A day in my life….

Awakening to loads of Dominicans screeching singing at 5 in the morning, I put my pillow over my head. The loud predicaring starts, and I drift in and out of sleep, mixing reality with dreams about fiery hell, Christmas caroling, laughter, family, and loud music, with Dominic’s body next to mine, also breathing in and out, trying to sleep through this loud interruption. Alarm clock rings at 6:30 to go running, which we thankfully turn off, ignore, and go back to sleep. A little after, I reluctantly get out of bed to hang my clothes to dry, which we had washed the night before.

For the first two weeks in December, the church on my street does its own version of Christmas caroling, which includes occasional screaming, occasional faints, songs with the theme of Cristo viene!, loud instruments, and pleasant chants and songs about the birth of Jesus Cristo. It is a joyous time for all Dominicans. This singing might seem mildly amusing, and at times, it is, but I should also note that this praising starts at 4 am and stops a little after 6 am. A little too early for my liking. Anyway, it is more of a cultural event than a religious event, as many people join in, including the tigueres/ gansters, who at 6 then go to their respective street corners in the barrio and start playing their music, which is where they will be and what they will be doing until it is time to turn in for the night. After hanging my laundry, I drink my morning tea (gracias a Uncle Dan), and get ready for class.

Every morning, I go to one of the two schools in my barrio and work with the kids who are a little behind the learning curve of their peers. Literacy has become one of my main projects in my barrio. One school is a preschool, and while I am not sure how much I am actually doing to benefit these kids, they are the most adorable kids in the barrio, and I love them. They keep me grounded, which in a high- stress environment, is a godsend. The other school is K-3^rd grade. The second school is where I will go today.

I arrive at 8 and ask one of the teachers which kids I should pull out today. She timidly and politely asks if I would mind going with the youngest kids, as their teacher has not shown up. After peering in and all the smiling kids start chanting my name to enter, I oblige. We draw. We color. I read lots of stories about snow and other things that realistically, these children will never see.

I have to bring my own books because there are no books in the school. I also have to break all the crayons into thirds because there are not enough crayons for each student to have one. I then draw things in their notebooks that they can color in because there are no funds to make photocopies or anything of the sort (stars, Christmas tress, snowmen). The lack of resources in the schools here will never cease to amaze me. They have nothing- no type of didactic materials, no games, no visual stimuli. They do not seem to realize the difference between visual, auditory learners, etc. and the schooling system insists that every child learn in the same manner: by copying verbatim whatever the teacher writes on the chalkboard. Because this method has clearly been a proven success.

An aside: 174 years is what it would a child in the Dominican educational system to achieve the same level of average years of completed schooling for a person in the US. 174 years. Average years of schooling completed in the DR=6. The average hours per day a child spends in school=2.76 hours.

Working with literacy projects seems to be a major initiative with many volunteers from my group, and para mi, vale la pena. (Not pene, which I accidentally mixed up once, much to my chagrin and much to the comic relief of everyone else).

After the kids leave, the director inquires about funds I might be able to obtain for a holiday party. After giving her my tried and true speech, I can give you my time, my heart, and my hands while I am here, but I cannot give nor do I have money to give, I leave the school to return to my casita to lunch with Dominic. Yuca y pollo guisado. Mmmmmm. We nap my obligatory afternoon nap followed by coffee. Ya tu sabes. I visit with some neighbors, a tiguere pastor, and finally my friend, which inevitably is followed by more coffee. I leave for my Chicas Brillantes group at 6 pm, wondering where my days go.  I arrive at the preschool where I have my afternoon groups and classes, and, surprisingly I encounter two of my Chicas Brillantes waiting for me. This never happens. We still start half an hour late because no one else was there, but two are on time. Miracles do happen!!!

Tonight in our group, we talk about teenage pregnancy. One in four Dominicans between the ages of 15 and 19 has a child. Twenty-five percent. Wow wow wow. We have some lively discussions about machismo, the culture or sex, the life choices we make, and how we hold the power to our futures. While it is by candlelight that we discuss these themes, it feels almost surreal on nights like this, when I peer into the faces of 10 young, almost women, clutching candles in their hands, and inquiring about things that most children in the U.S. know by kindergarten. They are the future, and for once, I feel not frightened but hopeful.

Deep thoughts by Tina Stavros

As I wrote this title, I realized that many people might not get the SNL allusion. Being 30, I still feel young, youthful, etc. even though I am asked at least 5 times a day why I do not have children for being this old. One of my friends just had her 6^th child and finally got her tubes tied (is that what it is called for women?). In any case, no more fertile eggs will be going down her fallopian tubes any time soon. Her age, you might ask. 30 years young, igual a mi. The Peace Corps is filled with college-graduates who more than likely took the 3-4 year route, which means most of my friends, both Dominican and American, are in the early 20s, unless of course they are my age with 6+ children.  I brought up Thelma and Louise with some of my volunteer friends, and my twenty-six year old friend nudged me kindly and whispered in my ear that no one I was with had ever seen it. And in all my 30 years of life thought it was a classic. In any case, this blog entry (as opposed to others) is filled with random thoughts and notes.

Round of illnesses: allergic reaction to wasp sting on right buttocks, numerous infected mosquito bites, pin worm, ring worm, scabies (4 times to date), constant heat rash, brutal ear infection, staph infection (on my face!, also twice), impetigo (from said staph infection), and an allergic reaction caused on my hands from lime enzymes coupled with sunlight (note to boozers and/or citrus lovers: careful with the limes you squeeze in your cervezas while sitting in sunlight). These are at least the things I can recall at this moment, but I am sure there are more.

How do you make an eco-friendly and efficient oven: concrete walls and a tin topping. What is my house made of: concrete walls and a tin topping.

The value of education: The other day I saw a woman walking down the street with her 10-year old son, and he was naked. Completely. He appeared to be somewhat embarrassed by his lack of clothing. She was walking behind him with a stick. I heard her tell a neighbor that people called her an abusadora. I asked her what happened to her son’s clothing. She replied that he was supposed to be at school (it is summer so I am not sure what type of school), and she found him playing in the street. So the woman straight up cut the clothes off her child and made him walk home naked. She apparently forgot that this will hurt her in the long run too when she realizes that she just ruined her son’s one and only school outfit. On the strengths-based side, she seems to realize the value of education, which makes me someone optimistic about the future of this boy, se llama Pollo.

Sometime in June….Round one of English classes: Almost complete.

