Dale Pa' Alla

Chateando, Not Chateando

2012-02-22T10:00:00.000-08:00

"Estás chateando," remarks Hiralda, "You're chatting". It's not a question. The Dominican Republic is a country where acknowledging what someone is doing is a way of greeting them. Where I come from, Hiralda's abrupt entrance might be considered an intrusion; she simply walked into my apartment unannounced and sat down. It is just one of a series of interuptions while I try in vain to perform a database task related to a project that has emerged as an important part of my service.

A working, single mother in her middle years, Hiralda has little time to devote to leisure and is probably only vaguely familiar with the concept of internet chat. But I've learned from experience that it is pointless to try and explain that I almost never enable chat on any of the websites I visit as I consider it a waste of time and a potential harmer of relationships. Like most Dominican people I've met since I arrived eleven and an half months ago, she simply considers that chateo is what the internet is for. To suggest otherwise would be like trying to tell her that a TV isn't for watching movies, news, and soap operas.

This lack of mutual understanding is typical of most everyday interactions I have with people in my community. Despite my ongoing efforts in support of Peace Corps' second goal, I find that attempts to enlighten people concerning my lifestyle and views as an American are met with responses that reflect popular beliefs and opinions imported via American movies and television. However clear and contradictory my responses to statements like Hiralda's, it seems the people around me find ways to interpret what I say in ways that reinforce their respective worldviews.

A natural reaction to this phenomenon is to become frustrated and feel disgust toward people and in my weaker moments, I have been known to give in to such feelings. But when I appeal to myself with higher reasoning, I am reminded that there is no rule requiring that anyone around me should even so much as acknowledge me, let alone treat me nicely, and yet I have been met with practically nothing besides warm welcome. Surely, this sincere goodwill does not warrant my contempt.

When I ponder my reaction, I am reminded of the antics of controversial comedian Sasha Baren Cohen in the guise of his character Ali G, a member of England's so-called "chav" sub-culture who conducts interviews of high-profile figures in the idiom of a hopelessly confused, yet genuinely friendly television host. Despite the hilarity of Cohen's interview subjects as they struggle to be understood through his character's absurd lack of comprehension, there is a lesson to be learned about embracing one's fellow man in spite of his faults.

A particularly poignant example of the Ali G phenomenon can be found in comparing how he is recieved, respectively, by Mickey Rooney and by Boutros Boutros-Ghali. When watching Ali G interact with Mickey Rooney, it quickly becomes obvious that Rooney's self-importance and lack of worldliness will not allow him to overcome Ali's flaws. Boutros-Ghali, on the other hand, maintains a poise and friendliness that endure's his interviewer's confusion and provides for a reasonably successful interaction.

It was in this spirit of warmth and appreciation that I responded Hiralda's statement with a cheery, "Yes, well, sort of".

One Year

2012-02-20T16:13:00.003-08:00

It's been a while since my last update. There are a number of reasons for this, not the least of which being a certain fatigue I felt after posting 169 times beginning eight months before my Peace Corps service and leading up to just before my first Christmas in country. Christmas and New Years were such long and unusual experiences that I simply became overwhelmed at how behind I was once they were over.

While it appears that after nearly two years my blogging stamina finally ran out, I am not even finished with my first year in Moca. And having 13,000 views on my blog tells me that I really ought to keep this thing going. So, with my 28th birthday almost here, and less than two weeks from the one-year anniversary of first stepping sweaty and bewildered onto Dominican soil I am renewing my commitment to writing it all down and sharing it with you.

Internet Addict?

2011-12-06T10:00:00.000-08:00

Since I began lending out my computer, almost everyone has proven quite considerate and careful about the frequency and duration of time they spend using it. However, it turns out that Cristina, who moved in with her mom and sister last week after a disagreement with her boyfriend, knows no constraint when it comes to using my computer to get on Facebook. She doesn’t work, and if I let her, she’ll literally spend the entire evening glued to the screen, chatting, updating her profile, and commenting on wall posts. I thought, eventually, she’d get it all out of her system and arrive at a place where she wasn’t asking to borrow my computer in every spare moment. But it’s becoming clear that this probably isn’t going to happen.

Cristina's toddler son, Yerlin

At first, I would let her use it for hours because, frankly, I wanted her to like me. But it has gradually become evident that she lacks the maturity to self-regulate and so I will probably end up having to play a parenting role with regard to boundaries and internet use. I don’t blame her. While the internet has existed for more of her life than mine, she hasn’t had the access some of her peers have until way late. Since she doesn’t have a job, there’s nothing else to occupy her. It’s a very similar scenario to what happens when some of us arrive at college and suddenly have unlimited access to internet, games, hanging out with friends, etc. I hope she can find a healthy balance without me intervening too heavily.

Electricity: On Every Night, Off in the Morning

2011-12-04T10:00:00.000-08:00

For about a month now, the electricity in the building where I live has gone away during the day and returned at night. During the first two weeks, it just so happened that my apartment’s wiring was damaged so I was without luz even when there was luz to be had. Finally, one night Pablo called an electrician who came at 8:00 in the evening and fiddled with the chaotic mess of wires in the breaker box down the hall until my lights came on.

On my roof, facing Southwest

Since then, more details have emerged about the situation and what’s causing it. There is only one meter for the whole building and supposedly, the building’s electrical bill is usually between 4,000 and 5,000 pesos a month. Pablo tells me, though, that last month we inexplicably received a bill for more than 25,000 pesos. When I asked why he doesn’t take it up with the power company he told me he tried but they want 10,000 pesos just to come take a look. It sounds fishy to me, but I suppose in the DR anything is possible.

All of this crud came out of a batch of beans before I cooked it

So why the on-again-off-again electricity? Well, it turns out Pablo has burned off a portion of the insulation on the wire leading from the distribution line to the school across the street. Every night before work he uses a length of PVC pipe to reach up to the exposed wire and connect to it another wire that supplies our building. Every morning when he wakes up, he disconnects it.

The breaker box in the hall where I live

The school is actually in charge of our building and ought to be doing something about our situation, but when I offered to take the matter up with them, Pablo was adamant that it be kept a secret. Lucky for him, the season has changed, and it’s no longer unbearable to be in my apartment without the fan on. Otherwise, I would be more inclined to take matters into my own hands. But for now it’s just too entertaining for me to want to interfere.

The Day of the Strike Part 2

2011-12-02T10:00:00.000-08:00

The toddlers wandered in, followed by Cristina and Miguel. It was the first time I ever had Dominican guests since I moved here back in August. I was pleased with the humbleness of my lifestyle and the statement I suppose it made. Everybody was impressed by my air bed, though, which I somehow managed to haul back with me from Oregon after I went home for mom and Rich’s wedding.

A random shot from inside my messy apartment

Around four in the afternoon we finally dished up delicious macaroni in cream sauce with sardines and green olives along with tostones, smashed plantain slices fried in vegetable oil. Miguel showed up and after we had finished eating, we dished up a helping to take to Chuno. On the way to his house, we passed through an alley with three or four tables of people playing dominos and perhaps thirty more watching or just hanging out. I hadn’t seen a street so crowded since my time in the Los Angeles barrio of Santo Domingo during training.

Chuno parties before his accident

Chuno looked pretty bad. His upper lip was a swollen mess of stitches and dried blood and there was a seam where the skin of his face had been split down the middle. Luckily, he had broken no bones in his face or the rest of his body and his teeth were still intact. I did my best not to show my alarm at seeing him, and was careful not to dwell too much on the accident, asking instead whether he was sleeping alright and seeing if there was anything I could do to help. An English-language movie came on the TV and I gave him and Miguel the play-by-play in Spanish for about an hour. We went home when Chuno’s brother told us we hadn’t better be out late during the strike.

The Day of the Strike Part 1

2011-11-30T10:00:00.000-08:00

Monday was the day of the strike. As a Peace Corps volunteer, I had been told not to travel, and I thought it best to stay put in my apartment building for the day. After sleeping in, I dropped in on the girls to see what was happening. They were still playing with my computer since last night, but I was able to convince Estefany to play a round with me of Settlers of Catan. After that she kept wanting to play and eventually we drew the attention of her sisters, Yanirys and Cristina, who made brief attempts at learning the game but who were eventually peeled away to tend to the needs of their toddler boys.

Mecha's daughters. Left to right: Estefany, Cristina, Yanirys

Sometime around one in the afternoon, I finally mentioned that I had no food to prepare and said if the grocery store was open I was going shopping. What I didn’t realize was that by explaining this to everyone I was making a grand offer. “Hooray,” they said, “Save us, Charlie!” I couldn’t very well renege. Besides, I was sure they would make something far better than whatever I could cook up. Estefany called Pablo who confirmed that the grocery store open even during the strike.

The scene at Milenio on Saturday night

Midday traffic was way below average, and every family-owned business I passed had its metal barrier drawn. Extra shotgun-toting security had been hired at the plaza. After I brought home the supplies, Estafany and Yanirys came over to my place to cook. Finding the conditions there unacceptable, they wasted no time cleaning and organizing the place at the same time as they put on some plantains and pasta.

Lazy Sunday

2011-11-28T12:52:00.000-08:00

The day after I went out dancing I was exhausted. The scouts were preparing for a big fundraiser and Aneudy invited me to come help prepare. After crawling out of bed and into some work clothes, I made my way to the local where Pablo, Katia, and about fifteen scouts were having a work party. I helped break up the dirt pile with mattock and shovel it into a wheelbarrow so it could be used to patch of up the field. The scouts were also constructing a zip line and Pablo asked that I take pictures.

The scouts begin building a platform for a zipline for an upcoming fundraiser

After a few hours I returned home and collapsed onto my bed. I was awakened after few hours of sleep by Line’s mom coming to borrow some sugar. I decided I had better run some errands rather than go back to sleep and spoil my night’s rest, but I didn’t make it past Mecha’s door. The girls were all dying to see my pictures from last night and put them on Facebook. In my apartment building, my computer has become a community resource. Whenever there’s electricity, there’s internet service and I become even more popular than I already am. I don’t mind sharing, though. It really is what people here do when they aren’t the kind to lock themselves up in a gated compound. And besides, I sometimes even get a free meal out it.

Moca Nightlife Part 2

2011-11-26T12:43:00.000-08:00

After a couple of beers we headed across the street to another place I’ve walked by a hundred times with curiosity. On the corner in front we merrily rejoined the others before heading inside. The place couldn’t have been more authentic and perfect. It was all on the second story; the first was parking. Three concentric terraces fanned outward from the bar, each a step down from the next with the outermost being an open balcony. On a small, dark dancefloor people danced to merengue, salsa, and electronic dance music.

Estefany and her boyfriend, Mayobanex

The girls were eager to see if the gringo was going to dance, and if they expected me to be shy, they were mistaken. Something about casting off my possessions for two years and taking a vow of poverty has made me even less inhibited than I may have been otherwise. If love is the international language, getting down must be a close cousin. At one point I remember I was taking a rest when Chuno got my attention like, “watch this”. He just gestured from the balcony to an attractive young girl who was practically at the bar and next thing I knew they were dancing salsa. Chuno moved her all over the floor and spun and turned like a pro.

Chuno salsas with Estafany

Unfortunately, at the end of the night, events took a tragic turn. While driving back on his pasola (Vespa-style motor scooter) . Chuno drove into an uncovered manhole and fell face-first onto the gravel road. His face was covered in blood, and we worried that he may have a concussion. While a bunch of the group accompanied him to the hospital, I ended up back at the apartment building holding Cristina’s one-year-old and bouncing him up and down to stop his wailing. When the others returned, they assured me he hadn’t lost consciousness and that his memory appeared to be intact. His lip was split clear through.

Moca Nightlife Part 1

2011-11-24T12:37:00.000-08:00

This Monday there was a big labor strike. Peace Corps volunteers were prohibited from leaving their project sites and in Moca, people told me everything was going to basically shut down for the day. My neighbor, Mecha took advantage of the long weekend to have her other two daughters and twelve-year-old son come visit her and Estefany. Saturday evening I found them all in plastic chairs in the usual hang-out spot in the stairwell. Mecha handed me a drink that tasted like melon and rum and insisted that I drink more than a little. She suggested not-so-subtly that it would taste better with ice.

Mecha and a joven from the group that went out dancing

I had just had what I consider my most successful day since arriving in Moca and I was in a mood to celebrate. I went on an errand and returned with ice and a round of drinks, which were met with much enthusiasm. That evening, Mecha’s boyfriend, Chuno had promised to show me some of the spots on the strip along the autopista (highway) near where I live. It turns out Mecha’s daughters, Estafany, Yanirys, and Cristina were getting ready to party as well with their respective dates and a crew of about four others.

Cristina lounges with her and Yaniris' toddler sons

When I broke out my camera it about caused a riot. I instantly became a fashion photographer and after every shot I heard pónmelo en Facebook (“put it on Facebook for me”) and etiquétame (“tag me”). After much changing of clothes and taking of pictures, Chuno arrived and he and I took to the strip. The first stop was a very crowded bar called Milenio. I had seen the place during the day and wondered how well it was doing, but now I could see it wasn’t hurting for customers. The place was packed to the brim and quaking to the beat of the latest dembow hits.

Teaching At The Library

2011-11-22T11:32:00.001-08:00

Every volunteer has what they call a “project partner” who is basically a Dominican all-star community member who helps them set up the activities of their service. Through visiting Heather in Juan Lopez and donating the Free Geek laptops, I became acquainted with Heather’s project partner, Rafael. Rafael wasted no time arranging a class for me to teach at the library in Moca, and on Saturday we had our first class session.

The class consists of five adults (six if you count Rafael) of varying experience and skill level. Two of them are teachers—one in Juan Lopez, the other in Moca—who want to help me set up an Encargados del Futuro group. Encargados del Futuro is a youth group model that volunteers implement throughout the country. It helps prepare youths to become people in charge of community computer labs through participation in activities involving digital media and community service.

It was six exactly six months from the day I took the oath of service and became a Peace Corps volunteer and finally, I felt as though my service was beginning in a meaningful way.

The view from my window at night.

An Angry Neighbor Part 2

2011-11-11T10:00:00.000-08:00

No dice, dude, I thought. It was bad enough that he was harshing my mellow. But to insinuate that there was something that I could do about the electricity situation was not okay. I started to break things down for him in an English I was pretty sure was too fast for him, "Look, canchi, I don't know what your trip is, but there ain't shit I can do about the electricity..." and so on, matching his volume and word choice so he could see I was finally as pissed as he was.

Painting on my apartment building: "Love thy neighbor as thyself"

He responded by shouting even louder and more feverishly. I could feel bits of his spit on my face and smell the alcohol on his breathe. At this point, Line was out of her seat, letting out little staccato hisses and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. While she waved a finger at each of us, I was too busy being pissed off to notice the man was backpedalling. Doubtless, his ego wouldn't allow him to apologize, but I wasn't going to stop until it was obvious that I found him far more unpleasant than the power outage.

Painting on my apartment building: "Juan Pablo Duarte, 'father of the homeland'"

When I was good and done, I finally began to hear him again. He was explaining that his two children were American and that he it hadn't been his intention to talk trash about Americans. Whatever the case, there was little left for him to do but go to his room and stop complaining to me. While I remained and chatted with Line a little more, I could see that the vibe was completely ruined. In days to come, however, it became clear from what I gleaned it conversation with her and the rest of the ladies that my neighbor was not all that popular and I was actually somewhat more respected for not just sitting and taking his abuse.

Whatever the case, I really don't hold it against him. I mean, he paid his damned power bill. It would have been nice, though, if he could have just taken it in stride everyone else seemed to.

