1) A kid came into the center the other day and stared at me as I organized the new books for our library. I didn’t give it much thought, because every afternoon there is usually at least one La Caya kid in the library watching me, seeming to be amazed that I can function on my own. After a while, he tapped me on the shoulder and told me that his grandmother just got a dog and named it “Estacie.” It reminded me of a blog I wrote earlier about having La Caya babies named after me. I’m not even sure if this dog was named after me, but we do apparently share the same name. I guess a dog is better than nothing?
2) Today at Silvia’s for lunch, she told me that they found a huge toad by the fence early this morning and that their new puppy was afraid of it. Immediately the grandpa (who is 91) got up from the table without a word. He returned about five minutes later holding a rope with the huge toad (about seven inches long and four inches across) tied by its back leg. He brought it out like a puppet and laughed hysterically as I jumped back when it made a lunge toward me. Angel got home from school a few minutes later and when he saw the giant toad he was even more scared than me. This cracked Grandpa up even more, and he continued to puppeteer the frog in both our directions. Meanwhile, Grandma’s sitting on a chair about a foot away from Grandpa with a large kitchen knife, telling him if he doesn’t knock it off she’s going to kill the frog and him. Grandpa who’s hard of hearing didn’t catch on to her threats, and so he kept swinging the frog by the rope toward Angel, who was hiding behind Silvia’s husband Juan Ramon. Grandma’s trying to comfort Angel by saying things like, este sapo no hace na’, or “this frog won’t do anything.” And then continues by making apparent random frog sounds like, “plop, plop, plop.” Juan Ramon chimes in with, “yeah, but it will make the dogs sick, so don’t touch it Angel.” And by this time, all the rest of the animals at the house, the chickens, dogs, cats and guineas (I don’t know what they’re called in English, but it’s a crazy looking chicken thing) are going crazy and Grandpa just can’t get enough of it all. Grandma’s still waving the knife, Angel’s starting to cry, Juan Ramon is laughing and I’m sitting in the chair with my feet up in case the frog breaks loose from the string and comes after me. Finally, Silvia walks out into all the commotion and settles things down with one, two-letter word, YA. Which in this case would translate to “enough,” or “done.” Grandpa takes the frog away, the animals calm down, Grandma puts the knife on the table and order is restored. But for the rest of lunch, Grandpa kept telling Angel he was going to get the frog if he didn’t finish his food. Ahh, my daily life in the campo.
3) About two months ago, Francia got another puppy. This makes four dogs at our house now. This puppy, which only about two weeks ago was given a name – Pili – is probably the most annoying puppy on the face of the planet. It pees everywhere, it eats everything (including the trash in the kitchen and random chicken bones I find everywhere, which is perplexing and impressive at the same time) and it tears apart Francia’s outdoor furniture. You get the idea. On Sunday morning it was barking and going crazy at about 5 a.m. and I thought to myself, “man I wish that stupid dog would get run over or something,” as I threw a pillow over my face to try to block the sound. Well, be careful what you wish for, because yesterday morning, our puppy terror Pili, was run over by a car and killed. I have never felt more awful in my life, I swear to God. I feel like I caused her death and I just, I can’t believe it actually happened! And so I would like to end this blog and say to Pili that even though you drove me crazy, I never actually wanted you to get run over. But I know you are happier now, because all dogs go to heaven… Right???
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Saturday, September 4, 2010
And the work begins!
This week, the pieces of putting my library finally came together! I've been painting non-stop since Wednesday, and a few of the murals are done. Today, Yoryi and Ronny came to help me do my "La Caya" tree scene in the corner. I was really nervous about this mural and how it would turn out, but Ronny and Yoryi did the whole thing by themselves and I think it looks AMAZING. I'm going to let the pictures speak for me this time...
Ronny, Yoryi and I proud of our (their) work.
The La Caya tree mural! Almost finished! We're missing some more butterflies and flowers and all those pretty things.
Welcome! In Dominican blue and red.
Juan Ramon painting the wall blue. Such a nice improvement from the weird yellow cream it was before.
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I painted this map all by myself (with the help of my computer and a projector). Above it says, "Our island."
Ronny, Yoryi and I proud of our (their) work.
The La Caya tree mural! Almost finished! We're missing some more butterflies and flowers and all those pretty things.
Welcome! In Dominican blue and red.
Juan Ramon painting the wall blue. Such a nice improvement from the weird yellow cream it was before.
href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD1hU76adHL0YayQFUHZGrNaBtwIY9nCeHHZGKg6laurP3UkxR17Ik9qaLrGz40U6ARjTgmKw-3MWkxM3__QgZ3wjKw0WMEpYyy7C8jzEYBbXe6CJIckcuDeyiqBOdB65-iEpddbCYcko/s1600/CIMG3087.JPG">
I painted this map all by myself (with the help of my computer and a projector). Above it says, "Our island."
Monday, August 23, 2010
talkin' 'bout my generation.
I’ve been thinking a lot about my generation. Sometimes when I’m with fellow Peace Corps Volunteers, I can feel the future politician oozing out of them. It’s not that it’s a bad thing, only that in certain people- the quality of “diplomacy” is evident and intentional. For the most part, they are not crass, they are easy to talk to, they are persuasive, they make you feel important, they get things done whether through luck, skill and/or manipulation, and they drink a little too much. This goes for both males and females, and I often wonder if 30- 40 years from now, when I go to the Presidential polls in America, will I be voting for someone who lived on this hot, hot island with me?
