This story was written by a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer in country, and was published in our Peace Corps DR Magazine, The Gringo Grita. The Gringo Grita is a volunteer-run magazine that publishes stories by volunteers, and other random things related to serving as a Volunteer here in the DR. I typed up below the following story which I found very inspiring and I thought that you all would enjoy it. It was actually the first time that I shed a tear hear. Make sure that you have your tissue nearby. Here it goes:
“As much as prospective Peace Corps Volunteers like to read, inquire, and dream about what their service will be like or what they will be able to accomplish, nothing will ever suffice to replicate the feelings and connections Volunteers experience until they learn for themselves.
I have been in a rural campo in the southwest of the Dominican Republic for just over a year, and my efforts as a Health Extension Volunteer have shown little “statistical” success. Though our experiences are truly about personal connections and augmenting self-discovery among the people with whom we work, as well as within ourselves. One of my greatest successes, thus far, has been just that: a relationship that has developed slowly and unexpectedly, one that infused me with a genuine curiosity to learn more about the way people think and feel about themselves and who they are in their world.
I first met Yilo when I was living with my host family and his gravelly, low-toned, monotonous voice gave me a tweak in my neck. How curiously odd he was: always leaning up against the struts of the doorways, listening to familias talk amongst themselves, and nibbling the end of the rope that he uses to secure his waterbucket to his head.
Yilo is stout, extremely dark skinned, and broadfaced. He is my campo’s water boy, a self-fashioned job. He carries water from the river in a five-gallon bucket balanced on his head, with two one-gallon jugs in each of his hands. He makes this trip to houses in the campo about twelve times a day and gets paid five pesos a trip. Yilo was born in the mountains to a single mother of eight children, who has, for the most part, renounced him.
The children are surprised that Yilo and I are such good friends. He is a smart young man full of positive intention and genuine inquisitiveness. He is a good and loyal friend. His pure innocence is bitterly and sweetly heartbreaking. He brings water to my house for five pesos a gallon and waits to eat my left-over oatmeal with raisins at six-thirty in the morning. He has never asked for more than I offer and never expected it either. I am amazed, when I stop to think, how much distance there is between us most of the time. This difference is the driving force behind our curiosity of one another. Often I am pleasantly surprised when he is my first visitor of the day, and I am interested in what he is thinking and feeling, almost always.
No one that I have met thus far in my community is more dedicated, less-intrusive, or more judicious about his work than Yilo: I have never seen him wear shoes; he works during thunderstorms and when it is dark, bearing the same hole-riddled turquoise polo-che and worn jean shorts. He endures constant teasing, which stems from the Dominican cultural distaste for Haitian-like attributes. He is called crazy for his eccentric mannerisms and awkward voice. I believe though, that the community desperately adores him for the work he does, only they do not know how to embrace him.
Yilo has won my full respect. When I began an acta de nacimiento project with my community members I quickly learned more about Yilo’s blind, fierce determination. Even without understanding the true significance of an acta – without which one cannot attend school past eighth grade, participate in the national health care program, nor enroll in the national food program – Yilo immediately realized the importance of getting his own. He recognized it was the ticket to some sort of “freedom” of opportunity, although most of his neighbors and friends mocked him for the desire to want more for himself. After learning the requirements for the acta, Yilo would pass my house daily, carrying his water, asking me how I could help him get to the pueblo to get his own.
Community member began openly discussing the absurdity of his desire to get an acta. “What would Yilo be able to do in the pueblo?” most of them mocked. And when I would ask Yilo how old he was, Yilo would turn to me with a blank face, as if I could decipher his age. Who really knew? That was, and is, trouble. Even though Yilo has made a way for himself here, where people know him and “love” him, would he be able to make a way form himself outside of this world?
We came to the conclusion that Yilo is twenty-six years old. After several weeks of finagling his mother (who was afraid of the white woman) into giving us her cedula in order to make copies, we found his birth date on a tattered old sheet of paper, tucked away in a plastic bag in her house.
Yilo arrived at my house on the arranged day, at the appointed time, with a freshly shaven head (the wrinkles on his head from the pressure of bucket-carrying, now more pronounced), in a clean polo-che, a clean pair of stone-washed jeans, and wearing tennis shoes. I had never seen Yilo in tennis shoes.
We proudly cruised down the mountain on two motors, one trailing the other. I could feel the grin on my face as I watched Yilo brace himself for the trip. Was it fear, excitement? This is something he had anticipated for a long time. After the commotion of the motorcycles zooming past our final destination, paying the motoconchisto, and fending off the hum of the traffic, I heard Yilo mumble to me under his breath in that very predictable monotone, “Adrianna…Adrianna, I have never been here before.”
I was distracted a bit. “What Yilo?”
He said, “I have never been here before.” In that moment, I felt his innocence. I felt his excitement. He looked at me wide-eyed and was grinning, a little nervous.
“Really, Yilo, you have never been here before?”
He said honestly, frankly, without shame, “No Adrianna, this is my first time in the pueblo.” Time stood still for a moment, and I forgot what I had been thinking: errands I must run while with him, who I must contact in the States now that my cell phone had a signal. My energy was focused on him; he hadn’t left the campo in twenty-six years. Imagine that. TODAY was the day.
After all of the hubbub of figuring out how to get him here, I realized why the whole world was making such a big deal about Yilo’s trip to the pueblo. Why hadn’t anyone told me? Why hadn’t anyone else in the community thought to bring Yilo to the pueblo? Was it for lack of resources, or the fact that the others are so focused on their own needs and desires that no one would stop to think about Yilo? During those first moments of his day in the pueblo, I sat thinking: What had I done in the past twenty-five years of my own life? What had I learned? Where had I been? To place myself in his shoes, in that instant, blew my mind.