An Angry Neighbor Part 1

2011-11-09T10:00:00.000-08:00

When I arrived back on the roof, my friends had been joined by Mencha's daughter, Estefany. The five of us carried on a little longer before each making our way down to our apartments. I found some pretense to bug Line some more and in due course we found ourselves on the couch in her apartment discussing the finer points of Dominican gender relations. "Nosotras mujeres aguantamos mucho en este pais," she told me, "we women put up with a lot in this country." We talked for a while about Dominican men and when I asked how a woman can know that her boyfriend has other girlfriends and still not want to leave him, she shared with me a dicho (a saying):

Una llave que abre muchas puertas es una llave maestra, pero una llave que abre todos las puertas no sirve. (A key that opens many doors is a master key, but a key that opens every door is no good.)

The best I can do in interpreting this is to suppose that it means that a woman wants a man who is so desirable that he can get other women if wants, but who won't take just any woman.

"Each person reaps what he/she sows"

What happened next was unprecedented. From down the hall came a steady stream of angry shouting, which gradually grew louder before parking itself somewhere in the hall outside Line's apartment. I knew its source to be the overweight single man who lives next door to me and I wasn't surprised to hear vulgar English sprinkled in amongst the Spanish epithets; though I had never interacted with this man, I had noticed he posessed the American habits of smoking cigarettes and going straight to his apartment without spending some time socializing in the hallway.

Fairness: even if your rubio brother can levitate and you can't

He must have heard me and Line because next thing either of us knew, he was venting his frustration at full volume, more or less in my face. Mostly he cursed Pablo, but also there was talk of the people Pablo answers to at the school and in Philadelphia. I reasoned that the best course of action would be just to agree and act disgusted. But gradually it began to appear as if my obvious lack of indignation was only aggrevating him more. Finally, I detected in his tone and choice of words a kind of antagonism that was directed at me.

Helping Some Neighbors Move In

2011-11-07T10:00:00.000-08:00

The head of the household I help move in across the street is muscle-bound and shaved bald. I don't recognize him at first be he knows who I am and reminds me that he works the corner in front of the rotunda with with the rest of the motoconchistas. The Daihatsu has half-emptied after the time it has taken me to peel away from my rooftop group, but there remain some big items. The ladies remain perched on the roof, silently taking in the show.

Painted on the building where I live: The man says, "son, obey you parent and teachers
out of love [for them]".

First to go up the three flights of stairs is the wooden box of a bed. It is empty, and thus not very heavy, but its ungainly form, combined with the low overhead clearance of the stairway requires the we stand and squat in awkward positions and use muscles in our backs and arms that don't often get a workout. For me, it is another triumph of communication, something I certainly couldn't have accomplished with nearly as much grace or poise five months ago. At critical points along the way, I have to listen carefully and follow instructions. At other times it is I who has to describe how to proceed based one what I can see and my moving partner cannot.

Adorning the street entrance of my building: A shackled taino bride and a Dominican
flag breaking a chain.

Next, in similar fashion, comes the mattress and finally a couch. On the rooftop across the street I can see the ladies watching me, with boundless amusement, no doubt. From their perspective, each trip up the stairs plays out like a play in three acts, taking place in the exposed landings between flights of stairs. I wave and shout to them, but it is clear they prefer that the fourth wall remain intact.

The building where I live. It used to be a school. My window is the one in the middle.

By the time we finish, I am panting and sweating profusely, but I can tell that my neighbor could easily keep going. I'm typical Dominican fashion, nobody says "thank you". Instead I am rewarded with a few minutes conversation and the comfort of knowing that I had done my good deed for the day.

Hanging Out On The Roof

2011-11-05T08:00:00.000-07:00

For the second night in a row, my apartment building is without luz (literally "light", it means electricity), but for once it is not the unreliable infrastructure that is to blame. The most likely culprit is Pablo Mejia, the good-natured, yet somewhat incompetent man who collects the rent and pays the bills on behalf of our absentee landlady in Philadelphia. Last night, he and some of the other guys living here climbed a ladder to the junction box at the a the school across the street, connecting wires in an effort to circumvent the need to pay. From our limited vantage point, my eighteen-year-old neighbor, Line (pronounced "lee-nay") and I only saw a bright flash and heard a loud electrical pop at which point the street lights went out.

A painting on my apartment building. The boy says, "I'm Sorry I broke your doll house with
my ball". The girl responds, "I forgive: you."

This evening, I climb the stairs to the roof to sit in the cool while leaving my apartment downstairs with the window and doors open in hopes that it will air out in the breeze of passing cars. On the roof I find Line haciendo coro (hanging out) with Mencha and Estefany who live across the hall and next door to her, respectively. They offer me a seat which I accept, and gradually I come up to speed with the conversation. The women mostly talk about how how fed up with they are with Pablo and complain about what it's like in this cinderblock apartment without electricity at night, but there are also moments of gossip and what feels to me like campfire talk; stories of supernatural things that have happened to friends, tales emphasizing the importance of listening to one's mother.

Another painting from in my apartment building. This one is in English.

Little by little, I elbow my way into the conversation. It is not my custom, but over time I have managed to grasp the etiquette involved when talking over someone the way they do here. And after five months of digesting the slurring, mush-mouthed dialect of the Cibao region where I live, I have begun to develop an ear for it's intricacies and modismos (turns of phrase). A man coming upstairs to a group of chatting women is certainly not taboo in this country, but I wouldn't exactly call it the norm. Without a doubt, my status as a foreigner and reputation as a limited speaker of Spanish has helped me gain access. Also, it doesn't hurt that they're tickled pink to live next door to an American. But, for my part, I couldn't be happier to have them for neighbors, either.

The neglected emblem of CEPBIEN (CEntro Psicopedagogico BIlingue ENmanuel) greets
visitors at the carport entrance to my apartment building. The school has moved to a newer
building across the street.

It's hard to imagine any place I would rather be on this night than with these three patently adorable dominicanas, getting to know them and swapping stories and complaints. Every gesture and intonation is a delight to behold and as I observe and contribute I can feel my palette of dominicanismos grow and expand. By the time a Daihatsu truck pulls up to the three-story apartment building across the street, full of a families belongings, I am so much a part of the group that they don't want me to leave when I go downstairs to help my new neighbors move in.

Pisado

2011-11-03T11:52:00.000-07:00

"Pisa'o Pisa'o," say the kids as they play hackey in the hallway and I am transported back in time to just less than three years ago when first I heard that word. In Guatemala, pisa'o was a vulgar word one of my colleagues at Ajb'atz' Enlace Quiche convinced me to say to a female coworker.

I see this mural every day in the hallway that leads to my door.
It reads "It's good to have patience."

Stumbling out into the unlit, cavelike passage that connects two other hallways in my apartment building, I find my adolescent next door neighbor and a playmate I don't recognize. When I enquire as to the meaning of pisa'o one jabs his finger enthusiastically toward the other as he plays, explaining, "Tu sabes, aquí hay mucho pisa'o." I surmise it has something to do with getting big air with the hackey sack.

Cartoon, super-hero Jesus greets me at the bottom of the stairs every morning.

After my first brush with the word, I never really much cared to know what it meant. I just felt annoyed by it. What Mikey actually told me to say to her was "peace out" because it sounded like saying I was saying the same thing. When I look in the dictionary today, I find a verb, pisar, the past participle of which would be pisado; almost certainly the word they are using if they are speaking Spanish. It means "to step on, to tread on, to mash".

Inside the "cage" of metal bars downstairs. It says, "The fruit of the spirit is..." The fruits
include "Peace," "Happiness," "Love," "Self-Control," "Faith," "Patience,"
"Meekness," "Goodness," "Kindness"

Tonight it's sticky and hot without electricity to run my fan. Even when I'm not standing over my gas stove, my back runs with sweat. Leaving my curtains completely open is usually a forgone conclusion on nights like this, but unfortunately this time the street lamp blaring into my room would display my naked bod for the world to see. You see, the power outage this time was quite avoidable. Pablo just ran out of time before paying this month's electrical bill.

Last Day Back Home

2011-10-16T15:16:00.000-07:00

On my last day in town, I mostly took it easy and hung around the house. In the evening while I packed, my friends Kris and Emily came by with their four-and-a-half-month-old son Henry who I hadn't yet gotten to meet since he was born after I had left. I was so glad to get a chance to see them, however brief and that they were able to join me, Amy, Jean, Kylee, Brie, and Mom for my last dinner in town. After eating, I had to scramble to do a last bit of packing before being whisked away to the airport by Mom.

Portland composts, and so do Mom and Rich: The container with the green lid contains
bio-degradable waste.

My week in Portland was like none I've ever spent before. Whereas a vacation is usually what you take to get away from your usual existence, this was a time for me to return to it. I had an opportunity few people ever get, to look at my life from outside of it; to step into the shoes I wore six months ago and see my world with eyes that are both the same and different. Over and over, I was struck by how good I have it. I have the best family and friends anybody could ever hope for! What did I do to deserve such a charmed life?

Free Geek, Sarita, and a Party with Dad and Mildred

2011-10-14T17:53:00.000-07:00

When finally the day arrived that I was to pick up Heather's computers, I was browsing Facebook and noticed that there was a comment on my fellow volunteer Phil's Facebook wall from another volunteer named Sarah. She mentioned that she would be returning to the Dominican Republic in a week. I happened to know that she's from Portland and since the comment was only 7 minutes old, I turned on chat to see if she was there. Sure enough, we wound of chatting and I invited her to join me at Free Geek. It just worked out that my appointment there fit well into her schedule.

Mom stitches a new set of curtains for my apartment in Moca.

At Free Geek we were greeted by the friendly hardware grants person, Elizabeth, and taken to a conference room where we booted up all three laptops and tested out the power supplies. We talked about Linux and touched on Heather and my plans for the computers and picked up mouses, network cards, and carrying bags for each one. Elizabeth mentioned that Free Geek had two or three RPCV's (Returned Peace Corps Volunteers) on staff. We also learned that Elizabeth is on her way to England to get her PhD. I'm not sure, but it may have even been her last day!

Mom and I hike in one of Portland's many green areas that I sorely miss

That evening, I was spending more time with Dad and Mildred and it worked out to where I got to join them in Tualatin for Dad's birthday! It was at her neice, Amy's house where I had been last year during the holiday season at it was a joy to get to see everyone again. While I was there, I noticed Rigo, a shirttale relative, said "salud", when I sneazed. Though he spoke fluent English, I noted a hint of an accent which it turned out was Dominican! Needless to say, we had plenty to talk about both in English and Spanish.

Andrew, Cherry Tomatoes, and Stanich's

2011-10-12T17:51:00.000-07:00

Andrew and I had a beer at the brewpub on the corner by his house and while we waited for Amy to join us, the conversation turned to composting. I mentioned that I knew a community compost pile a few blocks away maintained by a friendly neighbor. Andrew was interested, so we walked over to check it out. While we were there, the proprietor was working in her garden and, no doubt pleased at our vocal appreciation of her handiwork, offered us the cherry tomatoes growing on one of several enormous tomato plants in her garden. At her insistence, we picked it clean of perhaps two pounds of cherry tomatoes, observing that it still had remaining another full harvest at least of little green tomatoes waiting to ripen.

A double batch of Mom's legendary rhubarb cake

Back at the pub, Amy was waiting and while the three of us chatted and munched tomatoes, I coordinated with Steve and Adam to meet up at what turned out to be the former sports bar and greasy spoon called Stanich's a couple blocks off of Macadam near John's Landing. Altogether it was me, Amy, Adam, Steve, and Steve's girlfriend, Cat. I was glad to get some more time with all of them, having been in wedding mode during our time together before. With so much of the group living far away now, it made me reflect that I should have been taking more advantage of the time when we happened to live in more or less the same city.

Did I mention there was rhubarb cake?

More Good Times In Portland

2011-10-10T17:45:00.000-07:00

The days that remained of my visit were another montage of warmth and happiness. I went to breakfast with Dad at the Hotcake House where we talked about important stuff before he took me shopping for some things I needed and couldn't find in the DR. Mom and I accidentally flooded the crawlspace when we plugged a utility sink that was in use as a drain for the washing machine and had take everything out. Luckily only a handful of my books and nothing else was ruined.

Amy trips out about Mom's flowers

I went on a hike from Terwilliger Boulevard to Council Crest with Mom and Rich one night before they dropped me at PRA with my buddy Mike who took me too this stellar brewpub that specializes in sour beer. There we met up with one of my other favorite people, his girlfriend, Saffron and they took me to see their awesome new house in Southeast. The next day, I finally managed to spend some time with my good friend, Andrew who it turns out has found an apartment next door to the City Bikes, bicycle coop about four blocks from where I used to live.

The Wedding and the Reception

2011-10-08T17:42:00.000-07:00

The night before Mom and Rich's wedding, I helped prepare for the reception at the Masonic lodge. The next day, in the afternoon, I went with Uncle Doug and Aunt Sheila four blocks from Mom and Rich's house to Sellwood Park where members of the Denman and Chapman families were waiting. Long-time family friend Brie took some photos and next thing I knew, Sheila was giving a speech about the bride and groom and they were reading one another their vows. It was a very simple wedding with only the twenty-odd family members in attendance. The things the two of them had to say to each other where touching, and as my eyes welled up, I couldn't help really feeling the sincerity and poignancy of the moment.

My dad, Elvin and my Stepfather, Rich hang out in Mom and Rich's yard

Next came the reception at the Masonic Lodge in Milwaukie where we were joined by beloved friends from several circles of Mom and Rich's lives including Mazamas, the camping and cabin groups. The bride and groom had asked in their invitation that guests who were so inclined perform something on-stage. Specifically, they asked for haikus, but the format was generally open. Cousin Julia MC'd the showcase which included songs many fun and heartfelt contributions. For my own part, I led everyone in a dinamica (a kind of activity used in Dominican education), a call and response chant called Ooh Ah Laylay.

Stepmother, Mildred and Mother, Julia converse while sister, Amy and Dad smile

After the performances, there was eating and toasts. From what I understand, the food was contributed by different guests potluck-style. It consisted of roast beef, pork, a variety of salads, an enormous fruit plate from Grandpa, and of course desserts by Bo. I thought I had died and gone to heaven. During several of the toasts, I got dragged upstairs into the photo booth Brie had set up. The photo booth was a blast, what a fun idea! I caught part of Grandpa's toast and all of Amy's. My favorite was probably Brie's with it's humorous use of shameless self-promotion.

Mom's flowers in front of a neighbor's house

Next, Brad Hoyt's band, Booth Dog took the stage and we all got our dance on until the early morn. Actually we only had the place rented until ten, but it was about 11:30 when I finally took my leave of the members of the camping group who were still hanging out in front of the building, stretching out the reunion.

Hanging Out Back Home

2011-10-06T17:24:00.000-07:00

No more had I arrived in Portland and checked my email than I learned from Heather in Juan Lopez that our grant proposal for an in-kind donation from Free Geek had been approved! I had to follow up with them, but first Heather wanted to talk to me. When I called her she told me they had gotten in touch and were prepared to send me home with three laptop computers! I immediately called their "grant shepherd", Elizabeth, who was able to schedule me to pick them up the day before I was to return to the DR.

Mom and Rich's patio and impressive 6-foot-tall bean patch

The next few days passed in the blink of an eye. Utterly, it was a barrage of wonderful privileges I have lived without for six months. Mom had made a double batch of her incredible rhubarb sour cream cake and had a case of fresh peaches in the kitchen waiting to be devoured. The freezer was stocked with ice cream and the pantry with Quaker Oat Squares. My sister, Amy took me to the Bridgeport brewpub in the pearl after I went book shopping at Powell's. I had an irresistible casserole made with local onions and tomatoes from Dad and Mildred's garden and I got to eat at Gustav's for Dad's birthday and see Mildred's sister and brother-in-law Clarie and David. I ate chile relleno. I skateboarded.