One of my best friends is serving in Afghanistan. She wrote me an email a few months ago and asked when my “contract” was up. I read that word over and over. Sometimes I forget we are both serving our country, and that we each signed a piece of paper saying we would go to a place our government thought best to help the “poor” people there. Help them in such dissimilar terms.
It’s much different for me. My contract is more like a marriage. Call the divorce lawyers if you don’t like it, and move on with your life. (Also there is this small detail, where I am not concerned for my life at any given moment). Her contract is non-negotiable- it’s two years to the day (which most of us know, turns out to be longer), no questions, no sympathy, and no second chances. She and I are serving our country in two very different ways, and when I think about how we are simultaneously going though this, literally on opposite sides of the earth, I feel like a shmuck.
When she announced, over a year-and-a-half ago that she was leaving for Afghanistan, my dad offered to move her to Canada. I really don’t think he was joking. I will always love him a little bit more for that.
This week she wrote me an email saying a soldier in her unit died. To my understanding, she works in an office and doesn’t see combat often (Gracias A Dios). He was a hard-working, young man who was on his way up, she wrote. He was a good husband and good father to his toddler son. He was the brightest in his field and he will be missed. I am not sure of the details of the soldier’s death, only that like all deaths in war, it was unplanned and with regret.
She said how she didn’t understand why they were still there. They say the war is over, but it’s a joke, and how she can’t wait to get back home and be with her husband and see her friends. She called me her dearest friend and when I read her words, I cried. I cried for her and for the soldier’s family. I cried for everyone who has ever given their life to their country for a “greater cause,” and mostly I cried for the hopelessness of it all.
It seems like every article I read says that the Taliban is rising again. Couples are being stoned to death. Stoned to death! Is everyone aware of what that means? It means the alleged criminal is buried in a hole up to their necks (shoulders for woman) with their hands tied behind their backs. They do this so they are given a “fair” chance to escape from the hole. Then a circle is formed around them and the people throw rocks directly at their head trying to kill them. If the person can manage to escape and unbury themselves from the hole and cross the circle where the people are, they are forgiven for their sins. Obviously, this never happens. How could it?
These practices are still happening today, as in August 23, 2010. And we’re supposed to believe the war is over? My friend is supposed to believe that what she’s doing in Afghanistan will change that country? Apparently with violence comes the people’s need and want for democracy.
I can feel this war changing my friend. Through her emails, her words, I can feel her becoming someone she never would have become had she gone to Canada with my father. In some ways, it is good. She has experienced things that most of us are lucky enough to never experience, and she has turned them into her own motivation to improve her life, to continue with education when she finishes and to live a happy life with her husband. And in other ways, I can feel the desperation. I can feel her wanting to scream at the President and past- Presidents and every person who got us to this point, and ask them to give up their lives for their country.
Giving your life for your country. My generation is a part of that now. From the greatest generation to the Vietnam and Korean War Vets, now there is also Iraq and Afghanistan. Peace Corps has been around since 1961 and it would be ignorant to think that people have not died while serving in the Peace Corps.
In the DR, there have been six or more (I am not sure of exact numbers, but I believe it is under 10) deaths since the start of Peace Corps. The majority of these deaths were from car and motorcycle accidents. And although these people did not die by gun shot during a battle or an insurgent uprising- they did nonetheless die serving their country.
It makes me wonder what my dear friend sees and feels when she looks around at other soldiers in Afghanistan, especially those her own age. Does she feel like I feel? Does she think about how much people around her have changed, for the good and the bad? Does she meet people her own age and think about them running our country in 40 years and using their experiences as a 20-something in extreme circumstances to make all those future decisions?
Does it scare her? Or does it give her hope?
People are dying. She sees that every day. I see people sweating too much and killing themselves slowly by eating too much sugar and fattening foods. There are people in my generation who will never see either of our sides. Mine of Peace, hers of war.
They will sit in their air conditioning, drive their cars with insurance that is still paid for by their parents and blink quickly over headlines about death, war, extreme poverty, development crises, etc.
These are the people who have college degrees and are unemployed. They are fighting their own battles, I suppose- complete with a Starbucks latte in hand. This is my generation and of all three of these groups- who will define us?
War.
Peace.
Apathy.
And when exactly do we get to decide how it’s all decided? Forty-years from now at the election polls, I guess.
One of my best friends is serving in Afghanistan. She wrote me an email a few months ago and asked when my “contract” was up. I read that word over and over. Sometimes I forget we are both serving our country, and that we each signed a piece of paper saying we would go to a place our government thought best to help the “poor” people there. Help them in such dissimilar terms.
It’s much different for me. My contract is more like a marriage. Call the divorce lawyers if you don’t like it, and move on with your life. (Also there is this small detail, where I am not concerned for my life at any given moment). Her contract is non-negotiable- it’s two years to the day (which most of us know, turns out to be longer), no questions, no sympathy, and no second chances. She and I are serving our country in two very different ways, and when I think about how we are simultaneously going though this, literally on opposite sides of the earth, I feel like a shmuck.
When she announced, over a year-and-a-half ago that she was leaving for Afghanistan, my dad offered to move her to Canada. I really don’t think he was joking. I will always love him a little bit more for that.
