Nica Notes

El Compañero

2008-12-03T11:11:00.003-05:00

As I haven´t been writing much lately, here is something I from my journal from some time ago...

When I first heard about Benito I pictured him as a younger guy. A teenager maybe and a little green behind the ears. Mario talked about how Benito lives in Leon and has been installing some filters in that area. I don’t know why I immediately made him a kid in my mind. Maybe for the name, as Benito sounds diminutive with the ito at the end. But as soon as I met Benito I saw how wrong my assumptions really were.

I was sitting and talking with Benito yesterday. He had his left leg crossed over his right, man style, and I noticed his boots. They were the heavy leather ones with thick soles whose traction was like that off a catipiller or other bulldozing machinery. Far from being athletic or dress up, they were actually the only shoes I can image Benito ever wearing. He needs something to support that gait of his. Extra wide to give him the steady base so he doesn’t tip over when he pounds his feet forcefully into the ground with each step.

As we were talking, Benito he had his hand gripping his crossed boot, his arm was bent and I noticed his elbow/forearm area. It looked like the land of Nicaragua right there at the back of his forearm. The muscle part of his forearm was strong and evlevated and pronounced. Then just dropped off and kind of dipped down like one of those lagoons that sit right below the many volcanos here in Nicaragua. He not only was bred on this spot of earth but has so internalized it he expresses it unknowingly in his muscles.

Another thing I am used to Benito doing, especially as we talk about the early ‘80s, is his simulation of shooting a gun. He doesn’t just elevate one week arm from his side and make the international gun sign with his thumb and index finger. What he does looks as if he was actually lifting a forty pound gun. He brings those trunks of arms up head high, the right one fully outstretched while the left one is bent, elbow out and hand near the face obviously on the trigger. He then closes one eye and squints with the other, looking down the length of, not only the gun, but maybe even his history.

It wasn’t long after I met Benito that we got into a conversation about his time with the Sandinista army up in the mountains somewhere. I mean when someone tells you there were in the army and lived in the mountains for two years you naturally want to know more about it. So I began to question him and paint his story in my minds eye.

My peaceful upbringing was spent on the square patch of grass in our front yard, with a soccer ball at my feet, and friends to kick with. When Benito was twelve years old, and he assures me he was skinny at this point, he was climbing down into manhole covers and running below the streets of Leon, delivering covert letters to various Sandinista leaders. He says once some guards stopped him. They spread his fingers and put their noses to the weby part between each digit to check for any bomb making residue. They beat him and kicked him and put their guns to his back. He remembers thinking he was going to dye, but one guard finally convinced the other not to kill the kid, and they let him walk with a stiff boot in the back as he left.

When Benito gets his mouth moving it is hard to slow him down. And it’s not just war stories he tells. He has plenty facts to share and opinions to let fly. Yesterday we were talking politics, the American variety. Our conversation floated over Obama’s election and previous decades and presidents. I was slightly surprised when Benito began speaking about Regan and Carter. I think I was surprised because from my campo time in the DR I became used to less than apt conversations about current American polotics much less past presidents. I remember Benito saying with his tongue flying, “Oh, Regan fue un…” except I don’t remember the adjective he used. I do know that Benito believes Regan is fully responsible for the ten years of war that his country went through.

In contrast to Benito’s feelings on Regan are his opinions of Bill Clinton. His eyes become happy and that pointy lipped smile of his pops onto his face when he begins talking of Clinton. Benito has repeated to me, at least twice, what Clinton said upon arriving to Nicaragua after some major flooding and a landslide that buried almost an entire city. He says Clintons words were to the affect of, I have not come in war but in peace, to support Nicaragua in development not destruction. Whatever Clinton said or didn’t say is irrelevant.

I realized then, while talking with Benito, how important our President is to other countries. I mean that, often when I hear of our presidents visiting other countries, I think not twice about it, much less once. I now see, from Benito’s smile while thinking of Clintons visit, how much a visit from the United States president means to people living in that country.

Here are a few pictures of Benito and what we do now.

Here's a random one for you...

2008-11-08T11:04:00.001-05:00

It’s Friday afternoon. Thanks to the security guard, I took a new cow trail home on my way out of work. Just another example of how dependent I become on local knowledge when I am in a new city or country. It was the older guy in rubber boots who showed me the first trail which chopped my walk from the road to the Nehemiah Center in half. I remember I was hesitant to trust him. He came on pretty outgoing at first which is often my clue that something isn’t exactly right. They either want money or have ulterior motives. But I remember this guy’s motives were pretty genuine. He was headed down the same trail to the last house and why not point the gringo in the right direction?

Anyway, that trail worked well for a while. Cut out the worst part of my walk; the narrow gentle curve in road that dump trucks use on their way in and out of picking up a new load of dirt. I sometimes wonder how there can be enough dirt for their endless processions. They must have one heck of a hole going on. Maybe they are the guys who, when younger, believed their parents when they said China was only a matter of digging deep enough. And it’s not just an issue of one dump truck every now and again.

The trucks continuously rumble by, shifting gears while really not picking up much speed. Each shift throwing a heavy hand of gray smoke out of their charred stacks. It’s the kind of thick grey smoke that sticks to you, puts an invisible chalky layer on your forehead for the rest of the day. I have come to enjoy, if somewhat strangely, this kind of dirty grey smoke. It’s one of those immediate triggers to times and places of past, that I hold close to my heart. It’s also one of those very tangible things that remind me I am not in America. One of the uncomforts that makes the day to day more visceral, like the sweat that drowns my back while walking to or from work. This is all kind of my bent attempt at some kind of solidarity. Especially now as solidarity is not part of my job description. Whether the people I am trying to live in solidarity with actually notice my effort is another story. I mostly get looks like, “why’s the weird gringo coming out of the cow pasture with a backpack and sweat rolling down his temples?”

Should a tick so full of doggy blood that it looks like a grey raison gross me out? I don’t know. It looks more curious to me then anything. Its body so distorted from the other features like the numerous legs and head that protrude from it. The little head, so pointy with its two horizontal jaws still chomping back and forth, searching for the next meal that it has no room for. Should numerous swollen ticks on our tiled patio floor be worse than one? They are spread out like some kid threw a handful of small clumps of dirt, except they are little sacks of blood from the dogs, Forthy and Lucy.

Bus Stuffing

2008-10-22T10:27:00.001-04:00

The roosters have gotten it all wrong. It’s a little after 11 pm and I hear them going to town with their cock a little do. Maybe they are Chinese roosters and still haven’t grasped they are on the other side of the world now. Or maybe they’ve been sleeping all day, seeing as it is Saturday and rained straight through the afternoon and evening. That’s what I would have done had I not gone exploring.

I did catch a hole in the clouds this morning; big enough for me to go do check out Managua, public transportation style. It’s always interesting (read frightening) to test the waters of a different developing country’s transportation systems. I did have a few things going for me this morning. One, it was sunny for the most part and no matter how many twists and turns we made, I had a clear read on the shadows. Two, I had time, all day in fact, to get lost and straighten it out if need be. Thirdly, it’s really kind of hard to get lost when you speak Spanish. It’s like if you were in New York and spoke English…I mean you just stop and ask for directions.

So Managua’s transportation resembles Panama’s in that they both rely on the old yellow American school bus. They just differ in the extent to which they use said school bus. Panama’s drivers, probably do to heavy American influence over the years, are some what more respectful of personal space. They must read the capacity sign on the front of their buses. In Panama, if capacity says 60 they may stretch it to 70, and everybody’s still ok. But in Managua they take the capacity sign down to make space for one more person! Think of a school bus with 1,000 people in it. I’M NOT LYING! I dare say they give Dominicans a run for their pesos. I actually would like to see a bus stuffing competition between Dominicans and Nicas. Nicas might win, seeing as they make full use of not only the inside of the bus but the top of the roof as well.

I know it might sound like, “wow, I don’t think I would have enough room to even breath!?” And while that is a legitimate concern, it should not be the principal worry. You need to be worried about how you’re going to get off the thing. And you don’t have the Jaws of Life coming to cut you out. Oh and actually before that, you first need to figure out where you are going to get out. Have you ever tried to orientate yourself while standing up inside a yellow school bus? You can’t! Unless you’re a midget. You have about five feet from the side of the bus to study the road/sidewalk and figure out where you are. And don’t think your going to duck or bend over to steal a glimpse out the window. Remember there’s no space for that nonsense!

Anyway, I also felt more at ease figuring out the whole transportation system as I studied a Budget Rent-A-Car map relentlessly over the past week. Although no street names are used in real life, I did have a basic understanding of the layout of the town. So I knew that when I arrived to Bello Horizonte after about an hour winding through the Managua streets I was much too far east, almost to the airport. My goal had been to make it to the central shopping area where I could exchange my somehow overly complicated cell phone for one that was actually sensible. Although I knew I had been going east for far too long I let myself wander. For one thing, I had a seat and could actually see out the window. I took advantage of the view and the opportunity to see a bit of Managua.

Nicaraguan History 101

2008-09-28T14:13:00.006-04:00

If you are like me and really didn’t learn much about Nicaraguan history in High School/College – did they even teach it? here’s your ten minute history review. And if you are in the movie making business, here’s your Oscar winning script; a script spanning four continents and featuring numerous tyrants and rebellions; not one, not two, but five (if I’m counting right). Add in violence and war, although unfortunately no big love scenes, even though I’m sure there had to be some loving going on somewhere in country. So anyway, here’s your run down. And if you want to go straight to the source for all the greasy details read this book…Blood of Brothers by Stephen Kinzer. You will be amazed.

We all know how the story starts (as far as takeovers go) for most of South America and even North America at that. The Spanish come with their guns and colds and wipe out the Indians and make all who are left speak Spanish and eat Mexican food – ok, just in Mexico. So that basically was the fate of Nicaragua until 1821 when all the Central American countries united for a United States of Central America. This fell apart a few years later and Nicaragua became the ruler of its own independent country. Well until America stepped in, particularly the adventurer William Walker, who took manifest destiny to heart, seeing internal conflict as an opportunity for him to grab up his own small country. With a ragtag bunch of other Americans he came down to Nicaragua, forced his way to power, and in 1856 held corrupted elections where he magically came out on top.

Obviously, the home town folks didn’t like the idea of this gringo ruling their country so they kicked him out, but not before Walker could burn to the ground everything he had built. So for forty years after, power was shared between a handful of wealthy Nicaraguans, until our next star of this tale appears. Jose Zelaya was his name and he was a reformer, a change maker, an Obama or even a McCain if you believe it to be, and he brought the goods. Zelaya did great things for Nica, among them funding for education and infrastructure, grating rights to all citizens including women, and outlawing slavery. But unfortunately he was a little to Nationalistic for American mining and timber interests, and even began talks with the Germans, Japanese, and British for a competing trans-isthmian Canal.

Well American president Taft had something to say about all of this even going so far as calling Zelaya a “medieval despot”. Through the Knox Note in 1909 the US demanded Zelaya’s resignation calling for a government “capable of responding to demands…”etc, etc. Zelaya got the point, packed his bags, and left for exile. US marines came in and did the next logical thing, installed a new government that knew, if you will, who their daddy was. As before, the locals didn’t like this American intervention so much either, and one of them, Zeledon decided to organize and fight back knowing good and well he was signing his own death warrant. He died, and his rebellion was quieted, but his spirit and ideas were carried on in the national and international superstar of Augusto Cesar Sandino.

Sandino was born a poor Nicaraguan and went to work for United Fruit and a US petroleum company in Mexico. Like the nerdy kid in school, he and his country were generally picked on by Mexicans and other Central Americans, for living under and allowing the rule of the North American Big Daddy. Sandino took this to heart and being inspired by the rebellion started by Zeledon began to fight back, to “recover its national sovereignty, stolen from us by the Yankee Empire.” After much fight back and afforded luck by the oncoming Great Depression the US retreated in 1932. So Sandino won and in turn brokered a peace deal with the American puppet and president Sacasa. But before the marines left, they installed Anastacio Somoza as jefe of the National Guard.

Somoza, not unlike most of the rest of us, wanted power and wealth and decided to do something about it - and I guess it’s easier when you have the National Guard under your command. Anyway, after Sandino and President Sacasa had a festival sort of ball one evening, the NG stops Sandino on ride home, kidnaps him, takes him to an airport runway and shoots him. This puts Somoza in good position to nudge out Sacasa, which he does, then calls for elections, which he wins in 1936. Somehow only 169 people found the courage to vote against him.

“He’s a son of a bitch, but he’s ours,” were Roosevelt’s comments upon Somoza’s lavish reception in Washington soon after all the smoke settled. Upon completing his 5 year term, and given Nicaragua’s constitution bans re election, Somoza hand picked a friend, Arguello, and held corrupt elections to get him elected. Once elected Arguello throws his hands up, or washes them clean, and says he has no commitments with anyone. Of course Somoza doesn’t like to hear this, so he calls up his army lead a coup and reinstates himself as dictator.

Well to shorten things, three Somozas ruled Nicaragua with much US support, until 1979. To be sure, they were all dictators – doing much of what dictators normally do: amassing much wealth and power by “controlling railroad and steamship lines, factories, fishing fleets, gold mines, lumber companies, and Nicaraguas largest brewery.” They also traded in drugs, gambling, and prostitution for fun. They censored the press while torturing and killing dissidents appropriately.

After the country had enough of this, which I can imagine they did, they became more sympathetic to a growing nationalistic movement, with Marxist leanings, called the Sandinistas. These Sandinistas fought their way into power and were set on “destroying a system that had created so much injustice.” They redistributed farm lands, launched literacy campaigns, and even kicked out my favorite organization the Peace Corps for a mistrust of motives. Although after so much past American influence, I don’t know if I can fault their misconceived beliefs.

So this book, Blood of Brothers, spends over 200 pages on the years ’79 to ’90. But the basics of all of it is this: the US didn’t like the Sandinistas, so the CIA funded and trained (clandestinely at first) an anti-revolutionary movement (contras) and pretty much an all out civil war. Add to this a devastating earthquake in ’72 and you have the basis for a country that went from being one of the most developed in all of Central America at the turn of the 20^th century to being the second poorest country in the Western Hemisphere at this current time.

So our story of tyranny and rebellion ends in 1988 with a peace deal brokered by Costa Rica’s President and Nobel Laureate Oscar Arias. This established the democratically elected government that still functions today in Nicaragua.

I have never been to a country so recently torn by civil war and I'm interested to see for myself what Nicaragua looks like and feels like today. I can not really image.

Here's your wiki...http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nicaragua

2008-09-02T08:38:00.011-04:00

I guess I'm a sucker for familiarity. Or maybe its balance. Whatever it is, I'm sending out from where I set in. Three last nights at la casa de carmen to match the first three nights I spent at this comfy courtyared and hammocked of a hostel on arrival in country. If I had some weird form of amnesia I might fool myself into believing my tarzan life never really existed. I mean what do I have to show for it? No parasites according to three straight days of pooping in a cup. No malaria, dengue, or really any other jungle fever you can faintly remember the name of, but heard its really bad. And they're bad, I promise you. Never got it, but I promise you don't want it. I also seem to have narrowly escaped the Chicken Pox outbreak over the past month in my community and the neighboring one. Anyone that hadn't had the ohh so attractive welts covering their body before a month ago has had them now.

So unfortunately, my immune system doesn't like to hear me share cool sickness stories with my friends. That's all right. I still have the head full of bees stinging story. Our best crocodile hunter impression story. The tree ripened banana eating in the rain while hiding under cacao leaves in the jungle story. General living with indians in the jungle stories, including monkey alarm clocks and spear fishing. I have Amaranto's epic quest to find a wife in the Darien and bring her back home no matter her age or the amount of time he has known her...that story as well. Along with Amaranto's epic quest goes his ability to out fish anyone anytime, bringing home 20 fish or more whenever he wants, giving him the right to go to the Darien and find whichever wife suits him...as long as they aren't alergic to fish. I have other stories as well...they are just buried deep and maybe (but hopefully not) be called up only by certain trigger words. So excuse me if I have random flash backs and burst into laughter while sitting quietly listening to you talk to me. It's just that this is going to be on my mind for a while.

Some thoughts stored and forgotten

2008-08-01T22:24:00.003-04:00

Something I found stored away from about 4 months ago. An interesting peek at things back then (especially for me). Seems like this was written after a probably frustrating day as I sense my cynical side coming through. So maybe this is a small picture of Peace Corps on one of those days. But I also must say my thoughts have changed and evolved since. Maybe I could do a response to this sometime. Anyway, here you go...

Some good things happening. Computers are now in Spanish and the unknown “file” is now a more understandable “archive”. The keyboard also jumped around on people, with the @ sign now being hidden behind the alt and 2 key. I guess now I will be keyboard translating instead of file menu translating. But that’s all right; at least now the accent doesn’t take an alt plus a three digit number to get to. If they could only place their fingers on asdf jkl; the world could be so much easier for them. Or me? Actually they probably could care less, they just ask me the same question a hundred times over when they get stuck.

Zuleika is slowly progressing with her mouse range. Although still wanting to drive her finger through the mouse button on a double click. Madeline got the right click down today. I think.

I do wonder sometimes as I walk under Aristides et al. on my way to the computer room. As I fill myself with worry and hurry and sometimes even double step it there to download a Service Pack 2 or install the entire office suite. The pounding of his makeshift wooden hammer log and homemade al against the cocobolo turtle he is working on summon me back to earth. My minds eye sees the turtle held between his feet, as he sits bent over and 6 inches off the floor on his simple wooden stool. I’ve seen the image so many times already. Really every time I take a peak over his way. He works, dark red wood chips cover his clothes and surround him like rose petals around a bride. More veins then I ever knew a person to have cover his forearms and hands as they maneuver tightly around his rough masterpiece.

I wonder as I look back and see Huma on the floor, eight feet off the ground, and leaning to her left, legs bent to her right as she plays with her three year old granddaughter. She always says something to me in Wounaan, still so foreign to my ear. I wonder as I see the three sisters, three wives of three brothers, weaving up there, shy and only now starting to smile at me first. I wonder. Who is going to use this Microsoft suite I am rushing to install? Huma, Aristides, etc. don’t even show face in the computer converted side of their bathroom. Actually, Aristides did once, the first class. I feel it was more like a show of support and a welcoming gesture then any interest whatsoever in the subject matter. I mean really, he’s going to be carving Cocobolo every day for the rest of his life. And he doesn’t mind that or even should you.

So I wonder, how many people is all this currently impacting? Well unless a huge flood of tourists come as a result of the new web page, which I’m pretty sure won’t happen, the current impact of all this is very small. But then the potential is big. It’s big for the younger residents of San Antonio, I tell myself.

This makes me smile

2008-07-19T17:52:00.001-04:00

Yeah Victor!! And thanks betsy!

Check this out...

Another Fishing Tale

2008-07-02T14:42:00.006-04:00

I was in the middle of one of my tranquilo early morning and pre-breakfast guitar sessions when my host mom butted in. Well, not exactly “butted in” as I was not in the privacy of my own room with the door closed...if I did in fact have a room, or even a door. It was more like I was off in guitar land; the far off place where only Jack Johnson rhythms can take you.