Yours truly at Powell's City of Books

Getting Back To Portland

2011-10-04T17:21:00.001-07:00

Monday morning I got a call from one of my favorite volunteers, Jose. It turned out he and his girlfriend, Magee were coming through Moca the next day on their way to the capital. Since I was headed that way as well, I couldn't resist catching the same bus as them and passing the three-hour trip catching up on the dwindling months of their service and trading bits of Peace Corps chisme (gossip). When we arrived at the Peace Corps office, it was full of October 2009 Volunteers who were in town for their COS (close of service) conference. Among those not COSing was Katie, a volunteer at the beginning of her second year, who was dealing with a security incident. She was getting her room at the Bella Epoca reimbursed and, per an agreement they have with the Peace Corps, she could fill the room's other bed for just 300 pesos (about $9 American), an offer she graciously extended to me.

Fellow volunteer Dave peruses my movie collection in the sala of my new apartment

After a pleasant night spent visiting with Katie and some reminiscent short-timers from the COS group, I rose early and made my way to the office where I was met by Wilson. Wilson gives volunteers rides to and from the airport at a great discount and he more than lived up to the glowing reviews given by everyone I talked to. I didn't notice as the half-hour drive flew by on account of his interesting stories and veritable charm. At the airport I was pleased to find that my visa excused me from paying the twenty-dollar tourist tax. I arrived at my gate with time to spare. Two flights and eleven sleepless hours later, I found myself at midnight in Portland.

Making Friends in Moca Part 2

2011-09-17T10:00:00.000-07:00

Aneudy's wife, Estefany is seven months pregnant. He told me it was going to be his first, so I was surprised when I met a little girl named Alayony at his house. He explained that his best friend had left her in his care while on tour in Puerto Rico with his basketball team. Unfortunately, an accident had befallen his friend from which he never recovered. "Alayony," it turns out, is a version of the name Hermione from the Harry Potter series.

Enormous grasshopper creature I found

After a short visit, we took to the road in their Carolla to drop off Alayony with an aunt, but were stopped short on a hill on the north side of town when the car ran out of gas. While Aneudy hiked to the gas station I had an opportunity to get to know Estafany a little better and I learned she is the niece of the couple who live across the street from my apartment.

Downpour at the clubhouse

Once again mobile, we dropped off Alayony and made our way to one of Moca's main intersections, in front of the Palacio de Justicia where we lounged in the patio of a place called Drink King and chatted until late.

Making Friends in Moca Part 1

2011-09-15T10:00:00.000-07:00

On the bus from Santiago the night of the art show, I met a merchant from one of the local hospitals who expressed interest in my classes after I explained what I do. In Moca, I found myself on the walk from the market to house, talking to a rather personable young Doctor named Aneudy Rafael who cares for couple of patients in Santiago and commutes every day to his home in Moca.

Aneudy invited me to his home, and since the neighborhood it's in is generally safe and well-lit, I decided to see where the night would lead. It turns out his house is opposite the large open lot behind my house along which I ran every day during my time at the Henriquez house.

Inside my tiny bathroom

A Visit to Santiago Part 2

2011-09-13T10:00:00.000-07:00

I decided to follow Mike, and after a few minutes in a colmado on Las Carreras I found myself in a hotel room with Ari, Tim R, Will, Mike, Ryan, and Tim D. After an hour or so of catching up and watching football, I managed to convince everyone to join me at the Centro Cultural where a member of Megan's host community was showing his paintings.

The view from the window of my new apartment

Unfortunately, by the time we arrived, the event was over. The paintings, abstract and expressionistic, were still open for viewing. Next to each of them were two or three titles, chosen by the hosts of the show, that had been submitted by people in attendance.

My little kitchen sink, counter and cupboard.

By the time we left, it was getting late. I had asked a fellow passenger on the bus into town and learned that the last bus for Moca left Santiago at 7:00. When I looked at my watch it was a little later than 6:30. So, after a hasty goodbye, I briskly walked the five blocks to where the first Moca bus first stops en route to my home town.

A Visit to Santiago Part 1

2011-09-11T10:00:00.000-07:00

It was Saturday and thus a day for scouts, except one of them had lost his father recently and so the caminantes (teenaged scouts) left early the attend the funeral. I too left early because I had an art show to attend in Santiago.

The start time was officially 3pm and since the last time I arrived on time I ended up waiting two hours for the art show to start, I decided to get there some time around five. At about 4:30 I found myself on Avenida 30 de Mayo making my way toward Calle Del Sol when the trajectory of my evening took an unexpected turn.

Coming in my direction was Mike, an AT (Appropriate Technologies) volunteer who I hadn't seen since July. Mike had found himself in Santiago following a training on how to build ecologically-friendly latrines. He explained that five others were waiting in a nearby hotel while he made a run for soda.

Calendar of scout activities. Examples include "Nature Path" and "Fire Prevention"

Signing The Lease

2011-09-09T14:24:00.000-07:00

The first dribbles of Tropical Storm Irene splatter from the sky as Pablo and I roll up to an office building in downtown Moca. Pablo's attorney, Rosa, has a small air-conditioned office at the end of a second-floor corridor lined with doors labeled with names of different licensiados and doctorados. As she labors over the changing of names and details on a boilerplate lease agreement, I wonder vaguely what it would take to get lawyer's credentials in this country what lifestyle it would afford me.

Scouts learn to type with hand-covers made from latex glove boxes gathered at the hospital

The lease is remarkably similar to the other three I've signed in my lifetime. There is a clause against subletting, a clause against pets. A modest penalty is imposed if I am late paying rent. Pablo says he'll give me five days grace before he enforces it. Fortunately, the payment falls two days after my paycheck always arrives.

Completed surveys from my community diagnostic

The rest of the day, Pablo runs me around Moca for free. While the rain becomes progressively harder, I buy some essentials for my new apartment, window curtains, shower curtain, pillow. When we eat at a local comedor, I insist on picking up the check. Pablo, it turns out, has more than one iron in the fire. In the mornings he works as a motoconchista. At night he cleans at Megatone, a local shopping center I go to for wifi and beer from time to time. In addition, he manages eight apartments and four pensiones (rooms without kitchens) in the building where he and I live. The landlady is a school teacher who lives in Miami. I wonder how much she knows of what goes on here.

Henriquez kitten nurses

The building where I live housed an escuela de primer nivel, an elementary school called CEPBIEN before it was moved across the street. I mentioned to Pablo my interest in farming the empty lot adjacent to it and the very next day he told he'd gotten us permission to plant there! I wonder what it will be like to be a sharecropper in the DR. Only time will tell.

Las Lagunas Again

2011-09-07T07:00:00.000-07:00

Professor Juan has me in checkmate. I started strong, but gave up my queen in a clumsy move early on that drained what interest I had in the match. Juan is one of the more interesting characters I've met so far in the Peace Corps. He's spent much of his life in the military and much of our chess match using the board as a visual aid in his explanations of dominoes strategy and how that game offers insight into the Dominican mindset. He says that at Dominican chess tournaments, players use signals to help their teammates play. It's yet another example of tigueraje, a catch-all term for a Dominican doing whatever it takes to get what he or she wants and to hell with the rules.

Juan clearly has respect for the rules, though, and for sportsmanship. Sabrina explained that he comes to this school in her site every Sunday to teach chess just because. There is another man who is teaching music and Sabrina and I sit in and watch. I came out to Las Lagunas last night to celebrate with her and Masa my new freedom.

In conversation with Masa, I learned he and I ran in the same circles at Oregon State during the time we were both there (he enrolled as an undergrad like me in 2002 and continued in grad school there until 2008), and I even had a radio show adjacent to Glitter Bomb, the one he shared with his best friend whose name I dropped when remembering KBVR people. I also knew of his drag persona, having been loosely connected to the OSU drag show scene. We even went to the same parties and yet somehow we had failed to connect during those five years.

At the school, having been beat by Juan, I watch music lessons for a few more minutes and take my leave of him and Sabrina. As always, it has been a welcome respite to come out here and get away. As ride home I am pleased to think how soon I will be able to return the favor.

Moving Out Part 3

2011-09-05T07:00:00.000-07:00

The Prior tenant moved out days ago. While I am checking it out, another party, a mother and three daughters, come to see it as well. Pablo says they are the third to come look today. The mother balks at the fixed utility cost, complaining that it is too high. Compared to Portland utilities, it is a dream come true, even on my income. As soon as she leaves, I tell Pablo I'll rent it. We go to an ATM, I withdraw three months' rent (first and last month plus lawyer's fee), and Pablo hands over the keys. I am glad I have pinched every penny possible since the beginning of March. Even after this hefty payment I am little worse for the wear.

Back at the clubhouse I tell Pablo Ovalles that I've found a new home and that I'd like to move in as soon as possible. He tell me he can haul my stuff there today. Back in my old room, the fan has chosen this moment to break down again. I cram into bags and backpacks everything that hasn't already been made ready to move, suffusing my shirt and jeans with sweat in the process. Outside it has begun to rain, and by the looks of me you would think I was out in it.

A handful of caminantes (teen-aged scouts) files in and leaves with my things, piling them in the back of Pablos pickup. We pull away from the clubhouse and I breathe a sigh of relief. I am no longer outstaying my welcome. I have a place to call my own.

Scouts take a class on WordPress

Moving Out Part 2

2011-09-03T07:00:00.000-07:00

While I wait, I call Sabrina. Her sunny greeting breaks me in two. I have to tell her I can't come with her and Masa to the beach. They are taking advantage of the weekend the precedes a trip to the capital and I had hoped to come along, but I can't afford to miss any housing opportunities. She is understanding and sympathetic, but it hurts all the same. Volunteers like her and Masa won't be around forever. They arrived a year before me and will be gone by next summer.

Jose and Oswaldo hang at the clubhouse

Because it's Saturday, the scouts have their activities at the clubhouse. It is a welcome refuge from my home life and I take advantage of the opportunity to announce my upcoming class schedule and plead my case with Pablo Ovalles, leader of the Moca scouts. He says that he will try to help me find a temporary home while I continue to seek housing, but I am doubtful. An hour or so into the scout meeting, I run home for my camera and am greeted by the other Pablo, who now has a key and wants to show me the apartment.

A chart of scout activities planned out through December

The second-floor apartment in Los Cácares is very humble. A thin wooden wall divides, more or less evenly, a space 16 feet deep and 14 feet wide. A tiny, doorless bathroom (5.5 x 3.5 feet) has been fashioned in a corner of the bedroom out of the same concrete blocks as the floor, ceiling and walls. The kitchen consists of a small plywood counter with a tiny sink that leaks. Nonetheless, I am impressed. All the light switches work and the place smells like fresh paint. Furthermore, the price is right.

Moving Out Part 1

2011-09-01T07:00:00.000-07:00

"¿Estás usando el escritorio en la habitación?" Flor asks, "Are you using the desk in the room?"

"Es de Francia, y ella lo está necesitando." The desk in my room at the Henriquez house where I have lived since May belongs to Flor's daughter and she needs it back. It is a gentle threat. In this culture where everything is said without saying it, Flor wants me to know he's going to begin taking the furniture from my room whether I move out or not.

This morning, I finally got some help from his wife, Doña Antonia in searching for an apartment. She pointed me to a guy in the neighborhood who brokers houses and apartments. An hour later we went to the corner where I he introduced me to a motoconchista named Pablo. I went with him to a building in the nearby neighborhood of Los Cácares, brightly painted in primary colors and suspiciously resembling a grade school. Unfortunately, Pablo, who is the property manager, neglected to bring the keys to the room so he brought me back to Villa Carolina with the promise of returning soon.

My room at my host family's house

Striking Out On Apartments

2011-08-30T07:00:00.000-07:00

My latest foray into apartment searching began with a friendly old man named Jose who had greeted me from behind his fence on a main road in the suburbs when he saw me wandering in and out of side streets. Jose flagged down a motoconchista (motorcycle taxi driver) named Kachu who showed me a house of which his cousin's family had recently rented the second floor for five thousand pesos a month. He gave me his phone number and promised to get a hold of the house's landlady, a lawyer named Carmen. Three days, and two phone calls later, I was on the back of his motoconcho as he went on a wild goose chase to find her.

We went to an apartment building and then two different office buildings, but it wasn't until four hours later that I found myself sitting in Carmen's well-appointed apartment discussing the places she had for rent. Between pedantic explanations of proper pronoun usage and reflections on the Peace Corps during the Balaguer administration, Carmen explained that the building had two units priced at 6,000 pesos and 7,500 pesos. I sat and listened while she talked at length about the Jehovah's Witness missionaries she adored, hoping I could finesse a drop in price. Sadly, just like everyone else I've talked to, she wouldn't budge.

Under different circumstances this process would be tolerable. Had I begun three months ago, I would probably even enjoy it. But the fact is, I needed to move five days ago and I don't have time to listen to stories about missionaries or wait for calls from husbands the United States. When you add to this the fact that nobody at Peace Corps or in my community seems to want to do much to help me, it's not hard to see why quitting is beginning to look rather attractive.

Searching For Apartments

2011-08-28T07:00:00.000-07:00

Five days have gone by since I paid Flor to keep him from insisting that I move out right away. Since then, I've looked at three apartments, all outside my price range. The one prospect I had last week, a second-floor apartment in La Milagrosa, seems to be slipping away. The landlady told me there is someone before me in line for it and she is waiting on a phone call from her husband in New York. She was waiting to hear from him two weeks ago.

Looking for an apartment in Moca is not like looking for an apartment in Portland. The is no Craigslist and no newspaper. You just have to go walking around looking for "For Rent" signs and asking people you meet if they know of any places that are available. In the Dominican Republic, nobody ever wants to admit to not knowing something, so I'm constantly given bad information which I have no choice but to investigate on the off chance that the person who gave it to me knew what he or she was talking about

Not Welcome Part 4

2011-08-26T07:00:00.000-07:00

Although the circumstances of my situation today are different, the feelings are very much the same. First, there is the resentment. Once again I am shelling out my own precious money-about one-fifth of this month's check-in order to protect my interests and keep the peace. Then there is the vague panic of needing to secure my living situation and not having enough time.

And finally there's pity and disgust. It was hard to feel any anger against my old roommate when I considered how completely clueless she was. Likewise, with Flor I struggle to summon any ire. He is confused and yet to appear so in his culture is to show weakness. A man in his nineties, he is head of a household of seven people and it's beginning to look like it was against his better judgement to have me be an eighth. If only he had told me this the day I arrived...

Not Welcome Part 3

2011-08-24T07:00:00.000-07:00

Given the circumstances, it's hard not to reflect on the last time I overpaid my rent to avoid being forced to move. It was less than a year ago. My roommate at the time reneged on five hundred dollars for which she and I were "jointly and severally liable", meaning if one of us didn't cover it, the other was still on the hook. Her parents picked that moment to stop bailing her out and it made little difference to her whether the money came out of her deposit or my pocket; she moving soon anyway.

I was already looking for a third roommate at the time, and the difference for me was one of having to find one more person to sign the lease or two. I reasoned that a clean housing record was worth those five hundred dollars and more. At any rate, it was a swift education in how quickly you can find yourself protecting your landlord's investment in order to save your own hide.

Not Welcome Part 2

2011-08-22T07:00:00.000-07:00

Flor wanted me moved out by today. His son, who owns the house where he and I live, wants to use the room I'm renting. The problem is that I didn't know this until two weeks ago. In fact, before then I was under the impression that, like many of my peers, I was welcome to stay indefinitely. But I knew something was wrong the moment he sat me down at the end of July and began telling me, "Our agreement was that you would stay for three months..."

The truth is, Flor and I never had any agreement. Volunteer housing was arranged between him and Peace Corps before the Peace Corps position in his community was given to me. I don't know what exchange takes place between host families and Peace Corps before a volunteer arrives, but whatever the typical arrangement may be, it doesn't often lead to the volunteer being asked to leave his or her host home after the first three months. Unfortunately, for me this isn't the case.

Not Welcome Part 1

2011-08-20T10:37:00.000-07:00

"So now I'm paid up through the end of August," I half-ask as I hand Don Flor the second half of my rental payment for the next fifteen days. I've just run to the bank for the second time in three days because Flor insisted I pay the whole three thousand and not fifteen hundred for just a week like we'd discussed.

