Bake it? I have no idea). Last night I came home and there were no signs of it anywhere and none this morning as well. I have decided every time I go into the kitchen, I will go in with a broom and a shoe or anything else that might protect myself against a tarantula the size of my hand.
The truth is the rain here is beautiful. It cools the earth, it brings out the greens in the hills and when it is finished, I have never seen a sky more blue and pure. But what I have realized is the critters, crawlers and creatures are going to win. There is only one of me and thousands and thousands of them. What I really need is an umbrella and literally a double-edged sword to fight the great fight against whatever might end up in my kitchen after a night’s rain.
In other random news, not related to insects: My technology center is having its first fundraiser, with me at least, this Saturday. My friend Malia, another Peace Corps Volunteer from Wyoming is coming here on Friday to help out and hang out. I am excited to have her here and to see how successful the fundraiser is. I am sure there will be stories and I will write about them next week...
And oh the critters, crawlers and creatures that come out after the rains on this tropical island! For example, the last time it rained two nights in a row… I woke up in the morning to make breakfast and there was a spider hatching in my kitchen, with not even joking at least 100 baby spiders all over the sink and counter. That was a fun time, trying to clean and kill as many of them as possible. Luckily, I found the Mom and took her outside far from the house (I didn’t kill her because she’s the good kind of spider that eats mosquitoes). Then, that night when I came back to my house, there was literally and I am not exaggerating, 1000 ants coming out of a hole in the outside stairs into the kitchen. I got some bleach and went right to the source (the hole) and that seemed to take care of the problem. And then just after I destroyed the army of ants, I turned around and there was a toad the size of my palm sitting at the bottom of the steps. Now with him, I just let him hang out, because 1)I don’t want to touch him 2)As long as he’s just chilling there and not trying to jump in the house, eventually he will make his way back to wherever he came from.
After experiencing all of these things in one day, I thought I was prepared to handle most small, to medium sized creatures of this Caribbean island. Until yesterday. Again, it has rained two nights in a row, so when I woke up yesterday morning and made breakfast. As I was throwing something away, I noticed there was something rather big and brown behind the trash can. With a closer examination, I immediately realized it was a tarantula. And not just a small tarantula… this thing was seriously the size of my hand. The body alone was the size of my palm and with the legs it made it as big as my entire hand.
Of course I screamed and jumped back and if there would have been a strong enough table to support me, I would have climbed on top of it so fast, the legs of the table probably would have broken just from the abruptness of my actions. I didn’t know what to do, so I stared at the giant spider for what seemed like forever (in reality it was probably like 30 seconds) and then decided my best bet was to try to cover it with something and drag it across the floor to outside where I could somehow kill it with a broom or a shoe. Or maybe, once I got it outside I could just scream loudly enough for my neighbors to come over and help me with the execution.
None of these thing happened. I attempted to cover it, and it immediately ran away behind or under the stove (who really knows?) and out of my site. I wasn’t quite sure what to do, so I continued to make breakfast and turned the stove on, in attempts the heat might do something to it (kill it? Bake it? I have no idea). Last night I came home and there were no signs of it anywhere and none this morning as well. I have decided every time I go into the kitchen, I will go in with a broom and a shoe or anything else that might protect myself against a tarantula the size of my hand.
The truth is the rain here is beautiful. It cools the earth, it brings out the greens in the hills and when it is finished, I have never seen a sky more blue and pure. But what I have realized is the critters, crawlers and creatures are going to win. There is only one of me and thousands and thousands of them. What I really need is an umbrella and literally a double-edged sword to fight the great fight against whatever might end up in my kitchen after a night’s rain.
In other random news, not related to insects: My technology center is having its first fundraiser, with me at least, this Saturday. My friend Malia, another Peace Corps Volunteer from Wyoming is coming here on Friday to help out and hang out. I am excited to have her here and to see how successful the fundraiser is. I am sure there will be stories and I will write about them next week...
Friday, June 5, 2009
Earings
I just wrote another post, but I have been wanting to share this story for a couple of weeks and keep forgetting...