Anyway, without any provocation at all Luciada held out a small shinny white strip of freshly cut fish belly. “Aquí esta tu carnada Mateo,” she said not so fluently, handing me the small ribbon of flesh. It caught me off guard for a second. I had not spoken, much less thought, about fishing for some time now, and here is Lucianda handing me precious bait. I usually have a hard time picking up on subtle hints. But this was not one of them. It was more than obvious what she wanted me to do with that bait.

“Here’s your lure, now go out and catch some fish if you want breakfast,” I saw her saying with that outstretched piece of fish flesh. And even with my empty stomach, I sat there and considered the proposition for a second or two. I was really enjoying my music up until this point; kind of like being woken from one of those heavy sleeps where you don’t want to get out of bed or even roll over. But I got up, reluctantly, and a little angry at the interruption, and grabbed that slimy smelly strip of fish belly with one hand and put my guitar away with the other; making certain not to get my guitar dirty.

I hadn’t been fishing for a few weeks and this was actually on purpose. I was tired of cast after cast with nothing on the reel in. Although the small piece of real meat was far superior to the usual narrow piece of frayed white cloth from the bottom of my t-shirts, I was still doubtful. And I in fact went over two hours without the slightest indication that fish actually still lived in water. Right around 10 I gave in to the empty feeling in my belly and put my pride aside to call it quits after one more cast.

Not really even paying much attention to the somehow still shiny piece of meat, I felt something trying to pull the rod from my hands. I gave a look, to make sure it was indeed a real live fish and not some mean combination of seaweed and current. As soon as I saw some commotion down there at the end of my line I started pulling and reeling about as subtly as my host mom told me to go fishing. And about 5 seconds later it was over, my line floated up to the surface with no hook on the end.

“Damn it!” I probably said out loud. Had I still had my hook, this excitement would have given me at least another hour of hopeful fishing. I even looked down to my body for more bait, but dressed in only a green pair of shorts and some dark colored boxers, I had no other options. Nothing to tempt this guy, even if he would consider swallowing another hook. So I slung my rod and reel back in the canoe and was forced home. If only to rub my luck in my face, I passed by at arms length a ginormous fish sitting next to a fallen log. I cussed that guy a few times too I think.

Once home, I threw my pole up into the house, and prepared myself to explain what just happened. Having somehow managed to get it all out, my host mom reminded me, “ahh, Mateo, tu iba a comer mmuuuucho pescado hoy,” (Mateo, you were going to eat a LOT of fish today) as if I was the one wanting fish to begin with. She proceeded to hand me my consolation breakfast of white rice and a meager piece of fried chicken. I ate it, a little disgruntled at her for making me go in the first place.

This is what I could have been eating.......

A Meal Fit for a Cacique

2008-05-19T18:41:00.004-04:00

It’s all fair game here with the Indians. There is close to nothing que no se come. I woke up this morning and on my way down the ladder to pee I see a turtle on its back, swimming through mid-air. I was thinking of flipping him over and playing with him for a bit. But then I thought that would be wrong; to get him all excited, then make soup out of him. I don’t know if it is my history with turtles (you know the whole world of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles that all boys in my generation grew up in) but it was really hard for me to think of eating this real life Michelangelo. I realized that without the ooze to make him mutant he’s really helpless, especially there on his back. He might beat the rabbit in the kid's fable, but I think the author knew somehow to not include Indians in that story. Not that they would have spared the rabbit either.

Telvinia had a ñeque cooking over the fire just the other day. Trying to figure out just what a ñeque was in English, and without any other ideas at all, Leo and I agreed on an over grown hamster. My childhood friend with the hamster metropolis in his bedroom wouldn’t have been happy with Telvinia, or Almodio. The next day I asked Telvinia how the ñeque was and she said Almodio ate it all himself.

Then there’s the armadillo. I really only thought they make good food for buzzards, but that’s not true. Armadillos are just as edible as overgrown hamsters, that is of course, before they become road kill. I was given a piece some time ago. And by piece I mean not like a chunk of meat, but rather a piece of shell the inside of which I was obliged to scrap my dinner off of.

Shall I continue with this gourmet menu fit for a Cacique? So far its been pretty cheep for our Cacique, the ingredients being all caught in or around the community. I pity the soul of the four legged creature who walks himself into the middle of this death trap of a community. But the gourmet meal doesn’t stop with only what’s caught. When there’s money it can even be bought. Like the rabo de puerco, pata de puerco, or hígalo de pollo. All of which I am surprised to learn are more costly than their more normal eatable parts. I was even told today that the rabo de puerco is imported from China or Japan. I can see it now, one of those ginormous ships trudging through the canal full of pig’s tail. Their most important, if not only mission: to bring millions of pig’s tails to Panama.

Like I said, some of this I have eaten and some I have easily said no to. But the one food I have yet to eat, but which I have heard so much about, is alligator tail. “Sabroso,” Almodio tells me as I see him immediately start to salivate at the thought. The hold back isn’t catching them. Bacilio does so with no problem, regularly, whenever we go night fishing. He also throws them in the bottom of the boat for his amusement. A thin metal boat with space for a mere 6 people at most is great amusement for Bacilio when there is a live alligator freaking out on the floor. I’ve never seen a guy's fishing trip sound so much like a scary movie with the girlfriend. I laugh now at the thought of us flying up on to the seats or edges of that boat. Especially Almodio, who speaks about 10 words a minute and who I rarely see get excited.

Here's a little something for ya

2008-05-15T19:49:00.008-04:00

They sit, two brothers, side by side on the built in bench of their furniture free home. "Aleluya man, Aleluya" blares thinly from the small squared and solar powered tape player to their side. Hands bounce from thigh to thigh, mimicking the bongo beats hidden in the accordian thick "tipica".

They've moved; grouped now in three, to the edge of the house, overlooking the morning's rays. Bacilio can better see from here to work the gel into his close latino haircut. He holds the crudely shaped piece of mirror with his feet, his back curled in less than correct posture. They're working together, Amaranto standing comb in hand, over Humberto. Not to compare them to monkeys, but they look out for each others hair needs much like I see monkeys do in National Geographic magazines or on the Discovery Channel.

Breakfast today was cooked by Felipe, with a heavy masculine touch. The white rice and lental mixture sits steaming, waiting for me to cover it in hot sauce. Nothing starts the day quite like a cold shower, unignorable tipica that doesn't fit into any of my previous musical schemas, and a breakfast better suited for my dinnner appetite.

It's 9:30. The morning's breakfast and businesses have been taken (and left). Work was started but stopped short. Much like those familiar apagones in Santo Domingo, the power stopped and there was nothing anyone could do about it; at least at that very moment. Moving the solar pannels was discussed again, but that's down the road. A few overhanging platano leaves were cut and I was hoping the small blackout would get the pannels cleaned today, but looks like a no go on that. Felipe went looking for 5 more palm leaves to finish a missing corner of the roof and Almodio went back to carving his piece of Tagua. It's amazing how people can seemingly dissappear when you don't know what they are saying. I'm sure it was discussed, but suddenly I'm the only one left in the house. Not that I mind the tranquility. The birds are the loudest ones now. I wonder how many species of them I am hearing? Once again, if I only knew their tongue...

Yeah, that's the female one, more or less...

2008-04-24T14:23:00.005-04:00

"Si, esta es la hembra. Mas o menos."

Arisitides likes to say mas o menos. Even in less than "more or less" situations. Like when I asked him today about the two parakeets pigging out on the pile of rice left for them on the floor. And I believed him that the broken footed one was the female, for no reason other than, of anyone, he should know. I mean, he carves them out of Cocobolo. But then he said mas o menos, and got me all confused. He also told me that Pipeline Road also comes out at a highway, mas o menos. Mas o menos does me know good when I'm trying to plan a weekend hike along Pipeline and would like to know if I will be able to find a trafficked road to get home by. I should have known and stopped at the more or less female parakeet.

Aristides also works 40 hours a week, often putting in overtime. I know he’s working even when I can’t see him working. I’ve become accustomed to the solid clunk of his make-shift hammer log pounding the butt of his various sized carving tools. And then when I do see him, like this morning during the confusing bird gender conversation, he’s covered in deep red cocobolo chips. His legs are most always bent at the knees, almost in a cross leg Indian position, if only they were crossed. He usually stops with the bottoms of his feet together. His simple seat raises him a good 6-8 inches off the floor. But now that I come to think of it, that’s probably intentional. He likes to grab his artwork with his feet to stabilize it, giving him two free hands to chip away with.

He is also a lover of geography. We often get into conversations discussing locations of various far off (and other seemingly far off) countries. And that’s when his fondness for the mas o menos phrase comes to my benefit. I often leave Africa close, mas o menos, to Taiwan in my appraisal their geographic locations, when necessary.

Ok, it's been less than sunny and my battery doesn't like that. Time to stop.

Here's a picture for you. And it happens to be of Aristides uncle, Nando.

Ropes that swing and monkeys in trees

2008-04-13T17:02:00.002-04:00

It’s a swinging kind of Sunday. I mean like rope swinging. Mateo and Bladimir were jumping and hurling themselves around, all 6 inches off the ground, with the help of a random rope tied to one of the supporting beams below their house. Then with all the excitement of a six year old they sprinted full out, mouths straining, for the banana tree. I had no clue as to the excitement a banana tree could hold but to my amazement it can be used for swinging as well. The dead leaves turn into a thick fibrous vine that now that I think of it would be excellent for swinging. To carry out our weeks supply of green bananas, my mom also interlaces it through the racismo and then loops it around her forehead. Kind of like a natural banana backpack. So, if it can support 50 pounds of banana weight I’m sure it’ll do just fine with 50 pounds of swinging muchacho weight.

As I was watching them play I remembered how packed full of fun Sunday afternoons can be for a six year old. It’s constant adventure; from the rope swing, to the banana swing, to the bamboo pole. And this is all with no mention of a ball. Now they are on the ball which seemingly has an infinite number of play possibilities.

After watching for a while, I climbed down from my house to look for a little excitement of my own. I found Nivardo calmly looking out to the canopy of trees that border our community. “Un mono,” he tells me pointing. And a monkey it was indeed. The first I had seen this close to our community. After joking with Custodio about the blow dart gun para comerlo, I spent the next 15 minutes immersed in a world of wonder all my own. This is the monkey whose yawn sounds like thunder, and I only wonder how big he has to open his mouth to get all that sound out. They must wake from one hell of a hard sleep because they really only yawn in the morning. So rather then roosters (there’s only one here) I have howling monkeys in trees to wake me up at 5 in the morning. That is besides one of those “bird sounds” cds someone puts in just around that time.

dispatches from a mosquitero

2008-03-25T21:04:00.007-04:00

So what's it been like?

Well today I helped my host mom look for bananas and platanos. (that’s not all I did, but just the first thing that came to mind). My mom is hard core I must say. She by far out carries me in the platano carrying contest. She's more like a mule with 3 racismos de guino slung over her back and shoulders. I was walking behind her today on our way out (by the way, the way out is practically silent compared to the way in) and thought how if she fell she quite possibly would be crushed by the number of guienos she had on her back. I was carrying about 50 pounds myself and she had way more than me. And had a machete.

Oh and also I don't know if there is anything better (well there probably is, but at the moment it was pretty awesome) than hiding under banana leaves, while rain drips down from the canopy above, and enjoying a nice fat naturally ripened banana. I actually probably had over 20 bananas today; between the green ones that make up the substance my 3 daily meals and the 5 ripe ones I ate waiting there for the rain to slow. I mean you have to get them before the monkeys do. And monkeys really do eat bananas; it's not just a Curious George thing.

I also went diving for oysters today. We ended up with an overflowing 5 gallon bucket full of them. And I proudly contributed about 5 of those. The three other guys filled it the rest of the way. I think next time I'll be able to give those oysters a better run for their money. (They actually are not just sitting there with their mouths open, that's taunting their doing.) This is the second time I have been out looking in (and depending on) the lake for my food. I kind of feel almost stone age ish about it, especially now with my Indian arm band tattoo. And the fact that us 4 males brought the bucketful of game/food back for the female to put in the other half of the work also made it that much more cave dweller ish.

Anyway, as such I thought I was getting oysters tonight for dinner. Instead I was handed boiled green bananas and fried mini-hot dogs. I questioned (not exactly objecting, just questioning) and learned that although cooked and prepared the oysters are for tomorrow. That's all fine and dandy, although right now I am 90% certain that I will get them for breakfast; with the always reliable guieno verde. And that's not fine or dandy.

Just the other night

2008-03-20T18:15:00.003-04:00

Well I guess there is dinner tonight.

After climbing up into the house and not seeing anyone around, I decided to make an early night of it anyway. I swept the floor off, shook out my pad, sheets and pillow, tied up and tucked in my mosquitero, and squeezed in my ear plugs so 5am won’t sound so early tomorrow when everyone leaves for school. But after about 45 minutes of me lying awake wondering if my toes are too exposed to a night ambush by the mosquitoes or even those other 8 legged and far more scary night owls, I not only heard but felt everyone come home. Kind of how I imagine a snake would feel the ground vibrating as I passed near-by. I guess it is the result of the floor being seven feet off the ground and not every board being firmly nailed to the supporting beams underneath. Actually it can feel like a small but constant earthquake in the morning while everyone is busy leaving for school. Add to that, numerous bright beams of light sporadically poring through the empty spaces between the bamboo that make my room “a room,” and you have a terribly frightening set for a PTSD flashback. Anyway, I guess I will crawl my way out of this small sanctuary I have here and eat something for dinner and probably slap myself silly, and maybe kill a mosquito, in the process.

Here's a picture for ya. Looking from my house to the neighbors.

La Casa de Carmen

2008-03-05T21:46:00.003-05:00

I thought this place was too good to be true. The similarities of Panama City and the States are incredible. Public transportation is scarcely more prominent than in Portland, as it seems most people here have their own cars. There are no guaguas running from their dirty black exhaust and little if any exhaust cloud to envelope me as I cross the street. The list could continue: drinkable tap water, eatable lettuce, 100 % all the time electricity, hot showers (not that I would ever consider them in this climate), and the plumbing to handle flushed toilet paper.

The hostel I have been staying at for these first few days in Panama City is of the Lonely Planet variety. Full of college aged English speaking backpackers and retired travelers. It even has a resident parrot that wakes me up in the morning and obediently sits on its roost all day long in the middle of the courtyard outback.

As I returned today, I thought to ask the hostel guy in the front where I could do my laundry, expecting to have to hike to some place across town. But he nonchalantly replied “no, aquí mismo. Y tu puedes secar también.” What!? Are you kidding me? You have a washer AND a dryer? Wow, I amazed once again at this country.

Not wanting to wear my last pair of underwear for a week straight as I figure out the laundry situation in my site, I got right to my laundry. The setting selection, soap in, clothes in, door down routine came so naturally to me (I did just come from the states). Finished with that callus causing laundry scrubbing, I grabbed a beer, book, and pack of crackers to enjoy as I kicked back and waited.

About thirty minutes later, my internal clock told me it was about time to throw my clothes in the dryer. So I went over and threw open the lid only to find, not my cloths spun dry and beautifully sticking to the sides of the washing machine, but the whole machine still full of water, stopped half-way through the wash cycle.

“It stopped, eso” I commented to the hostel guy who was involved with something next to me.

“Yeah, I know.”

Ok….and…

An intense waterfall of feelings and oh so tangible memories overtook me. I was seeing, hearing, smelling, and standing in a completely different time and place as soon as he said the words…

“Se fue la luz.”

Utterly speechless. Never thought THIS would happen HERE. This is Panama City, Panama, US of A.

“Oh, ok that’s fine.” I replied nicely, trying to comfort the embarrassed tone of his voice.

As I walked back to my room I passed two Australian backpackers, the kind that would frequent these types of Lonely Planet establishments, one of which smelled like pot. I noticed he was quickly and desperately hammering the light switch up and down.

“Electricity’s out.” I told him comfortably.

“Ah, man! That sucks! What the hell!?”

Smiling to myself on the inside for being such a Peace Corps Volunteer about it, I continued to my room to grab my head lamp.

But it suddenly dawned on me. I am leaving to my site for the first time early tomorrow morning. And half my clothes are stuck half way through their wash cycle. And even of I did take them out and finish the job myself they would never dry overnight in this humidity.

“Ah, man! This sucks!” I think to myself. “Well, I’m going to have to do something…”

A book and some thoughts

2008-02-12T16:54:00.001-05:00

I've been scourging the internet and local library for as much information as possible on my new home. There is some on Panama, more on the canal, but less and much less on Gamboa or Ella Puru/San Antonio (my neighboring communities). And I didn't think this was possible but Wikipedia comes up with an astonishing nada for queries on the Embera and Wounaan languages (native languages of the tribes of Ella Puru and San Antonio). Google does scarcely better. I think for the first time ever I have been disappointed with that magical little Google search button.

I did pick up a great book at the library by David McCullough entitled A Path Between the Seas; all about the history of the Panama canal. And since I will be living not only in The Canal country but within the 10 mile watershed area around it I figured this book would be all the more pertinent. History never did much for me but I have to say this book has the stuff of an incredible movie. I already have a title too...A Man A Plan A Canal Panama. And to further represent the palindromeness of the title, I think the movie should be made so you could watch it from the end to the beginning just the same.

So, in reading this book I noticed this description of life in the Panamian jungle circa 1880ish. "...They chewed on Havana cigars as they squinted into the brass eyepieces of surveying instruments. They slapped at the interminable mosquitoes; they picked scorpions the size of a hand from their boots in the morning. They shot alligators, some twenty feet in length, and brought back the stripped pelts of jaguars. And they were extremely good at their work."

I didn't even realize jaguars existed. I guess I knew they had existed at one point but just figured they had all been killed off. I was accustomed to only seeing them from a safe distance on the hoods of expensive automobiles.

Then there’s this one. "...The men worked in constant fear of poisonous snakes (coral, bushmaster, fer-de-lance, all three among the world's most deadly reptiles) and of the big cats (puma and jaguar). Days and nights were made a living hell by bichos, the local designation for ticks, chiggers, spiders, ants, mosquitoes, flies, or any other crawling, buzzing, stinging form of insect life for which no one had a name."

Not only jaguars but Pumas! Wow! Awesome! The bichos, well not so much.

...and we're back

2008-02-09T23:00:00.000-05:00

New country, new post, and of course I had to give it a new look. Feels almost like a new haircut. Reviving the good old blog and hoping for a creative spark to start posting again. The Panamanian jungle, two weeks and counting...

Quisiera decirles gracias

2007-06-17T09:54:00.000-04:00

This video goes along with a thank you letter I will be writing to friends and family who supported the water filter project we have going on. It just got fully funded so I am now waiting on a list of names to filter down to my inbox through Peace Corps bureaucracy to know whose addresses to include in the email. So if you know you’re on that list, here is your special video thank you ahead of time! And if you’re not, well you missed out, but hey you still get to watch a video right!?