This week she wrote me an email saying a soldier in her unit died. To my understanding, she works in an office and doesn’t see combat often (Gracias A Dios). He was a hard-working, young man who was on his way up, she wrote. He was a good husband and good father to his toddler son. He was the brightest in his field and he will be missed. I am not sure of the details of the soldier’s death, only that like all deaths in war, it was unplanned and with regret.
She said how she didn’t understand why they were still there. They say the war is over, but it’s a joke, and how she can’t wait to get back home and be with her husband and see her friends. She called me her dearest friend and when I read her words, I cried. I cried for her and for the soldier’s family. I cried for everyone who has ever given their life to their country for a “greater cause,” and mostly I cried for the hopelessness of it all.
It seems like every article I read says that the Taliban is rising again. Couples are being stoned to death. Stoned to death! Is everyone aware of what that means? It means the alleged criminal is buried in a hole up to their necks (shoulders for woman) with their hands tied behind their backs. They do this so they are given a “fair” chance to escape from the hole. Then a circle is formed around them and the people throw rocks directly at their head trying to kill them. If the person can manage to escape and unbury themselves from the hole and cross the circle where the people are, they are forgiven for their sins. Obviously, this never happens. How could it?
These practices are still happening today, as in August 23, 2010. And we’re supposed to believe the war is over? My friend is supposed to believe that what she’s doing in Afghanistan will change that country? Apparently with violence comes the people’s need and want for democracy.
I can feel this war changing my friend. Through her emails, her words, I can feel her becoming someone she never would have become had she gone to Canada with my father. In some ways, it is good. She has experienced things that most of us are lucky enough to never experience, and she has turned them into her own motivation to improve her life, to continue with education when she finishes and to live a happy life with her husband. And in other ways, I can feel the desperation. I can feel her wanting to scream at the President and past- Presidents and every person who got us to this point, and ask them to give up their lives for their country.
Giving your life for your country. My generation is a part of that now. From the greatest generation to the Vietnam and Korean War Vets, now there is also Iraq and Afghanistan. Peace Corps has been around since 1961 and it would be ignorant to think that people have not died while serving in the Peace Corps.
In the DR, there have been six or more (I am not sure of exact numbers, but I believe it is under 10) deaths since the start of Peace Corps. The majority of these deaths were from car and motorcycle accidents. And although these people did not die by gun shot during a battle or an insurgent uprising- they did nonetheless die serving their country.
It makes me wonder what my dear friend sees and feels when she looks around at other soldiers in Afghanistan, especially those her own age. Does she feel like I feel? Does she think about how much people around her have changed, for the good and the bad? Does she meet people her own age and think about them running our country in 40 years and using their experiences as a 20-something in extreme circumstances to make all those future decisions?
Does it scare her? Or does it give her hope?
People are dying. She sees that every day. I see people sweating too much and killing themselves slowly by eating too much sugar and fattening foods. There are people in my generation who will never see either of our sides. Mine of Peace, hers of war.
They will sit in their air conditioning, drive their cars with insurance that is still paid for by their parents and blink quickly over headlines about death, war, extreme poverty, development crises, etc.
These are the people who have college degrees and are unemployed. They are fighting their own battles, I suppose- complete with a Starbucks latte in hand. This is my generation and of all three of these groups- who will define us?
War.
Peace.
Apathy.
And when exactly do we get to decide how it’s all decided? Forty-years from now at the election polls, I guess.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Me Toca A Mi... It's my Turn
Over a year ago, my Peace Corps colleagues and myself decided to write a telenovela (or Latina style soap opera) to an already existing health initiative called "Escojo Mi Vida," or "I choose my life.". Escojo was started years ago by volunteers to teach Dominican youth about making healthy choices about sex, relationships, drugs, alcohol (etc.). Our idea was to write a 10 episode telenovela that would correlate directly with 10 lessons in the Escojo manual. This way Escojo groups all over the country could watch one episode every time they got together and discuss "real-life" situations as related to the telenovela characters.
This past week, myself and 11 other PC volunteers got together in Janico (fellow PCV Jean's site) to actualize the first episode of our series. With the help of a Peace Corps grant Jean and Amanda applied for for US $500, we filmed the first episode and 30 short scenes for a trailer for the whole series.
We worked with youth from Janico, and they did AMAZING. The worked hard, often shooting a scene up to 10 times. They were patient with us, as we spoke English, Spanish, Spanglish to try to figure out the best way to accomplish our goals. It makes me very excited to continue working with them and see how they grow during this process.
Tomorrow, all 12 of us have to go into the capital for a mandatory meeting with our Peace Corps country director and other potential Dominican sponsors. Rumor has it, if they like what we present, there is a chance our budget could increase to between US $25,000 - $30,000, with the 10 episodes showing on National television.
Here is the link to a teaser of the whole series (not the trailer, just a teaser) of what we did last week in Janico. Wish us luck for success and the time to make this project actually happen!
http://vimeo.com/14131319
This past week, myself and 11 other PC volunteers got together in Janico (fellow PCV Jean's site) to actualize the first episode of our series. With the help of a Peace Corps grant Jean and Amanda applied for for US $500, we filmed the first episode and 30 short scenes for a trailer for the whole series.