Perhaps the community members were right: what would Yilo do in the pueblo? But I began to realize, watching Yilo cross the street by himself and looking to me for guidance, that was not what mattered. This is what he had been waiting for – something new, something different. “Today is a very proud day,” I told him. I was beside myself; Yilo was too. How amazing it was to discover the streets of the pueblo, for the very first time, through Yilo. He was attentive to every moment, alive and alert.
Our experience as Peace Corps Volunteers often befuddles so many people back at home. What can one person really do to help a village of hungry people? How can one young person possibly do anything to help change a peoples’ future? On a grand level, I have asked myself those same questions. When the days are slow and projects seem to be failing due to cross-cultural miscommunication or a lack of self-motivation, I do, indeed, question my own desire to help. But then I remember what it is that teaches me to continue to move forward.
Our job as Volunteers is not to save villages of malnourished children. It never was. We are only catalysts for change: intermediaries. When we work to create opportunity for others, the true joy and responsibility of our service comes to life. Yilo came alive the morning he recognized he had moved beyond a world that seemed stagnant to him. Yilo was a voice that needed to be heard. Who would have known his need if no one had been there to recognize him? The impact of our friendship reverberates within those community members who witness our interactions, despite our differences – the color of our skin; our gender; our ever-so-obvious economic disparity; the sounds of our voices. Perhaps this is what will drive him for the rest of his life, whether or not he ever moves beyond the boundaries of the world from which he came. What can we do to ensure that our efforts are productive?
I feel helpless, though, that he is waiting for ME to be the one standing in line to shift all of the right documents through the judge’s hands in the Oficialia, only to hear her accuse him of being illegal, or previously ill-declared, or God only knows.
His dignity and self-value grows among the members of his community every time a child learns to respect him for his work. His hope is renewed every time he moves one step closer to being a fully documented Dominican citizen. Finally, the government will recognize him as an individual. We must be true to ourselves as humans with hearts that are open to connection and understanding. Yilo still does not have his acta de nacimiento; we are still waiting. I am certain that his dreams for his future are strong, much stronger than they were before. Maybe he will never stop carrying water; years from now he may still go barefoot, walking the muddy streets with a bucket on his head, proudly determined. Perhaps when the opportunity presents itself for him to ‘move forward’ he will have realized that his work is too important, his place in his world too special and too valued, despite the constant controversies he faces. I am almost sure of that. But I do know that his story will have echoed in the lives of so many people, inspiring them to work harder, dream bigger, laugh harder and love deeper. Yilo has made my job effortless in this way. My job now is to continue working for him to guarantee that his story will live on.”
-Adrienne Gilbert
Healthy Families
El Batey, San Juan de La Maguana
I will continue to post stories I like that are published in the Gringo Grita. I already have one lined up. Once I get it all typed up I’ll be sure to post it
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Rice Shortage
I wrote this when I was back at my site about 2 weeks ago. Sorry if the rice shortage is over.
No, there is not a rice shortage here, but apparently I heard that there is a rice shortage in the U.S. I saw it on CNN in Spanish, but I'd imagine that most of you guys reading this have not even heard about it. I haven't seen anything about it on CNN in English yet. Apparently though, Sam's Club and Costco have placed limits on the amount of rice any one customer can buy.
My Doña was the person that was telling me about it. It was quite the interesting conversation. She asked me how much prices were going to raise in the colmados. Hmm, how do I explain to her that there are no such things as colmados in the U.S. Also, how do I explain to her that rice isn't really a staple food for everyone like it is here, so it's not as huge of a problem as if there was one here. I told her that I maybe ate rice once a week back in the states and she couldn't believe it, because here we eat it everyday. I also told her that I thought it was more of the minorities that eat rice more often. Gosh, I probably sound really discriminatory and ignorant on this issue, so please forgive me. Also, forgive give me if it is a bigger problem than I'm making it sound. But anyways, just another little tidbit of my life I thought you might enjoy.
No, there is not a rice shortage here, but apparently I heard that there is a rice shortage in the U.S. I saw it on CNN in Spanish, but I'd imagine that most of you guys reading this have not even heard about it. I haven't seen anything about it on CNN in English yet. Apparently though, Sam's Club and Costco have placed limits on the amount of rice any one customer can buy.
My Doña was the person that was telling me about it. It was quite the interesting conversation. She asked me how much prices were going to raise in the colmados. Hmm, how do I explain to her that there are no such things as colmados in the U.S. Also, how do I explain to her that rice isn't really a staple food for everyone like it is here, so it's not as huge of a problem as if there was one here. I told her that I maybe ate rice once a week back in the states and she couldn't believe it, because here we eat it everyday. I also told her that I thought it was more of the minorities that eat rice more often. Gosh, I probably sound really discriminatory and ignorant on this issue, so please forgive me. Also, forgive give me if it is a bigger problem than I'm making it sound. But anyways, just another little tidbit of my life I thought you might enjoy.
Fetching Water
First of all, let me explain the title a little further, and tell you why I used the word fetch. The word we use here for when people go to get water is "buscar." I don't have my dictionary near me and I don't feel like going to look up the word, but I'm pretty sure the literal translation is "search for." The verb buscar is also used if you are asking someone to get you something, as in "buscame un vaso de jugo," or "fetch me a glass of juice." (The more I look at the word fetch, the more it is not making sense to me anymore, because dogs fetch, but whatever, I'm rolling with it for now.) So anyways, I didn't want to the title the post "searching for water," because we already know where it is located, we just have to go get it. I also didn't think that "getting water" had a nice enough ring to it. Anyways, enough with the thought processes that go on in my head and on to the actual meat and potatoes of the the story.
