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.