We worked with youth from Janico, and they did AMAZING. The worked hard, often shooting a scene up to 10 times. They were patient with us, as we spoke English, Spanish, Spanglish to try to figure out the best way to accomplish our goals. It makes me very excited to continue working with them and see how they grow during this process.
Tomorrow, all 12 of us have to go into the capital for a mandatory meeting with our Peace Corps country director and other potential Dominican sponsors. Rumor has it, if they like what we present, there is a chance our budget could increase to between US $25,000 - $30,000, with the 10 episodes showing on National television.
Here is the link to a teaser of the whole series (not the trailer, just a teaser) of what we did last week in Janico. Wish us luck for success and the time to make this project actually happen!
http://vimeo.com/14131319
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Why I hate/love this country...
This is an exact account of my day today:
-HATE: I woke up and decided I needed to do laundry. As soon as I put my clothes in the lavadora - or washing machine- with soap and water, se fue la luz- or the power went out. So I had most of clothes sitting in soapy water, waiting to use the power of electricity to be cleaned. (On a side note: Dominican washing machines are not at all like American style washing machines. You take a hose to fill the “washing” side up, it spins in two directions for 15 minutes, and then you take it out and put it in a spinner that sort of acts like a dryer, but basically it just spins the clothes really fast causing the water/soap/strange looking fluids to exit. Then the clothes are rinsed with non-soapy water, put back into the spinner and then presto! Hang the clothes up to dry in the sun, and they’re ready in 1-12 hours, depending on the sun’s intensity and whether it’s raining or not. But without electricity, it's just one big annoying process). So yes, the power went out at the most annoying time- as soon as my clothes were nice and soapy. I didn’t even bother to do the laundry by hand either- I just drained the soap, tried to rinse it out as best I could and left them in the machine. I’ll try again tomorrow.
-LOVE: I went to Silvia’s house for lunch and she had made my favorite: la bandera, which consisted of white rice, beans and chicken. After lunch, her, Angelis (her son), Angel (her grandson) and myself went down to the neighbor’s house and watched Angelis literally climb a 30-foot tree and cut down branches of lemoncia. Lemoncia is a crazy tropical fruit which is basically an over sized seed with a thin green peel. You break the peel easy with your teeth and suck off a pinkish, slimy and stringy substance around the seed that happens to be delicious.
-HATE: After lunch, I went to my center and met up with Fausto, Selsy and Mon (my coworkers) to go to Santiago to buy books and supplies for our library. Because Fausto is currently borrowing his brother’s car from the capital, we all decided it would be perfect to go and load the car up with as many things as possible.
And that’s what we started to do. After only one store, we had $23,000 pesos worth of books and supplies in our cart, and when I went to pay for it with the bank card I opened before I left for America, it didn’t work. At first I thought I forgot the pin number, so I ran to a bank (thankfully right across the street) to try to take money out of an ATM. I frantically tried every pin number combination I could think of, but nothing happened. Fausto came and found me and we dialed the bank “help-line,” where I actually spoke to someone in English. After being on the phone with this person for 15 minutes, going through security checks to make sure I really was the person I was claiming to be, he tells me he can’t tell me my pin number over the phone.
Immediately Fausto and I rushed down the street to a branch of the bank that was still open and waited in line there for at least a half-an-hour, because there is NO SUCH THING as customer service in this country. After waiting for what seemed like forever and me glaring at the girl who had two customers ahead of us who she had not yet helped, she asked us what we wanted and then informed us that the pin machine was broken.
We scrambled again, walked back up to the store with our $23,000 peso bill already rung up, told Selsy and Ramon we had to go to another bank in a mall about 15 minutes away. Traffic was horrible, so it took us about 40 minutes to get there, and when we finally did the teller tells me I need my passport to do anything to the account.
I stared at her in the eyes for a few seconds and just started crying. I showed her my Peace Corps ID (which has my passport number on it) and tried to explain what had already happened and how I just need to change/know the pin number so we could go buy our books. The head boss lady felt sorry and took me into her office where she again went through security checks with me, looked at her computer for five minutes without saying anything, and then told me that the account was never setup properly in the first place and would never have worked anyway. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I just asked what I needed to do to make it start working. She said I had no choice but to return with my passport and basically re-setup the account.
There was absolutely no book buying done. We left the bank somber and I felt so embarrassed, angry and annoyed I barely spoke.
-LOVE: On the ride home, almost in complete silence, Mon tells Fausto to pull over at a convenience store type place so he can buy water. He comes out with two beers instead. He hands one to Selsy and me with a smile. I ask him what these are for, and he says so that I’m not sad anymore. And although I am NOT a proponent of drunk driving, Mon and Fausto share a beer in the front and Selsy and I share one in the back, driving toward sundown with the windows down and merengue in our ears.
-HATE: After dinner, I go upstairs to take my nightly bucket bath and there is the BIGGEST, UGLIEST-looking tarantula I have seen yet on this island, just chilling on the stairs. This thing was as big as both of my hands put together. I screamed, scared all the dogs and Francia, and then made her kill it with a broom that she broke in half during the process.