After lunch I was playing with the little kids that live near me. We were playing tag, frisbee, they took me to the guava tree to pick some fresh fruit. (By the way, when we were playing tag they were amazed at how fast I ran. They were all saying in Spanish: "ay Kelvin, no sabíamos que tú puedes corre tan rápido así," which translates to, "Kevin, we didn't know you could run so fast like that." This is usually because they see me sitting on the porch reading. Now that I think about it, it probably was the first time I really ran ran at my site here. I play frisbee all the time but usually that only involves jogging. Playing tag is another story. You have to run and escape and what not. So yeah, the fat American guy can run.) After I was all wore out from running around, I took a rest on the porch, and after a few minutes, some other older kids and some of the younger ones came back with gallons in their hands and asked me if I wanted to go to the river with them to get water. I figured sure why not. I hadn't been to the river in a long time, nor in that part of the community, and thought it would be a chance to make my appearance down there and say hi to everyone along the way.
On the way down I had an interesting conversation with some of the boys. The poorer families here still use wood burning stoves as they don't have money to buy the propane. The wood that they use for cooking is called leña. Just like they do with the water, they also have to buscar leña. So the boys were telling me that after we're done with the aqueduct they won't have to buscar water anymore, and that wouldn't it be awesome if we could do a leña project so they don't have to buscar leña anymore either and they would have so much free time. They were even coming up with ideas on how we could go about doing it. We could either go upstream in the river and put all the logs in the river and float them down, or we could build a train-like system. This way, they would only have to go once a month and just cut down a lot of wood at a time, and bring it down through the river or the train, rather than having to do it daily. I could tell they were just joking around, but it was still pretty ingenious of them to be coming up with ideas and stuff.
So we arrived at the river and they filled up their gallons and they were also going to bathe. They asked me if I was going to bathe as well, but I said no, because it had been raining the past couple of days, and the water wasn't that clean looking and I figured that bathing in it was kind of counter productive. I did get my feet wet a little though.
On the way back up we had a discussion about apodos (nicknames) and what mine was. They all know me as Kevin (well really, Kelvin, because that is a more common name here and so they are accustomed to having the L there.) They were all asking me what my other names were. Here in the DR, it is very common to have at least two names. One is your real true name that is on your birth certificate and the other is just the nickname that everyone calls you. I would say that the majority of the times, the nickname is either just another regular name, or something about your appearance. I told them that I didn't have any, but that where I was working back in the states, that people called me K-Sed. Unfortunately, Dominicans can't pronounce that too well, nor do they understand why it's funny because the Dominicans that I live with probably don't even know who Britney Spears is, let alone Kevin Federline. So, I still don't have a nickname here, just Kelvin. I quite certain though that once we start construction on the aqueduct that people will come up with a few.
On the way back I also helped carry some of the water and some of the leña they found along the way. They also knocked down some oranges that aren't exactly ripe yet but were good nonetheless. I showed them how to juggle and they were pretty amazed, though they still haven't learned how to do it with three. They could only do it with two.
So that is your little peak into the lives of the muchachos (younger boys) here.
After lunch I was playing with the little kids that live near me. We were playing tag, frisbee, they took me to the guava tree to pick some fresh fruit. (By the way, when we were playing tag they were amazed at how fast I ran. They were all saying in Spanish: "ay Kelvin, no sabíamos que tú puedes corre tan rápido así," which translates to, "Kevin, we didn't know you could run so fast like that." This is usually because they see me sitting on the porch reading. Now that I think about it, it probably was the first time I really ran ran at my site here. I play frisbee all the time but usually that only involves jogging. Playing tag is another story. You have to run and escape and what not. So yeah, the fat American guy can run.) After I was all wore out from running around, I took a rest on the porch, and after a few minutes, some other older kids and some of the younger ones came back with gallons in their hands and asked me if I wanted to go to the river with them to get water. I figured sure why not. I hadn't been to the river in a long time, nor in that part of the community, and thought it would be a chance to make my appearance down there and say hi to everyone along the way.
On the way down I had an interesting conversation with some of the boys. The poorer families here still use wood burning stoves as they don't have money to buy the propane. The wood that they use for cooking is called leña. Just like they do with the water, they also have to buscar leña. So the boys were telling me that after we're done with the aqueduct they won't have to buscar water anymore, and that wouldn't it be awesome if we could do a leña project so they don't have to buscar leña anymore either and they would have so much free time. They were even coming up with ideas on how we could go about doing it. We could either go upstream in the river and put all the logs in the river and float them down, or we could build a train-like system. This way, they would only have to go once a month and just cut down a lot of wood at a time, and bring it down through the river or the train, rather than having to do it daily. I could tell they were just joking around, but it was still pretty ingenious of them to be coming up with ideas and stuff.
So we arrived at the river and they filled up their gallons and they were also going to bathe. They asked me if I was going to bathe as well, but I said no, because it had been raining the past couple of days, and the water wasn't that clean looking and I figured that bathing in it was kind of counter productive. I did get my feet wet a little though.
On the way back up we had a discussion about apodos (nicknames) and what mine was. They all know me as Kevin (well really, Kelvin, because that is a more common name here and so they are accustomed to having the L there.) They were all asking me what my other names were. Here in the DR, it is very common to have at least two names. One is your real true name that is on your birth certificate and the other is just the nickname that everyone calls you. I would say that the majority of the times, the nickname is either just another regular name, or something about your appearance. I told them that I didn't have any, but that where I was working back in the states, that people called me K-Sed. Unfortunately, Dominicans can't pronounce that too well, nor do they understand why it's funny because the Dominicans that I live with probably don't even know who Britney Spears is, let alone Kevin Federline. So, I still don't have a nickname here, just Kelvin. I quite certain though that once we start construction on the aqueduct that people will come up with a few.