I am sitting under my mosquitero, listening to some women argue, which might legitimately turn into a machete fight, vamos a ver. I am feeling the nice breeze of my fan, which is a welcomed relief because we now have luz for nearly 20 hours a day. Gracias a Dios. Also, I keep hearing riffs of an MGMT song. I think it must be on a commercial because I am not sure why else I would be hearing it multiple times throughout the day. Maybe it is being played for a political campaign, in which case I will be blessed with hearing it for the next year, similar to llegó papá. My first group of English students graduated Tuesday, and I had a mini fiesta filled with refrescos, crackers, mentas (which are actually Halls cough drops that they sell like candy here), certificados, and dinámicas. Mi fiesta fue bien. I took a lot of photos, and they are eager to start the next class. I had 22 jóvenes graduate. We will start again in a few weeks, si Dios quiere…

My life here, similar to winterless (and seemingly seasonless) Phoenix, is not measured in terms of weather or seasons, but rather the activities of the children and the fruit bore on the trees. Also, as the time of mangos continues to grow, the time of chichiguas has ended, presumably because the stifling heat allows for no wind, which takes the fun out of much kite flying.  Por ejemplo, the time of chichiguas was followed by the time of by  the time of tops, followed by marbles ahora. These toys or pastimes seem to ripple through our lives rapidly, but in the short shelf lives of these entertainments, bring enjoyment to all in their vicinity. The new rage is marbles, which remind me of the fishtanks I had as a child (RIP countless goldfish that I never could keep alive). Summer has arrived. Along with the stifling heat, my energy has dwindled. My projects have all but disappeared, and people seem lethargically content doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING all summer long. One mother asked me if I could restart my English class in the fall because her son really preferred to have his vacations without doing anything. My guttural reaction of f*$% no! was replaced with an understanding nod, and gently said, no, my love, if he cannot come for two hours out of one hundred sixty-eight, I cannot help him this summer. I withheld the urge to throw in an “oiste?” One project that is doing well is my group of Chicas Brillantes. After having about 3 months of just hanging out, the direction of our group changed overnight. One meeting, we were all chatting. The girls were chatting about our summer plans, and the discussion went into the direction of helping the barrio. While I live in an extremely poor barrio, and the girls in my barrio are themselves extremely poor, they still realized that there are others less fortunate and they decided they wanted to help. So now, we are still Chicas Brillantes, but we are organizing a cleanup of the barrio, and are going to start going to the houses of people who cannot afford to “do their hair.” And we are going to wash and braid their hair  (apparently this is something fairly common here). It definitely still has a glittery, sparkly, “chicas” ring to it. They also want to help a particular family in my barrio that has a lot of problems. None of the kids are documented, and none are in school. The 13-year cannot write her name and the 5 younger kids do not go to school. Their mother is not documented and as of right now, their future seems rather dim. They want to start helping this family and others in the community. The discussion was so selfless and amazing. I get so frustrated with the “gimme, gimme, regalome” culture, that this was a breath of fresh air. I am constantly reminded that the children truly are our future, and their potential and limitless limitations is beautiful. To see the kids with nothing try to pool together their limited resources to help others is pretty rad. They promptly decided to make our club more official. They elected a secretary who started writing down our ideas, and also the president. We have made a couple of trips to the ayuntamiento (city hall) to see if there are any funds or anyway they can help us. We have also been bringing letters to the local stores to see if they.  

There was a fire in our community. It sounded like a parade at first. I heard sirens for a short while as they approached our barrio and then our street. As soon as the first siren passed, it was as if the president had approached. Tons of motors scurried behind the truck, with people running behind it cheering. From what I saw, it seemed as though there were more people chasing the trucks than there are people who actually live in our barrio. It was like lifting up a rock and seeing a million bugs scuttle away from the rock. That is what it looked like. This same day, I had an intercambio with my Chicas Brillantes group. Seven of us met up with 2 other volunteers and some of their girls. We had a lot of fun! I forget the little things I take for granted having grown up in a non 3^rd-world country (I know this is not p.c. terminology, but you get the point). We went on a cultural/ educational excursion to some neat caves not too far from our site. Before entering the caves, we made a final pitstop in the bathrooms, which turned out to be an event in itself. I was leaving my stall, a couple of girls were waiting outside the stall door peering in, which I thought was odd. I asked them if everything was alright, and they asked me how I flushed the toilet. O Dios Mio. These chicas had never used a toilet (outside of a latrine/ outhouse). I showed them how to flush the toilets. I also had to demonstrate how to lock and more importantly, unlock the doors, as I watched a girl shimmy under her locked stall to exit. They were excited by the soap dispensers, and loved the rolls of paper towels. After the bathrooms, the rest of the event went smoothly, and my girls had an amazing time. Everything is going well with the group, thankfully, as everything else is going really slow this summer. Really slow.

Aqueduct Blog

I got the chance to work with 50 American volunteers for 10 days in July.  Every year, the same group comes to our barrio to work and build things such as churches, schools, etc. for the community.  For about 5 years now this group has come to our barrio. This year the foundation that they work through decided to collaborate with us since we live here and are on the ground running with the community.  Tina and I researched different projects that were wanted by the community and that could keep the group busy over the 10 days.  If you divided our community into thirds, about one- third of the community’s water supply is very poor.  There are 2 aqueducts in our community that feed water through pipes in the ground to the houses.  The houses with water simply connect to the line of pipes for their water.  We decided that building an aqueduct, putting mother tubes connecting with the new aqueduct in the streets of this one-third of the community, and putting pipes in 30 scattered houses that did not have running water would be sufficient and rewarding work for all.  So our plan of action was to find a piece of land to build the aqueduct, walk around the community to find houses that did not have pipes for water, find a person in the community that had experience in building aqueducts, and get a budget for everything.

I went searching with one of the pastors of the barrio looking for a person to donate a piece of land for this aqueduct.  Living in poverty, people are looking to sell any and everything for money to live.  I thought finding a person who wanted to donate a piece of land for water for hundreds of people, no matter how generous that sounds, would be difficult, but I guess having a pastor on my side helped.  After 2 days of searching we found a woman of his church that was willing to donate a piece of her property for this aqueduct.

Another pastor and I walked around to find the houses that did not have any running water. Without running water, these people (or usually their children) have to walk to a neighbor or friend’s house, sometimes blocks away, to fill up small buckets to bathe, wash, clean, cook, you get the idea. It almost felt like a campaign tour since the pastors have so much power in our community.  After an hour in the sun, the pastor and I decided to call it quits and have a “café”.  Later, in order to get it done, I walked the whole barrio with my wife (she still has the sun burn), and we found the 30 houses that did not have any running water. 

We choose a technician for the project who is a neighbor and who has experience building aqueducts.  He gave me a list of materials, and we later went to the hardware store to get a quote on them.  About a week before the volunteers were to arrive, we were confronted with one pastor being upset because he was not the technician, another technician having a sudden hernia surgery a week before the project, and the owner of the land wanting to move the site to another smaller part of her property 2 days before the project; after we had already chopped down trees preparing the land. 