"No," Flor responds, "now you're paid up through today." I cringe. This is what I was afraid of. I haven't been keeping records, but I have paid every first and fifteenth since I arrived, including the one payment Peace Corps gave me to deliver at the beginning of May when first I came to visit my site, a couple of weeks before moving in. He insists that I have not been paying for my room in advance, even after I try reminding him of that first payment. Rather than ask him what he thought the first payment was for, I decided not to press the issue. To do so would likely only aggrevate an already stressful situation.

Scout Camp Part 5

2011-08-10T07:00:00.000-07:00

Back at camp, the day of the hike, a storm descended on the camp. It reminded me of one time many years ago when I was hiking through an alpine valley in the Pacific Northwest when the sky opened up and unleashed a torrential downpour. Thunder struck so close that you could hear its deafening crack before the rolling boom of the thunder. Having enclosed everything in plastic bags inside my backpack before leaving for the camping trip and pulled everything away from the sides of the tent, which was covered by a rain fly and a tarp, I was in pretty good shape, hunkered down and reading, when I learned from another camper that the scouts' tents were collapsing.

It wasn't long before I was helping to fold up tents and haul sopping sleeping bags and clothing to the still-covered general area so they could be staged for an emergency exit. We ate a hasty meal while still working and near dusk, the bus that had brought the scouts arrived and they marched in single file back onto it and took them down the road. The rain slowed to a drizzle as we loaded the Pablo's pickup with what remained of the kitchen before loading on all the scout's gear. By the time we got on the road in the back of Pablo pickup, it was after dark. With the rush of cold air cutting through my clothing and the glare of headlights aching in my brain, the ride back quickly turned miserable.

Back at the clubhouse there was still worked to do before we could go home. With the Daihatsu pulled up in the rain on the far side of the basketball court, we formed a chain, handing off unloaded items, from one person to the next up to the covered area. While we sorted things out and scouts rummaged around to find their bags, parents trickled in to hear their harrowing tails and take them home. Finally, when all had been unloaded and I was satisfied I had helped enough, I went home, happy to once again sleep in my bed.

Scout Camp Part 4

2011-08-08T07:00:00.000-07:00

On day three, I rose to a perturbed Katia. It turns out I was supposed to join the caminantes for morning exercise. I was to go run a lap of the pasture by myself at once. I returned to find the caminantes involved in a lesson they were recieving from Pablo on compasses and maps. They were preparing for a hike! This was exactly the kind of thing I had daydreamed about for days since I first gazed out over the hills and valleys on to Miches from El Seibo. After a filling a discarded coke bottle with water changing into long pants, I rode with the rest of the hikers to the place Pablo had planned the beginning of out hike. Armed with a map, compass, and GPS, we set out across the pasture.

The hike was like something out of a dream. While there was no persistent trail, we picked up and lost little tracks through the grass the whole way through. We forded the river at a place where it was about knee deep and came over a heavily forested rise into rivine carved by a smaller, secondary waterway. From there it was about a hundred yards straight uphill after which we were treated to a breathtaking panoramic view that included the pasture from which we had come. For another couple of hours we hiked over rolling hills, shimmying under the occasional barbed wire fence. Finally we came upon a road that would lead us back to Jamao and began to follow it. About halfway there, Pablo arrived in his pickup and took us back to camp. When I think of it now, it's amusing how quickly the notion of riding with 10-plus kids in the back of a pickup truck has become normal.

Scout Camp Part 3

2011-08-06T07:00:00.000-07:00

The next morning was devoted to the cultural appreciation portion of the camping trip. The theme this year was South Africa and every troop had prepared a traditional South African dish and put on South African costumes. One by one, I went around with Pablo and Katia and some of the other caminantes and watched as each troop recited facts they'd memorized about South Africa and told about the food they had prepared. Meanwhile the caminantes did an activity where they had to build a fire and cook eggs, potatoes, and plantains without using and pots, pans, or utensils.

Next it was time for lunch, after which we all went down to the river, where Flavia gave everyone a lesson in lifeguarding and water safety. That evening, we had "Patrulla con Ritmo" (Troop with Rhythm) where each troop got up and gave musical performances they had planned and practiced. Right as it was beginning, I took a call from Sabine that wound up lasting about an hour and a half. Luckily, there was a four-way tie and I arrived just in time to watch all four finalists give encore performances so the judges could pick a winner.

Upon my arrival, it was announced that I had to dance in front of everyone. They even had a saying along the lines of "If you want to join us you have to dance." Luckily this is not a problem for me. Alvaro and Flavia laid down a rhythm and I proceeded to get down with my bad self to the delight cheers and laughter of all. Near the end of the evening, the scouts worked themselves into a frenzy again. They now insisted that I sing for them. This time I was at a bit of a loss. After a few minutes deliberation, I settle on "Summertime", an old standard I had learned years ago in high school choir. I decided to put on a show, playing up the jazz singer schtick and throwing in hand gestures and even a bit of soft-shoe. It was a hit. Everybody went nuts. Some of the kids began calling me "el cantante" (the singer) and peppering me with questions about my favorite music.

Scout Camp Part 2

2011-08-04T07:49:00.000-07:00

The next morning as I returned from the gym, I was surprised to learn from Pablo that the trip was back on. At about 12:30 in the afternoon, packing reached full swing, with tents, and stoves and other equipment being hauled out of storage and put into the bed of a Daihatsu Dyna truck. As scouts arrived, their bags were staged in the covered area. The bags were piled high atop the gear in the Daihatsu and covered in a hurry with tarps against momentary, heavy rain. The scouts themselves all piled into a 50-seater bus while I got in the back of Pablo's pickup with the food and a few of the caminantes (older scouts who participate in different activities).

The road to Jamao goes through San Victor and a up a montain to La Cumbre, a high village with some enticing little hotels and restaurants, from there, you follow a ridge for a couple of hours through a number of tiny communities clinging to steep slopes on either side that give way to spactacular mountainscape and awe-inspiring views. Just after we passed through a little settlement called Palo Roto, we descended a slope and doubled back 150 degrees onto a dirt road into an open valley. For a stretch, we followed a river and then, left the road and went through a hole in a barbed-wire fence into a broad pasture flanked by a strip of forest that enclosed the river. This was to be our campground.

Everyone marched in single file and broke into their various troops, proceeding to set up their tents and drape over them tarps to protect against rain. Late in the afternoon, they held opening ceremonies including a prayer and the raising of the Scout Group 8 flag and the Dominican Flag. At dusk everyone hopped into a shallow part of the river to bathe in the rain and then it was time for dinner. Strangely, at this point, I could barely keep my eyes open and so, retired to my tent before I had a chance to partake of the evening activity.

Scout Camp Part 1

2011-07-21T07:00:00.000-07:00

The morning of the sixth, after packing in a fury the last of my clean clothes the night before, I went to the gym for one last workout before four days at camp in Jamao De Norte. The aerobics instructor was a guy I had never seen before and he really worked us. He must have found my shorts too revealing or something, though, because when we did the floor routine afterwards, he pulled my towel out from under me and laid across my front from my hips downward. WTF?

Back home I discovered, true to form, that everyone else had heard some news I hadn't. However new developments with the scouts are conveyed, it is a mystery to me; I've never receieved any communique or witnessed one being passed along. And yet, every so often when I proceed according to some schedule I am informed matter-of-factly that it has changed and there is some new plan. The effect of this is doubly confusing considering I've had my class schedule displayed prominently for weeks and have addressed the group in person many times concerning my plans and my agenda and yet and I still often get approached with questions about whether or not I'll be having class on the wrong day or when I plan to begin teaching English.

Anyways, the news on the afternoon of the sixth was that the trip had been postponed indefinitely due to bad weather. Supposedly, we would hear from Pablo the new plan during the regularly-scheduled Saturday scout meeting that week.

Independence Day Part 5

2011-07-19T07:00:00.000-07:00

The next morning I happened into the other hotel on my way out of town and managed to catch Michelle as she was leaving. The two of us caught a public pickup out of town that also picked up a trio of other volunteers and the five of us chatted about WWOOFing and about Yachts on the trip into Samana. Since I had a couple of hours to kill, I decided to accept an invitation from Michelle to go to her tiny hotel on the hillside where she made me some polenta and we talked about our lives and philosophies while taking in her incredible view of the bay.

View from the beach at La Galera (photo by Laura Lehman)

As I waited in town for my bus back to Moca, a bus to the capital rolled up containing Phil, Adam, Amanda and Dory. The pleaded for me to join them, and though I badly wished I could, I had plans to leave the next morning for scout camp.

Independence Day Part 4

2011-07-17T07:00:00.000-07:00

On the fourth itself, it rained like cats and dogs. In the morning I made my way over to Jose's house where the party was going strong. I had supplied the house with my travel edition of settlers of Catan and I arrived just as they were making ready to begin a game! They paired me with Carl who had never played before and over the course of perhaps a couple hours while we played I tutored him. Carl was a quick study and I think we made a good team even though we didn't win. It didn't matter to me, I was just drunk on the good vibe thrilled to be part of the group.

I was there for hours just playing settlers, and then hanging out in the living room not doing much of anything. It just felt so good to be "off duty" and surrounded by people I love. During a break in the rain, we all made our way down to the road the led to the beach. Having little dry clothing left, and feeling a need for a break from socializing, I opted to hole up in my hotel room when the rain picked up. After a little while, though, I caved and made my way alone down the road which had been transformed into a muddy mess, shin-deep in water in places. When I arrived I found people playing volleyball and football in the driving rain while others stuck to the refuge of the giant, two story cabana we had taken over for the day. Try as I did, I couldn't muster the same enthusiasm for the cozy house scene from before and when several people from there headed back to dry out and regroup, I went with.

Volunteers playing football in the rain (image by David Richie)

There were those among us that night who seriously considered skipping the beach party, but eventually we braved the mud and rain and got to business dancing making merry. Michelle was there and refused a second time to dance with me, but I at least got to hear some interesting island stories and more details about her life. I spent a little while on the dancefloor but something about the music or the lighting or my lack of liquid courage kept me from reclaim the glory of prom.

Independence Day Part 3

2011-07-15T07:00:00.000-07:00

A couple of different volunteers had basically booked up entire hotels there in La Galera. I had thrown my lot in with one of them, Charles, only to find when I arrived, that my roommates weren't coming until the 4th and I was going to have to sleep on the floor in another room so we could save money. After a few warm reunions at the beach and dip in the ocean, however, I came across Zenia who said she had a room for me with Christina, Erin, and Sabine and I wouldn't have to sleep on the floor. After another stretch at the beach including a round of touch football that had me goring my knee, I made my way over to a house Jose and many others had rented in a gated community off the main road. Jose had enlisted the help of a small team including Heather and Carl and was busy making barbeque skewers and baking chicken for everyone.

Another mini-VAC pic.

After marinating in the warm atmosphere and sharing a good while with Phil, Rodrigo, Adam, Magee, and others, it was time to hit the club. At La Galera's single dance club bachata and merengue blared and volunteers staked out a good quarter of the club sitting in big circles and sharing 30-ounce bottles of Presidente. I made the rounds and after several tries only convinced once girl, Claire, to dance with me. Deciding to cut my losses, I bought a beer and started chatting with a friend of Amanda's, a girl from the Czech Republic named Michelle. It turned out Michelle had decided to come to the DR to follow up on a connection she had made while doing graduate research on a remote island off the coast of Honduras. Now she was waiting for the whale season to begin and thus to become a guide on a whale-watching boat. After another hour or so, I decided to head back to my room. Luckily, Sabine was still awake to let me in. I think we were both pretty stoked to have one-another's company and ended up chatting until the wee hours.

Independence Day Part 2

2011-07-13T07:00:00.000-07:00

Just as I was preparing to feild statements like "we should kill all the faggots," I was rescued. The friendly bus man alerted me that I would possibly have a ride in a minute, at which point he proceeded to run out into the middle of the highway to stop an oncoming minivan bus. I grabbed my bag and hustled out after him, dodging traffic as I went. To my surprise, as I approach the van a hand jutted out the window in the familiar finger-wag gesture that means "no" and a voice said "NO GRINGOS!" Then the door rolled open to reveal a grinning Jose (fellow volunteer and boyfriend of Magee who I visited back in May). As shuffled into the packed van, I heard a delighted chorus of, "Charlie!" and I turned to see a bunch of smiling, familiar faces. It turned out I had happened upon the same bus as about ten of my favorite volunteers along with the usual complement of Dominicans.

A dead woodpecker that showed up one day at the clubhouse

For about three hours, the landscape unfolded in stages before us on the road ahead, by turns urban and rural. We went through pastures and over rivers, though stretches of thick forest and rows of stores and houses. During a stretch of rice paddies, the sky opened up and dumped buckets of rain. As we approached the coast the sun came out and palms began to mix in with the flora until on both sides, they were all I could see. We passed vast orchards of coconut trees containing enormous estates with high walls. In Samana, the road flattened along a waterfront situated on a long bay, enclosed by bridges connecting a string of little islands perhaps half a mile out. After another half-hour of rolling hills we found ourselves at the easternmost tip of the Samana peninsula in La Galera de Samana.

Independence Day Part 1

2011-07-11T08:11:00.000-07:00

On the morning of the third after a typically epic Dominican breakfast, I set out for the bus stop. After nearly two months immersed in the culture of the suburbs of Moca, I was ready for a dose of America. The next couple of days had been planned in Samana as a celebration of Independence Day and a time for volunteers to get together, to party, and to relax at the beach. Although I had heard conflicting reports, Flor was adamant that I had best catch a big capital bus and get off in El Pino.

Unfortunately, I left my camera at home. Here's a pic of the cat right before
giving birth. She was laying in the funniest position.

I did as he said and El Pino, it turned out, was little more than a colmado and a gas station alongside the highway. Luckily, there happened to be a friendly stranger with a stack of inter-city bus business cards about two inches thick. He had me charge up my phone and proceeded to call three different drivers. Sadly it seemed I would be there until late afternoon according to what he was told. I bought some junk food and settled in for the wait, making idle conversation with some curious bystanders.

Here's a pic from a little while back during my mini-VAC (Volunteer
Advisory Council) regional meeting

Unfortunately, it wasn't long before the conversation took the same unsettling turn I've noticed it relatively often does in this country. I don't know what it is about me that invites this kind of talk, perhaps it's my visible discomfort at being invited to regard a woman in the same fashion as one regards a well-bred horse, or the fact that I'm well into my baby-making years and still mysteriously without a wife or at least a child. Maybe it's just normal conversation between men here, but I find the topic of homosexuality, particularly where it's supposed immorality is concerned, comes up startlingly often.

Diagnostic Survey Part 5

2011-06-30T10:00:00.000-07:00

After our first survey we proceeded in similar fashion to drift from one stairwell to the next surveying everyone who would let us. While relatively few people were home, those who we met were generally quite friendly and welcoming. When we had exhausted our little wing of Euripedes, we still had three surveys to go. Luckily in the little park adjacent to the development we met three teenaged girls who were happy to accomodate us.

Of the four pairs that went out surveying, all four collected six surveys from community members. In addition, I had the surveys the scouts themselves had completed, giving me a total of more than 30 surveys. Not bad for a couple of hours' work! If all five days of surveying go this well, I'll have more than 150 by the end of the week.