On the way back I also helped carry some of the water and some of the leña they found along the way. They also knocked down some oranges that aren't exactly ripe yet but were good nonetheless. I showed them how to juggle and they were pretty amazed, though they still haven't learned how to do it with three. They could only do it with two.
So that is your little peak into the lives of the muchachos (younger boys) here.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Still Waiting
I'm still waiting on funding for the aqueduct. I don't know if I've posted this before and I'm too lazy to go back and check, but the meeting with the local mayor basically fell through. We are now trying to get money through a foundation that is based out of one of the all-inclusive resorts in the area. The money comes from Canada, and the director of the foundation, a lovely Argentinian woman, seemed fairly confident that our grants would be approved. The grant should have arrived in Canada last Friday for review, and a decision would be made in a week or two. If in fact it does get approved, it could take another month after approval till we actually receive the money.
So, things are still pretty slow-going here in the DR with not much to post about. Yesterday I went to the capital to get some vaccinations that I was due for. I spent about 7 hours in transit yesterday just to be in the capital for about 3 hours. Oh well, it was at least on comfortable transportation on a nice big air conditioned bus rather than some crowded car. Now I'm sitting in the BK Lounge (otherwise known as Burger King), surfing on the free wifi which is the fastest I have yet to use in this country. Fast food restaurants in the states should come take a field trip to the fast food restaurants here because here the workers are friendly and the places are always immaculate.
That's it for now.
So, things are still pretty slow-going here in the DR with not much to post about. Yesterday I went to the capital to get some vaccinations that I was due for. I spent about 7 hours in transit yesterday just to be in the capital for about 3 hours. Oh well, it was at least on comfortable transportation on a nice big air conditioned bus rather than some crowded car. Now I'm sitting in the BK Lounge (otherwise known as Burger King), surfing on the free wifi which is the fastest I have yet to use in this country. Fast food restaurants in the states should come take a field trip to the fast food restaurants here because here the workers are friendly and the places are always immaculate.
That's it for now.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Kevin´s Family Visits the DR - March 25-31st, 2008
So here is the long awaited entry written by my mom about their experience visiting me in the DR. It is unedited, save for a few mispellings.
Although we had been to the Dominican twice before, this experience was very different from our prior trips. We had stayed in all-inclusive resorts, which were very nice, but you don't get to really experience the people and the culture that way. This time around, Kevin wanted us to meet his host family and actually get a taste of how he is living. We were excited about the opportunity, and I can honestly say our actual experience for the entire week far exceeded our every expectation. We had such a wonderful, fun time, it was hard to leave when Monday came around. I am going to try to mention some of the most memorable things, and at the same time keep it as brief as possible. (Ya, right!)
First, it was so, so wonderful to see Kevin waving to us through the airport windows. We hadn't seen him for 6 months, and when I finally got to hug him, I just didn't want to let go. I'm sniffling now just remembering that moment.
Very soon after that, we had a taste of transportation in the DR. Yep, there was a car heading in the wrong direction driving down the street head-on right at us. The taxi driver didn't seem to be too bothered by this, so I'm guessing it can't be all that unusual. For the remainder of the week we experienced various form of transportation - each one more fun than the next: guaguas (I just like saying the name), bola rides (hitchhiking on the back of a pick-up - well, there's nothing like it!), and carro publico (no trip to the DR would be complete without this experience - 7 adults squished into a tiny, beat-up car - it doesn't get better than that!) We did not ride on a moto, but that was okay with me. All in all, some crazy driving goes on down there, and that's putting it mildly.
One of the highlights of the week was going to Kevin's site and meeting his host family. They are the most beautiful, generous people we could ever meet. Even with the language barrier, we had a terrific time. Kevin sure got his share of interpreting that day! His host mom Doña Maritza, is a wonderful cook. We all thoroughly enjoyed the delicious meal she prepared for us. A new, mouth-watering experience was habichuelas con dulce (sweet beans) and coffee to die for! As a mom, I left with a sense of comfort knowing that my son is staying with such a wonderful family. I must admit I had a hard time dealing with his decision to join the Peace Corps, but meeting his host family has left me at peace.
The Dominican people, in general, are happy, fun-loving, generous people. Everywhere we went we were greeted with smiles. The people live simply, and I truly felt that "less is more" as we enjoyed the week. What a contrast to the busy, hectic lives we lead "back in the states". I had to throw that line in because it was one of our favorite overused quotes for the week, along with "on a Peace Corps budget", which seemed to be Kevin's favorite line. (haha) And in addition to the Dominican people, the Peace Corp. volunteers are some of the nicest people we have ever met. It was a pleasure to meet some of Kevin's friends - Maryam, Stacey, John, and Rob . . . and Maryam's mom, too!
Some other things that stand out in my mind are the hissing to get your attention, the fingerwagging to say no, and pointing with your lips. I'm glad we had Kevin to explain all of these things to us or we would have been really confused. We also enjoyed the abundance of fresh fruit with my favorites being guayaba and papaya. We enjoyed visiting the HUB and meeting Doug, Molly, and their newborn son. I found the HUB to be a peaceful retreat, and I loved the quotes on the walls.
We spent time at Sosua beach, rode the Teleferico, and became frequent patrons of Yogen Fruz. The most humorous times involved "POWER HOUR" (my first experience - and it actually turned out to be POWER 27 MINUTES because we ran out of beer - but oh, the things you could learn from your children!) and constantly listening to Don (Kevin's dad) talking to everyone in English even thought they didn't have a clue to what he was saying (you'd think he'd catch on, but then again you don't know dad!)