When the volunteers arrived, they all hit the ground running with shovels and picks, digging trenches for pipes.  While we were working, another person who I had never seen decided to show up and say we were all wasting our time and money because the people already had water.  I felt upset because we had spent so much time walking house to house obtaining information about the needs of the people, and the lack of water was a big concern for many people in our barrio. Now, after 7 months of research and planning, this guy decides to show up with papers in hand to distract. Well, we did not pay him any attention and kept working; he later left.  After two days of digging through hard rock in the ground, a few volunteers decided that renting a jack hammer would save time and callused hands (too late for my hands).  After me riding shotgun in a tractor through the city of San Pedro, a dead battery, and oil spilling through a hose of the tractor, the 4 holes for the base of the aqueduct were done, and the trenching was finally ready for the pipes.

With all the translating (the volunteers did not speak Spanish), walking back and forth for materials, assigning work stations, and delegating responsibilities, I had never been so physically and mentally drained, on top of all that working in the Caribbean sun.  My body has not endured soreness like this in a while.  After the first day my hands were bleeding from calluses.  A few Dominicans said that now I have experience, while one volunteer said I had fragile college kid hands.  I told another person that I left the office to do this type of work.  He looked at his wife and laughed.  Despite all this, I felt good because I was assisting in giving water to a lot of people, getting a full body work out, and gaining the respect of the whole barrio.  When I walk through the barrio now, kids chant my name and people say “Dominic, estas muy fuerte”.  I think working on a project in which people can see tangible results help with your credibility here.  We do a lot of classes with the community, which are also very important, but now we were literally bringing a life necessity to the lives of people. 

At the end of the ten days, everyone was sad to see the Americans leave for many reasons: all of the relationships that were formed, 1/3 of the community laid with pipes for water, an aqueduct elevated with 4 walls and water pumping out of the ground for it, a new church built, and a water purification plant in the community as well.  Only about a week worth of finishing the aqueduct is left.  Once this is done, if I were to leave I would feel like I did something in El Brisal, but I have a year and 3 months left and a lot more to do.  The volunteers were pleased and want to come back next year.  We have been talking about the possibility to build a public pharmacy in the community next year.

So I guess teaching local Dominicans about health, grammar, English, how to run a business and how to make positive decision in life is our day job, and bringing infrastructure or solving basic needs is something we do on the side once a year.  After writing this down on paper, I feel like I am very blessed to be here.      

Giving away free water at the drinkable water plant

Aqueduct site before

A week later aqueduct almost complete

Laying the mother pipes through the streets.

Living in a fish bowl

During my interview to become a Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) I was asked: how do you feel about living in a fish bowl?  (i.e. Nothing being private, everyone knows everything about your life, even things that you did not know about yourself, and everyone throughout the community talks about everything you do).  I enthusiastically replied, without even thinking, “Oh, I love living as an example and love when people always look at me. I embrace it.”  My answer at the time was so because I had worked with so many different types of kids and adults.  In my previous jobs I was a leader or a role model so I constantly needed to be aware of my actions and what I said, and I enjoyed it.  My reply to the question was not a lie or a rehearsed interview answer.  I was answering the question with confidence, honesty, and experience.   Little did I know how serious that question was to being a PCV, and how I had no idea how much of a fish bowl volunteers truly are in within their communities.  Have you ever been starred at in public?  Do nosy neighbors always gossip and know where you are, what you are doing, and who is visiting ALL THE TIME?  I have had my fair share of being starred at in Arizona, but that is nothing compared to here. 

Let me tell you about another experience being an “extranjero “in the Dominican Republic. When we got to the DR, there were the usual “piropos” like whistling and “Americano give me 5 pesos” or “taxi, taxi, taxi”.  All this is more annoying than anything.  When we arrived in our barrio I slowly learned how important it was to express who you are in terms of telling people about yourself, in limited Spanish of course.  Sharing our culture and who we are as individuals is very important, this gives our neighbors information about us and also beats them to the punch of making things up about the Americano as well.  “These people” (Tina gets a kick out of that when I say it/so ironic) love to talk.  Everyone calls themselves “hablador.” If a man screams out a “piropo” like “hola linda” and the women doesn’t respond she is called “fea”.  In my opinion I can understand that; she doesn’t have to walk up to him and give him her number, but to just acknowledging his complement is enough.  In the Dominican culture they also point out if you are fat, skinny, dark skinned, tall, or short, and they get your attention by calling you these names. Needless to say, no topic is off limits.  Like when I took a cacoa (chocolate) tour, the guide expressed that this natural food gives you “potencia” (translation= baby making power).  No wonder I love hot chocolate so much J.  While using public transportation, you are likely to have a conversation with the person sitting next to you, or a conversation about religion may break out amongst everyone on the bus.  Everything is openly talked about here, “sin vergüenza.”

So back on topic to being in a fish bowl, it is important to be your own marketing strategy.  By this I mean being a “hablador”, letting people know about yourself and what you do before you give them a chance to talk randomly and make up things about the foreigner.  Whenever I leave or return to our barrio it feels like the walk of shame because I should be living economically like my neighbors but instead I am traveling, visiting other volunteers, and experiencing the culture to the fullest.  I can’t even count the times I have given excuses why I have to leave instead of saying going to recreate at the beach because all work and no play just is not healthy.  Even when I have a legit excuse like going scuba diving to do a research dive for a natural museum, Spanish training in the capital, or presentation planning with other volunteers, all they hear is that I am going to the beach.  When returning from a trip and you’re a few shades darker with a few more bags than when you left, how do you explain this?  Well, you try to run into the house before anyone can see, though everyone usually sees everything.  If I were not to stretch the truth then they would know for a fact that we are “rich” and they would expect things from us.  Choices, choices, choices. 

When Tina leaves, and I am home alone it seems like everyone knows that Tina “dejarme solo”.  One instance I do remember one of the youth came over and grabbed the dishes and washed them for me.  This was such a friendly gesture.  We ended up talking and sharing some hot chocolate that was freshly grown from the “cacao” trees just north of here.  One day around noon I was walking and I was told by a neighbor that they had rice and I should come over.  Later I walked over and he was taking a nap on the concrete floor without a shirt.  He said, “enter, enter no problem.”  He made a slow gesture to get up, but as he was getting up his girlfriend came in.  He then sat back down and asked her to get me a plate of food (rice, beans and chicken).  I then proceeded to indulge in the meal that I have grown so accustomed to; if it’s noon, my stomach feels like it’s going through withdrawal if I am not eating it.  As they watched me eat, they asked how to I eat if Tina is not here.  I told them that I can cook as well.  I might not like it, but I will cook to eat. 