Oh well, I guess you win some and lose some…
-HATE: I woke up and decided I needed to do laundry. As soon as I put my clothes in the lavadora - or washing machine- with soap and water, se fue la luz- or the power went out. So I had most of clothes sitting in soapy water, waiting to use the power of electricity to be cleaned. (On a side note: Dominican washing machines are not at all like American style washing machines. You take a hose to fill the “washing” side up, it spins in two directions for 15 minutes, and then you take it out and put it in a spinner that sort of acts like a dryer, but basically it just spins the clothes really fast causing the water/soap/strange looking fluids to exit. Then the clothes are rinsed with non-soapy water, put back into the spinner and then presto! Hang the clothes up to dry in the sun, and they’re ready in 1-12 hours, depending on the sun’s intensity and whether it’s raining or not. But without electricity, it's just one big annoying process). So yes, the power went out at the most annoying time- as soon as my clothes were nice and soapy. I didn’t even bother to do the laundry by hand either- I just drained the soap, tried to rinse it out as best I could and left them in the machine. I’ll try again tomorrow.
-LOVE: I went to Silvia’s house for lunch and she had made my favorite: la bandera, which consisted of white rice, beans and chicken. After lunch, her, Angelis (her son), Angel (her grandson) and myself went down to the neighbor’s house and watched Angelis literally climb a 30-foot tree and cut down branches of lemoncia. Lemoncia is a crazy tropical fruit which is basically an over sized seed with a thin green peel. You break the peel easy with your teeth and suck off a pinkish, slimy and stringy substance around the seed that happens to be delicious.
-HATE: After lunch, I went to my center and met up with Fausto, Selsy and Mon (my coworkers) to go to Santiago to buy books and supplies for our library. Because Fausto is currently borrowing his brother’s car from the capital, we all decided it would be perfect to go and load the car up with as many things as possible.
And that’s what we started to do. After only one store, we had $23,000 pesos worth of books and supplies in our cart, and when I went to pay for it with the bank card I opened before I left for America, it didn’t work. At first I thought I forgot the pin number, so I ran to a bank (thankfully right across the street) to try to take money out of an ATM. I frantically tried every pin number combination I could think of, but nothing happened. Fausto came and found me and we dialed the bank “help-line,” where I actually spoke to someone in English. After being on the phone with this person for 15 minutes, going through security checks to make sure I really was the person I was claiming to be, he tells me he can’t tell me my pin number over the phone.
Immediately Fausto and I rushed down the street to a branch of the bank that was still open and waited in line there for at least a half-an-hour, because there is NO SUCH THING as customer service in this country. After waiting for what seemed like forever and me glaring at the girl who had two customers ahead of us who she had not yet helped, she asked us what we wanted and then informed us that the pin machine was broken.
We scrambled again, walked back up to the store with our $23,000 peso bill already rung up, told Selsy and Ramon we had to go to another bank in a mall about 15 minutes away. Traffic was horrible, so it took us about 40 minutes to get there, and when we finally did the teller tells me I need my passport to do anything to the account.
I stared at her in the eyes for a few seconds and just started crying. I showed her my Peace Corps ID (which has my passport number on it) and tried to explain what had already happened and how I just need to change/know the pin number so we could go buy our books. The head boss lady felt sorry and took me into her office where she again went through security checks with me, looked at her computer for five minutes without saying anything, and then told me that the account was never setup properly in the first place and would never have worked anyway. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I just asked what I needed to do to make it start working. She said I had no choice but to return with my passport and basically re-setup the account.
There was absolutely no book buying done. We left the bank somber and I felt so embarrassed, angry and annoyed I barely spoke.
-LOVE: On the ride home, almost in complete silence, Mon tells Fausto to pull over at a convenience store type place so he can buy water. He comes out with two beers instead. He hands one to Selsy and me with a smile. I ask him what these are for, and he says so that I’m not sad anymore. And although I am NOT a proponent of drunk driving, Mon and Fausto share a beer in the front and Selsy and I share one in the back, driving toward sundown with the windows down and merengue in our ears.
-HATE: After dinner, I go upstairs to take my nightly bucket bath and there is the BIGGEST, UGLIEST-looking tarantula I have seen yet on this island, just chilling on the stairs. This thing was as big as both of my hands put together. I screamed, scared all the dogs and Francia, and then made her kill it with a broom that she broke in half during the process.
Oh well, I guess you win some and lose some…
Monday, August 9, 2010
your very own business marriage
Today, like most days, I went to lunch at Silvia's house. After being there for maybe a minute, she called me over and told me quietly that her daughter, Anji, wants to marry an American for money - Casar a negocio - a business marriage, she said.
Anji is willing to pay up to $7000 for a fake marriage that only needs to last between 3-6 months. However, and Silvia was very specific, there needs to be pictures taken of the couple at a hotel or something, making it look like a real wedding.
If Anji can secure a "business marriage," then she can immediately take her four-year-old son over, get citizenship and then send for her parents and brother and sister to come live with her in Nueva York. The American "husband" has to do nothing more than mark his signature: first for the marriage certificate and then again for the divorce papers.
In the back of my mind, I've always sort-of been waiting for this day. I don't really blame Silvia or Anji for asking me. It's just the way things work here, and if anyone can help them with this, it's the American girl who eats lunch with them everyday.
Part of me wishes I really could find a responsible American male who would do this for their family (I can't believe I really feel that way. Man, I've been in this country way too long). But of course, I know this isn't going to happen, and although it seems easy enough, things like this are always more complicated than originally anticipated.