My first or second week here in La Caya, I stopped into a Colmado (basically a corner store that sells basic food and household goods) right by my technology center. The woman who runs it was there with either her daughter or neice or maybe she was just a neighbor. I'm not really sure. Anyway, we started talking and I told them who I was and what I was doing here and my usual speech about how I'm a peace corps volunteer and I'll be living here for two years, teaching computer and English classes and so on and so forth. Anyway, so they're excited to meet me and I'm excited to meet them and I tell the younger girl, who is probably about my age, that I really like her earings. She grabs them and looks at me astonished like she can't believe I would like something of hers. Then she takes them out of her ears and hands them to me.
I look at her and try to explain to her in my broken spanish that I just wanted to tell her that I like them, not that I wanted them. She understood what I was saying and said it didn't matter, because she wanted me to have them and she had others at her house. I tried to give them back, but she just smiled and said, No, they are yours now.
It was such a small yet great gesture. It made me want to the same for someone else. Being able to give something you have to someone else, because you know it will mean something to them. Even if you too like what you are giving away.
As this girl showed me by giving me her earings, without really saying much about it. It doesn't matter that she didn't have the earings anymore (or whatever it is: a pair of earings, clothes, food), the point is she knew the earings would make someone else happy, and that is what really matters.
A true Dominican value. And one I hope to keep and practice for the rest of my life, no matter where I am.
My first or second week here in La Caya, I stopped into a Colmado (basically a corner store that sells basic food and household goods) right by my technology center. The woman who runs it was there with either her daughter or neice or maybe she was just a neighbor. I'm not really sure. Anyway, we started talking and I told them who I was and what I was doing here and my usual speech about how I'm a peace corps volunteer and I'll be living here for two years, teaching computer and English classes and so on and so forth. Anyway, so they're excited to meet me and I'm excited to meet them and I tell the younger girl, who is probably about my age, that I really like her earings. She grabs them and looks at me astonished like she can't believe I would like something of hers. Then she takes them out of her ears and hands them to me.
I look at her and try to explain to her in my broken spanish that I just wanted to tell her that I like them, not that I wanted them. She understood what I was saying and said it didn't matter, because she wanted me to have them and she had others at her house. I tried to give them back, but she just smiled and said, No, they are yours now.
It was such a small yet great gesture. It made me want to the same for someone else. Being able to give something you have to someone else, because you know it will mean something to them. Even if you too like what you are giving away.
As this girl showed me by giving me her earings, without really saying much about it. It doesn't matter that she didn't have the earings anymore (or whatever it is: a pair of earings, clothes, food), the point is she knew the earings would make someone else happy, and that is what really matters.
A true Dominican value. And one I hope to keep and practice for the rest of my life, no matter where I am.
Christmas is Mother's Day
This past Sunday (May 31) was Mother's Day in the DR. Don't ask me why it's a different day than the states, but it is, and it's a HUGE deal here. As it should be. The days leading up to Mother's Day last week, all the women of my town were getting their hair done, washing their best dresses, making sure the house was clean for any visitors that may or may not show up. The women could be seen walking around town with curlers and hair nets (literally, this is one of my favorite things about the DR. Women have no shame about doing whatever they need to be doing with a full set of curlers in their hair), and even the kids and men were preparing for the festivities of Mother's Day with fresh haircuts and clean shaven faces.
I discovered that every year for Mother's Day, my town holds a huge party at the town "club." It's basically this large covered patio right next to my technology center, where most big events of the town occur. This yearly party is hosted by a man named Eddie Nolasco, who happens to be the women I am living with, half brother. Or it could be her full brother. I'm not sure because her father had 21 children between two women (which too, is not uncommon here in the DR).
Eddie, my Doña's brother of some relation, is the Don Juan of La Caya. He is probably about 40-years-old and I have only seen him in designer clothes. Designer shirts, jeans, belts, sunglasses, shoes and wallets. He is building a huge house on one of the hills that overlooks La Caya and he cruises around town on an ATV, going back and forth from the local stores to his house. Now, I've asked around to try to figure out what exactly Eddie Nolasco does for a living, to lead such a life of luxury here in the DR, but nobody has given me a straight answer- so I'll let you make your own conclusions.