This proves that being a “hablador” is very important especially in trying to accomplish Peace Corps goal #2 “to share American culture with Dominicans”.  A part of the American culture that I have learned and like is that couples work together and share responsibilities.  If my partner is gone then I will pick up the slack.  Because this county has so many welcoming, friendly people, being a “hablador” is easy, all we need to do is work up the courage to use the language and communicate.  You don’t need to talk about anything too technical; just saying that the breeze is nice is a conversation starter.  So now when walking the barrio and I see a smiling face, I will say, “y su family”, and continue my peace corps work of sharing and learning cultures. 

Graduation of my English class

Youth English class

Isla Saona July 4th

Next on my wishlist of care package items: Spanish Bananagrams

The title was a hint as well as an introduction to this blog. This week, I am in the capital for a week of Spanish training. More specifically, I am in a barrio called Pantojo, which I am pretty sure is a synonym for hell on earth. There are five of us here, and for the next month or two, different volunteers will come to the capital for some mid-service Spanish training. My training has been great, and I am learning about the different tenses of verbs, as I typically prefer to speak only in the present tense. Drum roll please….. I can now say, “Have you ever…I had….I would have liked to… I shall….” And the nemesis of all English speakers (apologies for lumping us together, but I will assume you all hate it as much as I do): the subjunctive. The people in my barrio drop most of the ends of words anyways, so learning these tenses will be helpful if I ever want to speak non-Dominican Spanish. As a recap, with the Spanish spoken in my barrio, the “s” is dropped, the “d” is dropped, random syllables are dropped, and random letters are added occasionally for emphasis, without apparent rhyme or reason. Needless to say, I have encountered many challenges in my quest to learn Spanish.

During and after every class, we have been playing (another tense I now know how to use) Spanish banagrams, which is conceptually similar to Scrabble except it is a race against the other players and each player can only play off his or her own fichas.  I love this game. I am sleeping in the casa of my original host family. They are all still as cute as ever, sitting on the front porch from sunup to sundown, gossiping and greeting any and every person crossing their street. I can now understand them, which is a pleasant surprise for them and for me as well. Mi abuela is still blind AND is still wearing glasses. The mosquitoes are still terrible. The heat is still unbearable, but things are good. Banagrams has gotten me through this week, and it is welcomed entertainment. Despite all the educational excited, I am looking forward to being back in my barrio. I feel like I have been gone a lot lately with camps, meetings, and trainings. Next week, I have a conference in the capital with numerous organizations throughout the country. It should be really cool (I am slow to post my blogs, and this event already happened without a glitch and I was on the news!).  

                   Despite being somewhat flojo due to other Peace Corps compromisos, I am still really enjoying the work I am doing. I am a little apprehensive about summer as it is the advent of raining season and many youth in my barrio travel during the summer, or so I am told. Raining season presents challenges as well because typically, no one shows up to anything (school, meetings, classes, and even church) when there is a rain. This is understandable when you believe that you might actually die if you get wet. Though if we are going along the lines of Dominican myths, my favorite is that if you iron clothes and then open your freezer, your face will be permanently frozen in a paralytic state or you will die. Another good one is that pregnant women cannot swim because the baby brewing in their bellies will drown. Bueno. Because all of the schools, buildings, and houses in my community have tins roofs, rain is not a friend to the silence craved by teachers, facilitators, and anyone who wants to be heard above the pounding din. My goals this summer are to continue working on literacy so that many of the children who “miraculously passed” (aka there is no way in hell their same teachers would ever opt to teach them 2 years in a row) will be able to start school at the end of summer a little more prepared and literate, si Dios quiere. Other things I have been doing lately include beating all the men in my barrio at their favorite card game, casino, which happens to also be my favorite. I still get annihilated at dominos, but poco a poco, I am learning dominoes as well. Also, Many Dominicans cannot shuffle cards (bridge style) so whenever I shuffle, they get really impressed. One kid asked me if it was magic, and another old man murmured that I must be Italian, though I have never really heard a relation between shuffling skills and Italians. I still get piropos like crazy and propositions from these same church going, casino players who saludar Dominic and I together in their iglesias, but at least I have a little more street cred with them. So friends, that is it for now, and as always, I will try to keep you more updated on the wonderful and exciting news that is my life. Hasta pronto!

Tina turns 30. Ya tú sabes.

         I thought about just writing the title and leaving it at that, but what fun is that? Also, before I begin this blog, I need to recognize some dearly beloved friends and coworkers from BBBS. My friend Marianne and I share a birthday, and we usually celebrate together in the form of a birthday lunch with all of our coworkers/ friends. I, for obvious reasons, was not able to attend, so they printed a large picture of me and took it/me out to lunch, chronicling the whole event with photos that are now posted on Facebook. It was really sweet and touching, and while I am not sure who exactly planned it, I think many thanks are needed to Athena and Andrea and all my other friends. Thank you, thank you, thank you for making this a special day for me.

For the rest of you, I recently celebrated my 30^th birthday, and decided to do it in an All American way, aka away from my barrio, with other Americans, at a beach, with American music. All the volunteers in the country had a mandatory meeting in the capital so we were all together. We had a “prom” the same week, which was appropriately called, “Tigueres of the Caribbean.” I found a fabulous outfit, complete with a hairnet, lots of cleavage, hot pink leggings, and hot pink nail polish. Also, to those of you who know how truly uncoordinated I am (aka Pamela), you will be pleased to know that I started painting my own nails, AND, I started doing designs, on a very amateur level. I am totally being serious and will post some of my nail work soon. Be ready to be jealous. Anyway, the tiguere party was unforgettable and fun, and I enjoyed celebrating with many other volunteers. The week was replete with meetings and trainings, and then we headed to the beach for a going away party for another volunteer, who is sadly leaving this week for the states to go to graduate school. Watching the interactions amongst friends made me realize how strong of friendships can be forged in the short time (seems long now, but short in the scheme of life) we are here. We need to probachar these opportunities.

Wild nights were had at the beach and a local colmado. Dominic bought me a beautiful amber necklace and earrings, gracias mi esposo. He also planned a delicious dinner (Thank you, Phoebe!) with some of my friends, including my friend Natalie, who was celebrating her birthday with me. While I celebrated more like I was 20 than 30 (dancing, beer pong, flippy cup, beached whale on the beach: you get the idea), I was glad to ring in this decade of my life with some newfound friends and loved ones. While home is where the heart is, our hearts can travel far and still feel at home, beating alongside other kindred spirits. (Can’t you just hear the Lifetime music playing in the background?!). While I rarely namedrop friends and loved ones in my blog, this one contained many names, and while I am not going to name everyone, to all my friends and family, I miss and love you.