I think the only things I would have a hard time getting used to were - #1 the LITTER everywhere, #2 not flushing toilets, and #3 maggi bites - I ended up with about a dozen on my legs and I thought I could surely scratch with a rake, or even razor blades, and still not feel relief.
I mean this sincerely (and I know I speak for Kevin's dad and sister, Lisa, as well) - this was one of the best weeks of my life. I am grateful to have had this experience in the Dominican Republic. I would not have traded this week for a free week at a resort, and I'm not kidding. I have a lot of respect and admiration for all of the Peace Corps volunteers.
Although we had been to the Dominican twice before, this experience was very different from our prior trips. We had stayed in all-inclusive resorts, which were very nice, but you don't get to really experience the people and the culture that way. This time around, Kevin wanted us to meet his host family and actually get a taste of how he is living. We were excited about the opportunity, and I can honestly say our actual experience for the entire week far exceeded our every expectation. We had such a wonderful, fun time, it was hard to leave when Monday came around. I am going to try to mention some of the most memorable things, and at the same time keep it as brief as possible. (Ya, right!)
First, it was so, so wonderful to see Kevin waving to us through the airport windows. We hadn't seen him for 6 months, and when I finally got to hug him, I just didn't want to let go. I'm sniffling now just remembering that moment.
Very soon after that, we had a taste of transportation in the DR. Yep, there was a car heading in the wrong direction driving down the street head-on right at us. The taxi driver didn't seem to be too bothered by this, so I'm guessing it can't be all that unusual. For the remainder of the week we experienced various form of transportation - each one more fun than the next: guaguas (I just like saying the name), bola rides (hitchhiking on the back of a pick-up - well, there's nothing like it!), and carro publico (no trip to the DR would be complete without this experience - 7 adults squished into a tiny, beat-up car - it doesn't get better than that!) We did not ride on a moto, but that was okay with me. All in all, some crazy driving goes on down there, and that's putting it mildly.
One of the highlights of the week was going to Kevin's site and meeting his host family. They are the most beautiful, generous people we could ever meet. Even with the language barrier, we had a terrific time. Kevin sure got his share of interpreting that day! His host mom Doña Maritza, is a wonderful cook. We all thoroughly enjoyed the delicious meal she prepared for us. A new, mouth-watering experience was habichuelas con dulce (sweet beans) and coffee to die for! As a mom, I left with a sense of comfort knowing that my son is staying with such a wonderful family. I must admit I had a hard time dealing with his decision to join the Peace Corps, but meeting his host family has left me at peace.
The Dominican people, in general, are happy, fun-loving, generous people. Everywhere we went we were greeted with smiles. The people live simply, and I truly felt that "less is more" as we enjoyed the week. What a contrast to the busy, hectic lives we lead "back in the states". I had to throw that line in because it was one of our favorite overused quotes for the week, along with "on a Peace Corps budget", which seemed to be Kevin's favorite line. (haha) And in addition to the Dominican people, the Peace Corp. volunteers are some of the nicest people we have ever met. It was a pleasure to meet some of Kevin's friends - Maryam, Stacey, John, and Rob . . . and Maryam's mom, too!
Some other things that stand out in my mind are the hissing to get your attention, the fingerwagging to say no, and pointing with your lips. I'm glad we had Kevin to explain all of these things to us or we would have been really confused. We also enjoyed the abundance of fresh fruit with my favorites being guayaba and papaya. We enjoyed visiting the HUB and meeting Doug, Molly, and their newborn son. I found the HUB to be a peaceful retreat, and I loved the quotes on the walls.
We spent time at Sosua beach, rode the Teleferico, and became frequent patrons of Yogen Fruz. The most humorous times involved "POWER HOUR" (my first experience - and it actually turned out to be POWER 27 MINUTES because we ran out of beer - but oh, the things you could learn from your children!) and constantly listening to Don (Kevin's dad) talking to everyone in English even thought they didn't have a clue to what he was saying (you'd think he'd catch on, but then again you don't know dad!)
I think the only things I would have a hard time getting used to were - #1 the LITTER everywhere, #2 not flushing toilets, and #3 maggi bites - I ended up with about a dozen on my legs and I thought I could surely scratch with a rake, or even razor blades, and still not feel relief.
I mean this sincerely (and I know I speak for Kevin's dad and sister, Lisa, as well) - this was one of the best weeks of my life. I am grateful to have had this experience in the Dominican Republic. I would not have traded this week for a free week at a resort, and I'm not kidding. I have a lot of respect and admiration for all of the Peace Corps volunteers.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Spider Under My Mosquito Net
I'm pretty sure everyone that knows me at all knows that I'm not a big fan of spiders. I didn't like them back in the states, and here they are larger and even more scary, therefore increasing my not liking them. The only good thing about them is that they eat mosquitoes and other little pest bugs. Depending on my mood, I will often just let them live in my room undisturbed as they pretty much know their territory and will keep away from me. My leaving them be also has to do with the fact that I hate squashing them, because the ones here are all juicy and big, and I'd almost rather live with the fear of them being in my room, rather than the nasty sound and crunch upon impact of a shoe or whatever the weapon may be.
Ok, now to the story at hand. I was laying there, relaxing under my mosquito net in my bed watching the academy award winning film, No Country for Old Men, when I get a phone call from my family. They called me to tell me that our trip to Punta Cana is pretty much booked, they just have to get a final count and give credit card information and stuff. Well as usual when my family calls, the phone gets passed around to everyone and I talk to everyone for a little bit. I believe I was on the phone with Julie when I suddenly see a large black mass out of the corner of my eye, and at first I couldn't tell whether it was on the inside or the outside of my net. Still talking to Julie, I sat up to took a closer look, and sure enough, the spider was right there, chilling underneath my mosquito net, trespassing in what he knows to be my territory. At this point I just about crapped my pants and got out of my bed faster than I have ever moved in my life. I talked to Julie and my dad for a couple more minutes, but then I had to cut the conversation a little short so that I could deal with this thing.