Diagnostic Survey Part 4

2011-06-28T10:00:00.000-07:00

On Monday at three in the afternoon, I got to the clubhouse. It was the day that troops Maura and Cuervo were to help me and some of them were actually early. Having worked giving a survey with the grocery store at New Columbia during my VISTA year, I had pretty good idea of what to expect. To my delight, about eight scouts showed up and I started by having them fill out the surveys themselves so they could ask clarifying questions and so they would know how to explain the survey to other. Next, I roleplayed good and bad examples of how to approach someone to survey them. After that, there was nothing for it but to go forth and conquer

I decided we would begin with Urbanizacion Euripedes, a nearby apartment complex with several mixed-income buildings and retirement homes. I put them in pairs, remember from my days as an outdoor school counselor that nothing is quite so intimidating when you have a partner. I decided to follow around Maria, an outgoing teenager who had shown initiative before during the olimpiadas when she helped me run the minigolf station, and Luis, a member of another troop who had jumped in today to help me martial the scouts when he could see I was struggling to call them to order.

Timidly, we approached the first door and knocked. We weren't quite sure what to expect, and nobody answered, so we went to the next floor and knocked on the next couple of doors to no response. On our way back down, the first door opened to reveal a women with her phone to her ear. Maria hopped to and explained what we were doing an that we would only need five minutes of her time. Graciously, she excused herself from her phone conversation and invited us in. I explained the survey questions as best I could and the scouts jumped in whenever I struggled with the Spanish.

Diagnostic Survey Part 3

2011-06-26T10:00:00.000-07:00

Before I began to give my survey I observed weekly scout activities and generally let myself sink into the patterns of daily life at the clubhouse. I wanted to be perceived as part of the group and to gauge what would be an appropriate approach in terms of logistics and of the organizational culture. Each week before Saturday activities, I gave a breif announcement on the survey to get the kids used to the idea and I consulted with Pablo as to the best way to go about having the kids fill it out and also survey community members.

The whole process sort of came together in slow-motion and I think it's going all the more smoothly as a result. Last Saturday, I called meetings of the Caminantes (the scouts old enough to no longer belong to a troop) and the Guias (the leaders of individual troops). Through a relatively informal process, I divided up the eight troops among four different weekdays (two per day) to come help me survey. The Caminantes will help me next Saturday. At this point, I couldn't help feeling more than a little excited and nervous. I had a survey and a schedule, all that was left was to execute.

Diagnostic Survey Part 2

2011-06-24T10:00:00.000-07:00

During training when we are first exposed to the diagnostic concept we are given the idea that it is a general tool for gaining a holistic perspective on the community's general situation. We are encouraged to find out things like how many children and adults live in each household and what a typical meal consists is like. Aneudy, however, said questions like these are too personal and insisted that we stick to the topic of classes to provide at the CCI. Since this concerns my primary project and I need his buy-in, I decided to let it be fine for now. I'm confident that needs pertaining to secondary projects will emerge in due time.

Thus, my survey collects basic identification information about the respondant and proceeds to ask for information about prior exposure to computer education, a self-assessment of understanding of various programs, a selection of desired classes, and an indication of what days and times the respondant would be available to take a class.

Diagnostic Survey Part 1

2011-06-23T08:42:00.000-07:00

Today, after a month of preparing and winning the scout community's trust and support, I put into action the plan to gather information that will help me decide the direction in which to take my service. As I've mentioned before, every Peace Corps volunteer performs what is called a community diagnostic where he or she gains perspective as to the community's needs. The design of the diagnostic is entirely up to the volunteer and in smaller communities in the DR it can be a matter of visiting literally every home in the community and having an informal conversation with the inhabitants.

Mine, however, is not a small community. There are surely more than a thousand residents in the four barrios (neighborhoods) that are the focus of my service, and while it would be lovely to sit and chat with each and every one of them, that simply wouldn't be appropriate given the community's size and suburban culture. Instead, I've determined to use the scouts help me survey a sample of the greater whole. My principle tool in this endeavor is a survey.

I began drafting the survey during the week after I arrived and have been at odds to make it worthy and well-suited to its audience. It was important to me during the design phase that I involve stakeholders like Alvaro (the youth who accompanied my project partner, Pablo, when he came to pick up from Santo Domingo) and Aneudy (CIO at the local hospital and likely to be a key figure in keeping the Community Information Technology Training Center-CCI for short-in working condition after I am gone). I think their co-ownership of the process will be key to the CCI's success.

Class Session Win

2011-06-20T08:29:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, when I announced my Manejo Basico (basic computer use) class, the response was not exactly overwhelming. Of the sixty-plus scouts who had come for weekly activities that drizzly Saturday, only one had asked to have his name added to the sign-up sheet. But as the days went by and I generated buzz among the regulars at the computer lab, the eight slots slowly began to fill. By the time I was about to give the class yesterday, I was a little worried that I would have to turn some kids away. But absenteeism and group mentality came to the rescue; while only about half of those people enrolled actually showed up, the open seats were filled by scouts who happened to be present and decided that they wanted to be included.

The class presented an interesting set of challenges. Students ranged in age from 20 to 9. Some were adepted at installing software and browsing the web, while other struggled to type and use a mouse. One had the audacity to get on Facebook a mere minute and a half into class in a lab the size of a small bedroom. Luckily, I had installed a piece of software that allowed me to disable his computer while I made an example of him. He became my assistant. Since the lab lacks a projector, I used every monitor to display my slides simultaneously. The students took turns reading from them and answering critical thinking questions about the subject matter: hardware, software, data, bits, bytes, input devices, output devices, and so on.

In the coming week, I will have to work on how I will address some of the issues I encountered which include slow computers, students talking over one another, and especially how to establish a closed environment. Kids kept coming up an knocking on the door to the lab which is usually a public place. I even had them opening the windows and sticking their hands through to greet my students. In the end, however, I think the students enjoyed themselves. After half an hour of computer basics, we switched gears and I had them use a typing program they like as a reward for paying attention to the presentation and participation. When our time together was finished, they didn't want to leave. They even told me they want to meet more frequently, so now the class is Tuesdays and Thursdays! Win!

Class Session Fail

2011-06-14T10:00:00.000-07:00

Last Thursday, at the request of my project partner, Pablo, I hosted my first class session. It was to focus on the topics of computer basics and typing, and I arrived hours ahead of time to prepare. As I worked some of the networking issues in the lab and scouts came and went, looking up friends on Facebook between basketball games, I noticed an unfamiliar face. The new guy wasn't a scout and he spent a few minutes visiting with them before walking over and handing me a ten-peso coin. When I gave him a puzzled look he explained that he had been told to pay for the use of the computers. When I said that this was a public lab and I was not even allowed to accept money, my scout companions set to whining and exclaiming that I had just ruined their fun.

Shrugging them off and returning to my work, I was interrupted a moment later when a commotion arose from behind me. The scouts pointed and shouted, "You broke it! It's screwed! You've really done it now!" Turning around, I found the poor newcomer seated in front a blank screen, looking bewildered and self-conscious. A second's investigation revealed that his only sin had been to leave the monitor off after pressing the power button on the computer. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised. Another favorite thing to do in the lab is for a scout to announce his arrival with a shout at the top of his voice to see how many of his peers he can startle. Nevertheless, I was ruffled. If they treat everyone this way who comes here from outside the group, it's not hard to see why the place doesn't get much use.

About an hour before my class, to my dismay, it began to rain. It was an ill omen; any amount of rain is often enough to deter a Dominican from leaving his or her home. By the time my class was scheduled to begin, the rain had grown to a bona fide storm, the likes of which even I wouldn't venture out in. Thunder crashed deafeningly overhead and the clatter of rain on the metal roof of the clubhouse was enough to drown out anything less than a shout. Needless to say, day one of class didn't happen.

Staying Active

2011-06-12T14:47:00.001-07:00

One morning as I powered through a typical, generous breakfast (two whole plantains, three fist-size helpings of yucca, a half-dozen silver dollars of fried salami, and a couple of ten-ounce slabs of fried cheese), I reflected that if I was to continue my present level of calorie consumption without any kind of regular exercise regimen, I would soon be bursting the seems of my business casual slacks. The next morning, clad in basketball shorts and running shoes, I proceeded to run the mile that separates the Henriquez home from Plaza Megatone, a shopping center near the edge of town that boasts a grocery store, electronics outlet, and Gold's Gym. Before long, I had recruited my 20-year-old host cousin, Angel as my running companion who was quick to introduce me to his Uncle Roberto.

Roberto, a retired baseball player, owns and operates R & C Gym where, for the last couple of weeks, Angel and I have worked out every day following our morning run. One morning as we were leaving the gym, I noticed an aerobics class had just begun. Curious, I pointed it out to Angel who told me they have it every morning. So now my morning routine consists of a mile run, fifteen minutes of weights, and half an hour of aerobics, followed by a short floor routine concentrating on toning my abs. While the aerobics class is quite popular, there is only one other guy who comes regularly. He lived in the United States for 31 years and speaks decent English, and I think he's pretty stoked not to be the only guy any more, because each day he greets me with an enthusiastic fist bump followed by, "How you feel today?"

Finding One's Way in College and the Peace Corps

2011-06-10T10:00:00.000-07:00

I was scanning the IE3 Alums Facebook group wall today when I noticed an interesting article posted by Giustina Pelosi. In Live and Learn: Why we have college, Louis Menand reviews two critiques of the current state of higher education while exploring different theories as to its purpose. Among other insightful ruminations, the article contrasts the ideas of college as society's proving grounds for specific career readiness and college as a means of gaining exposure to material that enlightens and empowers, whatever career one ends up choosing.

In the article, Menand reviews a book entitled "Academically Adrift" by Richard Arum and Josipa Roksa, which offers research that supports the thesis that completion of college is proving ever less sufficient as a measure of having progressed intellectually. While he does not hasten to agree, Menand does engage in a more fine-grained analysis of Arum and Roksa's findings, and he points out some interesting distinctions. Of particular interest to me was the comparison between students who major in liberal-arts fields (sciences, social sciences, and arts and humanities) and those who major in non-liberal-arts fields such as business, education and social work, communications, engineering and computer science, and health.

Arum and Roksa found that liberal arts students tend to show more improvement on a test that measures critical thinking and problem-solving skills than did non-liberal-arts students. Despite suggesting that there may be flaws in Arum and Roksa's research, Menand goes on to relate the (admittedly anecdotal) findings of another author who goes so far as to suggest that students who aren't majoring in a liberal arts field shouldn’t be exposed to subjects such as literature and creative writing. In the end, as one might expect from an article in the The New Yorker, the place of the liberal arts education as the great bastion of intellectual development is afirmed.

As I read the article, and the many fascinating statistics it cites, I couldn't help but reflect on how its conjecture and the arguments of the books it reviews might be applied when considering the motivation and relative success of volunteers in the Peace Corps. While the obvious reason to give for Peace Corps service is to have a try at improving lives and to promote mutual understanding between the United States and the peoples of the world, it is perhaps equally valid to acknowledge the opportunity it gives the volunteer to become a more complete person who has a variety of life experiences.

Neither of these motivations is specifically in keeping with either the more vocational path of college education suggested by Menand or, conversely, with his supposed intellectual enrichment path, but it seems reasonable to imagine that someone more interested in what joining the Peace Corps would do for him or her in the context of a specific career might fit more neatly into the former category while a person who is more of an open-ended seeker of adventure might be more closely aligned with the latter.

What makes the Peace Corps interesting in this context is that it treats both types of volunteers the same. Whether you join because you are giving serious thought to a career in international development or because you want to take a couple of years to examine your life and interactions with others, the result is the same. After ten weeks of training, you are assigned a community and tasked with doing whatever needs done to improve the lives of its members. After two years, the status you have to show for it is no different from any other person who has chosen to spend two years of their life in this way.

For my own part, I think this lack of differentiation played a major role in my decision to join. At some point during my college career I came to understand that a liberal arts degree from a small private college was the ticket to a peer group to which I wanted to belong. Unlike the the Groton boys in the article, however, I did not belong to a priveleged class inhereting the legacy of their fathers. Likewise, I was not the beneficiary of the GI Bill or part of the first generation in my family to attend college. I was merely an obedient kid who did as he was told and enrolled myself at a university. Like so many things in life, it wasn't until I had already begun that I discovered the path I thought I should have taken.

In the end, it was probably for the better. I wound up in a cooperative program that afforded me some work experience in my major which in turn financed a six month trip to Guatemala to finish my Spanish language minor and experience life in another country. I took my life in a rewarding direction that would not have been available to me without the college career I had chosen. And I did it without saddling myself with a lifetime's worth of debt. It is in the same spirit of intrepid pragmatism that I have taken the leap of faith into the Peace Corps.

Like my college experience, the two years of service ahead of me offer a kind of promise that is open-ended and exploratory. Unlike in college, though, my decision not to analyze classic literature or debate finer points of philosophy will not come to bear on the opportunities available to me when I am finished. This time I proceed with the expectation that I will change during years to come in ways that I cannot anticipate. What purpose it serves is up to me.

Hanging With Dave Part 4

2011-06-08T10:00:00.000-07:00

Some sweet counterfeit New Balance 574's I copped at a store in town

As I was leaving, I noticed I had a text from Sabrina. It was timed just right to catch up with her at the art show, where we got to see the now-unveiled works and see the progress of a social practice peice from the night before. Sabrina and I were headed the same way, and since she had failed to give it to Megan, I scored a piece of mouth-watering strawberry-banana bread while we walked to Heather at the supermarket.

Milaris sits in the kitchen at my host house

By the time I said hello to Heather, it was time to go, so I excused myself and went home where lunch was waiting.

Hanging With Dave Part 3

2011-06-06T10:00:00.000-07:00

Jenie, Dave, and Megan at the art opening

We arrived in Moca at just about the same time as Megan who was organizing an art show to be unveiled that night in what one might call Moca's public square, Parque Duarte. After greeting her and a few of the artists who comprise the collective that is the focus of her primary Peace Corps project, I took Dave to meet my host family. We returned to the art show in time to catch the first hour or so of what would be a typically epic round of thank-yous and congratulations attendant to any public event in the DR.

A show-goer contributes to an installation piece

After leaving early, we had dinner at my place and narrowly missed movie night at the clubhouse. The next morning I showed Dave the clubhouse and we had another internet session before taking the sweaty 25-minute stroll into town to get him onto the Santiago bus. On my way back, I happened by a store that was having a liquidation sale and score some sweet knock-off New Balance 574's for what would be less than twelve US dollars.

Members of the show's art collective say thank-yous

Hanging With Dave Part 2

2011-06-04T10:00:00.000-07:00

After having a batida and catching up at little diner near the hotel, Dave and I went to the monumento, a decidedly phalic monument erected by Trujillo on a hill in the middle of town that affords panoramic vistas in every direction. After climbing the hill in the blazing sun, we were refreshed to find a nice draft in the entryway to the monument's lobby where we sat on the stone floor in the shade.

Sitting around at a kukau (cook-out): Milkin, Antonia, Merelis, Flor)

I was pleased to get to hear some of Dave's back story, since he had seemed like an interesting person, yet was someone with whom I hadn't yet spent much time. After perhaps a couple of hours of discussing careers and relationships while school children ambled in and out, we descended the the hill and went down an inviting-looking street in search of lunch. Lunch came in the form of a excellent and cheap chicken joint with three-item menu. We ate quite well for the equivalent of about US$2.70 each.

The cat is pregnant. She's about to pop.

Next stop was an enormous grocery store called La Nacional that felt like someplace you would go in the United States. Having no plans or expectations about how to spend our time, we wound up hanging out upstairs near the bathrooms and messing around on the web for half an hour and taking turns sharing photos (of which Dave has an impressive collection). After a breif tiramisu interlude we decided to head to Moca.

Hanging With Dave Part 1

2011-06-02T10:00:00.000-07:00

Both David Richie and I each live half an hour from Santiago and on Friday our curiosity and desire to explore the Dominican Republic's second-largest city got the best of us. That morning we agreed to meet at the Hotel Aloha del Sol. Aside from giving me the thrill of navegating public transit in the DR's second-largest city, this gave me an opportunity to find my regional consolidation point given in the Peace Corps Emergency Action Plan.