Enjoy! my community

Yoel in a line of them

2007-05-24T11:23:00.000-04:00

What would it be like to have 29 brothers and sisters? 22 thanks to dad. 7, soon to be 8 from Mom. That’s 29 and one on the…way more siblings than I have! And to think about it, that’s more than my extended families on both sides combined. What in the WORLD would that be like???

Well Yoel knows. And so does Diomedis. And Wilson. And Benjamin. Along with a bunch of other kids I just learned were brothers. I was going about the usual tonight and decided to take a load off in Georgi’s colmado and chat with Bonnie a bit. Bonnie was in her best Doña evening attire/hospital gown and was sitting behind that broken down counter of theirs that moves forward with my weight when I lean on it. Bonnie is always pleasant to talk to or pleasant just to sit with. Has a certain maternalness that seems to radiate from her. I’m obviously not the only one who senses it, as their house overflows with their own kids más 4. If not more on weekends.

I’m sure Bonnie and Georgi started out living with their own 3 kids at one time. But since, this thing has exploded. What with Bonnie’s overpowering maternal force and all. I bet it’s hard for the neighborhood kids to resisit their desire to become one of Bonnie’s boys (not one girl lives there). Now her and Georgi don’t even spend the night in their own house. They’ve set up a bed behind the canned Paco Fish and Brugal covered wall of their colmado.

One day a while back I saw a small new face behind the counter despachando, struggling to return the right number of pesos, and I knew this was it. It’s happening I thought. And honestly, I felt fortunate to have witnessed the assimilation/adoption process occur. Like watching a baby being born, into a family of few who are related, and already having control of his bowels, not to mention able to speak in full sentences. It has almost holy overtones to it.

The boy was skinny, the skin on his face only covering his eye sockets and cheek bones, which made his nose, already disproportionate, that much longer and curve that much more prominently over his top lip. Imagine a nose on a skull. It just wouldn’t look right at all. His feet were bare, clothes thin, tattered and dirty, although not much different than standard muchacho ware. He was timid and shy. Unsure of himself and not so quick to smile. After a week or two of calling him by the only name I knew him as, el chivo but which I had diminuitized to el chivito, Bonnie set me straight saying, “Mateo, él no se llama el chivo. Se llama Yoel.” I was glad Bonnie made the clarification as I did feel it somewhat wrong to be calling him “the little goat.”

About Yoel’s family situation I know little, except the bit about all his siblings and the fact that his mother left her 6 kids here alone one day and went to live in Consuelo. Yoel and his brothers fended for themselves for a while which explains why Yoel showed up to Bonnie’s and the condition he was in. What kind of mother packs up and leaves her kids alone!? I remember thinking when I first heard this. Now, after seeing other situations of the sort play out here, I react not by throwing my hands up and furrowing my brow in indignation but with small facial movements like my Dominican friends, being not so surprised and having an almost what’s new attitude to it all.

I remember in the days, weeks, and months that followed watching Yoel tag behind Bonnie on her walk past my house to theirs to prepare lunch everyday. She, always conscious of him while still moving uninhibitedly at her own pace, him just trying to keep up, swerving where she swerves. Much like the mother hen and her little peeper’s novela that plays out only two inches off the ground, all over this country and especially on my street, everyday. Slowly but surely the distance would increase between them on these daily walks from the colmado to the house, Yoel allowing his attention now to be caught by other distractions along the way.

Le dio brega, pero Yoel finally learned to count and return correct change. He began taking on more advanced colmado tasks but still leaves the salami cutting, bulk item weighing, and bigger menudo transactions to Bonnie. He is sure of his products and will even asserts himself with old men who charge him of not giving them that caja de fosforos when indeed he did and they just lost it in one of their 4 shirt pockets. He lets that big toothed smile cover his entire face more often now days too.

I still wonder what he thinks about his Dad and being part of such a big bunch of brothers and sisters.

An up to the date

2007-05-01T10:11:00.000-04:00

4/24

I look down to check the little numbers in my lower right hand clock which read 9:51 PM. I hear water splattering the ground in cup fulls next door. Carlos must be bathing. My mosquito net is illuminated to my right by the incredibly bright whiteness of this word document, as small bothersome insects fly about the screen of my laptop. I am careful not to hold it too close to my face or my nose will soon be full of them. Hizo frio esta noche. Un chin. I decided against the bucket bath tonight since I didn’t sweat like usual, as it was unusually overcast and cool all day, allowing my skin a break from its constant moisture. I woke up this morning in one of those cloudy head fogs that didn’t really clear up as the day progressed but I guess I cut through it to get a few things done at least.

It started about 7:30 as I crawled out of my mosquitero and took care of first things first. Then deciding to head down to the colmado in search of something cold on my throat I grabbed a few pesos sitting on the candle waxed pocked half wall dividing my kitchen and living space and closed the small pad lock on my front door behind me. They didn’t have of the jugos bon that are worth their full five peso price, Bonni said they should be getting more today or tomorrow, so I settled for a mabi and four pieces of bread and headed home. How awesome cereal and cold milk would have been I’m thinking now, and even for tomorrow morning...but let’s just not think too much more about that.

The days game plan began to take shape. I knew I had English at 2 and Escojo at 5 and I could probably get a filter installed this morning, even more then one if I had the keys to the empty discoteca where they are being stored. Last night I must not have been on the ball to think of that one ahead of time. But its not suprising. It seems days here are filled with enough stimulation that I can usually last until 7 or 8pm before I begin to hit a wall, the front door closes, and that’s a wrap for Mateo. Maybe my body is more connected to the natural cycle of things here. I mean I get up when the sun rises and turn in when it heads down. I eat what is only in season. It’s all that is really offered; the produce coming straight from the ground around Pedro Sanchez. The chicken that I eat a few times a week is alive doing its chicken thing just the morning before it is killed, plucked, and seasoned. It somehow still finds its way into my plastic green cantina by lunch. I sweat when I should. All day really, while the sun is hot, having no controlled air environment to escape to. It’s the ultimate fresh air experience. I even feel the strong night breezes pass through the house as I write this. When it rains I hear it on the tin, very commanding and demanding of my attention; a good aguacero will cover up any other noises with the pounding and subsiding roar of its passing tropical bands. I can’t hide behind insulated ceilings and weather proofed windows.

And I’ve grown to enjoy this. To feel a part of the day’s cycle. Rolling with it as it circles around this specific place of the globe I find myself in.

Well it looks like I didn’t get passed breakfast news with this update but that’s fine for now. Things always don’t turn out like I may have planned for here. I know you’ll understand. Well, maybe. Try to believe me. It’s a stretch from life in the states. Way more then the 2 hour plane ride it takes to get here.

4/26

The rain is tailing off now although the trees are still dripping. The clock says it’s five. I seem to agree with it. Although it’s a cool, dimmed down, and quiet five in the afternoon. The electricity is here, somewhat early, but I think the rain shower kept people away, wherever they were. The tranquility is somewhat startling, given the late afternoon electrical surprise. Next door, small clapping hands replace the familiar and steady pounding merengue and reggeaton beats. Seems to be a birthday or some other kid celebration. The hum of my fan, keeping the mosquitoes off of my sandaled feet, and some new (thanks scott and heidi) grooving sounds coming from my speakers, keep me from knowing exactly what it is that’s happening next door. I usually stay fairly up to beat on my neighbors goings on, and them on mine for that matter. Although some of what they hear coming from my house is like what I imagine my mom hearing when she watches the Spanish channel. When I feel really ambitious with the cultural exchange aspect of things, and I know they’re listening, I’ll turn my music way up (which is still pretty quiet for around here) and maybe even throw on some Chili Peppers or Zeppelin for that added rock music punch.

4/30

These were two things I started and didn’t finish for whatever reason. I’ve been meaning to do a little up to the date for this here thing. Both Mom and Dad have been reminding me of it for some time now. I guess it says it’s been since February or March since the last one. Time’s been flying. The thought has passed through my mind a few times lately about what it is going to feel like to have this all as just a memory. Or to tell people I lived in the DR for the past two years. Not actually live here anymore. I won’t be in the middle of all of this, and that’s strange to think about. I go about the day to day in relationships with friends and neighbors, while also immersing myself with thoughts, and trying to translate them to actions, so that I can somehow be a source of positive change here. (I am not saving the world by any means! That is a loaded job better left for someone else.) And time just melts away. So anyway what’s been going on really?

Water filters are being installed. A very tangible and rewarding project. Seeing people drinking free and clean water for the first time in their life is pretty cool. The smiles I get when I ask them how their filter is working are awesome. I remember thinking to myself how this whole volunteer gig is pretty sweet deal! If I didn’t have to go back to the states and have the whole monetary concerns causing me to get a paying job, amongst other getting actions, this would be something I could do for a while. I don’t mind the lifestyle at all. The simpleness, poverty, etc., I mean. What ever you want to call it. (I am also not saying that I´m poor or even know what it is like to be poor. I don´t and never will know.) And to think of it a little, after having been back in the states, it is really only in the states that I have desires for a lifestyle of more. I think it may be the satisfaction of living in a community or maybe not being bombarded by advertising, now that I think of it. Imagine not seeing an ad all day long. Well, besides the warn out old posters hung in the colmado for beer or different snack products, that are very unimposing. In the states there is no way for that to happen. To not see ads. We don´t even realize we are seeing them. Just another part of the landscape of America. But here I guess marketers realize they have not much of a market to market to, and focus their efforts elsewhere. It kind of alows my mind to take a break from so many me thoughts and think about others for a small fraction of time then usual. I am not saying at all that I have no me thoughts. They for sure are there, maybe just focused different. And I realize the whole Peace Corps organization and safety net protects me and supports me, allowing me to have my needs met. I wouldn’t able to do the whole volunteering thing if I had to pay my own money, look for a doctor when I was sick, or try to make money for other essentials. I don’t know, I guess it’s just a sweet deal and I feel fortunate to be a part of it.

That’s all I got now. Just a bunch of late night rambling and some cutting and pasting of ideas begun. Maybe this will get me back rolling with more substantial news. The soccer balls have been a blessing Uncle Tom. You can’t imagine how many kids are can play soccer now! And how much they are enjoying them! A few of them are even getting their own ball for the first time in their lives.

Ok
Peace Out
Matt

Cats On Strings and Other Things

2007-05-01T10:05:00.000-04:00

I found this lost among other files. Don’t think I posted it.

3/18

Yesterday Elena, a fellow PCV, invited me over to her house for a little fiesta of sorts, a time of carbo loading really, featuring a feast of Dominican espaguetis with bread and beer. Somewhat nutritionally one sided you might think? It could have been a much heavier affair with the added accompaniment of viveres. I for one am glad they were left out.

I was surprised to see Elena with a cat in her house, as I knew she had some bad luck keeping a little kitty alive once. This cat had some years on him but not too many, a joven cat if you will, with a very pretty and puffy orange coat. Unlike my cat he pawed at my tender bare feet, rather then tearing the skin off them or pulling his favorite bite and hold hard and slowly let off as I whack him move. I think he is still mad at me from calling him Shakira. This was all before he hit puberty and I realized she was really a him. And I thought she could be my surrogate Columbian/belly-dancing girlfriend.

Elena said that this cat was aprestado from the Pastor and his wife, and that they do this often. A cat on loan. I never really thought that could be done but it interested me. I should have done this instead of mistakenly thinking I would enjoy the company and responsibility of taking care of a girlfriend that scratches and bites and draws blood and doesn’t even dance bachata, much less belly dance. And then doesn’t even turn out to be a girl in the first place.

But what really caught my attention was that this cat was on a string and tied to the metal bars of a security door at Elena’s side entrance. It wasn’t really that the cat was on a string, because I have gotten used to seeing that here and like many other things has become part of the whole Dominican deal. It´s that this was at Elena’s house, a fellow PCV, and there were other Americans present. And rather then questioning Elena on the cats being on a string, we proceeded to drag the cat through the house by its leash string, its front paws spread eagle and its nails gripping futilely at the hard cement floor.

Now after 18 or so months here, I thought, this is just another example of our cultural adaptation and why I love the whole Peace Corps experience. Because now I can see cats on strings, or mini vans…I mean motorcycles, five deep and carrying random household utilities or construction materials through the street and not even look twice. And I can chalk it up to just part of our common human package deal and get on with working and living here. Which is nice.

2007-02-21T15:04:00.000-05:00

Yendri is the smallest kid on our soccer team. His house backs right up to the field and being the only boy amongst four sisters I guess that makes him obligated twice to join in on whatever is being played out there. The soccer ball goes up to about the middle of his shins and so his passes are a lot like a pitcher pitching change-ups. He’ll make you jump and turn your back with the swing of his leg, but then you see the ball rolling off his extended leg and slowly making its way to you. He also has an interesting nose thing going on. Being a good 3 feet taller then him, I can still somehow see up his nostrils. It boggles me to this day. They are not only upturned, I can see up them from above. Anyway, today at practice he told me that he heard I had a birthday recently. Or that I am going to have one soon. He wasn’t really sure. I felt he was stabbing around in the dark, and he finally asked me when my birthday was. He was reaching for something I thought to myself. I told him it was in April and thought maybe it was him who really had a birthday, so I asked. It wasn’t, but when I inquired ¿y cuando es entonces? he jumped right on to my birthday month so fast I thought he might loose his grip and slip. He answered my next super obvious question was a nonchalant, yo no se. And our short conversation ended there. Mostly because I couldn’t relate and didn’t know what to say as a response. Yendri was 8, at least from what everyone else said, but he doesn’t know what day he will turn 9.

Was the day Yendri’s mother gave birth just another day for her and her husband? I can imagine instead of an exciting homecoming with a new little family member, she got right back to cleaning the dishes that were left before heading to the hospital, if that’s were she indeed had Yendri, and began cooking dinner for her hungry husband. What about the birth certificate? Yendri could have one or just as easily not. If not, he is in for some future inconveniencies and problems his mother must not have imagined walking out the hospital without the acta de nacimiento form. Then I wondered about his birthday parties. After eight parties he should have gotten something ingrained up there, at least to remind him his season was around the corner, right? But then I remembered where I was. And I could only think about that cold monster called poverty that indiscriminately eats up kids' recollection of their birthdays, destroys their plastic samurai sandals, and rots their baby teeth. Yendri was born into poverty’s world one day back eight or so years ago, and his family has lost track or not cared to remind him of what day that actually was.

I thought about those kids who were afraid of the dancing Chucky Cheese robots that celebrated mine and so many of my friends’ birthdays with us. Maybe these kids were on to something. Maybe they understood how the whole Chucky Cheese dancing crew was really our own scary monster, trying to protect us from a world were birthdays didn’t include $20 US dollars worth of tokens and fun stimulating party games. Or the feelings of surprise we had when waking up the morning after, to see that all those toys weren’t in our dreams and in fact, were not going to disappear. Or a world where remote control cars are walked on strings up and down dusty dirt streets. My toys cars came with tracks and turns and jumps and the remote controlled ones came with a remote. The batteries even lasted forever; not like the cheep blue and yellow ones bought from behind the colmado counter.

This was the other day. Sometimes I get sucked into this world and think different and probably sound like I am ranting too much. So I will leave that there for now and just tell you about something that happened this morning. I woke up with the 20 or so bred to be fighting roosters that live next door. They had actually woken up earlier way before the sun decided to peak its rays out over the Cordillera Oriental. I only know this because I too was up with them at this dark and unknown hour of the morning, when all Gods animals should be asleep and quiet in their cages. But I finally got up at about 7:30 when my cat began nibbling on my toes, and I went out back to pee. I love the freedom of peeing here. I personally don’t take full advantage of it all the time. I mainly pee in a corner next to my latrine or in my three way closed shower area (don't worry, it goes directly into the tube that runs out to the street. I think peeing in the shower any other way is disgusting). But my 3-10 yr. old neighbors whip it out right on the sidewalk and go in the street, in the morning, during the hot afternoon sun, whenever they really feel like it.

Anyway I walked down a few houses to Luz little colmado in the front of her house to get some breakfast supplies. It came out to 14 pesos but she had counted wrong and was only going to charge me 9. She often counts wrong so I always make sure to tally my own bill up as well. I told her about her mistake and paid her the 14 and left. The five pesos she sold herself short were probably the money she would have pocketed on the sale, so that would have especially been bad. But she called me back saying, “Mateo ven” and handed me two eggs adding “esos juevos son criollos, no son gringos, no.” Criollo eggs are the “better” eggs from chickens that aren’t the solid white “gringo” chickens they kill to eat. And these eggs are about 5 pesos each, 2 pesos more then gringo eggs, and probably from her own criollo chickens out back. Now I don’t think for a second that she was doing this because I saved her some money. Every so often she gives me a few good criollo eggs. And every so often she tells me “Mateo, ya tu eres uno de nosotros” (your one of us now) which makes me feel more comfortable here, kind of taking the shine out of my white skin.

So Luz gave me two criollo eggs for no more of a reason then it had been some time since she last gave me eggs. And this is what I love and it just makes me happy. Never in the states would I give somebody something just to give it to them, and sincerely enjoy doing it. I barely give stuff for holidays and birthdays and when I do it is grudgingly, not exactly wanting to extend my hand out and let go of what I have, only doing it because I should. It’s so awesome here to see people so giving. I was heading home one day minding my own business and from all the way across the street I heard a loud “¡Mateo, a buen tiempo!” (which is an invite to share in the food someone is eating) from a girl sitting and eating a sandwich. I mean kids share loly-pops between 4 friends, each kid getting a broken off piece. Strangers on the bus offer me orange slices or other food they just bought through the window from the vendor on the street. So whenever I feel myself becoming too negative and judging of this culture, or the whole poverty thing weighs heavy, I remind myself of this aspect of living here and it makes me smile inside.

Thats all I got for ya now. I did go whale watching the other day in the Samana Bay just north of me. These whales come down every year for 3 months to this bay because I guess they like the carribean waters in the winter. But whale watching is not the spectacle I thought it would be. We saw a bunch of whales, really anywhere you'd look, but by seeing I mean I saw their backs or their tails. Never saw a whole body or face! Anyway I'll put up on flickr a few new pictures of this and the Semana area which is really beautiful.

Oben´s Cows and Water Filters

2007-02-02T09:36:00.000-05:00

Today one of my kids came to practice chasing his cows. I was sitting on Monsanto’s porch calmly watching the half diamond baseball game that was going on. Through the trees to my right I noticed two huge cows barreling down the dirt road. Then as they came into clear view I saw Oben sprinting behind them. I guess he forgot his horse. Or just didn’t want to bother, relying instead on his family’s speed and agility. His two brothers are the quickest kids on the soccer team. Their horse is named Relampago (Lightning) as well. They always ride it barebacked and often backwards for kicks. One day I might take them up on their offer and go for a little horseback riding in the hills nearby.

But anyway, the two cows proceeded to cut directly between the mound and home plate with Oben right on their tail. I looked at the guys playing baseball expecting some sort of reaction but there was none. So I laughed out loud instead. Oben continued chasing them for a few hundred meters more until I suppose they were where he wanted them to be. He turned around and walked to join the small sided soccer game that was going on in the outfield. I guess he decided his afternoon job was done. Or he had had enough of chasing around cows.