I guess in some ways, too, it breaks my heart. Yes, the DR has its problems and corruptions. And I will be the first one to complain about the heat, but for the most part, people do live a happy life here (in my campo at least, here in La Caya). And yet, everyone is so quick to forget it and go. I think about how different Anji's son's life will be if she takes him to America. Yes, he will have more opportunities for education, for work, for all those things everyone knows are important.
But what about him being able to ride a horse down the street at age four? What about him going to school with seriously 15 of his cousins? And seeing his grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, second-cousins-twice-removed etc. every single day? Or being able to walk down the road by himself to the corner market to buy a treat without worries? Or being able to take a machete (which is about as tall as him) and attempt to cut into a mango. They sure as hell are not going to let him do that in kindergarten.
Yes, America is great. As most of us realize, it is the land of plenty, and we are blessed to live there. But at what cost is it worth it? Marriage for money? Giving up everything you know and love, including your country, your language, your culture, to have the "American Dream?"
I told Silvia I'd try to find someone for her. I said that partly to appease her and partly because I meant it, or wanted to mean it at least. They've done so much for me, it's the least I could do for them.
Anji is willing to pay up to $7000 for a fake marriage that only needs to last between 3-6 months. However, and Silvia was very specific, there needs to be pictures taken of the couple at a hotel or something, making it look like a real wedding.
If Anji can secure a "business marriage," then she can immediately take her four-year-old son over, get citizenship and then send for her parents and brother and sister to come live with her in Nueva York. The American "husband" has to do nothing more than mark his signature: first for the marriage certificate and then again for the divorce papers.
In the back of my mind, I've always sort-of been waiting for this day. I don't really blame Silvia or Anji for asking me. It's just the way things work here, and if anyone can help them with this, it's the American girl who eats lunch with them everyday.
Part of me wishes I really could find a responsible American male who would do this for their family (I can't believe I really feel that way. Man, I've been in this country way too long). But of course, I know this isn't going to happen, and although it seems easy enough, things like this are always more complicated than originally anticipated.
I guess in some ways, too, it breaks my heart. Yes, the DR has its problems and corruptions. And I will be the first one to complain about the heat, but for the most part, people do live a happy life here (in my campo at least, here in La Caya). And yet, everyone is so quick to forget it and go. I think about how different Anji's son's life will be if she takes him to America. Yes, he will have more opportunities for education, for work, for all those things everyone knows are important.
But what about him being able to ride a horse down the street at age four? What about him going to school with seriously 15 of his cousins? And seeing his grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, second-cousins-twice-removed etc. every single day? Or being able to walk down the road by himself to the corner market to buy a treat without worries? Or being able to take a machete (which is about as tall as him) and attempt to cut into a mango. They sure as hell are not going to let him do that in kindergarten.
Yes, America is great. As most of us realize, it is the land of plenty, and we are blessed to live there. But at what cost is it worth it? Marriage for money? Giving up everything you know and love, including your country, your language, your culture, to have the "American Dream?"
I told Silvia I'd try to find someone for her. I said that partly to appease her and partly because I meant it, or wanted to mean it at least. They've done so much for me, it's the least I could do for them.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
camp GLOW
What does it mean to be a woman? What does it mean to be a young girl turning into a young woman? How does a young, confident powerful teenage girl become a positive and strong woman when living in a culture of machismo? What happens when you’ve been told something your entire life and then in five days, you get completely opposing information that makes you question everything your parents, grandparents, aunts, cousins and friends have lead you to believe?
Camp GLOW. Two words to change your life.
A girl sees her first tampon, her fear vanishes and she learns it WILL NOT take her virginity. Girls find out at what age they are supposed to have a pap smear, whether they are sexually active or not. A presentation is given questioning their diet and they start to understand that all the oil, sugar and surplus of carbohydrates they eat on a daily bases are not part of healthy diet. They openly discuss peer pressure from boyfriends and friends to be sexually active. They are given condoms like candy. They weigh the difference between unrealistic women on TV and themselves. A woman with AIDS stands in front of them without fear and tells them she has been living for 10 years with AIDS and is happy. Then she points to a girl in the audience, one of them, and says she is her daughter. A group of teenage Dominican Haitian girls, who live in a Batey, give a presentation about discrimination. In five days, girls become best friends with other girls who are taller, shorter, fatter, skinner, richer, poorer, different skin colors - and then cry when having to leave each other.
All of this happened at Camp GLOW. I was lucky enough to be there to witness it. I was even luckier to have had the opportunity to bring girls from La Caya so they could experience it.
Last week I took three girls from my community, (just for fun, see how you would pronounce these names) Yocairy, 15, Yoryi, 16 and Geormy, 14, to an all girls’ camp about an hour southwest of the capital. GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) is a Peace Corps international initiative created to empower young women to take charge of their lives, no matter their circumstances. GLOW originally was started by Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs) in Romania in 1995. Today over 20 Peace Corps countries participate in GLOW activities and camps, including the Dominican Republic.
Our GLOW camp was a five-day retreat with 18 volunteers, 20 different communities and 57 Dominican girls between the ages of 12 and 20 representing these communities. Each day was a different theme with correlating charlas (the Dominican word for presentations) about the theme. For example the first day was “I am healthy,” and thus everything discussed that day had to do with keeping your body healthy (from eating right, exercising to getting regular pap smears).