Medicare brand soap

Unlike Santo Domingo, which has been thoroughly gutted by the construction of an expressway through the heart of town, Santiago does not suffer from a scarcity of civic space or a single-minded devotion to sprawl and cheap retail. While it does have its share of malls and big-box retailers, I feel they have been more gracefully integrated into the urban fabric without costing the city its character.

Four-lane throughfares at street level connect neighborhoods of low-rises throughout the town, broken up by comercial districts that feel like part of the city and parks of the kind only found in tropical climates where enormous trees explode over streets and into courtyards. The city is likewise dotted with enormous private estates whose well-tended jungle greenery softens the oppression of concrete and asphalt.

Hanging out in Moca: Kiko, Chilo, Merelis, and Antonia

Information Overload

2011-05-31T14:53:00.000-07:00

It's three a.m. on a Sunday morning. Today will be my third Sunday and, unbelievably, only my sixteenth full day in-site. I awoke just now in a cloud of unnamed anxiety and while writing is typically a way I process anxiety and refocus attention, I'm afraid to say it plays a roll in the stress I feel at this moment.

As of today I have posted a total of 108 posts starting from the time it became clear I would probably be invited to serve and leading up to today. So far, my blogging efforts comprise the most ambitious undertaking of my time in the Peace Corps given the obstacles to posting updates and the change in lifestyle, but now that I am actually beginning my service, this is about to change.

Like perhaps a lot of volunteers, I feel a desire to capture my experience in writing and share this chapter of my life with the people I love. Unlike most people, though, I begin to feel anxiety every time the date approaches when I will have no new material in the queue to be published. Combine this with the anxiety of feeling like I ought to be doing more at work, and something has got to give.

I hope that in the coming months, I can learn to balance my desire to blog with my need to become a part of my community and be the best volunteer I can be.

Planting Trees in San Victor Part 2

2011-05-29T10:00:00.000-07:00

Posing in front of a map of Monte de Oracion

Finally, we all came together and broke into four groups; two to clean up different river segments and two to plant trees in different places. The group I joined went with Megan to a public park called Monte de Oracion (Prayer Wilderness or Prayer Mount). It turned out to be a forested hillside with little shrines and structures and paths running throughout. After a short hike with our sapplings, we found ourselves on a hillside that had been cleared to plant bananas. We were to plant mango, sedro, and tamarind in between the banana trees as a stay against erosion.

I give a lesson in tree planting 101

After a run-through of the planting tutorial I've given to crews for two seasons with the Friends of Trees green spaces initiative, I handed out digging implements to three of the ten or so in my group and roved around in typical crew leader fashion. The soil was rich and dark and lately, it has been raining almost every day, so I have faith our little trees will at least survive the shock of being transplanted. The banana grove is also a ways away from maturity meaning that, for at least a little while, nobody will likely come to harvest, and thus trample the ground where we planted.

Megan looks on as scouts and primera dama youths get to work

Planting Trees in San Victor Part 1

2011-05-28T10:00:00.000-07:00

Scouts wait in Moca at the clubhouse for their ride to San Victor

Earlier this month at the All Volunteer Conference (AVC) I had gotten the ball rolling toward helping fellow volunteers Megan and Jenie with a day of tree planting and river clean-up and on Sunday the day had come. After some time spent waiting while Jenie wrangled a driver to pick us up, I and about twenty scouts piled into a single pickup which deposited us about ten minutes later at the community center in San Victor, a small town just north of Moca.

Just arrived in San Victor: how many scouts can you fit in a pickup?

In San Victor we were greeted by perhaps about fifty youths from San Victor's Defensa Civil and a younder leaders' group formed in association with the Despacho de la Primera Dama (First Lady's Office). for another half hour or so we waited while planting and clean-up supplies were procured during which I tried in vain to arrange a tournament of rock-paper-scissors like the one we had at the AVC. It turns out that when you ask somebody for help demonstrating a dinamica, as soon as they show the least bit of resistance you lose about half of your audience. I learned that in the future I'm going to ask for volunteers so they won't go flojo on me at the first sign of difficulty.

Members of all three clubs before the day's activities

Morning in Las Lagunas

2011-05-27T10:00:00.000-07:00

Sabrina and I arranged for Mike, a volunteer in nearby Palma Herrada, to come visit and went for a hike while we waited for him to arrive. As we climbed a hill through part of Sabrina's community, she described to me her situation and showed me some of what she had going on, including a pig that had been promised her to eat when it got bigger a place next to a school where she was in the process of getting a volleyball court.

We caught up with Mike back at Sabrina's house and I helped her make pizza while she and he got acquainted. Unfortunately, Mike didn't have long before he would have to catch the only other ride back to Palma Herrada and I had promised to help him get back. After eating the incredibly delicious pizza, Mike and I bid farewell to Sabrina and set out for Moca feeling refreshed.

Moca Night

2011-05-26T10:00:00.000-07:00

On Thursday evening, fellow volunteers Sabrina and Heather came from the northern outskirts of Moca to check out my site here on the south side of town. After sharing a zapote smoothie and oohing and ahhing a bit over my accomodations, we got a motoconcho into town where they did some grocery shopping and picked up some teaching supplies. Next it was off to Cofey, the nice bar we went to two months ago during my volunteer visit, for some drinks and conversation.

Next stop was Sabrina's house in Las Lagunas where we passed some time by candlelight with some of Sabrina's neighbors and put on a movie until we were falling asleep. At about four thirty, I awoke to Heather's dog, Mikey barking. I heard some doors open and shut and when I finally got up at six, it turns out Heather and Mikey had gone.

My New Life in Moca

2011-05-25T10:00:00.000-07:00

My two year placement, as I've mentioned, is in Moca, Espaillat. It's a regional hub less than half an hour east of Santiago in the fertile farming region known as the Cibao. Moca is known for its high-quality bananas anc produces more eggs than any other city in the country. Though less remote and larger, it is similar in character to Santa Cruz del Quiche. Just outside of town to the north lie the smaller communities of Juan Lopez and Las Lagunas, both of which host a Peace Corps Volunteer, repectively. Another ten minutes north brings you to San Victor, home to two more volunteers. Three more volunteers can be found up in the Septentrionales another half hour or so north in Los Bueyes and Palma Herrada where I had my volunteer visit.

View from the hospital roof facing northeast into town

My new host family is precious. The patriarch, Don Flor, is 81. He once lived in Boston for 3 years. He and my host mother, Doña Antonia, have nine grown children. One lives in Miami and used to play in a rock and roll band called Los Dedos (The Fingers). Flor and Antonia have a daughter who still lives at home and does housework and a son, Cheche, who drives a taxi downtown and shares the upstairs with me. Hilary, widow to another of their sons, lives in the house as well with her nine-year-old daughter Merelis. Their house is on the far end of a quiet loop in a quiet part of Villa Carolina, one of Moca's nicer neighborhoods. The Scouts clubhouse where I work is right next door.

Alvaro addresses the scouts at the clubhouse

Peace Corps Prom Part 4

2011-05-24T10:00:00.000-07:00

The prom was at a place called Frat, tucked-away in one of the oldest parts of town. Built around an open-air courtyard, the place had a sizable anteroom that horses had evidently passed through at some point in history. Once inside, one rounded a corner and went through another door to arrive at one end of long room situated lengthwise along a bar. Everywhere, volunteers mingled and danced. At the other end of the bar was a cramped and sweaty dancefloor. It was ideal.

My work site: Scout Grupo 8 Clubhouse

Being that I had not had perfect attendance at social outings up to that night, it seems my colleagues were pleasantly surprised to see me. After ten weeks of training it was just what the doctor ordered. I hobnobbed with friends new and old and danced to Major Lazer and Miley Cyrus. At just about the time I was beginning to look for a ride home, the cab of volunteers hosted in my barrio happened to coalesce. Prom accomplished, I went home feeling satisfied and ready to face the months of service ahead.

Peace Corps Prom Part 3

2011-05-23T10:00:00.000-07:00

Planting a cacoa tree near El Seibo

On our way over we encountered perhaps 20 volunteers on a street corner, warming up at a local Colmado. I wound up talking to two girls who turned out not be volunteers. One of them was a Fulbright fellow training English teachers. The other worked at a ranch I keep hearing about that is owned by Julia Alvarez. As we chatted about grants and living expenses and let more time go by, I looked around and noticed that I hadn't seen another recent graduate of training since I left La Sirena.

The evening pressed on and eventually I found myself in the park in front of the old cathedral. Some local guys, evidently college-aged socialites, chatted me up and offered me a sip of the strong liquor they were sharing. A few drops of rain began to fall, and next thing I knew I was marooned under a patio umbrella in front of Hard Rock Cafe, standing on a chair to avoid soaking my shoes in the stream formed by the downpour that had suddenly erupted from the sky. When it let up, my volunteer friends and I make a break for it.

Cacao drying at a plant on the edge of El Seibo

Peace Corps Prom Part 2

2011-05-22T10:00:00.000-07:00

Between my barrio of Los Angeles and Centro Olympico where I switch buses to go downtown there are three elevados. These overpasses form big, even arches over the thoroughfares of Santo Domingo. Three quarters of the way up the last one, the guagua's poor engine finally gave out. Out went the cobrador (guy who handles the money for the driver) in search of help. No sooner had I begun to wonder what the heck I would do, than along came another guagua to push us from behind. We after the summit, we literally coasted all the way to my stop.

Some of my scouts playing volleyball

As I walked down the Avenida Máximo Gomez and the purple sky flashed with distant lightening, it occurred to me that this was only my third time to make this trip and my first ever to do it alone. I was relieved to find the vespertine streets replete with people in an atmosphere not unlike a street fair. As I went through the Plaza de Cultura, I was reminded that what made the scene more convivial was the annual book fair being held there.

From my last week in El Seibo: Putting on the radio show

Night had fallen by the time I made it to the pension. There I hung in the lobby with some volunteers and watched basketball. Some decided it would be a good idea to go to Hard Rock Cafe a few blocks from our final destination and take in the rest of the game. Being in need of someone to show me the way and feeling no particular hurry, I decided to join them.

Peace Corps Prom Part 1

2011-05-21T10:00:00.000-07:00

After the All Volunteer Conference, I went to La Sirena, a big box retailer that is somewhat like a version of Target with a more extensive selection of food and groceries. I had a big bill that I needed to break and unlike most places I spend money, I knew they would have change. As I was going through the checkout I heard my name. It turns out fellow volunteers Julie, Scott, and Claire had also come for some last-minute shopping. After a dalliance in the dining area, the four of us said, “see you at prom”.

Back home, I hammered downed some rice and pork and took a momentary shower. I needed to get downtown and I couldn't be on public transit after 7:00. At the bus stop across the street from my barrio I caught the first guagua (a ten-seater bus being made to fit seventeen) to go by. We hadn't gone a hundred yards when traffic slowed to a crawl. The driver kept wedging us into mere crevasses between trucks and cars that just made it harder for everyone to get where they were going. To make matters worse, the engine kept dying.

View facing north into Barrio Los Angeles standing on the pedestrian bridge
over Autopista Duarte.

All Volunteer Conference Part 2

2011-05-20T10:00:00.000-07:00

After lunch, we broke up by region. It turns out the Cibao, the region where my community is located, has so many volunteers that it is broken into three sub-regions. In my sub-region I was delighted to find that there are several volunteers located near me who would be interested to have my scouts come help their communities and who can provide guidance in approaching my secondary projects.

Volunteers take in Boriana's health and safety session

For the last session, we had a chance to float around between different areas of interest including the Marine Interest group, a volunteer publication called the Gringo Grita, and medical missions to name a few. With this time, I concentrated on getting plugged in with the PCDR website and the committee in charge of an upcoming conference for RPCVs (Returned Peace Corps Volunteers) to mark the Peace Corps 50th year. After a closing session on health and safety we were allowed to go our merry way.

All Volunteer Conference Part 1

2011-05-19T10:00:00.000-07:00

The day after swearing-in was the all volunteer conference, and event held annually which every volunteer is required to attend. Being the newest arrivals and having never met most of the volunteers already in the country when we arrived, we were each asked to take the stage and tell our names, where we're from, and where our assigned community is located. When I said I was from Portland, I heard several cheers from the crowd.

Team-building dinámica: group rock-paper-scissors

What followed was a number of break-away sessions. The first divided us into those who were newer and those who had already been in the country a year or more. The newer volunteers took part in several dinámicas, activities designed to give youths a chance to get up and move around in the context of learning situations. It was a blast. Next, we broke up by sector and I had a chance to meet all the ICT volunteers that I hadn't already met. They shared some pieces of advice, of which, “don't compare yourself to others”, stood out in particular.

Swearing-In

2011-05-18T07:38:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday, May 11, 2011 I took the oath of service and became one of Peace Corps Dominican Republic's 51 newest volunteers. The highlight of the swearing-in ceremony was a speech by Jamie David Fernández Mirabal, secretary of the environment, imploring us to plant a tree wherever we were placed. Mr. Mirabal went on to say that while he loved us all, he had a little extra love of Colleen Ferris who will be spending the next two years on an island, Isla Saona, near the southeastern-most point of the country.

Post-graduation (left to right): Will Dale, Pedro Medrano, Ryan Browning,
Ekow Edzie, Mike Bustamante, Christina Bradley, Mike Bourgeois, Kayla Reynolds

Potential

2011-05-11T10:00:00.000-07:00

While I've learned through experience that it is best to under-promise and over-deliver, it is easy to let the imagination run wild here. My community is enormous compared to the five or six hundred people a volunteer's project sometimes addresses. So is my pool of potential collaborators; Scout Group 8 boasts 160 active members. They live all over town and can likely provide me with useful information and contacts. Scouts is a well-known and respected institution. I feel incredibly fortunate in my present situation.

Though I've only been here about 48 hours, already I've begun to dream big. My first obligation is to my primary project, the clubhouse and the lab. I intend to fulfill this obligation with superlative aplomb. It may very well be that all my time and energy is devoted to this alone given my commitment to making it a self-sustaining project and the amount of time and effort required in order to make this so. All the same, I can't help but imagine working on potential secondary projects.

For example, there is another group of Scouts in town that meets in a local school, it sounds as if they are less established and politically connected, but it would be interesting to see what I could apply with this group that I learn in working with Group 8. Also, I'm excited to see what emerges from my community diagnostic. I wonder if there is something that they may want me to provide outside the obvious computer-related service. Group 8 has a zip line they would like to develop to run through the canopy in the empty green space behind the clubhouse. Also, it seems as though the surrounding area is sufficiently prosperous to yeild a pool of used computers for reuse/recycling. I would be positively thrilled to develop some community-sourced computer education and donation in the spirit of Free Geek. Only time will tell.

Finally, a Project

2011-05-09T10:00:00.000-07:00

After seven months of waiting to see if I would be nominated for service, eight more months in the application process, waiting to see what country I would get, and finally seven months of waiting for my departure and subsequently receiving Peace Corps training, I have finally gotten my project. For the next two years I am assigned to Scout Group 8 in a neighborhood near the edge of Moca in the northern Province of Espaillat, Dominican Republic.

My project partner, Pablo Ovalles, is a leader in the scout community. He solicited a Peace Corps volunteer to work in the Group's clubhouse which was constructed last year by Indotel on a parcel of public land near the edge of town that was granted to the them for that purpose. My role as a volunteer will be to help the Scouts fulfill their obligation to Indotel to keep the lab open for regular hours as a resource to the community.

Radio Show Part 2

2011-05-07T10:00:00.000-07:00

About twenty minutes into our timeslot, with youths still arriving and filling the small on-air room to brimming, Carlos finally finished the final edits and we began in earnest. The show was to contain several segments, each of which was to be presented by a different youth or youths under the guidance of a specific volunteer. There were interviews with the winning team of a local soccer tournament, a couple local rappers, and with us, the Peace Corps trainees interspersed with hit music selected by the youths. In addition, they had invited a candidate for the local beauty pageant, Miss Patronales to do a live interview.