I ended up shaking the net a little from the outside so that it would crawl to a more convenient spot for me to deal with him. That did the trick, and he crawled right to the most accessible corner of my net. At this point I had one of two options: kill him right then and there or humanely catch him somehow and bring him outside for him to just come back in the next night. Well, I decided on option two and let me tell you why. Had I killed him right there in the corner of my net, his guts would have been splattered right there in my net, forever engraving the memory of this incident in my mind. Option two also had other risky side effects, including possible not capturing him and him accidentally crawling onto my arm or something. So I went and got a plastic cup in order to cover him and then something that I would be able to slip under the cup, effectively trapping him. It all happened without a hitch, and I opened up my door, knocked the cup over, and off he sauntered away, not scurrying like I had expected. After that, I went back to watching the movie (overall I think the movie was pretty good, not sure if it was worthy of the Academy Award since I hadn't seen all the other nominees, but I still haven't made my mind up on whether I liked the ending or not...I think it warrants another viewing), making sure that there were no spots in my mosquito net where any creepy crawly could invade. This also induced spider related dreams. They were a lot bigger and more threatening, but for some reason we laughed at them in the dream rather than being frightened by them.
Let me tell you that this is not the first time time that something has been under my net. Often there are little flies or other little harmless creatures (well the spiders are harmless as well, just scarier). The second worst thing was a little flying cockroach the other week, but it wasn't as eventful as this spider.
Below are some pictures of the spider. There is nothing in the picture to give you a reference to its size, so it will probably either look really small or really big to you all. You be the judge...only I know for real.
Ok, now to the story at hand. I was laying there, relaxing under my mosquito net in my bed watching the academy award winning film, No Country for Old Men, when I get a phone call from my family. They called me to tell me that our trip to Punta Cana is pretty much booked, they just have to get a final count and give credit card information and stuff. Well as usual when my family calls, the phone gets passed around to everyone and I talk to everyone for a little bit. I believe I was on the phone with Julie when I suddenly see a large black mass out of the corner of my eye, and at first I couldn't tell whether it was on the inside or the outside of my net. Still talking to Julie, I sat up to took a closer look, and sure enough, the spider was right there, chilling underneath my mosquito net, trespassing in what he knows to be my territory. At this point I just about crapped my pants and got out of my bed faster than I have ever moved in my life. I talked to Julie and my dad for a couple more minutes, but then I had to cut the conversation a little short so that I could deal with this thing.
I ended up shaking the net a little from the outside so that it would crawl to a more convenient spot for me to deal with him. That did the trick, and he crawled right to the most accessible corner of my net. At this point I had one of two options: kill him right then and there or humanely catch him somehow and bring him outside for him to just come back in the next night. Well, I decided on option two and let me tell you why. Had I killed him right there in the corner of my net, his guts would have been splattered right there in my net, forever engraving the memory of this incident in my mind. Option two also had other risky side effects, including possible not capturing him and him accidentally crawling onto my arm or something. So I went and got a plastic cup in order to cover him and then something that I would be able to slip under the cup, effectively trapping him. It all happened without a hitch, and I opened up my door, knocked the cup over, and off he sauntered away, not scurrying like I had expected. After that, I went back to watching the movie (overall I think the movie was pretty good, not sure if it was worthy of the Academy Award since I hadn't seen all the other nominees, but I still haven't made my mind up on whether I liked the ending or not...I think it warrants another viewing), making sure that there were no spots in my mosquito net where any creepy crawly could invade. This also induced spider related dreams. They were a lot bigger and more threatening, but for some reason we laughed at them in the dream rather than being frightened by them.
Let me tell you that this is not the first time time that something has been under my net. Often there are little flies or other little harmless creatures (well the spiders are harmless as well, just scarier). The second worst thing was a little flying cockroach the other week, but it wasn't as eventful as this spider.
Below are some pictures of the spider. There is nothing in the picture to give you a reference to its size, so it will probably either look really small or really big to you all. You be the judge...only I know for real.
Bola Race
So my mom and sister still haven't emailed me their posts about their visit, so these next two post shall suffice for now.
So the long awaited bola race has finally taken place, that which I have said I would blog about in the past few posts. I will do the best I can to put it into words, but really, it is something which must be experienced first hand in order to truly captivate you.
First things first, the bola (hitchhiking) race I believe was started last year, and if I am not mistaken, I believe this one was the second one that has taken place. It is a volunteer-organized race, since, as you will probably understand as you read the rest of the post, probably would not be sanctioned by the Peace Corps. The race was from the city of Santiago to Las Terrenas in the Samaná Peninsula.
We were all supposed to meet up on Friday night in order to get the official rules and for the distribution of another key item of the race. Unfortunately, my bola race partner, Erica, foolishly scheduled a charla on the Friday afternoon before the race, meaning that she would have to wake up at the butt crack of dawn (actually before) in order to make it to Santiago in time for the start of the race. For that, I decided I would just go to Santiago on Saturday morning as well. This means that neither of us got the official run down of the rules, and weren't allowed a say in the type of beverage which we would have to drink during the race.