Every year, as I learned, Eddie hosts a party for the entire village of La Caya and one of the main events is a raffle. I arrived at the party and found all the women (mom's) writing their names on pieces of paper and putting them in a box. About 20 minutes later, a small semi truck, which I thought had stereo equipment in it for the dancing later on in the night, opened up and Eddie Nolasco began to work his magic.
Inside this truck were five or six stereo systems (big ones, with a 5 disc CD changer and detachable speakers), four DR style washing machines, two full fridges, five big propane tanks (this entire country is run off of propane), probably about 20 irons and 20 blenders, five 20 inch TV's, and even more stuff that I'm forgetting. Eddie got up to the mic, reached into the box and started giving away all this stuff in the truck.
It was incredible. Everytime a Mom won something, whether it was a stereo or an iron, everyone cheered as loud as they could. And each Mom who won walked up to the mic and said a small thank you to God, Eddie Nolasco, their family, their community. It was one of the most random and completely awesome things I have ever been apart of.
My village, La Caya, is pretty isolated from the outside world. Although many people here have small luxuries here like a TV or maybe even great luxuries like a car, most of the people don't have the resources, time or money to really purchase or maintain common household items that in America we don't think twice about... like a blender for example.
Eddie Nolasco and whatever he does for a living, gets to change that once a year. Before he began the raffle, he made a speech about how he looks forward to this every year, because these are his people and the Mom's of La Caya are the backbone of the community. As he said these words, I looked around at all the women and most were beaming proud, humble smiles. And everytime he read a name and another mom, no matter how young or old, walked up to the mic to say her gratitude for her winnings, you could feel the love from the entire community.
After the truck was empty and the Mom's called their husbands, brothers, cousins, kid down the street to help them bring their prizes back their houses, the music started. My family that has adopted me, who I eat lunch with everyday, was determined to make sure I went out and danced. At first I was a little hesitant, because 1)I love to dance, but my experience with partner dancing is non-existent 2)The moment I arrived in the DR, I realized that the minute a child is born, they are born dancing merengue. So it's a little intimitating to attempt to dance with people who have been dancing this one style their whole lives. 3)My entire town was at this fiesta, and so I knew the minute I stepped on the floor, the looks would happen, the rumors would fly and "the gringa" would be watched and judged on her dancing ability.
Long story short, the Mom of my adopted family told her nephew and his friend to ask me to dance, and being nice teenage boys they obliged. The first time was a little shaky, trying to get the rhythm down without moving my shoulders and keeping my arms strong without griping their hands too tight. But by the third or fourth time, I finally got into a groove. At one point, I was even spun around twice in a row and found the steps immediately after. I honestly was proud of myself for being so coordinated (which really is a rare occurance in my daily life). At this point, I looked out into the crowd and made eye contact with three different older women and each of them gave me a head nod in approval. One of them even gave me a fist pump! I mean, to be honest, my heart was beaming just from the head nods, but when I got the fist pump, I really felt like I could have died happy at that moment, knowing this Dominican woman approved of my merengue dancing.
All in all, May 31, 2009, Mother's Day in the DR was the best Christmas I have ever seen. Santa Claus came to La Caya as Eddie Nolasco, dressed to the nines in Gucci. He gave away presents to people who truly appreciated them, and then the festivities continued with the entire community dancing, talking and enjoying one another. The only thing that was missing was cold weather, but I've given up on that here in the DR, and besides I'll take another fist pump from the woman of La Caya over a snow storm anyday.
I discovered that every year for Mother's Day, my town holds a huge party at the town "club." It's basically this large covered patio right next to my technology center, where most big events of the town occur. This yearly party is hosted by a man named Eddie Nolasco, who happens to be the women I am living with, half brother. Or it could be her full brother. I'm not sure because her father had 21 children between two women (which too, is not uncommon here in the DR).