Today was pretty slow. Yesterday I had a meeting for anyone interested in getting a Bio-Sand filter. A disappointing eight people came, but we had the meeting anyway and I gave them the whole “why this is important” spiel. Afterwards I was thinking how that in order to have a worth while meeting, it sometimes takes a previous meeting to get people on board for the actual meeting that I wanted to have in the first place. It’s crazy I know. A little frustrating too. I was hoping to meet once, get 25 people on board, take care of other business, and send in the application for these filters by tomorrow. But tomorrow is now the real meeting as yesterday was just the warm up. And it’s not that people didn’t know. Because they have been stopping me in the street and telling me to apuntar them - put their name down so they don’t miss out on these filters and how they really really need it. Then I tell them don’t worry because we are having another meeting(heavily winded emphasizing “another”) and that they just need to come to this one. One girl in particular was insistent in telling me to put her name down and I kept telling her how she just needs to come to the next meeting. Then she dared to ask, “¿y si se me olvida mañana?” – and what if I forget tomorrow? That really got me. I told her just don’t forget and walked away, leaving her there standing still for a brief moment and probably a little frustrated and wondering why I wouldn’t just apuntarla.

I don’t want to rant and so I won’t too much. But I think I see the culture of poverty coming through in the beginnings of this whole filter project; apathy and not taking personal responsibility or the initiative for something that they could truly benefit from. I mean they only have to come to a meeting! I can understand that a few people here may not see a problem with the water they are drinking. I can excuse that, and just ask them to come to the meeting anyway, because that’s what I am going to convince them of during the first half of it. But I have also heard enough complaints since I’ve been living here to know that there are many people who do understand their water is a problem. Why didn’t they jump on this thing the first take? Why do they give me an excuse for not being at the first meeting and then say they can’t come to the next one either, but ask me to apuntar them anyway? Things like this can be frustrating sometimes. But that’s enough. I will stop there for tomorrows’ meetings’ sake.

My first year

2007-01-10T10:11:00.000-05:00

BIG WARNING! YOU’LL NEED TIME TO READ THIS
Pictures where ment to be included but the internet is not willing.

So I’ve wanted to share this now for a while. Not to toot my own horn but because I think it’s blog worthy. And because friends have been asking a few questions along these lines lately too. I think it will give you an idea of what I’m working on and who I’m working with. And what is this all accomplishing. And maybe you and I will understand a small part of the word “development”. It’s a really tough vocab word though when you start looking at the details.

Anyway, I am in the youth development sector of Peace Corps and so most work is focused as such. I am not developing infrastructure, or fish ponds, or teaching people new ways to grow crops. Although sometimes I wish I was because results are more tangible and numbers can used. Numbers don’t lend themselves well to my sector. This is more of a human development thing, for both me and my community. And human development is a life long process. Still learning as I go, I can only share as much as I’ve learned in my 23 American years. And while my years are not many I’ve realized here in the DR that I’ve been very fortunate to have had a wide variety of experiences growing up in the states. And the basic education (public school and college) that I received is really worth something I´ve realized as well. And now as I look back on this year I see how all these experiences have been influencing my work here and will continue to direct my work in the next year.

So here it goes… I’m taking this from a short 15 minute PowerPoint I made up for our 1 year IST, entitled “Key Activities and Key Players in Pedro Sánchez”. I made a point to not only highlight the activities but the key people behind them because I’m relying on them so much here. And after one year here I have learned to really value the people who want to move and work with me.

English with Daybi

Daybi is my bread and butter. My main man and go to guy. If he could only be involved in every project! This guy gets all the super achievement stars I can give him. When I first got here to Pedro Sánchez his dad introduced me to him in their colmado saying Daybi speaks some English. Even by this point in country I expected to converse the first few lines in any standard English text and be done with it. But Daybi wouldn’t let me stop. He kept throwing words out there that caught me off guard. And his pronunciation was pretty good, better then intelligible. Surprising all the more when I found out he learned all this from studying an old English book he came across. So I took note and after about the second week of people asking me about 5 times a day when English classes were going to start I went to Daybi. English was the last thing I wanted to do getting here but I told Daybi that I would work with him if he would help me out with teaching an English class. My idea was maybe sometime in the future have him take charge of the class. So I met with him three times a week and he was my sidekick during our English classes. Now we are still meeting but Daybi is basically teaching two different classes on his own with a few grammer books my mom got donated. And to my good fortune he’s an incredible naturally gifted teacher!

While I wouldn’t consider English a top priority for development work, especially in light of many other issues to be tackled, English here in this part of this country can lead (for better or worse in the big picture) to above average jobs in the hotels in nearby Bavaro and Punta Cana. So while I still wouldn’t want English classes to be a center piece for me, I am happy to spend the time I do with Daybi. Because I am 100% certain this is a sustainable project after I leave. And for the kids who really want to study this can lead directly, without a doubt, to a hotel job in the future.

Fútbol with Monsanto

I was there the day fútbol came to Pedro Sanchez. Imagine that!? It started with me bringing my ball to the baseball field one day and about 30 kids running around crazy kicking it and tackling each other. They had never played or seen this game before in their lives. And it was a mess at first. But with Monsanto, a Dominican who is from Jarabacoa which is a soccer oasis in this soccer desolate country, we slowly began to teach the game and the same certain kids began showing up practice after practice. At first we would play only Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Then the kids talked me into a few Saturdays and Sundays (which really wasn’t that hard to do). Now it is basically every afternoon whether I am there or not.

I still can’t hold back the smiles when I walk out to the field on a random afternoon and see these kids playing soccer on their own! And these are mainly kids who aren’t baseball players and weren’t involved in much day to day somewhat structured activities. Now they are learning the beautiful game! How beautiful is that!?

After not too long I realized that these kids really have no idea of what it means to be on a team or what personal accountability is; or other general human interaction/life skills. So throughout this whole process I have been trying to get these kids conscious of what this looks like. Although even today, this is still a huge struggle for them and me. But there is some progress on this front and this will continue to be a focus point in the next year. These kids are not going to become the next Ronaldinho, there is not the soccer structure set up here in this country for this. So I try to balance my soccer instruction with good people instruction when appropriate.

Ecojo with Eduardo

Escojo is a national youth initiative promoting healthy decision making relating to sex health and beyond. It was started by some older PC DR Volunteers, and aims to form youth groups and leaders who will multiply this information to other youth and community groups through presentations, activities, and the like. And honestly I have been struggling with this youth group concept from the get go. In training they heavily emphasized to us that we should try to form some type of youth group (be it an environmentally focused one, Escojo, hybrid, or just any group of youth that meets regularly). I say struggling because I don’t buy the sustainability of the youth groups. And especially now, after a year of seeing how much effort it takes to just get the kids to meet. I constantly feel I am hounding and coercing them and I feel the day I stop this is the day the youth group stops. Because it happened to my first youth group effort.

But now I’m working with different youth, fewer and so more focused, and a different theme (the first was environmental education). And while still difficult I have a few kids onboard and one great youth, Eduardo, pushing with me. We have done a presentation to two community groups and an activity for World AIDS in our community so far. And have attended various conferences with other youth from all over the country. I am more hopeful now for the success of this group and them doing more activities/presentations and becoming stronger with Eduardo taking the lead.

A Few Honorable Mentions

Business Plan Competition

Together with these three guys we put together a business plan and did a small feasibility study for this competition/conference. The winners would get all or part of their plan funded. Their proposal was for an arcade type place where they would have Nintendos, Playstation, etc for kids to come and rent by the hour. It was a great business idea really because people don’t have these gaming systems in their houses here and there wouldn’t be much overhead costs (besides electricity) after they bought the initial systems and televisions. When they first presented me with the idea I was not that thrilled by the principals of it and so I had to think how we could make this a more worthwhile and wholesome business. So we proposed to tie it into education a bit by restricting access to kids while they should be in school (either in the morning or afternoon) and also not letting kids in who didn’t pass their classes the previous semester. So with these new regulations I was cool with the project and had a great time working with them to flesh it out and fulfill the requirements of the competition. In the end we didn’t win but they came out of a three day conference having heard presentations on a wide variety of business topics such as: customer service, bookkeeping, mission/vision, assessing demand, etc. And even I learned a lot going through this with them and thoroughly enjoyed it.

Sports Tournment

This was really the first project I was involved in at my site and it was a great warm up and initiation into the workings of the community. It involved one full weekend of about 300 kids from the surrounding communities competing in Volleyball and baseball. It came off well looking back I guess. Although I remember it being a pretty big headache during. I remember I ended up doing a lot of the leg work. But I was also able to see who here in the community is all talk and who really gets down and works with you. And to this day those people who worked hard in this are still by my side in whatever we need to get done.

Reading Groups

There were two of these. One was at my house with about 6 kids and kind of sporadic, mainly whenever they were all around so we wouldn’t have to go searching high and low for anyone. We were reading through The Lion, Witch, and the Wardrobe and progressed well I thought but this kind of fell apart later as meetings slowly got further and further apart. I guess I’m not too good at begging kids to come and reminding them over and over and really sometimes that’s what it takes. Their parents certainly don’t send them out the door to my house to read, that’s for sure! The second group was kind of a coordinated effort between myself and the girl who manages the small library we have in our new tech center. And it was mainly with high school age kids. We would meet twice a week and read short stories from Dominican authors. I enjoyed this but we are kind of on hold as the whole month of December and first part of January is useless to do anything much. Nobody wants to get together for anything. So I am hoping to be able to start off where we left with this. But I’m not holding my breath either.

For the IST presentation I had lessons learned and promising practices slides but just for the sake of length I will leave that off of this. And just share some goals for my last year.

The first is I want to get this homework/after school center going (called Espacios Para Crecer). Up to this point it has been a people networking nightmare and I’ve been stretched hugely on my interpersonal and people influencing skills. The plot is way too think to lay out here but I will just say I saw prospects to get this program going from day one and have had many frustrations along the way. At times I was almost about to abandoned the whole idea but it is really too good to do that so I just let it rest until it was time to wake it up. It’s now up and awake and its wheels are moving forward. I hope to achieve some progress with this in the next month and by a Dominican March or April have it going. If faster I will be incredibly surprised. I will also say this project kept me from being totally pumped about my first year and if I can get this going this year I really feel that I can walk out of here happy. Even with the other things going, this one is that big too me.

The next is that I want to get soccer goals for my soccer kids. I envision this to be pretty straight forward. Just a matter of money which has been half way promised to us from the mayor. I would also like to get more soccer balls and cleats down here for the kids (*wink *wink). And I won’t lie to you that more then half the kids who play don’t have shoes to play in.

The next is to do a drawing class and offer one or two scholarships to the kids who do the best work to take another class in Santo Domingo. I generously got this awesome drawing book donated (in Spanish) by the author Betty Edwards. I have been using it on a more informal basis at my house with a few kids but I would really like to do a few months of once a week classes for about 20 kids. I’m really excited about getting this going! And I have been doing more drawing myself as well which I have really enjoyed.

There is also the possibility of doing guitar classes too but the lack of another guitar or two is still holding this back. I have been working on getting one, both here in the DR and with organizations at home, but as of yet no go. Still haven’t given up that search though. But in the meantime I play and give more informal classes to one kid named Francis who borrows the Catholic Church’s guitar.

Those are pretty much the new things I am gunning for this year. And maybe giving a class at the computer center as well. Ohh yea I almost forgot. I also want to get this program called grassroots soccer going with my soccer team. It’s a really interesting HIV/AIDS prevention program started in Africa that uses sports to teach. Check it out online too if you want to know more. Do a google search for it and you’ll find it. Finally I still need to continue with the things that are currently going to get them to walk on their own by November next year.

It may sound like a lot or it may not. It is and it isn’t. Just depends on the day, the week, and the weather. Seriously.

One time in band camp...

2006-12-28T08:55:00.000-05:00

What do you do when your dad says he has to get his heart beat checked out and then the next day you get three consecutive messages saying that he will be going in for surgery tomorrow morning? And it’s tomorrow afternoon. And you’re in another country. Well you think of all kinds of crazy scenarios all of which have you on the next Jet Blue flight up to Nueva Yol and straight out to Portland. All without that green card you’ve been putting off going in to get because you weren’t expecting to be leaving the country. And you thought green cards were only for Mexican immigrants in the US. You also call up half of your relatives that you haven’t talked to for over a year and put the phone on speaker, stand on your tip toes and hold it up really high so those few phone signal beams won’t have to work so hard and try to puzzle piece together the crackle you hear. But once you get some comforting answers from the medically knowledgeable part of the family you feel like a hundred bucks. And then you decide to write a blog, because really why not? You’re walking on air right now. Kind of like you felt in school when all those exams were over and you walked out of the last knowing you kicked its butt.

Now if only you can fix that back splash problem in the latrine. You know the dangers of getting off your morning poop schedule in this country. And those current splash ups have the psychological power to make every last little hair in your large intestine stand still. Forever.

But I did go see Shakira! And she really does dance just like they show on television. Her hips don’t lie. But get this…The DR’s electricity woes didn’t even let up for her! She had to sing in the dark for a song while I stood and imagined her visiting me in my community at my house during an apagon.

A flying cockroach, watch out!

Hey Dad, now that you have some baby clean and blood happy arteries, want to race up Mt. Tabor? This does put you in tip top shape right?

Lets Celebrate

2006-12-18T12:18:00.000-05:00

It’s been two straight days of graduations here in Pedro Sánchez and my camera is spent. It told me so. And my arm is feeling a little pulled out of its socket from everyone grabbing it and dragging me to the nearest free section of wall to pose horribly (Dominican sexy) while I throw them a picture. Today I slipped out early of the graduation turned beauty pageant turned dance show. It was sponsored by the secretary of the woman to celebrate the 30 or so women who completed a beauty salon course. I wondered if the lady that came from the capital really wanted these 15 year olds taking it over with their Brittney Spears schoolgirl costumes and reggeaton dance moves. But I dipped before my 512 memory card was able to be filled with photos of both young and old women in graduation togas with one hand on their hip and their torso kind of twisted, like an S maybe. I sometimes laughed out loud on purpose while framing them up in the LCD. Just to get them to break that stare they had going on. Kind of like they wanted to make love to my camera. Maybe that’s why it’s spent.

I also came way too under dressed to this one today. Not much unlike many of the other functions I attend in this country though. I guess I still need someone to remind me to put on nicer clothes and shave. But at the same time the nicest clothes I have here can’t even compete on the Dominican level. Even in the campo. I signed up for the Peace Corps and thought it was all about hippy style right? Wrong. Peace Corps should put a disclaimer on the DR info page about this one for people like me. I really shy away from all kinds of fashion or formal wear, opting always for comfort and practicality. Pants or a suit in the Carribean isn´t comfortable or practical but this wont fly here. I still fight it. Detrimental as it may be to the whole work realm of my life here. It’s one reason I prefer hanging out with my muchachos all day. I can wear my play clothes around them and would be able to fit right in, if only I would roll around in the dirt for two seconds after I put them on. I always love the look I get when someone finds out I graduated from college. It’s not the “wow you must be intelligent” look but the “You? You don’t look like a professional” If they only saw a college campus. I take this as a great oppurunity to share cultures.

This is all just a reflection of what this culture values. It’s all about outward appearances here. And it doesn’t stop with personal appearances either. It extends from extravagant graduations to the importance placed upon an ID card. You may laugh but the first thing they want to do when some type of group is forming is make sure everyone is identified with a carnet. I had a group organized to help me organize a sports tournament and they all thought they should have identification for this. Even spending more effort on getting this organized then they did helping me organize the reason for their identifications.

I walked into a family’s newly built house the other day and was surprised. This house was way nice by American standards. But I knew this family was just sleeping two or three kids to a bed the other month in a wooden and tin shack and probably aren’t any richer now to feed themselves any better. Got some money from somewhere and put it into this mansion. Still dirt poor but living in a mansion. Something is wrong with this thinking. And I don’t think it can be justified by cultural differences.

But anyway, things are rolling well. Had our one year IST the other week which was a great time to reflect and regenerate and motivate with the rest of the YDC (youth development crew). I’d love to give a little summery of my little first year PowerPoint I shared with the gang and my bosses. Maybe next time. Or maybe I’ll see if I can put it on here. It was great to see what everyone else had going on this first year in their communities also. We threw around some great ideas to bring back to our communities.

I’m looking forward to another Dominican Christmas here. I’ll be spending the 24th, their main celebration day here, filling myself with all kinds of good stuff at two different family’s homes. Then on the 25th I’ll get together with some other volunteers nearby to have a Mexican Christmas. I guess if you can get snow you might as well make guacamole and salsa and drink margaritas or coronas (if we can find them). So Merry Christmas and until the next time, when I will hopefully give you a recap of the Shakira concert I will be so unashamedly attending this Tuesday. I’m so pumped!

Cheers y Feliz Navidad!

Juan Primo

2006-12-05T09:33:00.000-05:00

It has been a long day for my friend Victor. He just left my house now around 9:30pm after a short visit. He had asked to borrow my sleeping pad as there are many people staying over at his house tonight. That is because his dad died this morning. I knew his dad was sick and that they took him to the hospital about a week ago. But it was this morning, when I walked passed Victor’s house on my way to get something for breakfast, that I realized he had probably died last night. The abundant stacks of white plastic chairs in front of their house were the giveaway. They always show up in this country around funeral time. I also noticed some men trying to fix up the entrance to their house/colmado . I agree that it was kind of dangerous, at least for older people. I had even been close to twisting an ankle or falling into the open whole in the gutter a few times before.

After I had done a few things I needed to do this morning I figured it was time to head over there and show my support and pay my respects, all while not knowing exactly what to say. Words are hard at these types of things. They don’t really work for me, especially Spanish ones. I think we learn how to consol with the right words in one language but it’s not necessarily the same in another. But I went over there and participated in my first Dominican grieving process anyway. I didn’t see my friend then but gave his sister and mom a hug and sat down in one of those white plastic chairs and watched people come in and out to look at Juan Primo for the last time. I remember how my seat was right in front of the casket but I guess now everyone else was as well since Victor’s house is pretty small and we were all lined up around the wall. The casket was a simple grey wooden box, sort of triangle shaped with a little glass window to see the face. I noticed how the small engraved metal descanso en paz plaque directly in front of me was only hanging on by one nail. I wondered about that. Was this a money saving technique and could they really be this poor? There was not one thing extravagant about this casket.

I sat there in my chair along the wall with the others, family and friends of Juan Primo. My friend Victor is the 15th and his sister Jaque the 14th in Juan Primos’ seemingly never ending line of children. I’m not sure exactly how many mothers were involved in all of this but it’s more then a few. And at first this rubbed my American upbringing wrong, very wrong. But since, I have thought that this may not be completely unlike what is going on generally in this country. It’s that this guy maybe did not have had any condoms around to keep things under control. And I’ve tried hard to keep this from affecting my view of Victor or his sister. So to say the least, there were a large number of family there today.