I helped with the charla, “Know your body,” on the first day to encourage the girls to literally know their body. We actually gave each girl a hand mirror so they could, ahem, “explore” if you will, on their own. As we discussed the anatomy of a woman’s body and how we can take care of ourselves, it became apparent that many of the girls had been lead astray about what was and was not true about our parts.
As the week continued, breaking old believes and stereotypes became an objective for all of us Peace Corps Volunteers. The word “mitos” or myths was used over and over to question what exactly the girls were raised to believe and if those beliefs are true or not.
In one activity, we gave each girl a speculum tool for a pap smear and discussed that pap smears check for cancer and are important for ALL females to have once a year after the age of 18, whether they are sexually active or not. Later we decorated the speculums like birds so the girls would always think of them as birds and not be intimated by them when they went to the doctor for an exam.
We showed the girls what a tampon is and how it fits in a female body. We then discussed how neither a pap smear nor using a tampon will take away their virginity.
We had a “fiesta de condones” or a condom festival, where the girls had to practice putting condoms on plantains. Now this may seem grotesque for even our American culture, but in a country where over half of the population is under 25- teenage sex is not something to be squeamish or ignorant about.
On the third day, we had a panel of six professional Dominican women (a civil engineer, a TV and Radio journalist, a psychologist, a librarian, a business owner and a young Dominican-Haitian college student who traveled to Mexico) come to the camp to talk personally with the girls about how they came to be successful.
One Peace Corps Volunteer (who has an AIDS Support group in her town) gave a presentation about people living with AIDS. She shattered myths about being able to contract AIDS by holding someone’s hand, or washing your clothes with someone who has AIDS (yes, these are common beliefs). She then asked the girls what they would do if they knew someone had AIDS and was being discriminated against. They all said, “we would welcome them,” “we would be their friend,” “we would do whatever we could to help them.”
“Great,” the volunteer replied. And then she introduced them to an extremely well-dressed and pretty middle-aged Dominican woman. When this woman stood in front of the girls and told them she had AIDS, the girls’ mouths dropped in surprise. Then this well-dressed woman pointed to one of the girls in the audience and said the girl was her daughter (the daughter does not have AIDS). Many of the girls, including the daughter, started to cry. Later that day, my girls came up to me and said they thought the woman was a doctor and was going to talk about how NOT to get AIDS, not a woman who was already diagnosed and living with AIDS.
Myths and beliefs broken by living examples. It honestly doesn’t get much more impactful than that.
My personal favorite charla (presentation) was about discrimination and was given by five Dominican-Haitian girls attending the camp who live in a Batey. Batey’s are communities in the DR that were created by sugar cane companies. The companies would bring in the cheapest labor they could find (almost always Haitians) and provide minimal housing and amenities. These communities became known as Bateys and today, they still exist even though now most are supported by the DR government, not the sugar cane companies. The Dominican girls of Haitian decent went around the room and asked their peers to honestly answer if they believed “mitos” about Bateys. One of these myths was that people eat each other. A few of the girls in the audience were brave enough to raise their hands to say they used to believe it. The girls then shared individual testimonies about a time in their life they had been discriminated against because of their skin color.
As I looked around the room, I could see the girls watching their peers as just that. Peers. Friends. Someone the same age as them with many of the same hopes, dreams, fears and feelings. They weren’t watching each other with foggy glasses clouded with myths that the world has placed on them, but with their eyes wide open, taking in their surroundings and the people around them for what exactly what they are: people.
I was at this camp watching everyone around me grow and explore, I couldn’t help but feel the same way about myself. It’s funny how the simplest things are always the most impactful, like just being able to play Shakira’s World Cup song on repeat and dance your heart out. How having a real moment with someone, doesn’t involve anything with technology or fancy things. It’s just conversation and the opportunity to be open to something different, something you’ve never thought of before.
Being at Camp GLOW reminded me of why I joined the Peace Corps. It wasn’t for my resume or the bragging rights to say I did it – I took a bucket bath almost every day for two years, I deserve all the hot water I want. No, it was to be involved with something bigger than myself. I want to spend the rest of my life giving girls and boys around the world the right to choose their own world. To be able to look at their own circumstances and question if the life they want to live, the person they want to be, is the person they are now.
I think sometimes, we as humans take for granted how great change is. And how on any day, any normal, any boring or especially significant day, no matter how old or young you are, you can make the choice to be whoever you want to be.
I also posted pictures of the week on my picasa website if you are interested...
Camp GLOW. Two words to change your life.
A girl sees her first tampon, her fear vanishes and she learns it WILL NOT take her virginity. Girls find out at what age they are supposed to have a pap smear, whether they are sexually active or not. A presentation is given questioning their diet and they start to understand that all the oil, sugar and surplus of carbohydrates they eat on a daily bases are not part of healthy diet. They openly discuss peer pressure from boyfriends and friends to be sexually active. They are given condoms like candy. They weigh the difference between unrealistic women on TV and themselves. A woman with AIDS stands in front of them without fear and tells them she has been living for 10 years with AIDS and is happy. Then she points to a girl in the audience, one of them, and says she is her daughter. A group of teenage Dominican Haitian girls, who live in a Batey, give a presentation about discrimination. In five days, girls become best friends with other girls who are taller, shorter, fatter, skinner, richer, poorer, different skin colors - and then cry when having to leave each other.
All of this happened at Camp GLOW. I was lucky enough to be there to witness it. I was even luckier to have had the opportunity to bring girls from La Caya so they could experience it.