Eddie, my Doña's brother of some relation, is the Don Juan of La Caya. He is probably about 40-years-old and I have only seen him in designer clothes. Designer shirts, jeans, belts, sunglasses, shoes and wallets. He is building a huge house on one of the hills that overlooks La Caya and he cruises around town on an ATV, going back and forth from the local stores to his house. Now, I've asked around to try to figure out what exactly Eddie Nolasco does for a living, to lead such a life of luxury here in the DR, but nobody has given me a straight answer- so I'll let you make your own conclusions.
Every year, as I learned, Eddie hosts a party for the entire village of La Caya and one of the main events is a raffle. I arrived at the party and found all the women (mom's) writing their names on pieces of paper and putting them in a box. About 20 minutes later, a small semi truck, which I thought had stereo equipment in it for the dancing later on in the night, opened up and Eddie Nolasco began to work his magic.
Inside this truck were five or six stereo systems (big ones, with a 5 disc CD changer and detachable speakers), four DR style washing machines, two full fridges, five big propane tanks (this entire country is run off of propane), probably about 20 irons and 20 blenders, five 20 inch TV's, and even more stuff that I'm forgetting. Eddie got up to the mic, reached into the box and started giving away all this stuff in the truck.
It was incredible. Everytime a Mom won something, whether it was a stereo or an iron, everyone cheered as loud as they could. And each Mom who won walked up to the mic and said a small thank you to God, Eddie Nolasco, their family, their community. It was one of the most random and completely awesome things I have ever been apart of.
My village, La Caya, is pretty isolated from the outside world. Although many people here have small luxuries here like a TV or maybe even great luxuries like a car, most of the people don't have the resources, time or money to really purchase or maintain common household items that in America we don't think twice about... like a blender for example.
Eddie Nolasco and whatever he does for a living, gets to change that once a year. Before he began the raffle, he made a speech about how he looks forward to this every year, because these are his people and the Mom's of La Caya are the backbone of the community. As he said these words, I looked around at all the women and most were beaming proud, humble smiles. And everytime he read a name and another mom, no matter how young or old, walked up to the mic to say her gratitude for her winnings, you could feel the love from the entire community.
After the truck was empty and the Mom's called their husbands, brothers, cousins, kid down the street to help them bring their prizes back their houses, the music started. My family that has adopted me, who I eat lunch with everyday, was determined to make sure I went out and danced. At first I was a little hesitant, because 1)I love to dance, but my experience with partner dancing is non-existent 2)The moment I arrived in the DR, I realized that the minute a child is born, they are born dancing merengue. So it's a little intimitating to attempt to dance with people who have been dancing this one style their whole lives. 3)My entire town was at this fiesta, and so I knew the minute I stepped on the floor, the looks would happen, the rumors would fly and "the gringa" would be watched and judged on her dancing ability.
Long story short, the Mom of my adopted family told her nephew and his friend to ask me to dance, and being nice teenage boys they obliged. The first time was a little shaky, trying to get the rhythm down without moving my shoulders and keeping my arms strong without griping their hands too tight. But by the third or fourth time, I finally got into a groove. At one point, I was even spun around twice in a row and found the steps immediately after. I honestly was proud of myself for being so coordinated (which really is a rare occurance in my daily life). At this point, I looked out into the crowd and made eye contact with three different older women and each of them gave me a head nod in approval. One of them even gave me a fist pump! I mean, to be honest, my heart was beaming just from the head nods, but when I got the fist pump, I really felt like I could have died happy at that moment, knowing this Dominican woman approved of my merengue dancing.
All in all, May 31, 2009, Mother's Day in the DR was the best Christmas I have ever seen. Santa Claus came to La Caya as Eddie Nolasco, dressed to the nines in Gucci. He gave away presents to people who truly appreciated them, and then the festivities continued with the entire community dancing, talking and enjoying one another. The only thing that was missing was cold weather, but I've given up on that here in the DR, and besides I'll take another fist pump from the woman of La Caya over a snow storm anyday.
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