At 4pm everyone gathered around the house and waited until they were ready to bring out Juan Primo and take him to the cemetery. I looked around and noticed pretty much the whole town there. For some reason I was surprised but at the same time not. I thought it was pretty cool how everyone was there to show their support. We all waited to follow Victor’s family on a windy and rainy walk behind an old Toyota Camry Station Wagon (or hearse) up to the community cemetery were Juan Primo was to be buried. I was struck by the kind of informality of the whole process. I don’t know if informality is the word but kids were running around on the different above ground graves and the guy who is the town drunk and also apparently the cemeteries mason was kind of rude and I felt he was being a little unprofessional as he was closing up the small tomb. He was very vocal about how he was just doing his job and not getting paid for crowd control when ladies would get a little too loud or close. Then everybody just kind of left. There wasn’t a long drawn out thing and no flowers. We don’t really have a florist here anyway.

Tonight when Victor came over I was glad to see him and he looked to me to be doing well for having lost his dad. We talked for a while and I tried to keep the conversation on other stuff like how we need to play more chess and guitar. But then he began to talk about his dad and the last week or so that he was in the hospital. And I began to understand a little better about what goes on in this country and in so many other poor places like it. Victor’s dad suffered from high blood pressure among other things and Victor had to go to the pharmacy himself while his dad was in the hospital to get the right meds, and described to me how he would give them to his dad himself. But it turned out that one day at the pharmacy they got mixed up a bit and gave Victor the wrong meds. That was really too bad. Sped up the whole thing. And when his dad needed to use the bathroom it was Victor’s responsibility to help him with that, as well as changing and cleaning his dipper when he didn’t make it out of the bed. I did wonder if there were nurses in this hospital but decided not to ask. I also remembered in times past when I would be buying something or another at the family’s colmado Victor would have to leave our conversation hanging and run to help his dad to the bathroom or go bath him. Always sounding excited like he was about to get a new guitar and just couldn’t wait to play it.

Then Victor told me how his dad died at 11:30pm last night and they shipped him home at about 12:30 and that he was up all last night helping to wash and clean his dad. And I thought how in the states we have all these types of dirty and hard things outsourced to licensed specialists who we pay lots of money to. But here there isn’t that privilege and so Victor had to handle his reciently dead dad himself. What a thing for a 14 year old to do. And I started to understand maybe why I was seeing Dominicans taking a not so serious or kind of been through it all before attitude to this whole process. They have been through it before and literally gotten their hands dirty when neighbors or family have died. They don’t have anyone to take care of it for them and are forced to deal with every aspect of it all.

Now the customary nine days of mourning start and people will sit under the tent provided by Roberto Rodriguez and embossed with his shinny and tacky political photo. They will sit in those white plastic chairs for what sometimes seems to me the whole day. Some people will be in charge of cooking a big caldero of food for everyone so no one will have to go home and make lunch. And another person will come around with saucers full of small plastic cups juice for whoever may be out there. And they will just sit and maybe talk about politics, weather, crops, or Juan Primo.

Just Sitting Back Thinking

2006-11-13T09:44:00.000-05:00

It´s amazing how much new chairs will change your frame of mind. I never really would have thought it but I´m totally sold on it now as I just looked at that profile picture I have on here of me sitting in that black and white checkered rocking chair back in GR. I remember how I felt almost more intelligent. My mind was more receptive and understanding of the black on white words of those thick psyc textbooks. And then I would sit there, one leg crossed over the other, and contemplate. Well at least I thought I was doing all this and even if not I fooled myself into feeling it was really happening.

Anyway, it´s kind of like that again here but not with those thick academic textbooks or that black and white checkered rocking chair. Rather the amazing new chairs I speak of are simply plastic. But they are sloped back and really one of a kind. They were given to me by a PCV friend who moved to the capital. My muchachos even comment on their mind frame changing and relaxingness saying something like, ay Mateo estas sillas si son comodas! I´m suprised that they are not more common around these parts as I don´t think they would cost much more and in my opionion are worth the extra pesos. It´s like sitting in a lazy-boy now.

I really am convinced it´s changed my mood and cooled me down after sometime of frusteration and being a somewhat different person. I was really not enjoying Dominicans and they were more bothersome then I had the patience for. I would sit home at night and close my front door and have the urge to pick up my phone (which doesn´t get service in my town) and call another volunteer. But I´m more relaxed now, not forcing things, and able to hacer chercha with my friends again. Finding Dominicans funny rather then horribly irritating. And I´m even excited about being here and my upcomming year. And another thing I realized I was neglecting over this past month or so was my walking around visiting time. Not really much of a social butterfly to begin with, I developed the habit here of just walking around making a point of sitting and talking with people even if they were really old and boring at first. And I realized now it made me feel more connected and happy and without it I was alone, thinking and worring about what I was doing and if it was enough. Now I´m kind of rejuvenated, especially when I sit in my new sloped back plastic chairs.

I´m really enjoying the soccer that is going here. I get that warm happy feeling seeing our field filled with kids kicking and enjoying soccer. It´s really so great to see! I think it has stuck and have high hopes that it will continue and just get bigger over this next year and after I go. The only thing needed is balls as soccer is that simple and so I´m looking into expanding the number of balls we have to play with. I´m also exciting about this reading group we have going in the new library here at our tech center. They are currently learning about Dominican authors and reading some short stories and then we talk about it a bit. A great thing for these kids, improving their reading skills and opening up a whole new world to them at the same time. And I´m looking forward to using some of these older kids to take some kids books we have here into the school and read to the pre schoolers. I´m sure they have never heard the kids stories we get read by our parents growing up in the states. Then I have more hopes for strengthing this youth group that we have going and getting them to do more presentations throughout the community. Our next little project is for WORLD AIDS DAY Dec 1 if we can get the monetary support from our mayor to do it.

So that´s a little bit of news here. Wish all the best there. And Happy Thanksgiving if I don´t get on here before!

Mateo

The Morning News

2006-10-19T16:36:00.000-04:00

I’ve been drinking my water out of my popcorn bowl today. I guess it’s not necessarily a popcorn bowl it’s really a multi-purpose thing. I just call it a popcorn bowl because my dad always made huge amounts of popcorn in a similar sized bowl when I was little. But now to me any big bowl is a popcorn bowl, be it my dads’ metal ones or my current rippled white plastic one. When I went to grad it I thought, for a second, myself kind of intuitive and creative and became a little too pleased with myself. I was thirsty and had been looking over my kitchen table/stove/counter area for a clean glass and was not finding anything. I did find stuff but everything was dirty and although it was a perfectly good time to do my dishes, all of a sudden I felt my creative self come bubbling up and didn’t want to do such a mundane thing like washing my dishes. I mean I’ve had the circular cup wash technique down now for a while and it’s been brain numbing ever since. So after not finding any clean glasses my eyes stuck onto my wooden mortar and pedestal, really only the pedestal part. It’s my garlic press and my friends always make fun of its size and then make fun of me for having it. I began to hear them laughing in the background of my mind and realized that it was kind of small. I mean for my huge thirst going on. I’d been in El Seibo all morning without my Nalgene. And I’ve been using my big white popcorn bowl as a glass ever since I’ve gotten home.

In all this the last question you may be asking is why I was in El Seibo. Being in El Seibo is the most unassuming and normal part of everything I just said. I go to El Seibo frequently and if I’ve ever talked to you on the phone it’s been from El Seibo. It’s the closest town to me that has all kinds of good stuff and necessities. Anyway, I was there today for a really simple errand (diligencia in Spanish which sounds way too important for such a task). I had to talk with the store owner who sells the newspapers in the town. But I was dreading it so much! It was that big black cloud hanging over my day. It’s all part of this small idea I had about two months ago, and is a pretty fitting example of how so many things go here, not all, but very many.

So we have this new tech center with some computers and a small library in Pedro Sanchez. And what do libraries include but books, magazines, and newspapers right? Well I decided that it should receive a daily newspaper as the newspaper doesn’t even come to Pedro Sanchez and one has to pay to travel to El Seibo if they want to read it. Being a once and a while reader of newspapers myself this had been an inconvenience to me on a few occasions. So I told my idea to a friend who is in charge of the tech center and she agreed with me and thought we should do it. It was going to be a whole community thing where we asked the colmados for monetary support and get the guagua drivers organization to provide the transportation for our lone ranger newspaper. Well two months later, three different copies of two different letters, talking to everyone and their brother with both saying no in a very indirect way, and many miles on the run around track for me I laid my eyes on a copy of HOY in the tech center today. And people were just throwing her around like she didn’t matter. I was slightly taken aback. I guess I will be the only one in town throwing a party tonight for her arrival. That’s cool though. Whatever.

The whole thing has really surprised me even when I know it shouldn’t have. After a year I still think want to believe things can happen as they do in the states. I mean I even got the mayor involved in this one until he lead me on for a week and I smartened up. It wasn’t just the time it took but it was frustrating and even a slick an emotional punch to the face. Having people tell you no, they don’t want to help out is bad, but to have people look you in the eyes and say yes, then do nothing, is worse. Who do I look to if I can’t look in someone’s eyes for an honest answer and a small commitment? Many times with this and with other projects I have going on I have been feeling my sphere of influence coming up short. But how can I move anything when I am pushing up against history, culture, and peoples own personal feelings as a result of their poverty. And the effort I expend can be tolling in more ways then one on my mind and spirit. This is why all the stuff about community participation and empowerment is so true because without these and their recognizing a need and a better possible outcome I am really fighting a uphill battle that I will inevitably loose or wear myself out at way beforehand. I’ve been reading this development book that my friend Heidi sent me and it’s been perfect for me in timing and its relevant ideas (thanks Heidi!) It’s called Walking with the Poor. I’m not sure if its punch can be felt outside this environment but go ahead and give it a try if you’d like.

Well I’m getting thirsty, understandably so, after eating one of the cardboard tasting nutrition bars mom brought down. Maybe I´ll use a straw to drink out of that big popcorn bowl this time. Less spillage action.

Judí

2006-09-19T09:49:00.000-04:00

I´m beat. And Judí is sleeping over. Or rather he is sleeping over inside my house.

As I go to unlock my door I look and see Judí lying there. I´m kind of glad he was there and it happened like this. He forced me to do something and I really only had one choice. Maybe he knew that. And maybe I don´t blame him. My front poarch is hard and cold. Although he did fit himself in there just perfectly. Good thing he´s small for a 14 year old. If he really is 14.

I remember saying to myself when I saw the dirty canvas and sack lying there empty and indented the other morning that it had to be a muchacho. Great I thought. So much easier for my conscious huh? I was half way hoping it would be a drunk old man. Then I could shoo him off... at least I think I could.

So I went to investigating, which consisted of sneaking a peak through the downward folded shutters to the opposite end of the poarch. It was 5:30 am and I was hiding. Hiding him from myself. Right? He knew I lived here. He obviously didn´t have any shame in sleeping on someone elses poarch, right? He wasn´t hiding from me.

He finally turned. And I see who it is. It´s Judí. Covered in that dirty canvas I´ve never moved from my poarch since I got there. His face sticking out just enough to tell me it´s him. His face and frame sleeping just like it should. He was dreaming. And I could hear him snoring. Like a kid should. A muchacho. A niño. But then it was so horribly twisted. And feo. And I wanted to cry. And hug him. But I was still hiding.

Now Judí sleeps. On the air matress next to my bed. And he snores litghtly.

More from Mom

2006-09-10T10:06:00.000-04:00

My mom felt that that letter wasn't truely representative of her whole experience here especially since she is removed from it now and can look at it as a whole. So she wrote a little something else to include here and instead of removing the letter I've let it stay and just added this on top. While sometimes similar I think they are different enough to include them both.

Well, Matt has asked me to write something about my recent ten-day visit to the DR. I don't know where to begin, but as I think about it what comes to mind are the people- individuals I got to know by name. There are the Dominicans like Daybi, Benendicto, Andres, Cherri, Lilly, Carmelita, Joncito (who I helped swim), and Amarillo (yellow). I have pictures in my mind's eye of many other people whose names I have forgotten (or could not pronounce very well from the beginning). Then, I see the faces of the Peace Corps volunteers I met at one of two conferences I went to with Matt. The young men and women of America who have left their comfort zone to nurture youth in community programs, or teach kids with special needs in their schools, or build acquaducts, or help coffee farmers be more productive, or bring technology to businesses and communities. So, mostly what comes to mind when I think about my visit are the people. But there is more. The sounds.

For two days after my return to the states, I still heard the music in my head -merengue, or bachata, or reggeton complete with Spanish lyrics I can't understand. The music that blasted from every single bus or car we rode in and that reverberated in our neighborhood daily (and nightly). The roosters and chickens nextdoor were a torment at five in the morning- now they are, happily, a fading cacophony.

Besides the people and the music I often have random mind-pictures of the lush green not-to-big mountains around Pedro Sanchez, the cattle grazing (and random pigs, chickens and turkeys in the yard). There are flashing images of clear blue skies and white sandy beaches abutting emerald green water and palm trees bending just so.

Then the people appear again, this time, nameless smiling faces stopping in greeting- one after another after another on the streets of Pedro Sanchez. "Hola," "Adios," "Buenas," or "Mateo,"- always something said. Happy images all.

But I have to admit that there other jarring slideshow glimpses that are discordent and screechy, like a fingernail on a chalkboard. They slip into and amongst the happy images and cause me to catch my breath. Rough wooden shacks with tin roofs and lots of holes, empty concret block buildings, paper/plastic/glass/concrete in piles or floating in water on the side of the street, broken things. Children scantily clad running barefoot or digging in the dirt, men and boys just sitting and staring, women just sitting and staring, and broken up heaving land.

At first when I got there, I wanted to change things. They need this and this and this and this. Then I began to meet the people, and I still wanted to change things. Then, I decided to just do what I could. So, I brought out the bottle of bubbles and wand that mercifully had not spilled in my checked baggage. I sat in one of Matt's plastic chairs in the front yard under his cherry tree and started blowing bubbles. I waited for the little neighbor kids to come over, and I showed them how and watched them do it. Later, when a few older ones were over, I brought out the puzzles- one on colors and the other on opposites. We put them together and I passed out Tootsie-Pops and Laffy Taffy. It was better than trying to change things. It was better than thinking of my sweaty self or watching the trail of ants on Matt's windowsill or doorway. When the older ones came over, I brought out Go Fish and Uno and War- one at a time. Always the Tootsie-Pops or Laffy Taffy. Somehow we managed to play- play around the language barrier. Even Benedicto who cannot hear or speak learned how to play. What expressive, funny faces he would make to tease the littler kids! It was better than trying to change things. And so I watched a soccer practice and a soccer game; I went to an English class; I sat in while Matt led a meeting of youth leaders; and I got my nails polished by someone who just wanted to do it.

I was amazed by many things...Matt's mastery of the language, the way the kids hung around him and listened, the way the adults in the community cared for him and told me so. It took away my mother worries. And the images and sounds linger.

A Letter from Mom

2006-09-09T16:37:00.000-04:00

My mom just got back to the states after about a 10 day visit. I asked her if she would want to write something for the masses because I thought her view may be a little different then mine at this point in my service and partly because I'm lazy right now. She said she didn't know what to write about, I never do, but she forwarded me a letter she wrote to friends while she was here. So I'm including it. Welcome to online blogging mom!

Hi Sid and Lois. I am in the DR with Matt. Today we are near the capital at an all-inclusive resort (room and board) with other Peace Corps volunteers who started with Matt. They are coming together this holiday to celebrate their one year anniversary of PC service. We are here till tomorrow. There is an Internet cafe here. It is a good break for me b/c his work site is hard for this gringo mother- regarding lifestyle. I have spent three nights there so far and will stay two more. It is a simple wooden structure with a tin roof, concrete floor, a latrine out back and a hose for showering. Matt made a table and bench and he has three plastic chairs and a double bed (covered with mosquito netting). Electricity for part of each day. But everywhere is great poverty. There is dirt and garbage all over his community- broken up streets and the smell of burning garbage.
But the people are nice- they love Matt and several women have told me that they look on him as a son. Everywhere we go young and old call out to him. That encourages me- that he is well cared for. I can see that the kids especially look up to him and he has done a lot to help them.
I watched (and helped) in an English class that he and a Dominican are teaching and I saw a soccer game between two groups of kids.
Another thing...There is always music blaring all day long here -everywhere. Streets, public buses, early in the morning and late at night. Also the chickens and roosters make a huge noise. Matt has a next door neighbor with a backyard full of these and they make a racket every morning at about 5 or 6 and periodically during the day. I am using my earplugs at night. Sometimes a truck with loudspeakers on back will go by blasting advertisements. The houses are crammed together and some are even smaller and less hospitable than Matt's. I have also seen some that are better- usually with family or connections in the states.
Oh, my it has been quite a trip! Yesterday we crammed eighteen people plus picnic food and water into a regular sized van. We went to a lovely beach and had a lovely day, but the trip there and back was unlike anything that I have ever experienced! The hour and a half van ride was incredibly crowded, the road in long spots like a washboard interspersed with crater- like holes. No one follows standard driving rules and they honk their horns constantly. Saw lovely views through the mountains though. That was nice. But dirt poor all over.
Matt says that nothing gets done here partly b/c of corrupt officials. I can see that. Also he suggests that the weather has made development extremely difficult. It is sooo hot here that people have no energy to do anything except sit. And basically that is what many do all day. Others live by subsistence farming.
Well, I don't mean to be totally negative. I admire all the young people (150) who are here in the PC with Matt. They are working with youth like Matt does, or working to build aqueducts, or to bring technology to the island, or to help farmers make more crops. or work with kids in the schools, or with communities in public health. I have met a lot of his PC friends b/c of two meetings I have been to with him. I am thankful for the friends he has made- good kids who support each other and really connect. I guess that is how they survive. Lots of PC support also.
Even without the amenities, i prefer the countryside to the cities. The cities are way too crowded, noisy, and polluted for me.

A picture of our one year in country aniversery. A little "who done it?" game on crazy things that we have done or have been done to us up till now.

I should say I kind of take offense to my mom calling my house a structure. It's not a structure any more then your house is a structure, Mom! It's my house and even though I may not cut the grass like I should or mop every day like Dominicans do I take great pride in having my own pink and blue palace. You could have called my latrine a structure and I would have been fine with that.

My mom talks about the poverty she saw. And for me at this point, being here a year now, I don't see it so much unless I try to. And that's good for me because when you think of people as poor you treat them differently. It's also bad because sometimes I think and feel that these people are doing fine and are living happy lives (which they are) and whats the use in going about trying to change that. But at another thought I am here to work with the offshoots of poverty like lack of opportunities, education, knowledge and am not susposed to be erasing poverty. At least directly I guess. And when I get bogged down with the immensity of the whole picture I think of some good advice my uncle sent me in an email a little while back. Having been in similar situations in this same country he said I am only responsible for living in honest solidarity with my community. And saying that to myself has helped me a lot. I don't even think I could have defined the term solidarity before I came here, although that was a main personal reason for me to come, but after being here for a year I not only understand it but feel it day to day. And it's one of the easiest things to do here for me.

eso es todo. voy a descansar.
nos vemos

A bit of this and that

2006-08-13T10:27:00.000-04:00

There have been some up and downs lately on this roller coster. The summer flew by so fast I kinda got lost and some things haven´t got done like I planed and so that got me down a little bit. And I started looking at what is going on and I was feeling I had a few toes in a lot of things, and more things actually still in my head and that was frusterating. And I started to think about this whole development thing, well I probably think about it more then I notice but other day it felt like a big grey tropical storm cloud and I couldn´t find the sunny spots around it. It´s really hard sometimes with this D word. Real results seem so far out of reach. Although they assure us they come. And it´s hard to work without seeing a finished product. Motivation lacks and I feel lost in this huge maze sometimes. I also thought how much easier it would be, maybe, to do D stuff with infastructure or other tangible finished products and throw this human development, striving for sustanibility stuff out the window because it really seems theoretical in a way, comming, maybe, slowly just over the horizon. And that´s how I feel on a good day.