Last week I took three girls from my community, (just for fun, see how you would pronounce these names) Yocairy, 15, Yoryi, 16 and Geormy, 14, to an all girls’ camp about an hour southwest of the capital. GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) is a Peace Corps international initiative created to empower young women to take charge of their lives, no matter their circumstances. GLOW originally was started by Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs) in Romania in 1995. Today over 20 Peace Corps countries participate in GLOW activities and camps, including the Dominican Republic.
Our GLOW camp was a five-day retreat with 18 volunteers, 20 different communities and 57 Dominican girls between the ages of 12 and 20 representing these communities. Each day was a different theme with correlating charlas (the Dominican word for presentations) about the theme. For example the first day was “I am healthy,” and thus everything discussed that day had to do with keeping your body healthy (from eating right, exercising to getting regular pap smears).
I helped with the charla, “Know your body,” on the first day to encourage the girls to literally know their body. We actually gave each girl a hand mirror so they could, ahem, “explore” if you will, on their own. As we discussed the anatomy of a woman’s body and how we can take care of ourselves, it became apparent that many of the girls had been lead astray about what was and was not true about our parts.
As the week continued, breaking old believes and stereotypes became an objective for all of us Peace Corps Volunteers. The word “mitos” or myths was used over and over to question what exactly the girls were raised to believe and if those beliefs are true or not.
In one activity, we gave each girl a speculum tool for a pap smear and discussed that pap smears check for cancer and are important for ALL females to have once a year after the age of 18, whether they are sexually active or not. Later we decorated the speculums like birds so the girls would always think of them as birds and not be intimated by them when they went to the doctor for an exam.
We showed the girls what a tampon is and how it fits in a female body. We then discussed how neither a pap smear nor using a tampon will take away their virginity.
We had a “fiesta de condones” or a condom festival, where the girls had to practice putting condoms on plantains. Now this may seem grotesque for even our American culture, but in a country where over half of the population is under 25- teenage sex is not something to be squeamish or ignorant about.
On the third day, we had a panel of six professional Dominican women (a civil engineer, a TV and Radio journalist, a psychologist, a librarian, a business owner and a young Dominican-Haitian college student who traveled to Mexico) come to the camp to talk personally with the girls about how they came to be successful.
One Peace Corps Volunteer (who has an AIDS Support group in her town) gave a presentation about people living with AIDS. She shattered myths about being able to contract AIDS by holding someone’s hand, or washing your clothes with someone who has AIDS (yes, these are common beliefs). She then asked the girls what they would do if they knew someone had AIDS and was being discriminated against. They all said, “we would welcome them,” “we would be their friend,” “we would do whatever we could to help them.”
“Great,” the volunteer replied. And then she introduced them to an extremely well-dressed and pretty middle-aged Dominican woman. When this woman stood in front of the girls and told them she had AIDS, the girls’ mouths dropped in surprise. Then this well-dressed woman pointed to one of the girls in the audience and said the girl was her daughter (the daughter does not have AIDS). Many of the girls, including the daughter, started to cry. Later that day, my girls came up to me and said they thought the woman was a doctor and was going to talk about how NOT to get AIDS, not a woman who was already diagnosed and living with AIDS.
Myths and beliefs broken by living examples. It honestly doesn’t get much more impactful than that.
My personal favorite charla (presentation) was about discrimination and was given by five Dominican-Haitian girls attending the camp who live in a Batey. Batey’s are communities in the DR that were created by sugar cane companies. The companies would bring in the cheapest labor they could find (almost always Haitians) and provide minimal housing and amenities. These communities became known as Bateys and today, they still exist even though now most are supported by the DR government, not the sugar cane companies. The Dominican girls of Haitian decent went around the room and asked their peers to honestly answer if they believed “mitos” about Bateys. One of these myths was that people eat each other. A few of the girls in the audience were brave enough to raise their hands to say they used to believe it. The girls then shared individual testimonies about a time in their life they had been discriminated against because of their skin color.
As I looked around the room, I could see the girls watching their peers as just that. Peers. Friends. Someone the same age as them with many of the same hopes, dreams, fears and feelings. They weren’t watching each other with foggy glasses clouded with myths that the world has placed on them, but with their eyes wide open, taking in their surroundings and the people around them for what exactly what they are: people.
I was at this camp watching everyone around me grow and explore, I couldn’t help but feel the same way about myself. It’s funny how the simplest things are always the most impactful, like just being able to play Shakira’s World Cup song on repeat and dance your heart out. How having a real moment with someone, doesn’t involve anything with technology or fancy things. It’s just conversation and the opportunity to be open to something different, something you’ve never thought of before.
Being at Camp GLOW reminded me of why I joined the Peace Corps. It wasn’t for my resume or the bragging rights to say I did it – I took a bucket bath almost every day for two years, I deserve all the hot water I want. No, it was to be involved with something bigger than myself. I want to spend the rest of my life giving girls and boys around the world the right to choose their own world. To be able to look at their own circumstances and question if the life they want to live, the person they want to be, is the person they are now.
I think sometimes, we as humans take for granted how great change is. And how on any day, any normal, any boring or especially significant day, no matter how old or young you are, you can make the choice to be whoever you want to be.
I also posted pictures of the week on my picasa website if you are interested...
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