            People in my site were disappointed that I was not there with them, but I thought I might be a little homesick if I were to spend my 30^th birthday, alone in my barrio, with people chanting, “Happy baby ooo youuuuu” all day long. I did receive some nice notes, words, and one of my chicas (a 13-year old mind you), wrapped up a My Little Pony for me, which was super cute and a little disturbing at the same time, when considering both of our ages. I also scored a nice painting on the beach simply by asking, “Regalome…es mi cumpleaños.”

            While I had not planned on celebrating in my barrio, some of the girls from my group, Chicas Brillantes, planned a surprise birthday party for me. It was really cute and special. They had a big theatrical scene planned out where one of them ran into our group, gasping for air and whimpering that Dominic needed me at home immediately because there was an emergency. As I walked to my house, I noticed about 15 pairs of shoes left outside my door, at which point I realized what was happening. The girls had decorated my house with streamers, birthday banners, and mucho confetti, most of which I am still finding scattered throughout my house and yard. They cooked spaghetti and dumplings and prepared juice. We played musical chairs, told jokes, read poems, took lots of pictures, and had a fabulous time. It was the highlight of my birthday festivities.  

One of the girls with whom I work has been struggling with reading. She made me a birthday card that had “te kiero” (kiero phonetically, quiero correctly). The next day during our time together in my sala de tarea (similar to an afterschool program), we practiced “que.” Later in the evening, I received another lovely note, with the neatly written words, “te quiero.” I thought to myself at this moment, igualmente, mi amiga, igualmente.

In the time of Mangos

A few months ago, I noticed an influx of kite flying, which resulted in many a child missing school and neglecting all other obligations to fly their kites. These kites, called chichiguas, are constructed by strings tied together around an old soup can, which are then fastened to 3 sticks tied together to form hexagon. These 3 sticks are covered with a black funda (plastic bag). It takes a while to get the kite high in the sky, but once it is there, it is nearly impossible to fell (unless you are me, and a kid asks you to hold his kite one afternoon, which I took as a huge compliment, and it promptly fell. The velocity at which it fell was almost comical, if the kid would not have been so upset. Bygones, right?) The kites fly so high in the sky that sometimes it is hard to even see them. I have seen other fancy kites in the same skies, but they pale in comparison to the chichiguas dominicanas.  Ingenuity and lack of resources can lead to great improvements at times. I asked my friend Adonis (an 11-year old who recently bailed out of our barrio to bigger and better things in another nearby town by way of a guagua, alone and sin parental consent) why there were so many chichiguas. He answered matter-of-factly that it was the time of chichiguas, just like the time of bicicletas in the past, and like the time of mangos, which was coming.
Ahora, llegó mango!
The time of mangos is here, and it is glorious.
A camioneta comes through my barrio every day blaring on his soundsystem, “Mangos por un peso, mangos por un peso.” Because people are always joking around here, I thought he was asking to trade mangos for a kiss (peso=beso). As I was daydreaming about mangos and contemplating this exchange, I heard a stampede of children and Doñas alike, and I realized that he was not trying to take advantage of our love for mangos, but he was wooing us with promises of cheap instant gratification in the form of a juicy, sweet, sun-ripened mango. With that distinction in mind, I bolted out my front (and only) door, stumbling through my barbed wire fence while cursing my broken flip flops. I plucked the mangos du jour from the back of his truck, and tossed the driver a shiny 10 peso coin. With the exchange rate at approximately 37 pesos to the dollar, that equals out to be 37 mangos for a dollar. Not a bad deal. We eat mangoes like apples, but instead of swallowing, we spit (insert vulgar joke here) out the skin. The mangos here are unbelievably delicious. Were my English language a little better, I might be able to properly describe the mangoes in a way that would evoke the taste, the smell, and everything to you, the reader; however, as both my Spanish and English skills continue to dwindle, this will not happen. Just know that the time of mangos was not overrated, and is a good time to be living in la Republica Dominicana.

DISCLAIMER: shortly after this blog was written, Tina developed an allergic reaction to the skin of mangos, and can no longer touch mangos. Curse of all curses! Silver lining= the allergy is only to the skin of the mango and not to the fruit. 10 days of prednisone later, all is good, and the allergic reaction on the face is barely noticeably now. Barely.

Successful beach day with Dominicans? Check.

2 de mayo. Listening to the rain drop gently like a hurricane on my tin roof, which is drowning out the sounds of screaming neighbors, barking dogs, and church services. After delaying the inevitable, I broke down and finally did laundry today, which took 5, yes 5, hours to wash, only to have the rains come and wash all the hanging laundry again. Looking forward to hanging wet clothes yet again tomorrow, and hoping that no one notices that I have been wearing the same clothes for several days now, except for yesterday when I went to the beach. Some of our neighbors invited me to go to the beach with them, which turned out to be a wonderful day. While I am usually wary of Dominican invitations, which typically result in asking me to pay for everything for everyone in the near vicinity, this was a pleasant change. We had planned on renting a "guagua” that would take us for a nominal fee. This guagua turned out to be a neighbor who drives an old truck, like a Dotson or Mitsubishi, or some small type of truck that has seen better days….about 20 years ago. We fit 21 (TWENTY-ONE) people into this truck, including our food for the day and our bags of swim clothes. On the way there, I was sitting in the front with the driver and 4 little muchachas on my lap. Our first stop was a gas station, where the driver took the WHOLE gas canister out of the car. Everyone got out of the car, the driver filled the tank, put the tank back in the car, and everyone piled back in a few minutes later. We then continued on with our adventure, again. We neared the bridge out of town, which had a couple of police cars, as if they were doing random car checks. The bridge is the only way in and out of town, except for a bypass road that we had bypassed several miles before. The driver informed us that they would not let trucks through. I nod agreeingly to him as I observe several large, small, battered, clean, dirty, and other varieties of trucks cruise by, sin problema. Hmm, I think to myself, they will not let trucks or they will not let you? He asks the people in the back to start walking, because he is going to try another way, and he will pick them up in a few minutes. Now it is the driver, me, and the 4 little muchachas, alone in the front of the car. There is another side road before the bridge, but this is also blocked. The driver then tells me that he is going to go through the bypass, alone. Bueno. The muchachas and I are start walking to meet everyone else. We meet them, and we start walking. And walking. We cross the bridge. We cross the large mango trees. We cross the crab shacks. We keep walking. A couple miles later, his car pulls up from the opposite direction. On the road again. We start driving. We stall a few times. Another car drives by and hollers something out his window regarding the condition of our hoopty ride. About 30 minutes later, we arrive to our destination, a beautiful beach normally 15 minutes away from our house. The passengers collectively breathe a sigh of relief. This beach is amazingly beautiful. All 21 of us start looking for shade, which is somewhat challenging as most of the trees are coconut trees, which typically provide little shade. We find some clusters of trees and set our stuff down.