I never really got to any resolution but the other day I was teaching an english class, one of my little puddles I step into every now and then, and I felt good about it. Really the first time that has happened. There were 15 people in a room a little bigger then a small hallway and they were interacting with the course and I was supervising, a kid I have been working with for so long is doing the teaching for the most part. But I don´t think that is why I felt good about it. It was hot and I was sweating profusly and it felt great. Not uncomfortable and inconvenient. I welcomed it and was kinda challenging it because I can talk and sit and be comfortable and maybe be actually making progress with something but it´s not till my chest and back are wet with sweat that I feel I´m working. I´m sure I had this proud or boastful look on my face saying to that big grey hard to see through development cloud something like "Yeah look at me now! I´m sweating in your face! What!? Bia!"

On the sweating topic, it just reminds me of an experience I had the other day cutting my grass. Why the DR doesn´t use gas powered mowers or Uncle Tom´s supped up trimmers can understand. But I haven´t seen one push mover with those blades that spin around as you push or as Brain brought up the other day one of those grim reaper things that you can swing back and forth standing in an upright position. Instead they use the machette, in a very awkward and uncomfortable hunched over position with a huge swinging arm motion. But utilizing the wrist to achieve maxium cutting potential. It works but leaves a lot of room for improvment.

So anyway with a shortage of yard cutting tools at my disposial, and a lot of second thoughts about the pain this is going to cause to my arm and hand, I head out with a borrowed machette. Of course my grass is about a foot high and a lot thicker then I first realized which really slows down my super strong flying machette stroke. And I didn´t last more then 20 mintues at the max. Even after about 2 breaks to tape and retape awkward parts of my hand and fingures the blisters were just too much to handle. But I got through about half of the front grass. I waited about 4 days for my hand to heal a bit and then knocked out the other half, almost. One thing I that amazed me during the whole 2 sessions was how much water my eyebrows could hold. I´d never had that feeling before. It´s hard to explain but they felt really heavy. Kinda cool. Try it. Just get a machette and go at it.

Ohh and I should mention the presidents´ visit the other day. He came on about a two days notice to inagurate our new tech center/library and it´s amazing how quickly things got finished up around here. Literally overnight. But now it´s pretty sweet. There´s a library with tons of books (in a relative sense). At least more books then these kids have every seen before in one place. Which has gotten my head going once again with ideas to do here. Maybe I´ll finally hit that one puddle that´s suprisingly deep and fall in, into that one project that can give me a sense of forward progress. Right now I don´t want another thing to just dip my toes into.

That´s all. Things are well even if it may sound otherwise. I finally got luz after about a month and a half. Well it´s still not an all day thing by any means. I just ment I got my counter and wires connected. I forgot how powerful electricity and light can be. My one lightbulb felt like the whole sun had found it´s way into my house and it was uncomfortably bright. But it´s been great to listin to my own music again and seeing complete pages as I read isn´t bad either.

Ok. Adios.
Cuidense mucho.

2006-07-29T10:15:00.000-04:00

I haven't been home for about two weeks now and I was just thinking how I dread the Dominican welcome I will inevitably get when I head back later on today. They really have a way of making you feel guilty. Me botaste or ya no nos quieres or estabas perdido are just a few of the lines I am prepared to hear. The botar one especially hurts because they use the same word for throwing out trash or spitting a bad tasting food from your mouth. Not exactly what I was thinking of them these past two weeks. And the estabas perdido one still stumps me every time they throw it out there. I just end up mumbling some lame excuse of why I really wasn´t lost just far away. And the far away part usually just leaves them confused and with the same lack of words I had at their intial question. I think maybe because far away isn´t a concept they think about every day. I should try to figure out some whitty reply but my sarcastic humor doesn´t seem to transfer very well here.

So anyway, the first week I was at a youth conference with three of my youth learning all about HIV/AIDS and other sexual health topics. And when I get back we are going to try to replicate all this good info for other kids; the idea being trying to start a big snowball that hopefully wont melt here in the Caribbean sun. Just one note on the conference which I was a little embarrassed/disappointed by. It´s right at the end of the whole thing when we are about to present certificates to all the youth who participated and one of my friends and fellow PCVs calls me over to check out some pics on his camera. Turns out some kids got a hold of his camera the night before and did what Dominicans do with a camera. Pose and growl like a tigers. As if they were shooting for some magazine cover. This may sound like a generalization, and I admit I do generalize a lot, but this is not one of those times. Dominicans are very difficult to photograph because they want to strike some pose like a really bad high school senior photo. But these photos were nothing for a year book. And the star was one of my girls and she was posing in horribly dirty positions that made me want to cringe. After 3 whole days of learning about self esteem, how to combat machismo in their culture, safe sex and some ways to say no to sex one of my girls was objectifying herself and throwing out everything we were trying to teach. Although a bad note it was a snap back to reality for me. It´s easy to think these kids had learned all this good stuff and as a result changed their way of thinking and behaving but really behavior change is not so quick and easy. A youth conference won´t do it. And these were just pictures. Not the most detrimental behavior out there.

That was the first part of my ¨vacation.¨ The second part I was translating for a group of doctors who came down to do clinics in the most isloated and far out campos I have seen yet in this country. This was a great time but I will have to write about it later as I am quickly loosing attention.

Nos vemos.

Peace Corps Electrics

2006-07-07T12:56:00.000-04:00

I've been without electricity for the past week. Not even the on again - off again stuff that goes on here in the DR. It's been straight off. With no again. But I'm not really complaining as my only electric needs were my radio and my cell phone, and since I lost my phone about the same time I lost power that worked out just about perfectly.

The reason for the week long apagon is that the electric company has finally gotten serious and is cracking down on dead beat electric ladrons. For example, my house has a 16,000 peso debt hanging over its roof. And my landlord is well aware of it. She bought the house when it was at 14,000. And honestly it was kind of stimulating stealing power. I would drag two long electric wires from my house across the street and curl the tips just right so they wouldn't fall off and lift them up with this huge wooden pole to the main electrical wires that were pealed in certian spots. And right in those spots I would hang my wires. Then I would run into the house and tighten my light bulb to see if I matched up the wires correctly. Then the best part is when the electrical company would be in town. A caring and compasionate little Paul Revere would run down the street telling everyone to take down their wires. And I would go out with my pole, and my heart fluttering and hands shaking a little, take down my wires and run them into the house and close the door. Never sure if the electric truck was right around the corner and what exactly they would do if they caught me with my pole in the air.

But now that's over. The electric company has installed a steal proof wire and are even installing meters in every house. Part of the reason noone ever paid was because noone had any electric meters and the company was just charging people a flat rate across the board. Not even taking into consideration the daily power outages.

So I wait. Until my landlord settles the debt and signs a contract to get me legal electricity. Until then I'm going through the candles like no other.

2006-07-03T09:32:00.000-04:00

This is exciting. The internet has arrived to Pedro Sánchez. I can walk down the street and jump online. I never really thought that this would be an option in the Peace Corps. As I sit here using this slick new keyboard watching cows graze out the window I think about the old Gateway commericials with all the cows and computers. This new center has it all. computers, wireless internet, Pedro Sánchez´s own radio station, copy and fax machines, projectors, digital and video cameras, a special kids room with a library, an adult library, a virtual library connected to the University of Santo Domingo´s library, and ¡bathrooms! that flush. I´m so excited about this part and I think it will change my whole morning rutine around.

It´s really incredible that a little community like mine which is poor, rural, and doesn´t even have phone lines has this new center. But these are just the communities the First Ladies office is targeting for these centers. It´s been interesting so far seeing people who never thought of computers before learning to use them. And this center has kind of added a different twist to my roll here in the community. Although I am not a computer expert in the likes of Diogo (sorry man, Frace and Zidane got your guys´ number) or my old roommate Jon Lentz (¡Lentzy!) it´s safe to say I have the most experience in town. I won´t necessarily be teaching computer classes now, 3 people were hired and trained to do that, I will try to adapt my english class to the new technology and maybe throw in a computer class for a group of teachers at the school. Also this gives me more oppurtunites for activities. I´ve always thought a literacy group was a great idea and a huge need and now we have the resources to do it. Just reading to a group of kids will be great! I´m pretty certian most of them have never been read to before.

So that´s that for now. Otherwise things are going well for the most part. We´ll talk more.

Happy 4th

2006-06-21T11:48:00.000-04:00

The patron saint´s festival, or rather fiestas patronales, has just gotten underway. Well, technically it started yesterday, Monday, but I guess the festivals organizers thought it would be a little dumb of them to start a party on Monday when they might as well take advantage of the weekend before hand too. So this party has been going on since Saturday. And will continue for a week and a half until Thursday or rather be that Monday, once again to take adavantage of the party potential of the weekend.

What does this fiesta patronales involve anyway? Well, there´s the usual celebratory stuff like sack races, horse races, and pole climbing but mainly it´s about the party that goes down everynight in the parque and surronding street. The electricity has been out for most of today and still is as I write this at 9pm. This would usually mean a super tranquil night when I can see the bright glow of families sitting around a candle or gas lamp comming from an otherwise pitch black and silent house and street. And it´s always a great time to catch the super bright stars.

But on a festival night like this an apagon is no match for Brillo Lite and his soundsystem and the colmado´s and pool hall´s and any other system I´m hearing right now. All mixed together, depending on their relative distances to me, into a really confusing and continually thumping musical Sancocho. Reminding me of a radio stuck between two or three stations at once, but so much louder then any of those old turn dial radios could ever get. Actually, any one of the numerous speaker set ups is probably equal to the speakers on one half of the stage of the loudest Dave Matthews Band show I been to. And my town has less people then an average DMB show. That really means we got more speaker wattage going right now in Pedro Sánchez per capita then DMB does at their Charlotte, NC show tonight. Ha!

A little worldcup warmup for ya!

2006-06-06T12:29:00.000-04:00

This will get you pumped!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P-bWsOK-h98

I just hope he does this all worldcup long!

The Sports Equipment Deal

2006-05-30T08:53:00.000-04:00

Update: I have since recieved more info about shipping. This is what it should look like:

You should send all packages to this address:

Peace Corps Director (Please do not put my name on the outside of the box)
Av Bolivar 451, Gazcue
Apartado 1412
Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic

Please put my name on a sheet inside of the box in addition to the best address for me to send feedback such as pictures to.

And here is a standard letter asking for help...

Dear Family & Friends,

Greetings from the Dominican Republic! I would like to send this letter to inform everyone of a new youth initiative in which we could use your support.

What is it? Serve and Play (Servir Y Jugar) is a Peace Corps initiative serving the Dominican Republic. It's goal is to stimulate volunteering while simultaneously providing the children and young people of communities of limited resources the opportunities to learn leadership and to participate in healthy activities. Serve and Play aids to promote Sirve Quisqueya, a national initiative to promote volunteer service by all Dominican youth.

How It works: The Peace Corps Volunteers will work with young people in the communities, having taught them the importance and effective methods to plan and execute community development projects. They will also help young people and children to track the hours that they have done. For their community service, Peace Corps Volunteers reward the youth with Sports Equipment available through Serve and Play. We have had great success with the program and therefore our inventory is rapidly diminishing.

What we need: We could use sports equipment of any type, Dominican youth love baseball, softball, basketball, and volleyball. In particular I could use (all kinds of soccer stuff!!)

How to send it: You should send all packages to this address:
Peace Corps Director (Please do not put my name on the outside of the box)
Av Bolivar 451, Gazcue
Apartado 1412
Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic
Please put my name on a sheet inside of the box in addition to the best address for me to send feedback such as pictures to.

Thank you so much for your continued support.

This was my origional post...

So I have this idea. And I need some help with it. I’ve got this soccer team going here. There’s between 20 and 30 kids, sometimes up to 40, practicing 3 times a week. They are totally psyched about soccer and we played our first game last weekend. The day before they went out in the woods and found six poles, (I know poles sounds weird but I can’t think of the right word) and hammered together their goals. We cut the outfield grass with machetes the day before too, which resulted in a big blood blister on my index finger, and we lined the field with sand. The games the next day were a lot of fun. They played all morning and everyone from Pedro Sánchez took a kid from the opposite team home to eat lunch with their family. Then we all went to the local watering hole for a swim.

Ok, this is where I need your help. Half of these kids play in bare feet. We have two balls to practice with, which significantly limits the things I can teach. That is saying nothing about shin-guards and goals. But there is an up side. Peace Corps DR has this program called servir y jugar (to serve and play) which gets kids involved in doing community service projects and as a reward they earn sporting equipment depending on the amount of hours they put in. The equipment comes from donations from the states; both new and used stuff. So my thought was to ask you guys for donations. Not so much individually but maybe you could take this idea to your soccer team or club. And maybe everyone could get together all their old gear, it doesn’t even have to be old if you don’t want, and send it down here to the DR.

Once it gets here it goes into the pot, up for grabs to all the other volunteers and their kids, although I would get first pick for my kids. So what is needed? Cleats, shin guards, and balls are needed most. Jerseys, pennies, cones or disks, mini-goals, and goalie gloves would not be turned away either. And if you want to take this further, other sporting equipment especially baseball stuff would be put to good use by kids all over this country. And remember this is not just handouts. These kids may be learning about community service for the very first time and may even earn their very first pair of cleats in the deal too.

To get it here just mail it in a big box to me at the address on the side of this page. It’s actually the address to the PC office in the capital but that’s where I pick up all my mail. And if you wanted t throw some religious signs and symbols on the package for surer and safer delivery that wouldn’t be a bad idea either. Or you could address it to Pastor or Padre or even Hermana Matthew Ferner.

If you have any questions about this proposition just let me know. I am planning on sending Calvin a more formal letter and if you think any other schools athletic departments would be interested let me know too.

That’s it.

Much love.
Matt

2006-05-25T10:28:00.000-04:00

So speaking of that air conditioned, englished speaking, fluffy couch sitting, home away from home...I came into the capital today to turn some surveys into my boss at the office. I'll have you know that this is the first post I've written from the office. And the computers here are free! I can spend all day on the internet if I want and not have to pay a peso. Imaginate. I've tried to write something from here before and can't. I've started things and then said to myself, "this is dry, nobody wants to hear about that." I was thinking about it on my way in today, and I think the reason why I haven't been able to write anything from here is that it's too comfy and too easy. I think the message gets accross better when I'm dripping sweat on the keyboard and my shirt is soaked and I am packed into a 8x12 ft with about 15 computers. Anyway, here's comming straight from the PC office.

What's the first thing I do when I get into the office? Check my mail. And it's great! Imagine not being able to walk out to your mail box for a few weeks or months at a time and then that excited you would have when you open your mailbox. And what made it even better this time is that I got something. A letter from my Grandma. She's doing good too. One of the things she mentioned was about how she is fortunate to be able to read and write me letters. Not because she is old but because she is educated. And I don't know if she was touching at something I wrote her before or hinting at something she wants to hear about, but it made me think about education. And then I thought about the sign in sheet I passed around at soccer practice the other day. I remember watching the kids, over half of them, struggle to sign themselves in. And one or two of them practicaly couldn't do it. I just stopped and stared. Caughten off gaurd once again by what would be a trivial event in the states, but here has so much more meaning. How can they even get through a day at school? What do they even do at school? These kids were between 8 and 13 too. Then there was the other time when I visited a family and their kids where in the middle of doing math homework when I walked in. They were 12 or so and still counting on their fingers.

The thing is I know what they do at school. I know how many days school gets cancelled a week. I've seen the "library" and the bathrooms and the classrooms. I've talked with teachers and the director. I remember complaining to my parents and teachers during highschool about how I was going to have back problems when I got older because of the weight of all the school books I had to carry around. And it was legit, it was heavy. At least the kids here don't have that problem. They don't even have a single book. The teachers have the book. And class is composed of the teacher dictating and students copying. There are no art classes, or a work shop, or a gymnasium. There are two different daily sessions. One for the older kids in the morning from 8 to 12 and one in the afternoon for the younger ones 2 to 4.30. And those hours really are negotiable. I'll let you imagine the rest of the story. So my grandma is fortunate to be educated. As am I. And I think so many other Americans.

2006-05-09T12:33:00.000-04:00

I don´t think I´ve written much about poverty on this here blog yet. And that´s mainly for two reasons. One is that I just didn´t know what to say about it in the beginning because I was totally new to it. I could have described the houses or talked about the trash but that really wouldn´t have been good enough for me. The second is that about the time I began to understand it a little more and could maybe talk about a life lived in poverty, I became immune to it. Nothing was sticking far out of the norm for me and I kind of just began to get used to it all. It has been about 7 or 8 months now. But it´s been in the last few weeks that I´ve been noticing how poor things can be and really been thinking about it. So, I kind of touched on it in my journal the other day and I figured I´d share it.

May 7

...I´m getting addicted to sugar straight out of the bottle. It´s the darker big grained stuff. I really have to stop it. This morning I decided I take a bike ride. It was the fourth I´ve taken up the road towards Miches and each time I´m getting closer. Today I met the limit, at least until I am prepared to go all the way down into Miches. I began to realized I was doing a lot of breaking so I decided to turn around. That climb out of Miches is going to be tough, at least from what I saw today. I enjoy being up there on the top of all those hills and being able to look out over the Samana Bay and see the Samana pennnisula jutting out behind the bay. It seems mornings are more hazy then afternoons, at least from what I remember. I enjoyed the sound of the wind filling my head with a sort of empowering and freeing kind of noise. It added to the feeling of being on top of everything.

I was feeling so good I forgot the poverty and hardship I was riding through. Houses completly made of tin were lined up along the road and women were outside hand washing their clothes. There were no electric washing machines here to mask how poor these people are. I let slip a great big happy “Buenos Días” to a lady walking up as I was going down. She looked much more aged then she probably was. And when she gave me back a warn out sounding “buen día” for a moment I wondered why. Then I came back to my senses and saw the 5 gallon bucket of water on her head; she had one hand stabalizing the bucket and the other holding the hand of her completly naked little boy. Too poor to buy diapers and not wanting the extra work of washing soiled clothes each day, she just leaves her boy naked (this is very common here). I also realized there probably weren’t many trips to the well before this 5 gallon bucket or will there be many after and her family will be using this bucket of water for all of today’s watering needs. Most likely there isn’t 35 pesos to buy the giant blue bottle of drinking water either.