With the aid of the show outline written in two-inch-high print with blanks for each participant who would introduce a song or segment, we made it through what proved to be just over an hour of programming. Everyone conducted him or herself with remarkable aplomb and in the end a cheer of approval went up, accompanied by many high-fives and group photos. Afterwards, the volunteers retired to my place to celebrate. It was hard to believe the practicum was over.

Radio Show Part 1

2011-05-06T15:49:00.001-07:00

On monday came the culmination of five weeks of training and practice in education and youth development. At two in the afternoon, I met with the five other trainees in my practicum group. We gathered at the CTC (Community Technology Center) to iron out the last details and go over the radio show outline our youths had developed at their last meeting. As our youths trickled in, we briefed them on the outline and assigned roles. A few minutes before our show was scheduled to begin, Carlos, our faithful group member and DJ took my USB drive containing the pre-recorded portions of the show and began preparing to play them on the air.

By ten minutes after our scheduled start time, Carlos still wasn't ready. "What's the problem?" I asked. "One of the rappers we interviewed used some words we can't play on the radio." I watched in horror as the minutes of our precious air time ticked away and Carlos frantically made edits in Adobe Audition. I began losing my patience until suddenly I remembered that this is the DR where any time less than half an hour behind schedule is considered early.

Big Dead Place

2011-04-28T10:00:00.000-07:00

Big Dead Place by Nicholas Johnson

I picked up PCDR's worn copy of Big Dead Place in the volunteer lounge at Santo Domingo office. When I discovered it amongst the shelves of Greg Mortensen and Isabel Allende, I couldn't help but feel moved by the hand of fate. I had researched jobs in Antarctica back in 2009 when I started to rethink my place in the world and ponder the dark corners of the job market illuminated in books like Nickeled and Dimed and The Working Poor and the prospect of work in the so-called Highest, Driest, Coldest Continent still holds a special place in my imagination similar to that of work in the canneries of Alaska.

In Big Dead Place, Nicholas Johnson gives a candid, unpretentious account of the seasons he spent working as a general laborer in the Waste department of Antarctica's McMurdo Station. Through ambling, disjointed stories and anecdotes from his own experience, accounts from coworkers, and material clearly gleaned from researching heroic era of Antarctic exploration a picture emerges that is equal parts Catch 22, The Office, and another book I once read called A Working Stiff Manifesto. I think the following passage does of good job of conveying the author's tone:

"[After arriving in Antarctica's McMurdo Station for my first winter, I realized] I would be stuck in an outpost with all-you-can-eat desserts and and endless procession of theme parties. A small town where phone numbers are four digits but the budget is nine digits, where everyone had frequent flyer miles and no one had wisdom teeth. A town that courted ambassadors and senators with luxury accommodation in Building 125. A town with disco clothes and high-power microscopes. A town where a pet snail from a head of lettuce faces execution by government mandate. A town where going outside requires authorization. A town responsible for divorces. A town where corpses have reportedly been stored in the food freezer and where it is illegal to collect rocks.

This was America, I realized, all in a tight little bundle.

And there were no more flights out."

I remember thinking to myself, as I took in the chapters and paragraphs Big Dead Place with the kind of slow relish usually reserved for novels by J.M. Coetzee and Cormack McCarthy, that I would be sad when it ran out. And it's true. Now that I've finished the book, I feel as if I've finished running down the clock at work with a delightfully sarcastic friend who has a gift for creative self-expression and who shares my odd fascination with things most people never discover because it doesn't occur to them to look or them.

Fixing Up The EEMUR Lab Part 2

2011-04-26T10:00:00.000-07:00

Old IBM systems in the EEMUR lab, in various states of assembly for
troubleshooting and cloning.

Being one of two or three ICT's who had experience cloning hard drives, setting jumper to designated drives and master/slave, cannibalizing parts from multiple machines, et cetera, I volunteered to take the lead in fixing up of the lab. For the next few hours, I floated from one computer to the next, tutoring others in the pulling apart of computers, pairing of drives with IDE cables, changing of boot orders, and execution of cloning software. After awhile the crowd thinned and I was left with a handful of others diligently prodding and sculpting machines into working order. Some of the stubborn systems just plain refused to come about. One kept rebooting in an endless loop another couple shocked my fingers when I tried to hold on to it while I pulled out the power cable. Still another had somehow lost its CPU.

This morning I had even fewer helpers and by two in the afternoon is was just me and the machines. Methodically, I sank into a rhythm, getting one computer working on some process before moving on to another. I researched errors on Google, and got into the real heavy troubleshooting, using things like the recovery console, the F8 boot options, running chkdsk and fixmbr. I got to dig around a bit in a tool we use called Hiren's Boot CD, an ample toolbox of computer maintenance, administrative, and troubleshooting software that will no doubt be indispensible. I became so engrossed in my work that I lost interest in food and sleep. It was exactly the experience I had been craving ever since my time in Guatemala.

Fixing Up The EEMUR Lab Part 1

2011-04-24T10:00:00.000-07:00

"Hay Charlie, nobody works today, today is a holy day, oyete," Criseida chides me. It's Good Friday, and I am perhaps the only person in El Seibo who is working. Since yesterday at noon the atmosphere in town has been changing. Families pile into their SUVs and go to the coast or to the river to swim and visit relatives. It's almost nine and I am eating the breakfast that Criseida has made me. "You have to rest," she goes on. She's bitter because she is up and cooking for me, a task I insist I can do perfectly well myself. Unfortunately for us both, as a man the culture here requires that I be doted upon by the women of my family. Criseida literally threw a fit when she learned she would stay home and care for me and Daisy who is still recovering from her surgery. Jesus and Libby are going to the beach and she is indignant.

On Wednesday and Thursday, we had two volunteers, Geoffrey and Adam, come to teach us how to take a room full of disused computer and turn it into a useful technology education lab. For our guinea pig, we had a lab at EEMUR, a vocational school near the liceo. The computers were donated by the Unión Dominicana de Escuelas de Formación de Alternancia (UDEFA) and bear the stickers of the NGO who had them before. Most have 256 MB or RAM or less and 40 GB hard drives. After Adam and Geoffrey demonstrated how to reformat a hard drive and install windows, we went on to clone a drive on which Geoffrey had installed a variety of educational and administrative software.

KOICA Flick

2011-04-22T10:00:00.000-07:00

It is a little-known fact that South Korea is the first former recipient of foreign humanitarian aid to turn around and become a provider of aid to other countries. The country's version of Peace Corps is called KOICA and it happens to have a strong presence here in El Seibo with four volunteers serving in different government offices around town. One of them even lives in my host house. Her Spanish leaves much to be desired, though, which means I have had little opportunity to learn much about her work. So I was excited to learn a few days ago that she and her friends would be showing a movie at Centro Progressando, a kind of trade school funded by the First Lady's Office.

When I arrived at the movie, the KOICA volunteers were there along with one Dominican. They put on an informational video that featured Koreans all over the world accomplishing feats in a remarkable array of fields. A Korean doctor gave a latina woman an ultrasound. A Korean manufacturing engineer held some kind of technical workshop in and Indian factory. Koreans taught computer classes to adolescents in Afghanistan. Of note was the frequency with which host country nationals appeared in leadership roles implying an emphasis on skills transfer and self-sustainment. As we watched, about 25 Dominicans trickled in. Next came a very long, violent Korean action film. About twenty minutes in, all the Dominicans had to go to a class leaving behind me and several Peace Corps volunteers along with the KOICA volunteers.

As I watched, I pondered the foreignness of the Far East. There are whole cultures with customs and belief systems, rock stars and politicians, slang and fashion that I've never even begun to explore. We westerners aren't the only ones capable of blockbuster motion pictures and lives devoted to development work. There's a whole developed world out there, too.

Youths edit audio during a workshop led by me, Damian, and Claire

Taken By Surprise

2011-04-21T10:00:00.000-07:00

Part of CBT involves each volunteer giving three technical presentations. A technical presentation is a presentation in Spanish that sythesizes the principles of teaching we've been learning in our technical sessions (visual/auditory/kinesthetic, learning/asimilation/facilitation, What's In It For Me, etc.) We gave our first technical presentations to our fellow trainees. Our second technical presentation we gave to our respective youths while our Spanish teachers and technical trainer observed. I learned last week that the third technical presentation does not occur during our final showcase of our practica as I had supposed.

It turns out we were accountable for the independent scheduling and execution of our third presentation in addition to the material we present during the showcase. This would be fine if I had had time to decide on a topic, plan a presentation, and schedule it. As with many things in the DR, though, it wasn't so easy. This week is Semana Santa which means that everything kind of shuts down for the week. I will not have access to the computer lab I would like to use and even if I did, many of my youths would be on vacation during the days that it is available. What this has meant for me is that I have had three days to schedule and plan a presenation. In the confusion that ensued, it just so happens that I planned it to coincide with a training session that a really don't want to miss.

Animal Rights

2011-04-20T10:00:00.000-07:00

In my host house, the television is always tuned to a telenovela (soap opera) channel that fills the kitchen with violent arguments, men threatening women, men brandishing weapons a other men, women plotting against one another, weddings and funerals and masses interrupted by empassioned lovers and mortal enemies. The opening sequence for a particularly insipid telenovela set on an agave ranch in Mexico features a spectacular shot of a horse taking a fall from a full gallop, making a quarter-turn in the air and throwing its rider before landing hard on its side and slamming its head against the ground.

Having just watched this disturbing footage for about the seventh time. I turned to see that my host mom, Daisy had also taken it in. "I always feel sorry for the horse," I remarked. "You don't like horses?" Daisy responded, evidently deciding that I what just said couldn't possibly have been what I meant to say. "Well," I explained, "the man is just acting, but the horse isn't acting. It doesn't what is going on." For a moment Daisy was silent. Then she said, "Yes. The poor thing. He doesn't know how to act. Horse can't talk. Poor horses, they can't even think."

I don't think she got what I was trying to tell her.

Participating in an activity during one of our youth group activities

Peace Corps Spanish Teachers Dismissed

2011-04-19T10:00:00.000-07:00

In a sudden and unexpected turn of events, two of our Spanish teachers have had their employment terminated for a violation or violations of Peace Corps policy. Nobody knows any details. One of the teachers was with the ICT group in El Seibo. She was summoned to the capital and shortly thereafter, Ann, our technical trainer, was informed that she had lost her job. For the nine remaining Spanish class sessions the teacher's students will have a new teacher.

This year Entrena, a company founded long ago by a former Peace Corps volunteer to train volunteers, became the last private contracter to be assimilated into the Peace Corps. Entrena's employees, including some or all of the Spanish teachers became employees of Peace Corps, or were given contracts with Peace Corps directly rather than working through Entrena.

Peace Corps Dominican Republic's long-time country director is nearing the end of his tenure in that position. It is my understanding that he is currently on leave in the United States tending to a personal matter. I don't think he has officially transitioned out of the country director position, but from what I understand there is someone else acting as director in his absence. I am not aware as to whether or not this person will become country director when he is gone.

Radio Hit Part 2

2011-04-18T10:00:00.000-07:00

No sooner had we been shown the DJ booth and watched Canela read the news than I found myself seated in front of a microphone surrounded by youths answering question in Spanish, live on the air. Canela interviewed me, Damian, and Claire about our radio practicum, our time in El Seibo, and our lives abroad, interjecting with banter about music and politics and commentary to entertain our youths. He even had everyone singing along to a couple of choice Bachata songs. Next he gave them an opportunity to share the spotlight, interviewing a few and answering some of the questions produced earlier at the liceo.

Live on the air at Radio El Seibo

Slowly the group began to dwindle as some the more far-flung participants saw the need to get going so as to be home before too late. After an hour, those who hadn't already trickled out watched in awe as four or five elementary-school-aged children took over, queuing up tracks and introducing one another. They were like a well-oiled machine with their polished radio personas and grown-up charm. It was like something out of a strange dream. I don't think any of them could have been over twelve. After watching speechless for awhile, I began to feel as if I had better leave them to their business. Out on the street, we mused at our incredible luck while we waited for Ann to take us home.

Radio Hit Part 1

2011-04-17T08:18:00.000-07:00

After our flop Saturday, my practicum team was determined not to let it happen again. We had Canela, a local radio DJ who teaches at the liceo (high school) announce our group to his students. We heard about a TV group and had him mention it to them. The day of our next youth meeting, we went from classroom to the next telling students. We offer candy and treats. We enticed them with a visit to the actual radio station. Nevertheless, it came as a shock when, at a quarter past four on Thursday, the library began to fill with students who had come to participate.

Recording material for our radio program

My groupmate Jason had his second technical presentation that day and by the time we had finished our opening dinámica (fun activity to lively things up) of the prop game from Whose Line his audience was huge. There must have been at least 30 youths. In addition, Ann and three of our Spanish teachers were in attendance. Jason presented on interview techniques and gave pointers on how to present well on the radio. While Claire led a question-writing activity and Damian signed up the youths for our Facebook group, I got pulled out into the hall for my second placement interview. Then half of the group joined Garret, Damian and me in Ann's pickup and we trucked down to Radio El Seibo to wait while Ann fetched the rest of us.

CBT Marches On

2011-04-15T22:00:00.000-07:00

My practicum group got thrown a curve yesterday. After two rather successful youth meetings, we crashed and burned pretty hard in our third. To begin with, we had only one youth show up. Next, we were stood up by the radio DJ, Canela, who promised us his time. Finally, we just plain conducted the meeting in a sloppy manner. I sure hope it’s not a sign of things to come.

La Negrita cream of wheat

We’ve reached the end of week five which represents the midpoint of our ten weeks of Peace Corps training. Of the 35 training days in El Seibo, 17 have already gone by meaning CBT is also about halfway through. If you had told me five weeks ago about all the things I’ve done since, I wouldn’t have understood. It’s hard to imagine the position I’ll be in once I’ve finished training and have my placement. Right now I feel something akin to what I felt in college during the second or third term of my senior year.

Criseida makes Pasteles de Hoja

In other news, my host mom had surgery a few days ago and has since come home. In the days that have followed she has received a steady stream of visitors such that, at any given time, there are between four and eight people standing or sitting in the small bedroom where she watches TV and visits, an IV bag hanging from a nail on the wall, supplying her with fluids. All the same she insist on drilling me on whether or not I’m hungry and what exactly Felicia has most recently made me to eat.

Youth Practicum

2011-04-14T10:00:00.000-07:00

Between Spanish class and training sessions on topics like Classroom Management and Computer Hardware 101, we have been charged with assembling a youth group and leading them in producing some sort of finished product using ICT (information and communication technology). This comprises what is called our Youth Practicum. On my part, I have joined with six other trainees to lead some youths in making a radio show.

So far we have met twice with our youths. They've decided that for their show, they want to do interviews on topics of interest to their peers, tell jokes, and interveiw Miss El Seibo, the winner of last year's annual pageant held during patronales (festival honoring the town's patron saint). We have two weeks left to complete the practicum, but that's hardly any time at all when you consider that we meet only twice a week and must meanwhile do two presentations.

Miches Part 3

2011-04-13T10:00:00.000-07:00

Demonstrating proper form when posing on a fourwheeler

After a few trips down the beach on the fourwheeler and a few dips in the ocean, we played in the sand and took pictures. Then, at dusk we packed up our things and hit the road. When we reached the main drag in Miches we turned in the opposite direction from home. When I consulted Bobby, it explained that we were going to a nearby town for some cheese. By about halfway there, I was tired of the bumpy road and really indifferent to the experience of getting cheese, but also mildly amused at how parallel it paralleled the tradition of visiting the cheese factory in Tillamook.

Gracia, Julieta, Yonathan, Libby, Criseida, Vivi

The cheese turned out to consist of balls the size of tennis balls that had the texture of fresh mozarella and tasted of raw milk and, strangely, straw. For the next two hours I was miserable and tired, shivering in the back of the truck as it tossed me up and down all the way to El Seibo.