The kids and I all run toward the beach. Me in my swim suit, everyone else in their clothes. A couple of the teenagers take off their pants to swim in their boxers, but everyone else wears their clothes. One 18-year old had on cut-off jorts, a tank top, presumably bra and undies, as well as a sweater. She did not remove any article of clothing before crashing into the waves. We played in the water, ate and hung out all day at the beach. We had all cooked beforehand, so we dined on rice, beans, chicken, and spaghetti (sound familiar?). It was slightly drizzly. It was beautiful. My neighbors had brought a couple of inner tubes (possibly tires, but who cares?), which brought us endless entertainment. I loved experiencing the beach time with all of my neighbors, as my beach time usually consists of swarms of other volunteers, rum, and trashy beach novels. Don't get me wrong- without cavorting with other volunteers, I would surely go crazy; however, this was different, and I loved every minute of it. These beach experiences were diametrically different, neither one better than the other, and I cherish them both.

We left the beach around 6 pm to wait for our ride. We waited. And waited. And waited. He finally arrived, and apparently, there were not enough of us the first time so this trip he brought another friend. A large male friend. Now there are 22 of us squeezed in the truck. I declined the front seat and hopped into the back. Some random items have been collected throughout the day, including but not limited to: 2 large roof shingles, a bucket with a lid (a golden find), and some empty broken bottles. While driving, the ominous clouds gave way into a glorious rainstorm. What would have made it more glorious, you might ask? If I were not in the back of said pickup with said amount of people with said objects. Ya tu sabes. Also, because of our driver’s somewhat sketchy character, we took the backroads into town, which was a bumpy, dirt/ mud road leading directly to the northern side of our community. Once the rain subsided un chin, I took a deep breath, figuratively and literally, and I was amazing by the beauty of this island. Not just the Caribbean blue seas, white sand, etc.… but the island itself. The heart of this island has a beat that will surpass that of any bachata song (excluding my personal fav, Ramon Torres. Google him. You will not be disappointed if you like both bachata y mariachis and achy voices).With the stinging wind and rain drops slapping at my face, you would think I would have been able to tone down my joker like grin; alas, I was unable to. The only thing going through my head was, I am truly blessed to be here, in this moment, experiencing this moment. It was unforgettable, and times like these, I will never forget.

Side note: if you come to visit, I will also help to provide you with an unforgettable experience a la Dominicana.

Bola Race 2011

Bola Race

In April all of the volunteer in country hitchhiked from one part of the country to another, getting free rides called “bolas” along the way until reaching the destination.   In the Dominican Republic hitchhiking is not considered dangerous.  Because gas is so expensive and the necessities of everyday living are so scarce people don’t mind helping one another along the way.  I always wonder if the Dominican Republic changed into a much prosperous, income generating country, would all the people be so happy and filled with joy over the littlest things and be willing to give a stranger a ride down the road, not for money but for their conversation?  Well anyway, all the volunteer met in Santiago. the north western part of the county to meet in a centralized location.  All the teams dressed in costumes and had a story for why they were dressed like that and why they needed a “bola”.  Tina, our friend Libby, and I were dressed in our swim suits and our alibi was that we got robbed and needed to get back to our hotel.

We all met at a mutual place in the morning with costumes on.  We took photos and then were told by the event coordinators where we were going: Las Galeras Peninsula de Samana.  This is a peninsula on the north tip of the island to which we had never been.  As soon as we were told where to go we all ran around trying to figure out in what direction we would go. Our team decided to walk the way everyone else was. As we looked up there was a pickup truck filled with volunteers in the back with smiles screaming “adios”.  We flagged down an actual taxi to give us a free ride which he agreed to do.  Driving away, my ever so kind wife flagged down two other volunteers to get in as well.  Without even thinking about the actual competition of the race, she decided to share the fun experience with other volunteers, which is the real point and not the actual race.  We ended up doing the whole race together, the five of us. 

Their story was that they were representatives of the Dominican beer company “Presidente”.  They wore “Presidente” shirts and hats, which made them seem like presidents or gods in this country.    During our first bola we needed to open a bottle, but no one had a bottle opener.  Resourceful, like most people who don’t have many resources are, the “chofer” opened the bottle with his teeth, which I have only seen done once, by my friend Dale.  Cheers to starting the fun adventure.  He gave us a ride to the main “autopista” in the direction of our destination.  We then flagged down a Daihatsu pickup truck.  I will never forget the view standing up in the back of the truck looking out at all the agriculture in this beautiful country.  Even without the help of the strong wind, I would’ve still had a smile plastered on my face the entire ride.

After 11 different “bolas” (including 2 Mercedes), and 7 hours later, we reached the Samana Peninsula.  Fittingly, the last bola to drive up the mountain viewing the lush green mountains and crystal blue water was from the back of a pickup truck, just the five of us.  The bola let us off and we walked to our hotel with a warm greeting from the other volunteers who made it before us.  We then stripped down and jumped in the pool sharing what craziness happened along the way. 

Refection de Dominic:

Not all people can get someone to stop for them and receive a free ride.  It does help that you are female in this country and the biggest bonus of all is that you are “blanca tambien”.  There was a team of two, one African American girl who had dreadlocks and one Indian guy, (from India Indian) with dark skin.  They did not arrive till very late at night and had to end up paying normal public transport to reach the destination.  Why do you think they were the only ones that had a hard time?  What I think happened was that they thought the AA girl was Haitian which this county has a deep resentment to Haitians “ya tu sabes”, and the Indian guy was a random Dominican looking for a free ride.  This county has an infatuation with Americans.  In my opinion it’s because American are always bringing things such as tourists with money to spend or  volunteers giving a helping hand with building houses or churches.  And there is always the infatuation of getting out of the D.R. and moving to a place with more opportunity.  Has all this help made Dominicans too dependent on others?

Regardless I had fun at the Bola Race 2011 and here are some photos along the way…      

      

               

What type of peace corp work have I been doing?

Inglés Basico

On my street corner there are more English words being spoken than I would like, since I am trying to learn the Spanish language.  I guess I can consider this a success since I am teaching English three times a week.  This week is the last week of my 12 week Basic English course.  On average, I’ve had at least 15 people in each class.  My classes have allowed me to make more friendships with my students.  All the students who walk by our house or see us walking in the barrio gives us a “saludar” in English.  I cannot walk by the “colmado” next to our house without the owners saying, “Dominic…come…here…please.”  When I enter the “colmado”   he proceeds by asking me what…is...this…pointing to everything in the “colmado” and waiting for my answer in English.  Since they know the class is ending they keep asking when are we going to start another class.  I don’t want to be known as just the English teacher, but I am here to do what the community wants, so I must listen to them.  Well before I give in to them and continue another course, we are going to celebrate the completion of our 12 week course.  I am giving diplomas to the students who showed up 9 out of the 12 weeks, and I will buy “refrescos” for them and play games. 