As I continue down the hill, lightly breaking so as not to fly by these people and at least giving them the curtosy of a slow acknowledging ride through I catch the eyes of some kids happily playing and waving to me. Then I notice Mom looking at me from the doorway of their one room shack. For the first few moments I am watching her as she is obviouly trying to figure out who I am. Not but an instant after she realizes I am a foreigner she puts her hand out and quickly, maybe despertly, before I am gone down the hill, rubs her thumb back and forth over her first two fingers. After 7 or 8 months here these situations still make me feel awkward and I still haven’t found the appropriate response to the request. When it’s face to face, which it is about one a week, I sort of awkwardly mumble something out about how I don’t do that. I can’t say I can’t or that I don’t have cinco pesos because I would be lying so instead I just leave them with an answer that almost always evidently puts the person off balance a bit. I see them sort of wondering, “what does he mean he doesn’t do that?” Anyway, I was on my bike and had the slope and distance between myself and this mother in my favor, if easily saying no to poverty is any type of favor, and so I just shifted my glance back to the road in front of me.

I decided to turn back for two reasons. One I didn’t feel like having to peddle the whole way back up out of Miches and two I didn’t know if I could handle entering Miches right then. I knew what was ahead as I have been to Miches in the comfort and seperate space of a private truck but this morning I was closer to it being on my bike. By it I mean that Miches is poor, and it shows. It’s also the number one take off spot for the old wooden boats known as yolas that cross the sea to Puerto Rico, with a price tag around 20,000 pesos for those desperate enough to risk their life for a chance at a different one.

As for me I peddled back a little ways until I reached the summit and let the downhill take me back to Pedro Sanchez. I’ve been realizing lately that El Cuerpo de Paz can let me see this life and even require me at times to live it, but I will never entirely know the feeling of it. And if I’m ever doubthing that, the comfy Peace Corps office and emaculte U.S. Embessy are just an easy 140 peso guagua trip away. Well at least for me, the holder of a blue passport.

El Barrio de Mr. Rogers

2006-04-30T11:46:00.000-04:00

I was laying in my hammock the other day and I had it swinging perfectly enough to knock a cherry from the tree above. And what do I know but it fell right into my lap. It was great! Now if I can only figure out how to get my cat to climb the coco tree and bring me a coco as I sit in the shade.

I don´t know why I said this. It made me really happy when it happened but I´m sure its just one of those things where you have to be there to enjoy. But it brings up another thought. I don´t know if I´ve shared this before (I try not to look back at earlier posts) so I´ll go ahead now. About 3 times a week I will not really feel like cooking. Cooking and preparing meat and cleaning up afterwords is quite an ordeal here and sometimes I just avoid the hassel. I don´t know why exactly but it´s just not as convienent as back home. So on these days usually at lunch I just find random stuff to eat that takes little preparation. Or the incredible thing is that food appears. It´s really amazing. You should try it sometime. Just come to the DR and live in a little community and watch it happen. Friends will bring you food or familes will invite you over for lunch without anything expected in return. It is a very humbling phenomon. Especially when I think that by giving me a thigh or half of breast of chicken or just anything in general, it means they are eating less that day.

I am still getting used to this. Not just with meals but giving in general. I am given huge clumps of bannanas or plantians or an arm full of grape fruit or oranges almost every other day. And I´m the American who comes from Nueva Yol where we buy things with dollars. This is all making me more aware of my own giving habits. And honestly I think I never exactly explored those habits. But now when I´m cooking or have any food lying around it´s been easier to feel comfortable saying "toma lo" and honestly not thinking twice about it. It´s a great little system they got going here. I´ll share with you because thats what we do. And when everyone´s sharing everyone´s recieving at the same time. Kind of a good kindergarden lesson too.

bueno, es todo. cuidense.

A Rainy Springy Suñday

2006-03-26T14:10:00.000-05:00

I love days like these. Especially here where cloud cover is few and far between. Dominicans love to say how !este sol pica! They also use the term pica for wasps and ant bites. And it´s not that their vocabulary is weak either. The three truely do feel the same.

Whats been going on? Well this morning my group of muchachos fund raised about 600 pesos for a mural they will be painting. I say fund raise but it was really not. They held a fire hose accross the road and didn´t lower it until people paid up. I guess we pretty much took over the entrance to our town and laid down a toll for a few hours. One passanger hit it right on the head when I overheard her say, bueno eso es como hacky mate (just like check mate). And I agree with her. I didn´t feel totally comfortable with this fundraiser but I brushed it off as a cultural thing. It was the first idea they had and these peajes are very common. We were advised, in not such a friendly manner, there were two happening further up the road from us. Kind of unlucky for both parties.

So about the new house, because I´m psyched about it. Right now it´s outfitted with a 4 burner table stove, a homemade table, 3 plastic chairs, and my bed (which I´m equally psyched about). I´ll explain.

It´s that I´ve finally got my mosquito net to look like they have it on the front of the package. Almost as soon as we got off the plane 6 months ago we were handed our mosquito nets and I instantly fell in love with the lady on the cardboard insert. Her mosquito net was hung high to make it seem like one of those old time beds that have the wooden rail around the top and you have to move the curtains to climb in. And she was wrapped in a light orange sheet, much like my quick dry orange REI towell, with whatever your favorite type of pillow is under one arm. And she was in what seem to be some kind of wooden cabaña, probably extended into the sea and only reachable by boat. And this is saying nothing about ella. She was equally beautiful to match. I still have the cardboard insert somewhere.

And my house doesn´t disscriminate in terms of gender. It is equally painted hot pink and sky blue inside and out, with gender neutral white trim and shutters. It´s a boy-girl house.

About two days into the new place I already had the visitors older PCV´s have warned about. Not the spiders or other critters I won´t bother to mention. But kids who walk in and just watch you. One kid watched me for over two hours while I cooked and ate. He didn´t say anything or respond to many questions either. I was racking my brain for ways to turn it into a great cross cultural learning experience for the both of us, but I as the time went by I was becoming more uncomfortable and just wanted to tell the kid to go to his own house. Living with a family you are protected from things like this but now in my own place I will have to figure out a strategy. I may be the only American these kids will ever know, and I don´t want to get them made at all my friends back home too.

Ok, well I was going to write about what has been going on "work" wise but I got off track somewhere. I think I know where.

That´s all for now

2006-03-13T15:11:00.000-05:00

Things have been rolling very well lately. This past week I had a series of conferences back to back. One in the ever tiring and overstimuling capital of Santo Domingo and the other in Jarabacoa, my favorite place in the country as of now (well besides my little pueblo). In the capital I was able to reunite with the Youth crew at our 3 month IST where we all presented our community diagnostics. I was a little worried about the presentation for some reason leading up to it. I guess I was still in the school mentality where all I think about is getting graded. But the presentation went well and to my suprise the diagnostic really wasn´t about the presentation at all. More to help me understand my community a little better and plan for the first year of service. And I did come out of the conference with a plan and a focus, and I feel great about it right now. The second conference went well also and I think got my two muchachos pumped up about starting this Brigada Verde youth group in our town. I know a youth group may sound strange to people back in the states, but they are very common here in the DR. I think its from the fact that generally Dominican youth are cooler then American kids. Don´t take this the wrong way though. I would even group myself, growing up, in the lame American youth culture. To get some type of youth group going in the states, outside of the church, would most likely warren´t a "that sucks, why would I want to do that?" or something to the extent. Maybe becuase kids here really lack any oppurtunities for extra diversion or learning, they are more eager to form youth groups that usually take on a social/community service theme. And this is what I want to take advantage of. A group of organized kids is the perfect forum for some quality out of school and general life skills education.

On another note I´m hopefully going to be moving into my own house this week. It´s been a 6 months of living with host families and it´s time to move out. This will be my first house all to my own, ever, and without a doubt the cheapest rent I´ll ever have in my life. At 800 pesos a month (about $25 us dollars), with a outhouse and tin roof, and about 50 roosters as my neighboring alarm clocks I am all smiles and excitment. I cannot wait to have my own place! It´s basically one room divided into four small sections with the water outside for showers and washing dishes. I have a variety of fruit tress in the back yard: mango, cherries, coconut, and some other fruit that I forget the name of right now.

Thats all for now.

A Different Perspective

2006-02-26T10:11:00.000-05:00

Because it´s so true that no two Peace Corps experiences are the same, I added a little link to a fellow PCV´s blog. I admit that I am far from giving you the comprehensive view of the Peace Corps becuase this is what I´m seeing with my eyes and my experiences here are only mine. This whole thing is influenced by so many different variables, some within the control of the volunteer and others not, that even Volunteers in the same country have totally different experiences. So I want to send a shot out to other peoples blogs (at least people I know) and as I become aware of them I will pass the link along.

Jessica has a cool blog going and she works with coffee growers in the mountians of Jarabacoa. Check it out.

nos vemos

2006-02-20T13:16:00.000-05:00

So what is up on this Monday afternoon? Now that I think about it, I have to say I haven´t felt the Monday slugishness since I´ve been here. Maybe it´s only a stateside thing.

The weekend went well. It was the second weekend of this great month-long sports tournment that is being put on by my organization Progressando. I think there´s a few pics from the inaguration that took place in my pueblo last weekend. It was my first experience organizing anything on a grand scale with Dominicans and what the cross-cultural experience it was. Maybe the first time I´ve acuatlly experience cultural crash and it happened mulitiple times in the two weeks leading up to inaguration day. They insisted on having a peraid (I know thats spelled horribly wrong, but there´s not english spell check on this thing), with a marching band, and a table of honor, and maids of honor for that matter, who presented flowers to guests of honor. I think all the honor in the world was shinning down on Pedro Sanchez this day.

Anyway, we pulled it off and the little bit I caught of the games gave me a great feeling. Growing up in the organized world of sports in the states, I never thought much about what it means to compete for a team or wear a jersery because it was such a common thing. I went from sport to sport, coach to coach, and had so many old jerseries left in my closet by the time I graduated high school I could have outfitted two full soccer teams. But this tournment was probably the first or second time these kids had suited up for their pueblos to play in an organized competition and it really showed on their faces and in their play. So last weekend the tourney moved to another PCV´s site and I was able to sit back, relax, and watch some great baseball on the most beautiful field I´ve ever seen. Ill try to get those pics up soon.

I´ve also been working with a young guy named David on his english. This kid is incredible with his english. He pretty much has learned on his own with books for the past two years and his prununciation is suprisingly good. I handed him one of my books and he was able to read it right away so 3 times a week he comes over and we go through Blue Like Jazz. My idea is to get him comfortable to the point where he can start giving english classes to the rest of the community, because I get asked about twice a day to give classes and this isn´t exactly what I want to focus my time on. Everyone wants to learn english but many of the kids can´t read in spanish yet. I think thats more important at this point.

In other news, I´m getting excited about a conference comming up in March. I will be taking two kids from my community to this youth conference where they will learn all about this national youth organiztion called Brigada Verde and hopefully come back all pumped up to start a local group. Brigada Verde started off as a Peace Corps iniative for spreading environmental awareness and in 3 years has turned into a great youth group oppurtunity for all types of environmental projects. Thinking a little selfishly I´m hopeing to sell the muchachos on the idea that we should take our machetes to the hills and chop ourselves a small path to the top. (just a little path Dad, I promise). Because as of right now there are all these great summits that are unreachable. We could even sell it as an eco-tourism thing and I could spread the word on my blog. I can see it now, people would come from all over to climb on our freshly macheted paths through the lush tropical jungles above Pedro Sanchez.

Anyway thats enough for now.

Buenos Dias

2006-02-09T08:29:00.000-05:00

About a week or so ago...

It´s now about 7:30 am. I woke up at 6 with a stomach ache which turned into diahreea at about 6:30 and nearly vomiting soon there after. This was the second time I have woken up with an aching stomach in the past week. The first time I didn´t have diahreea and I was able to get back to sleep, but not this morning.

I decided to look for relief outside. I pulled my favorite chair outside and inbetween doubled over cringes I watched the nights stars slowly fade away into the commuing blue morning sky. A steady tropical breeze was asserting its´ presence, chilling my skin from the nausish sweat that had made its way to the top. One star in particular stayed longer then the others, disappearing and reappearing from behind the light whispy clouds that were beginning to catch the morning color of the suns rays. they would rotate through all shades of yellow, orange, and red before returning to the standard clowd white and slowly pass over me, continuing to move with the breeze. Moving on for the next person to enjoy. Or maybe no one was woken up by an aching stomach. Or they were awake, only looking forward into their day rather then pondering up into it. But this morning was probably not that unlike the morning before or the morning before that, only noticed and appreciated.

And without getting up so early I wouldn´t have recognized Don Gallo´s current attempt at Doña Gallina as the 100th or so in a very frusterating morning for the Don. I watch as Doña G, looking like the full brested Mona Lisa she is, teasingly does a quick side step, hop, and a twist to avoid Don G and all the maleness of this morning rooster. But instead of skirtting off and being done with Don G´s relentless pursuit, the Doña continues pecking ohh so flirtatiously at imaginary crumbs while juking her way out of every trap Don G manuvers her into. Getting bored with the endless pursuit I turn my eyes and thoughts to the sun which has continued to rise oblivious to the drama unfolding at my feet.

2006-01-18T16:14:00.000-05:00

I bet you didn´t know that the past week was the telling week for this upcomming year of rain. And woulnd´t you know it but we didn´t get one drop; here comes the biggest drought the greater-metro area of Pedro Sanchez has ever seen! This is all according to my one hundred and five year old Dominican Grandma. Not only is she a Meteorologist (which I am highly jelous of) but she also doubles as a medicine woman and get this...she smokes a pipe. I'm not exaggerating when I say people come from all over the providence with their sick and lame. But to say the least, I am skeptical of her 105 years. This woman has way to much together; in 105 years she hasn't lost a single marble. She even has the libido to fight on a daily basis with my 4 yr. old brother. I mean fighting both physically and verbally. Obviously, in her susposidly 105 year lifetime, she is still learning how to deal with children. And on a very truthful and sad note, I would say the better majority of Dominican parents are clueless when it comes to raising children. I already know this will be one of my focuses here. Physical punishment is almost a daily occurance in my house and that says nothing abuot the psychological damage little Carlitos is subject to.

On another note, also from the homefront, I was caught off guard and shocked the other day. Not by the donkies again, but by my ohhh so old Grandma....wait I mean...she said something that caught me off guard and shocked me. One of the little girls who lives down the street was over once again for dinner. She coincidenitly (or not so coincidentily... which is another subject) will show up around meal time a few times a week. This day she was over for dinner and after downing her soup she went out to play with my little brother, another little boy, and Nereida (the 11yr old girl who does all the chores at our house). As they were playing in the front yard I hear my Grandma yell in the voice of a 105 yr old grandma who smokes a pipe "Naiomi! Go home! Little girls shouldn't be playing and jumping around like this, they should be cleaning in the house. Go home and clean something. Now I've told you!" She also added soemthing about brooms and mops which I wasn't able to catch. I was in my room doing something or another and just stopped in my tracks when I heard this. I would say it even stung! This is deffiently not the first time I've seen Machismo here but this for some reason this was the one that made me stop and think, for a long time. My pesos are running out so I can't get into my thoughts right now but I'll let you dwell on this one for a while yourself.

Before I go I would like to share a success I had last week. I gave a presentation on communication to a group of about 60-70 parents. It was only a small little diddy but it felt great. This group of parents meets every two weeks and I am looking forward to getting into some good stuff with them in the future. I got a lot on my mind I share with them.
Until next time we meet...

love from me

Feliz Navidad!

2005-12-25T11:34:00.000-05:00

It has been a while since I've been able to do a little updating. But today is the day! And seeing that it is also Navidad I send merry christmas wishes to all. I have to say that Christmas doesn't seem like a big holiday here. I'm not saying they don't celebrate it, but just differently then it is celebrated in the states. They choose to celebrate by throwing parties and dancing in the street and eating tons of food.

Anyway, I feel like telling a few stories. Two in particular from my journal. The first I wrote like this...

The donkey came back today. It's the same one that gave me a fright the other night when I was showering out back. Out of the corner of my eye I saw some creature and was caught off guard a little bit. Once I turned to see that it was a donkey who had no idea I was naked or an idea of anything else, I was cool. So anyway, this donkey has been showing up at random times always when I'm not expecting to see a donkey. Today I was rocking away a full stomach of beans and rice when I looked up to find the donkey chomping away at our overgrown front yard. He's quite the tranquil fellow. He'll slowly raise his head and acknowledge your presence with a very unintimidating stare. So I thought, "it's not everyday a donkey comes into your front yard in the states. I should capture this moment on film."

I return with my camera and not to my suprise the donkey was still there. I'm getting all these great angles of the donkey while telling him to growel like a tiger, look sexy, and other such photographic incentives. Then I hear the high pitched yell of one of my little neighbors - "Mira! Mateo tirando fotos del burro!" And not less then 1 second later Franklin aka ChicoMono (monkey boy), Mipiel (which translates to My Skin), and the crew are posing along side the burro. The donkey was such a good sport. These kids were pulling his ears, hurling themselves over his back, and playing with his neck and the donkey just kept staring with those big black eyes of his.

My next little story...

I picked my first coconut today! And with all the grace of a true Gringo I might add.

While it wasn't all that high of a palm tree I mounted that coco tree with all the stiff awkward Americanness I could muster. My hands were pulling and my feet pushing myself up until I could wedge my bare foot behind a branch. From here I had the leverage I needed to raise my arm and reach, with my pride welling up inside, to the coco that would be my first. I cupped its' bottem with my palm and twisted until the coco's weight was too much for my outstretched hand. It fell to earth with the force to kill a man (by the way, stear clear of walking under coco trees - it would be such an unfortunate way to go - but nevertheless I heard happens).

At this point I remove my foot and instantly start sliding down as the trunks of palm trees and my unaccoustomed feet combine to give me zero traction. Instead of waiting for my punishment of straddling a coco tree while slinding down out of control I choose to jump, the consequences of which seem small in comparison. My next step was to look for a Machete (a super sized knife like you've never seen) and try to immulate what I had seen Andres do the day before. You want to cut the incredibly tough fiber stuff away on one end of the coconut and leave it with somewhat of a point. The top of which is the rock hard inside shell (which contains the coco water and coco meat), halved it is often modled by drunk males thinking they have breasts. Anyway, I have a small part of this shell showing at the top of my macheted masterpiece and give it one swift wack with the machete. The next thing I know I get a heaftly load of coco water thrown right in my face. Felling like a chump I wipe the water from my eyes and look up hoping no one was watching and noticed what the American just did. Tossing my shame aside I took a seat and with both my paws holding prize, I enjoyed my coconut.

I am going to upload some new picture so if everything goes alright and it doesn't take all of my morning there will be some new viewing material.

From Rags to Riches en un dia sola

2005-11-30T15:42:00.000-05:00

I woke up in my humble abode this morning. I crawled out of my mosquito net once again to take my pan of the nights urine to the outhouse and use the bathroom. I proceed to take my shower with the hose and get myself clean because a clean body leads to a clear mind. I breakfasted humbly too with two eggs and what seemed like light mashed potatoes. I was expecting a visit from my director at the Peace Corps today. It is my third day here and she wanted to see how settling in went. Well, in short she wasn't able to come but proposed I find my way to El Seibo provincial headquarters and attend an inaguration of a new health center, which was to be inagurated by The First Lady. Have you, Hillary or Laura whichever your political persuasion you may be. For some reason I am still clueless as to what my day will hold.