I emerge from a sandy grave

On the outskirts of town we passed a check point where some kind of officer in uniform who asked to see the permit for the pistol it turns out Jesus had brought on the trip. Although he was able to provide it, he did so in such a manner that the officer became unpleasant, looking for a reason to hold us up longer. The result was that we were made to go to the police station with an official escort. At that point I knew my way home, so I walked. I later heard from Jesus that he had loitered inside the police station until the escort was gone and the simply drove away.

Time to go home

Miches Part 2

2011-04-12T10:00:00.000-07:00

Miches Beach

As we reached the outskirts of Miches, the landscape assumed a character I recognized from rural communities in Intibucá, Honduras and Guatemala's Altiplano. Small homesteads held sway against the eroding slopes at either side of the road, abruptly giving way to cinderblock structures and storm drains where the road descended into town.

Jodiendo with the doomed kite: Muchacho, Jesus, Adonis, Bobby, Yonathan

Moments later we found ourselves at a beach with late afternoon sunshine casting long shadows and a gentle breeze stirring the leaves of palms. The beach was situated at one end of long, lazy bay whose other extreme could be seen on the horizon at one's one o'clock when facing perpendicular to the coastline. Two or three other parties idled in the shade or tossed about in the gentle sea.

Bobby explains to me some finer point of tigueraje to me while Angel plays in the surf.

After watching the lowering of the fourwheeler and the stranding of a kite in a tree, I could wait no longer. The hopped in the water. After more than a month spent sticky with sweat, my constitution vaguely fogged over with the constant warmth of the Caribbean, words cannot not describe my refreshmentment. It was as if I had been holding my breath for a long time and cold finally exhale.

Miches Part 1

2011-04-11T16:27:00.000-07:00

Let's go to the beach!

During my first week in El Seibo, I was told by my host family that on Sunday they would take me to the beach. Something you need to understand, though, is that they meant they would take me to the coast si dios quiere (if God wants). Whenever someone here mentions that they intend to do something, what they are really mean to express as a desire to do said thing. Whether or not the desire is sincere, it is goes without that any divine intervention is not out of the question.

Bobby approves of the scenery

You can understand my lack of surprise, then, on the Sunday after I arrived, when the beach plan suddenly and mysteriously dissolved. By the same token, on the following Sunday I was taken off guard when Libby's wife, Jesus appeared in front of my host house in his Mitsubishi cargo truck, complete with a forwiler lashed to the bed and a crew that included Libby, friends Vivi, Bobby, and Criseida, and a couple of muchachos (young guys) from around the way. Along with Julietta, her friend and fellow KOICA volunteer, Gracia, and host nephews Adonis and Yonathan, I hopped in the bed.

Look! It's a view!

Moments later we were at a gas station filling up, when Jesus hopped across the street into a local colmado (convenient store) and emerged with about ten liters of cheap beer. What followed was a unruly hour-and-a-half episode involving much spilling of beer and hollering. I clung to the fourwheeler and struggled to maintain my balance as we sped along the bumpy, winding road to Miches and my fellow passengers board cup after cup of Brahma Light and tried to engage me in sexist banter.

Angel, Julietta, Me, Adonis

One of the muchachos, named Angel, seemed intent on the tiresome routine of tricking the gringo into agreeing with some outrageous statement on account of not knowing the local slang. Equally obnoxious was the other muchacho's insistence on barking token English at me (wayornaim? omaiga! Ulai tu wakin?) as if he thought the mere sound of his unintelligible English was an irresistable delight to an American such as I. However, as we drove out of the morning's sprinkling rain and crested the coastal mountains a view opened up that told me this trip was going to be worth the hassle.

It was like something out of a dream

A Nightmare Part 3

2011-04-09T10:00:00.000-07:00

On Monday we present our mini-diagnostics. It will be one of only a few times when I've presented in Spanish and I've had scarcely four days to prepare. It's been only about 36 hours since I decided to Let Go Or Be Dragged. I began my reserach in a state of indecision and intimidation which I allowed to impede my progress. When my original presentation topic proved impractical, I tried to force it. Had this been college, I would have asked for an extension, but we only have five weeks for CBT and every day is carefully planned to take advantage of that time. Meanwhile, my youth group practicum, a four-week group project, was beginning in earnest.

Trash-strewn lots like this are a common sight in the DR. The sign reads,
"No Dumping, Please."

I could well have panicked had I not taken a step back and looked at how I could learn from this experience. Even to reach this stage of the assignment I was operating on a level far beyond any development work I've done in the past. I was conducting interviews with host country nationals and practicing speaches in Spanish. For the first time in my life, the time constraint was an asset instead of a barrier. And it was because I had decided to let go of my attachment to my original idea and let the process guide me. I imagine this lesson will be of vital importance when I am at last in my 2-year community. Indeed, it may be useful even beyond my time in the Peace Corps.

A Nightmare Part 2

2011-04-08T10:00:00.000-07:00

At 1:30 am I walked out onto Daisy and Ronaldo's front patio. From there the sounds of El Seibo's strip of clubs could be heard blasting house and dembow into the night. On Friday nights, these establishments become a sort of city commons, flooding the sidewalks and islands of space created by cars parked on the Avenida, El Seibo's main drag. People even mill about in the median strip, sipping their beers and taking in the scene.

El Seibo's deserted post office

I was about to go inside when I was struck with a realization. I was staring up at the stars when it dawned on me that it was the first time I'd seem them since I arrived at the beginning of much. In Santo Domingo, the night sky had been rendered a nondescript mat of black by ambient light. In the week since I arrived at CBT, I have been too caught up in training to notice.

A Nightmare Part 1

2011-04-07T10:00:00.000-07:00

I awoke at one in the morning from a recurring nightmare. In the nightmare, I am enrolled in college. I have signed up for only two classes, the main purpose being to remain a student and thus retain the benefits of campus life. However, I am several weeks into the term and I have yet to attend a single lecture. This is a dire situation and, try as I might, instead of making the most of the time I have left, I only panic more as I try to invent a way out. The stress mounts until stirs me awake.

US Marines Corps footsteps burn holes in the Dominican flag: I found
this gym in the "library" where we receive training.

Taking some deep breaths, I relax and remember that I have once again believed this dream and the pressure is once again off. I haven't slept well since my second night in the country. This is partly on account of bad dreams. At night I am stabbed, kidnapped, broken up with, disowned. Even on nights that I don't wake up in a sweat having endured some awful ordeal, I am awakened by some mysterious force at three or four in morning.

Dominicanisms

2011-04-06T10:00:00.000-07:00

I've decided to write down some of the peculiarities I've discovered here in the DR in order to capture them before I forget that they ever struck me as peculiar.

Me with host sisters Lorena, Libby, and a neighbor girl

Okay - The proper response to "gracias" (thank you) is not "de nada" (it was nothing) as is the case in every other Spanish-speaking place I've visited. In fact, in the month that I've been here, I've only heard this once. Instead, everyone responds "okay". I'm not sure if this means I'm not welcome. I kind of think people aren't accustomed to being thanked for things.

Dancing salsa with neighbor Karina. Note the look of boredom on her face.
She later told me need practice.

Chin - Dominicans have a word for a small amount of something. The word is "chin" (pronounced "cheen"). I suppose this translates pretty well to "bit", but for some reason I still giggle a little inside every time I hear it. Can't quite say why.

Host sister Marilu dances with a friend

Everybody is expected to know everything - In Dominican culture, it seems it is considered poor form to have any gap in their possession of the sum-total of human knowledge. As a result, I have yet to hear anybody use the words "no sé" (I don't know). Instead, they either give some vague answer that makes it clear they don't know or they just make something up.

Community-Based Training Continues

2011-04-05T10:00:00.000-07:00

The days continue to roll by in El Seibo as I partake of CBT and settle in. It seems my host family is bent on killing me by over-feeding me and dancing me to death. On Sunday they had over some neighbors and friends, bought liter after liter of beer, and took turns thrusting me at various partners to dance bachata, salsa, and merengue. Above all they loved to watch Felicia dance with me and collapse in laughter after getting fresh with me to the tune of humping me or grabbing my butt. (I should note that Felicia is in her 40's and not in the least viewing me as prospect.)

ICT technical trainer Ann Smyntek leads a training session in the disused
library at Liceo Sergio Augusto Beras, El Seibo's only public high school

With each progressive beer the hilarity grew along with Felicia's agressiveness until it culminated in a sandwich of me, Felicia and Daisy grinding to house music. I'm pretty sure Felicia had a minor heart attack. She smokes and has high blood presser and by the end of the night she was complaining of pain in her arm. I didn't see her for the next three days during which everyone joked that I had killed her.

Felicia and Ronaldo shake their booties

El Seibo

2011-04-04T10:00:00.000-07:00

El Toro del Seibo statue at the town's prinicipal intersection

On Thursday the time arrived at last to say goodbye to the capital and to two-thirds of the trainees as we went our separate ways to our various sites for Community-Based Training (CBT). My group, the ICT volunteers relocated to El Seibo, a charming little town that dates back to colonial times and was home to the mother of Duarte, father of the country's independence from Haiti in 1844.

Piracy is widespread an accepted. This guy made me buy something before I could
take his picture.

Our first morning in town we were given the task of finding and taking photos of as many things as we could from a list of 30 things. Examples included an entire family on a motorcycle and someone carrying things on his/her head. While I was hesitant at first, I found I rather enjoyed the scavenger hunt and that it was a good excuse to cruise around town for a bit and get the lay of the land.

Downtown El Seibo

My host family here is quite different from in the Capital. My host father runs a trucking syndicate and is actually a consistent presence in the home. He and Doña Daisy (my host mother) have three daughters, aged 22 to 26, and a grown son who is a doctor. The older two daughters have houses elsewhere in town. One of them has a baby of perhaps two or three months. The youngest daughter attends college in Santo Domingo and returns home to work during the weekends.

This truck drives around all day blaring advertisements from its enormous PA.

I spend most of my time with Daisy and her fun-loving maid Felicia learning about Dominican culture and making them laugh at my peculiar American responses to their questions and comments. In addition, they have another boarder, a development worker with KOICA, the Korean foreign aid agency. She is interesting, but speaks very limited Spanish and only sometime understands better when I repeat myself in English. Thankfully, there are no ear-splitting shouts of toddlers or children imploring me to join them to watch WWF and Kids' Network.

Wow is El Seibo's premier disco

Shame, Blame, and Rape

2011-04-03T07:50:00.000-07:00

The stars shone brightly over Copan Ruinas the summer night, in 2001, when we watched our colleague pee his pants. We'll call him Sam. I don't remember his name, but I do remember he was one of the first to tear the sleaves from this Amigos shirt to show off his shoulders and impress his friends. Last week, as I sat with my peers in the training center, I remembered the strange mixture of confusion and embarassment I felt that night so many years ago.

We were assembled after lunch Tuesday for what was to be a difficult portion of our safety training. The topic was rape. Peace Corps had produced a video with interviews of three female RPCVs (Returned Peace Corps Volunteers) who were victims of rape during their time in the Peace Corps. As the women on the screen emotionally recounted their respective ordeals, I glanced around with mounting discomfort, trying to determine what response was expected of me. Moments later my suspicion was confirmed that sincerity was out of the question.

The video was stopped to give the volunteers a chance for discussion. I'll never know what impulse prevailed in the next excruciating half hour. To say that emotions ran high would be an understatement. On my own part, the response was physical. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and hear ringing in my ears. It wasn't long before we were talking over one another, some voicing comtempt, others making appeals, still others desperately seeking the middle ground. One person got up and walked out in protest. Another did likewise, then another.

Now that my fog of consternation has finally cleared and I am able to reason, I am left with an overwhelming sense of disappointment at two things. Firstly, I am disappointed to find that I submitted to an atmosphere where many people spoke, but nobody could be heard. Rather than ask questions I resorted to defensiveness and platitudes. Secondly, I am disappointed that I had was concerned with winning.

The night Sam peed for us, while I had the comfort of distancing myself, my feelings were similar. We were gathered for the culmination of eight weeks of volunteer service in rural Honduras, once again enjoying hot showers and fresh fruit. The urination was intended as the physical punchline to a comedy sketch he was performing. Some reacted in outrage. Others didn't care. In the end he was shamed in front of everyone and made to clean up, retreating to his room for the remainder of the trip. All that seemed to matter in the end was which side you were on.

Unlike in the episode in Honduras, last week there was no decisive closure. No Sam was made to answer for the discomfort we all felt; for trying to share something that some of us didn't want and wouldn't take. We all still have to live with rape. As a man, I can't understand what an American woman faces in a country like the Dominican Republic where men hiss at you from street corners and you are constantly reminded that you are different and thus a potential target of sexual violence. I can only do my best to be supportive and patient with my fellow volunteers.

Volunteer Visit Part 5

2011-03-30T10:00:00.000-07:00

This array of inverters and batteries attached to Cassidy's lab collects energy
from solar and wind sources.

By three o'clock the next day, it was obvious that the driver of the public pickup we had consulted the day before had given us bad information when he assured us there would be a pickup at 1:00 pm to take me to Moca. This is a feature of the Dominican Culture; the answers you get from people often have more to do with saving face or telling you what is supposed that you want to hear than they do with providing accurate and useful information.

Luckily, there was a single seat available in a jeep that was headed my way. It was less than ideal since Andrew was also leaving town and had planned to help me negotiate the bus system on the trip back, but in the moment when the jeep arrived it was a matter of taking it or running the risk of arriving home in the capital after dark. I opted for the former, and as I watched the breathtaking mountain views unfold to the sound of bachata music from the stereo, I reflected that for the first time since I arrived in the country, I was alone traveling long-distance without the guidance or companionship of other Americans. It was interesting to remember all the times I had done likewise in Guatemala and recognize how much more quickly that transition from dependent to independent had taken place.

Hiking up to a viewpoint before lunch

Once in Moca, I found the bus station and headed for what I judged to be the ticket window by the appearance of big letters over it that read "ticket window". Behind the counter I found a woman punching keys on a cell phone. "When does the next bus leave for the capital?" I asked. In response she gave me a look that told me I was the stupidest person possibly imaginable and proceeded to look away and place the phone to her ear. A man who was among five or six people inexplicably loitering in the ticket office must have taken pity on me. He pointed to a bus and said "Santo Domingo". I suppose I was expected to intuit this.

On the way to Santo Domingo, our already full bus took on about a third of the passengers of another bus we found broken down alongside the road. Being based in the northwestern suburbs of Santo Domingo, I was among the first people off. This meant several people had to get off to make way. Even still, it was a tight squeeze with my three bags.

Volunteer Visit Part 4

2011-03-29T10:00:00.000-07:00

After Escojo and another round of neighbor visits, it was time for a rousing sermon about stories from Genesis and the sermon on the mount led by Doña Elena at the Adventist church. Aftewards we visited her home where she prepared us dinner and through conversation impressed me as remarkably wordly and kind. Well past ten at night, we returned to the house Cassidy shares with a community member and we shared his comfortable bed.

Cassidy and Magee demonstrate the proper use of a latrine

The next day held a morning spent with our new friends from Iowa and a visit to Magee's community just up the road where Cassidy had arranged to work on the school's computer lab. As we walked there, Cassidy shared a horrific story about a Haitian woman whose husband has allegedly broken her arm. He said that her ordeal was flippantly mentioned to him one day and that when he found her, she sat visibly suffering while Dominicans stood by playing dominoes and cracking jokes.

The patio of the collection of buildings where Cassidy takes his meals

After several hours of troubleshooting computers, Cassidy found a stopping place and we made our way to Magee's house where she made us a spaghetti dinner and the two volunteers regaled me, among other things, with Peace Corps gossip, insight into Dominican Culture, and a particularly amusing conversation about reality television. Back at Cassidy's a drifted off to sleep to the sound of rain his aluminum roof.