Business class for youth

I am 6 weeks into my course that teaches youth how to write a business plan.  We meet twice a week under candle light because someone cut the “luz” that we paid to put in from our Peace Corps salary.  We learn about missions, visions, the 4 P’s of marketing, etc.  In October there will be a national competition for these youth to win funds to start a business.  I get the chance to simply listen to the creativity of Dominican kids in this class.  They are so outspoken about anything- it’s totally different than lecturing English words to them.  I went to one student’s house this week to see if I could answer any questions.  She was not there, but I was invited in, and I talked with her mom for a bit.  She said her daughter “encanta su clase”, documented success number 2.  I enjoy listening to the ideas they give for selling things.  Did I mention they love the homework that I give as well?  

  

“Campamento” Superman

I took two “jovenes” to an all boys camp in April.  I had a hard time being a counselor and not a “joven”.  We went to another volunteer’s site about 30 minutes north of our city, and there was a river, where  we “banarnos” everyday.  We also went on a hike to a beautiful waterfall.  We played games and gave “charlas” about gender roles and HIV/AIDS awareness.  This volunteer’s job is to develop a women’s group to cook food for their eco-tourism site, and we got the chance to test out their services.  I had the best hot chocolate to date in country.  It was made from the “cacao” trees that grow in the community.  One of the things I love most about this county is that food grows right in your backyard.  By the way we have 2 corn stocks and 3 “guandules” plants growing in our yard.  We will most likely eat corn in about 3 months and “guandules” in November.  At the camp I saw the biggest frog ever and cows grazed around our camp site.  Walking with the kids through the camp with cows grazing all around us, I had a moment of realization that I am doing the work I love, in a foreign country and speaking a different language.

Enjoy some pictures from the past few months…    

Business Class

Camp Superman

Vestido como Tigueres

Tina's 30th Bday weekend

Peep the amber she is wearing.  There are amber mines in this country I got her matching earrings and a neckless for her bday

 I swear when we leave this little girl is going to loose it.  I will introduce you if you come visit.

 I got scuba certified.

The past 4 months...

Moving locations

Since I left you we have moved twice.  Things didn’t work out so nicely with our host family.  We had numerous arguments about how we don’t clean anything and leave our room a mess.  Now, the job of a host family is to teach you how to do things and if you are paying them, which we did, their job is to feed you and make sure your minimum needs are met.  In the situation of a Peace Corps volunteer they should also help you integrate in the community.  Now spreading rumors in the community such as we don’t pay them enough and we are paying other people to cook for us defeats the purpose of helping with integration.  Luckily we have some very sweet people in our community that loved to compartir with us and brindar un chin de comida.  So after the arguing, hearing about the gossip and having relatives of our host family come over and ignore us while we sit on the porch like redheaded step- children, we decided to move out.  After expressing our decision to our host family they told us we owed them more money.  We brought up this absurd statement to our volunteer leader who then explained to our host family when someone pays up until the 15^th of the month and moves out on the 14^th there is nothing to pay extra for.  Adios host family see you sin vergüenza en la calle.

Somos Orfanatos

Luckily Tina’s orphanage, which is the organization that she works with, let us move in until we found a house.  Our time there was a lot more comfortable than our previous place.  We had a king size bed and internet in our room, ahhh the “normal” life.  We spent many nights laughing with the 80 year old director of the organization.  He made the funniest facial expressions; now he had a stroke a few years ago so I think that helped with making the faces so funny (Lord forgive me), but it was all in all clean fun.  Living here also opened my eyes to realize that there is so much division and gossip in this country.  I think people have so little that when others come around they feel the need to protect what little they have by any means necessary.  Prime example, the director had an adult daughter who lived there with her teenage son.  They did not get along with a young man who grew up in the orphanage who is like a son to the 80 year old director.  Entonces, there is family involved in the business and an adult who grew up there who is like family all under the same roof.  Working on bettering the organization is so difficult when you have no structure with the living situation and family being involved and other people who actually were orphans who crecered in the building.  The training on conflict resolution will go a long way during our 2 years here. 

Our house

Our first night in our home was 02/07/11.  I had the bed, tank of gas, fan and washing machine delivered to the house the day before.  When the stuff was delivered 3 women came walking in and decided to say a welcome prayer for our house.  Now I don’t have a real connection with these 3 women so I was a bit suspicious because everyone told us beware of people coming in your home looking around at what you have and coming back to rob you.  Here in the D.R. I don’t put anything past anyone, including 3 bible tooting women.   All of our belongings were packed and ready to go on moving day for when Tina came back from her in-service training so we could pack the truck and go.  Well, fue bien, now that we actually live here, things are a little different, but we are enjoying are our own space and freedom.  Now that we have a home, one of the jovenes must think we are even richer Americans because all of a sudden she is thirsty, hungry and needs tape for a picture in her binder.  After a few “No’s” this will all die down.  This week we made an outdoor broom (i.e. a broom to sweep the dirt outside).  The handle was macheted down very smoothly from a piece of wood I found.  Then I went searching for this certain kind of weed that grows here that they tie around the bottom of the broom handle to sweep the dirt outside of the house.  Yes, we sweep dirt. No matter what shack you live in at least you gotta keep it clean…right.  Well we are starting English classes in March and other programs for youth.  Are club de madres had there official Juramentacion and now we are looking to build a community center for all the groups to have meetings in.  In less than 2 weeks we will take a break and live it up with Tina’s parents in an adult only all inclusive and then it’s back to the barrio.         

Enjoy the photos of our home...