The Rules: Get from Santiago to Las Terrenas as fast as possible. You're only allowed one paid ride out of the city, and the rest have to be bolas. You cannot tell any of your bola drivers that you're in a race, you have to come up with a story and stick by it the whole time. Erica and I's story was that we were late for a wedding and we spent our last money in Santiago and therefore had to get bolas the whole way there. Another key element, which makes the race the most fun, is that you have to drink a bottle of alcohol between you and your partner before you get to Las Terrenas. (I neglected to tell my family this when they were here, they seemed upset enough that I would be hitchhiking across the country, so I figured I wouldn't tell them that I would be doing it inebriated.) You are allowed to share the liquor among those who you are hitchhiking with, even the driver if you so please. There were some other random rules which I can't really remember right now, and I'm pretty sure no one really followed them anyways.
So I get to the starting point first, and find out that a bottle of Anise flavored liquor has been chosen for Erica and I. Everyone laughed at us and even I was upset because I had no idea what it really was and was pretty sure that it was going to be really disgusting. Once everyone arrived, everyone got everything prepared and off we went. Erica and I were the first ones out the door and on our way running to find a bola. It is exponentially difficult to find bolas in a large city such as Santiago, which is why one paid ride out of the city on public transit is allowed. Erica and I figured that whatever came first we would get. It turns out that a guagua to Licey, the next biggest town out of Santiago, came first, so we hopped on off we were to Licey. On our way out we passed by a couple other teams and sadly did not pick any of them up. On this guagua ride we also opened up our bottle of Anise, and much to our surprise it was pretty good. It was similar in taste to a bacardi cooler kind of thing, which is not really my favorite, but it actually was tolerable, even without mixing.
About 1 minute after we got off the guagua in Licey, we got a bola in a nice air-conditioned sedan with two refrigerator repairmen for Coca-Cola. Since they were one the job, the turned down the offer for liquor, but were happy to take us to the next town over, Moca. They were very sad that they had to work and told us that if they hadn't been working that they would have taken us all the way to Las Terrenas. We were sad that they were working as well, as that would have been pretty sweet. They dropped us off in Moca, wished us luck, and back we were to searching for bolas. After about 5-10 minutes, another team's bola stopped for us, so we were now joined with Alissa (Hi Mr. Karp....Alissa told me you read my blog), Beth, Bill and Alan. How the three Chicagoans participating in the race ended up together I'll never know. Everything from this point on is a little foggy since it's been about a week since it happened, but I will fill you in on the most exciting Bolas. Oh yeah...also, from this point on, us 6 never separated from each other, which made it a bit harder for getting bolas, but also a little more fun.
The more interesting bolas included: sitting in the back of a pick up truck on a pile of rubber tires, squeezing 6 people in the back of a tiny Diahatsu truck which already had stuff in it, making ourselves comfortable in the back of a big rig truck, which even had a sleeper section (I took a nap), and our last bola sitting on top of a bunch of random iron poles and stuff I don't even know what it was. That last one left us with stains on our clothes and bruises on our behinds.
Erica and I tied for 3rd place with the two other teams we were with. Jessica and Evan came in first place with about a good hour or two in front. Their whole trip consisted of only 4 bolas, all air conditioned. All in all, I think Erica and I's trip was 7 bolas, but I lost count somewhere so that is only a guess.
After that we enjoyed ourselves in the wonderful town of Las Terrenas. It's a little touristy, but overall has a nice relaxed feel, and is freaking gorgeous, with probably the nicest beaches in the country that I have seen thus far. One other point I would like to say is that on the way to Las Terrenas from the town of Sanchez, you have to cross over the mountains on the Peninsula. This was by far the most breath-taking views I have ever seen in my life. There's one point where you can see the Samaná Bay in it's entirety.
As far as pictures go, I did not take any during the actual racing part, but some of my friends did, so I'll try to get a link up as soon as I can. I did however take pictures of the beautiful beach we were near and of the views that I just described above on the trip back from Las Terrenas to Sanchez. Don't be too jealous of me.
The way back is also a story in and of itself. We ended up walking to the guagua station from the hotel we stayed at. It's a good 2 mile walk, or a 30 peso moto ride. Unfortunately, I did not bring my helmet with me, and therefore had to walk it as I refuse to ride any moto without a helmet, not just because if Peace Corps staff catches me I get kicked out and sent back home, but also because I just think you're really stupid if you don't wear one. Unfortunately again, the direct guagua to Santiago from Las Terrenas had already left, and so we had to take a guagua to Sanchez where we would hopefully be able to get a guagua direct to Santiago. Well, it turns out that one had left as well, so we had to take a guagua to Nagua, then another guagua to San Francisco de Marcoris. In San Francisco, we all decided it would just be better off to take a taxi back to Santiago as it was getting a little dark and it would overall just be safer. It was also more expensive, and I had the misfortune of having to ride in the back of the truck along with John and Stacey. We safely arrived at the hostel at around 7:30 or 8 o'clock-ish. Got stuff to eat and we back to chill and watch TV. Most of us also decided to stay an extra night in Santiago in order to watch the final college basketball game between Kansas and Memphis. I'm not usually the one to enjoy sports, but let me tell that it was a pretty freaking awesome game.
So that wraps up my bola race weekend....lots of fun, very exciting, and I can't wait for the next one!
So the long awaited bola race has finally taken place, that which I have said I would blog about in the past few posts. I will do the best I can to put it into words, but really, it is something which must be experienced first hand in order to truly captivate you.
First things first, the bola (hitchhiking) race I believe was started last year, and if I am not mistaken, I believe this one was the second one that has taken place. It is a volunteer-organized race, since, as you will probably understand as you read the rest of the post, probably would not be sanctioned by the Peace Corps. The race was from the city of Santiago to Las Terrenas in the Samaná Peninsula.