11 de febrero, Tina

Sweet- just found out that Monday is a national holiday. What is it? Valentine’s Day. Really, DR government?! A holiday?! Dominic was very dominicano tonight and killed a cochroach with his machete tonight. I heart my husband. Also, despite my laziness of uploading my blog from the past few months, when we had consistent internet access, we are back to not having internet, which apparently means you will be hearing a lot more from us. Riddle me that. Also, drum roll please…. We have a house!!!! It is a cute little block house that we share with a little mouse and a few other creatures. We have a 2-part blue front door that opens at the top and bottom, a fridge, a bathroom inside (no running water inside so back to bucket baths), and a cute patio/ mini garden. I went to a volunteer conference last week where I presented my diagnostic and learned a lot of invaluable information as well as some forgettable tidbits. I am feeling really good and motivated to actually start classes and groups since I feel like I have not really done much since I have been here. I was helping out with a preschool doing story time and some literacy projects. I want to continue with that, and I also plan on doing gender-focused groups, a sala de tarea, English classes, and a documentation project, which helps (hopefully) to legalize undocumented citizens in my community. Like many people are pressing for in the U.S., the DR recently changed a law that now states that people who are born here are not automatically citizens, but they have to prove their citizenship, including that of their mothers. This would all be fine, but many are of them are of Haitian descent, who came to this county generations and generations ago, amidst less than desirable circumstance, and are not legalized citizens. Other than simply having Haitian blood, many speak only Spanish, have never been to Haiti, and consider themselves Dominican. Their culture and lifestyles are Dominican, yet they are getting deported to a country with whom they have no little to no connection, including not being able to speak the language. Without documentation, they are denied many privileges, such as going to school past 8^th grade, working, healthcare….

Anyway, for documentation projects, we work with local judges and the judicial system to retrieve and present documentation for them to become legal citizens. Lots of work, but it really can change the lives of those involved, or so I hope. I will try to keep you more posted, in real time, about our lives. As for now, things are great, life is great, and my house is great.

26 de enero, Tina

In my mosquitero, with my headlamp on, working on a paper, with 3 cornrows in my hair. I tried to play it off like I have three little French braids in the side of my head, but when my friend who had braided my hair greased the rest of my hair and put it in a side ponytail, there was no denying the three little corn rowed braids. The mental picture I am conjuring is not a letdown. They look that hideous. If I ever get more (God forbid a whole head) I’ll be sure to post a picture). We have a house! After over 5 months apart and living with other people, we found a cute block house in our community, and it even has a bathroom inside! It is tiny, i.e. a king-sized bed would not fit inside the house, but it is cute. If all goes as planned, which it never does, we should be in within a few weeks. Wish us luck.

Dominic and I are still in the midst of completing our 3 month diagnostic, which is what we have been working on for the past 3 months. It will be good to finally start some activities instead of just talking about it every day with people. In our 3 months, we started literacy projects with a local teacher, and we started our Club de Madres! This was a huge success, and the whole community, ourselves included, are quite proud. We held elections last week, and then the elected president and I went to the city hall to process the paperwork. By registering our club, we get some $$$$, which will go toward 15 chairs, a table, and a fan (these are the actual items predetermined by the government). Thirty- three Americans were in town last week doing a medical mission. They all stayed at the organization where we are living, which was pretty crazy. I was able to go with them on some of their daily missions and helped with the translating. We went to the local prison, to nursing home of sorts, and to a batey nearby. I present my diagnostic next week, and I am looking forward to presenting the fruit of my labor as well as to see all the volunteers. Wish me luck!

Early in January, Tina

!Felice año nuevo! Backdrop: sitting in my King-sized bed, listening to bachata with the colmado’s reggaeton in the background, holding a bleach-soaked washcloth over the ringworm (disclaimer: not actually a worm, but a bacterial infection like athlete’s foot, if that sounds any nicer) that found itself on my arm after our New Year’s festivities (other remedies have failed thus far, and the internet swears this will work, so surely it must because like the news, the internet never lies), and giving the finger wag to a devil-child (I am still on the fence as to whether or not devil-child is a literal term for him. I am leaning toward yes) who keeps trying to come into my room. 

The New Year started off with a bang!, or rather, fireworks in Caberete, a touristy town in the north, where a lot of volunteers congregated for fireworks, lots of Presidente, rum, an Irish pub (with $20 pints of Guiness, which I sadly, on my Peace Corps salary, had to decline), rain, a beautiful beach, a fun hostel, and an overall good time.

Things have been a little hectic around here. After some turbulent times, Dominic and I ended up leaving our host family early, Gracias a Dios (my obligatory phrase that will surely weasel itself into every blog). We moved into the organization to which I was originally assigned. We have a King-sized bed, an industrial-sized kitchen, and friendly roommates. While we are still looking for our own place, I am pleasantly surprised how happy I am here. Our roommates include the founder (an 80-year old man who is amazing), his daughter and 18-year old grandson (Puerto Ricans who also speak English, which is sweet), 2 brothers who grew up in the orphanage and have lived here their whole lives (one sings constantly like an evangelical church, and the other is also an amazing man), and another 18-year old who grew up here. Despite the frat-house feel that sometimes ensues, it is good.

The founder/ our roommate has been in the hospital the past week. Visiting a Dominican hospital is a sight in itself. I went once when a neighbor was having a baby. She was lying in bed with 5 other cots also in her room. All the women were hooked up to iv’s. They all had to bring their own sheets and food, including the two 13-year olds (one might have been 12) who were also readying themselves as children to bring another child in the world.  Visiting the founder was a similar experience, and when he came home, we were all relieved. Tomorrow, 40 Americanos are coming for a medical mission trip. I am going to help with translating, which should be interesting. Vamos a ver. I am still looking forward to when we have our own place and can have a little more tranquilidad y paz en nuestra vida.

I had a productive weekend. We are still working on our community diagnostics, which will be in early February. Our diagnostics include interviews, focus groups, and lots of meetings with community members to discuss the needs, priorities, and resources of our community, with the ultimate goal of guiding us into what our projects will be the next 2 years. True to form, Dominic’s is pretty much complete, and mine is pretty much not (i.e. I have not yet started writing it). We had a meeting with the youth of our barrio yesterday. While only teens were invited, midway through I had one baby on one hip, was holding the hand of a 4-year old with the other, and was instructing the kids, “por favor, niños, su atención.” My “por favor” was more like a whimpering plea of desperation. Some teens did show up, and we were able to assess some of their needs and wants (etiquette class, English classes, sports, charlas, y yo no recuerdo que mas). We also met with the pastors of our barrio (latest count of churches=thirteen evangelical, one 7^th day Adventist, and one Catholic). After explaining for half the time that while we were Cristianos and volunteers, we were not here solely to serve the churches, but to better the community as a whole, heathens included, we received some good suggestions from the pastors. They seem committed to working with us, and I think they are going to be a good resource.   

While I joke about the evangelical community at times, they (as an extremely grand overgeneralization) really are amazing people. I can really tell a difference, both in appearance and actions, between those who are Christians here versus those who are not. Por ejemplo, you are not an Evangelical if you wear pants, wear tank tops, drink beer, wear earrings, or use makeup. You are an Evangelical if you wear flowered, buttoned shirts (sometimes with extreme cleavage) as well as long, spandex skirts (sometimes that show every, EVERY curve). That being said, all of my friends and the people with whom I work are all Evangelical.