We were all supposed to meet up on Friday night in order to get the official rules and for the distribution of another key item of the race. Unfortunately, my bola race partner, Erica, foolishly scheduled a charla on the Friday afternoon before the race, meaning that she would have to wake up at the butt crack of dawn (actually before) in order to make it to Santiago in time for the start of the race. For that, I decided I would just go to Santiago on Saturday morning as well. This means that neither of us got the official run down of the rules, and weren't allowed a say in the type of beverage which we would have to drink during the race.
The Rules: Get from Santiago to Las Terrenas as fast as possible. You're only allowed one paid ride out of the city, and the rest have to be bolas. You cannot tell any of your bola drivers that you're in a race, you have to come up with a story and stick by it the whole time. Erica and I's story was that we were late for a wedding and we spent our last money in Santiago and therefore had to get bolas the whole way there. Another key element, which makes the race the most fun, is that you have to drink a bottle of alcohol between you and your partner before you get to Las Terrenas. (I neglected to tell my family this when they were here, they seemed upset enough that I would be hitchhiking across the country, so I figured I wouldn't tell them that I would be doing it inebriated.) You are allowed to share the liquor among those who you are hitchhiking with, even the driver if you so please. There were some other random rules which I can't really remember right now, and I'm pretty sure no one really followed them anyways.
So I get to the starting point first, and find out that a bottle of Anise flavored liquor has been chosen for Erica and I. Everyone laughed at us and even I was upset because I had no idea what it really was and was pretty sure that it was going to be really disgusting. Once everyone arrived, everyone got everything prepared and off we went. Erica and I were the first ones out the door and on our way running to find a bola. It is exponentially difficult to find bolas in a large city such as Santiago, which is why one paid ride out of the city on public transit is allowed. Erica and I figured that whatever came first we would get. It turns out that a guagua to Licey, the next biggest town out of Santiago, came first, so we hopped on off we were to Licey. On our way out we passed by a couple other teams and sadly did not pick any of them up. On this guagua ride we also opened up our bottle of Anise, and much to our surprise it was pretty good. It was similar in taste to a bacardi cooler kind of thing, which is not really my favorite, but it actually was tolerable, even without mixing.
About 1 minute after we got off the guagua in Licey, we got a bola in a nice air-conditioned sedan with two refrigerator repairmen for Coca-Cola. Since they were one the job, the turned down the offer for liquor, but were happy to take us to the next town over, Moca. They were very sad that they had to work and told us that if they hadn't been working that they would have taken us all the way to Las Terrenas. We were sad that they were working as well, as that would have been pretty sweet. They dropped us off in Moca, wished us luck, and back we were to searching for bolas. After about 5-10 minutes, another team's bola stopped for us, so we were now joined with Alissa (Hi Mr. Karp....Alissa told me you read my blog), Beth, Bill and Alan. How the three Chicagoans participating in the race ended up together I'll never know. Everything from this point on is a little foggy since it's been about a week since it happened, but I will fill you in on the most exciting Bolas. Oh yeah...also, from this point on, us 6 never separated from each other, which made it a bit harder for getting bolas, but also a little more fun.
The more interesting bolas included: sitting in the back of a pick up truck on a pile of rubber tires, squeezing 6 people in the back of a tiny Diahatsu truck which already had stuff in it, making ourselves comfortable in the back of a big rig truck, which even had a sleeper section (I took a nap), and our last bola sitting on top of a bunch of random iron poles and stuff I don't even know what it was. That last one left us with stains on our clothes and bruises on our behinds.
Erica and I tied for 3rd place with the two other teams we were with. Jessica and Evan came in first place with about a good hour or two in front. Their whole trip consisted of only 4 bolas, all air conditioned. All in all, I think Erica and I's trip was 7 bolas, but I lost count somewhere so that is only a guess.
After that we enjoyed ourselves in the wonderful town of Las Terrenas. It's a little touristy, but overall has a nice relaxed feel, and is freaking gorgeous, with probably the nicest beaches in the country that I have seen thus far. One other point I would like to say is that on the way to Las Terrenas from the town of Sanchez, you have to cross over the mountains on the Peninsula. This was by far the most breath-taking views I have ever seen in my life. There's one point where you can see the Samaná Bay in it's entirety.
As far as pictures go, I did not take any during the actual racing part, but some of my friends did, so I'll try to get a link up as soon as I can. I did however take pictures of the beautiful beach we were near and of the views that I just described above on the trip back from Las Terrenas to Sanchez. Don't be too jealous of me.
The way back is also a story in and of itself. We ended up walking to the guagua station from the hotel we stayed at. It's a good 2 mile walk, or a 30 peso moto ride. Unfortunately, I did not bring my helmet with me, and therefore had to walk it as I refuse to ride any moto without a helmet, not just because if Peace Corps staff catches me I get kicked out and sent back home, but also because I just think you're really stupid if you don't wear one. Unfortunately again, the direct guagua to Santiago from Las Terrenas had already left, and so we had to take a guagua to Sanchez where we would hopefully be able to get a guagua direct to Santiago. Well, it turns out that one had left as well, so we had to take a guagua to Nagua, then another guagua to San Francisco de Marcoris. In San Francisco, we all decided it would just be better off to take a taxi back to Santiago as it was getting a little dark and it would overall just be safer. It was also more expensive, and I had the misfortune of having to ride in the back of the truck along with John and Stacey. We safely arrived at the hostel at around 7:30 or 8 o'clock-ish. Got stuff to eat and we back to chill and watch TV. Most of us also decided to stay an extra night in Santiago in order to watch the final college basketball game between Kansas and Memphis. I'm not usually the one to enjoy sports, but let me tell that it was a pretty freaking awesome game.
So that wraps up my bola race weekend....lots of fun, very exciting, and I can't wait for the next one!
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