So I made my way to El Seibo and said health center. OHh on the trip there I passed by a skinny old man playing a large very old guitar on his front porch. His name is Dilio and he played that old beat up guitar so raw and real! I felt like I was hearing a part of the Buena Vista Social Club in person, right there on his humble paint flaking front steps. Sorry, so upon arrival I find many people, all of which were dressed nicely and looked very important. Even I could see this. There was a tent and lots of cameras and a head table with microphones. One of the directors of the organization I will be working with was there and she figured I should meet all of these people. In an instint I proceed to go from my world of pee-pots and outhouses, and chacos and guitars, to shaking hands with really important people: Secrataries of State, the Governor, representatives of the UN and the millenium goals project, and others whose names and positions I have long since forgotten.

The First Lady comes and gives her speech and leaves. I proceed to snack and drink some amazing fruit juice thinking well and good of my short time with the big suits. The next thing I know I am being wisked away in a nice new SUV to an undisclosed location. Upon arrival I find myself at a country club with about 15 round tables set for lunch and a head table with microphones, once again. I am at a lunch-in with The First Lady! I've never been to a lunch-in in my life! Well, everyone gives their talk about the millenium goals and how the DR is realizing these. Goals like erradicating extreme poverty and hunger. After the talks The First Lady invites everyone to partake and a large line forms at the buffet. I find myself comfortably near the back but not at the very end. What happened next I really found irronic. I grab my plate to find that all the food had finished and the chefs were not scurring around to refill the containers. But this is no problem with me as I am a flexible PCV and will find food somehow. I head back to my round table and think. A significant portion of this party was left without food, at a lunch-in with The First Lady about extreme hunger. I had to chuckle a bit.

Afterwords, I shook hands with some of the important people I had meet before and others I had yet to meet. They all then jumped in their important looking SUVs and headed off to what seemed like much more important business while I walked away with my Chacos on my feet and my nap sack over my shoulder reflecting on what just happened to my day.

Two final thoughts. One observation: How would you like a job where you pull out the seat for someone where ever they go...all day every day? I was intrigued by this gentleman the whole day as he pulled and pushed in The First Ladies seat. Two thoughts actually: I would never ever have gotten this oppurtunity to have an experience such as this one in the states. The second, I'm very sorry if I misspelled words, butchered sentences, or used weird phrases in this post. My agaility with the english language is going down hill fast.

I sign off now.
Please take care.
Love from Mateo

Happy Thanksgiving!!

2005-11-20T14:04:00.000-05:00

Well it´s hard for me to imagine that it is almost Thanksgiving back in the states. I feel like I should be having a half week at school this week then driving to Toledo for a fun filled day of eating and relaxing with the Ferner clan. Oh no! I just remembered Tina´s way to sweat, sweat potato cassrole. I was fine before this thought but now I am going to be thinking about that cassrole all week as I eat my yuca and platanos. Ahh, what a different life I had back in the states. But we will be having our own American style Thanksgiving here with all the other volunteers and PC staff. I´m really looking forward to it! There will be a 5k run, soccer and basketball tourney, and talent show all of which I plan on participating in.

Thanksgiving will be on thursday if I remember correctly and on Wednesday I will be sworn in as a Peace Corps Volunteer! I´m pretty pumped about this as I will finally get going with my work here. Training has been great and I´ve learned a whole lot about development, culture, and my job but it´s not what I came here to do. Sunday will be my first day at work and in my community and I can´t wait to begin.

Maybe I should describe a little more what my visit to Pedro Sanchez was like. Well, the first night there I was welcomed with a huge surpise party. There were probably over 200 people packed into this little community center awaiting my arrival and ready to celebrate. The excitment I felt and the welcome I got was overwhelming. I remember thiking that these people either have no idea that I am a regular kid who just graduated college or they truely don´t care who I am. They were clapping and chanting my name as I came in and I remember standing in front of them feeling both extremely humbled and like a dirty politician, all at once. I was shaking hands and kissing babies and the whole sha-bang. They even had a live band that played some traditional dominican folk music and I was requested to dance a little jig in front of the whole crowd. I sat up front feeling out of place with the important people in the community like the mayor, police cheif, and director of the local school as people were standing up and welcoming me individually. It was like no other experience I have had before. I felt important and intimidated sitting in front of my new neighbors. It´s great that they are so excited and motivated but I also don´t know what they expect from me.

Anyway, the next four days were filled with meeting so many people it made me dizzy. I was meeting Ana, her mom and dad, her tia, her 1st and 2nd cousins, the abuela, and then more cousins and nephews. If I ever want to sort things out in my head I am deffiently going to have to put a few community family tress on my bedroom wall and fill them in as I meet a new relative. Also, if you ever want to feel like a celebrity just join the Peace Corps! That is really how I felt most of the visit. I would walk down the street and people whould call me by name and invite me in to talk. It´s really incredible. One night I played chess with a neighbor across the street and I next day I´m at the basketball court and someone, who I have never met, comes up and says "I heard you lost to so and so in chess last night." I already know that whatever this gringo does will be quickly spread through all of Pedro Sanchez in a matter of minutes. And I can foresee this being a possible frustration down the road, but we will deal with that when it comes. As for now I have to get to work on some names...

Ohh, another thing I remembered that was really great about my visit. My host family has an outhouse and a shower stall next to it behind the house. I know thats not so great. But what is cool is that instead of going to the shower stall and showering in the pitch black at night I just take the hose and shower behind the house under the light of the stars and moon. What a great place to shower huh? I can´t wait to bath under the meteor showers. Oh, and the stars here really twinkle! I remember a little twinkle in the states but here the stars out twinkle anything I have seen in the states.

Alright well Happy Thanksgiving. Paz y Amor
Mateo

Home Sweet Home

2005-11-11T12:27:00.000-05:00

Just want to do a quick post and say that I´m finally home and it feels great! Well I´m only here for a visit but will be comming back to stay at the end of November. My new home is a small village of about 2,000 strong nestled in the valley of some rolling hills. It´s Peace Corps picture perfect! I´ll write all about my warm welcoming when I get more of a chance.

The 500's

2005-11-02T17:42:00.000-05:00

My barrio here in Nagua is called The 500's. It is one of a kind and deservidly should be refered to by a number. I had a moment a few days ago. It was one of those moments when I was walking back through the 500's from class and I realized where I was. So I got back home and sat out on the pourch to write everything I was hearing, seeing, and feeling. This is a little of what I got.
Bachata and Merengue music comming from all around me.
The sound of Dominos smacking and being shuffled on the board.
Kids riding bikes back and forth on the sidewalk and in the street.
A Grandma carrying 2 two gallon buckets to fill for water.
A moto with a boombox blarring Reggeton and the driver carring bags of bread around his neck and shoulders.
Mystery water splattering across the street, comming from the pvc pipe that over hangs the sidewalk.
Above me, a birds nest of bootlegged wire up the electric pole.
An old man walking slowly up the sidewalk.
A section of the houses accross the street being painted a new shade of bright (yellow, green, pink, teal, red, and white)
A warm humid breeze blowing softly through the various tropical tress across the street.
Political fliers blowing gently in the breeze hanging off the the electric pole.
A young girl yelling "Mateo" at me while I sit here observing.
A young guys who passes on the street and greets me with an accented "how are you?"
An incredible sunset that lights up the sky different shades of hot carribean red and oranges accented by purple coulds...giving way to darker blues and greys as I sit and write.
Kids playing and yelling excidly in the street, most of the time unintelligable to me.
4 people deep passing by on a moto.
The gazeebo made of all different types of metal, wood, car parts and appliances under which dominos are being played.
Heat lighting flashing softly over the 500s.

Hoy

2005-10-25T19:36:00.000-04:00

I think I will take this oppurtunity and do what I never thought I'd do. Talk about what I did in a day. I am doing this because my good buddy Will requested that I do so and also because other people often ask me what I do everyday. So here it goes...

I crawled out of my mosquito net today before the sun rose. Randy, a fellow volunteer who lives across the street, and I decided to go to the Perfect Body Gym this morning for some much needed exercise. I've found excerise way too few and far between here. It is hard to go for a jog because the streets are really rocky and it is very likely that I would be hit by a moto. And soccer here is played less then in the states which is very unfortunate. Anyway, I came home dripping in sweet since at 6am it was already about 85 degrees and heading for my favorite thing in the world. The Cold Bucket Shower! I think I'm getting used to it but every time my hand pours those first few drops over my head I still chring. I survived and made it to breakfast.

Breakfast was nothing out of the ordinary. Bread and warm chocolate milk. On to 4 hours of Spanish class were we discussed the rights of children and the subjuncitve tense of verbs. After countless times going over this I can finally say I have it down. Around 10am the sweat started again. Our class is in a tin roofed house and for those who have not experienced the tin roof, it heats up like an oven as soon as the sun comes out.

At 12 I headed home for a lunch of rice, chicken, and some fried corn meal. Pretty standard. My diet here is very different but that was to be expected. Green vegtibles and meat are expensive so rice and different types of roots are eaten at almost every meal. A lot of starch and carbs to fill you up. Afterwords I head across the street for a few rounds of dominos. I don't know if I've mentioned this but dominos is huge here. I swear the old guys across the street play it all day long!

At 2 I headed to my NGO intership and today we presented a talk on AIDS to about 50 people in a small rural community nearby. In the states I didn't really hear AIDS being preach that much and I don't remember when I was taught about AIDS. But here it is a very important issue. People still don't have the facts right and almost every person you talk with can tell you of a family member with AIDS.

I was home by 5. I took my book out to the front patio and read a bit. We are reading Pedagogy of the Oppressed by Paulo Fiere for training right now. It's a critique of the educational system that exists in the US and throughout much of the rest of the world. He basically says this is not allowing peole to fully become human and is keeping them unconscious of the oppresson they are suffering. Its way more indepth then that though.

And that brings me to the present. After I leave here I am headed to work on a leadership workshop we are giving to the youth leaders of the community in Nagua. Then I will crawl back into my mosquito net to rest my tired head on my pillow for a nights rest.

Buenas Noches

¡Se fue la luz!

2005-10-16T18:05:00.000-04:00

This has become one of the most common phrases to hear in Nagua. It literally translates as "the light left" but is used when the power goes out which has just happened about 5 times during my current internet session. My fellow Peace Corps'ers and I have learned to have some fun with this phrase saying it randomly and in different tones of voice. Se fue la luz. Or se fue la luz. I just love to say it. It slides so gracefully off the tongue. Se fue la luz. Commical at times. Well maybe not commical but I have made myself laugh at it. It's also fun to hear the neighborhood when the light arrives at night. Everyone cheers.

Hurry. Post. Before la luz se va.

Adios Amigos

Saludos

2005-10-11T16:00:00.000-04:00

Just wanted to make it known that I have put up some pictures.

But first this needs some explanation. There are not many pictures of Dominican streets or shacks or people or the other stuff of the nature that would give a wonderful visual of what life is like here. This is for two reasons. The first is selfish in that I don´t want to be flashing my camera around to let everyone know that the Gringo has a machine that looks like a space camera. Mainly to protect my camera from deciding to walk out of its home and not come back.

The second reason being a little more in depth and still something I haven´t quiet figured out how to deal with yet. I´m sure everyone would enjoying seeing what my barrio is like and other pictures of Dominican country side and maybe even the reality of poverty. It´s just that I can´t bring myself to whip out my $300 camera to capture a family sitting on their dirt porch when my camera is worth more then their house. It´s hard to take a picture of a person knowing that they most likely make 1 US dollar a day. Thats almost a years work for them to buy the camera I have in my hand. Or showing pictures on my camera to my host brother whos foremost desire is to get to Puerto Rico, in a raft. This is something that carries a lot more weight then a simple photo and is just one of the thoughts I have been thinking over.

Now I will probably end up getting over this, if its something to get over, and will have more pictures of life here but until then...

Saludos de la Republica Dominicana

My New Digs

2005-10-04T17:09:00.000-04:00

It's day 2 in Nagua, my new home for the next 5 weeks. I'll be going through the second phase of training here, which has been dupped "community based training" by the Peace Corps. I'm relieved to get out of the rat race of the capital and the grouling training schedule we had there. Anyway, in an attempt to maximize my 20 pesos for this hour long computer session I share what I wrote in my journal yesterday.

3/10

I've been here 24 hrs and I've already seen some interesting things. I was sitting in tech training and our trainer calmly tells a group of three of us who are sitting along the wall to stand up and take three steps forward. He then throws his foot into the back of a chair, kicking it against the wall. I guess he missed what he was going for because I seen the biggest spider run across the wall. Possibly a tranchula.

On the way home I pass a guys getting a cast put on that goes from his foot to the mid thigh, with a bed at the knee. Not something you expect to see outside on the corner. I would never go to the guy nextdoor with a broken leg and let him set it in plaster to heal in whichever way he sees fit. But then it may be better to have it set wrong then live without it being set at all. I don't know. A decision I would never have to make in the US.

I was told yesterday that I had "pelo malo" or bad hair by an eight year old. It was because my hair is curly. This is really a sad fact about Dominican culture. While Dominicans are a mix of Spanish colonists and African slaves they refuse to acknowledge their African heritage. They call themselves indo-mezclado and any african traits are seen as wrong or bad. This is where the phrase pelo malo comes from. This also gets into racism against Haitians. I don't know enough yet so I will stop here.

I shaved today without a mirror for the first time every! No mirror or running water in my new house. I was quiet impressed with the results.

arlight my 20 pesos has been stretched to the limit. take care whoever is reading this.

paz y amor

Chicken Dominican Style

2005-09-24T10:51:00.000-04:00

I'm sitting in probably the most unlikely place to be using the internet right now. Just about to head back to Santo Domingo after my Volunteer visit and wanted to share a little sumin' sumin'. This is what I wrote in my journal on the 22nd...

I could be really grossed out right now. And actually I guess I should be grossed out right now. See this is what's up. I'm visiting a real life Peace Corps Volunteer this week. Just seeing what life is really like in the PC, all the day to day kind of stuff. All I can say is that this is the Real Deal. I've realized I'm getting pampered at my host families house. I will be living this life of luxgery (well, I guess luxgery it's relative) for the next 2 and a half months until I move to my own site. This visit has just made me much more psyched to get going with my own site and own projects. Between training, my host family, and the fact that I feel about 8 yrs old when I speak Spanish I am ready to grow up and leave the nest. But anyway to the part that should have made me puke.

Me and my real life Peace Corps Volunteer went out to gather up supplies for lunch. We were able to get our hands on some beans, a few vegies, but we needed some chicken. We found some without any problem, its just that the chicken wasn't exactly where I would expect to buy chicken. We walk up to this corner and my rlPCV starts chatting it up with this lady who proceeds to whip out a whole chicken from a bag. This headless chicken had the longest neck I've ever seen. It also still had its feet, toes, and all internal organs. The lady then whips out this huge machete, takes a few full swings and chops up this whole chicken Jujitsu style. Before I knew what to think about the whole ordeal we're off with a bag full of chicken parts, including a huge chicken foot. I guess, this was all fine and dandy and would have been enough for me.

We get back home and have to prepare this chicken. We had to pull out some extra feathers, remove various organs (heart, lungs, liver, etc.), and cut up these ginormous toes into more bit size pieces. After adding the chicken to an amazing beans and rice dish it turned out to be an excellent lunch. Had I been in the states, I would have given up way before we got to the feathers but this is the DR and if I want to survive there are things I just have to not think about. Freshly killed, whole chickens with feathers and toes being one.

Welcome to The DR

2005-09-15T14:51:00.000-04:00

I really don´t no where to start or what to even say, so I´ll just start rambling. Maybe that will be the best way to get things out. Lets see...

I can start out by telling you about my shower. I would just like to say this is not your Grandma´s bubble bath! Calling it more of a drip shower or bucket shower would be more accurate. It really consists of a limited amount of cold water that I drip over my head, wash, and drip some more to rinse. I don´t think I have been as awake in the morning as a have after a cold bucket shower. You should try it sometime. This brings me to my second thought.

I don´t think I have stopped sweating since I walked off the plane exactly a week ago. I sweat myself to sleep, wake up and sweat as I walk to training, sweat all day long, and even sweat during my cold bucket shower. It really never stops and it is quite uncomfortable, but I hear it is also great for my skin. All of us in training have all pretty much gotten use to this and are at the point where we don´t even think twice about talking to each other while dripping like a faucet.

Wow, it sounds like I am complaining about being here which is deffiently not the case so I better talk about the things I enjoy here in the DR. #1 is the people. Dominicans are special people. They are very warm and welcoming, and really enjoy to dance! We even have been learning merengue and bachata dancing in our culture classes. You have to know how to dance to survive here. Music is everywhere and Dominicans will break down and dance as soon as they hear it. It´s really great and gives the atmosphere here a wonderful vibe.

There is so much more and forgive me for getting to only a small part of it. I hope to write more soon. Take care and I miss all of my friends and family.

paz y amor
mateo

Quick Note

2005-09-07T18:38:00.000-04:00

Well, I don't have long but I just wanted to do a small post. I'm currently in Miami and have just finished up our orientation into the world of Peace Corps, it remindes me of what I studied in my social psyc class about indoctrination. I am currently beening indoctrinated into the Peace Corps culture and it's not so bad. We are a group of 51. Most are recent college grads and a few a recent grad school grads and its been exciting and odd meeting all these new faces. I'm trying extra hard to learn names because I usually don't get names until about 5 weeks of talking to that person. I thought I better work on changing that. I just thought of this, but tonight is my last night in this country for a while. I will be jumping head first into the DR tomorrow and will be living with my host familiy the next day and everything will take off from there. What exactly everything is I have no idea. I feel this will not be the last time in these next two years that I have no idea what is going on. Guess I better cut it short as there is way to much more to say and I don't have the patience to say it all right now. Just a note, (Mom, Dad, and whoever else is wondering why I haven't been in touch) my gmail account has not been working. It may be a problem with the computers here at the hotel or something else but I'll get in touch with you asap. Alright, peace and love from the MIA.

Hasta Santo Domingo

A DR News Article

2005-09-01T10:47:00.000-04:00

I'd like to share a piece of news I came across about the DR. It's not happy news. It's actually rather disturbing, but since I had no idea this type of thing went on I figured it would be good to clue you all in also.

Friday, August 25 Migrant slayings trigger tensions between Haiti and Dominican Republic PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti (AP) -

Haiti recalled its top diplomat to the Dominican Republic on Thursday after three Haitian migrants were beaten and burned to death in the neighbouring country, an official said. Pierre Willy, Dominique Gilberto and Paul Cinius were attacked Aug. 16 in a small suburb just south of the Dominican capital, Santo Domingo, where they worked at a furniture factory, Dominican police said. According to the Dominican Attorney General's Office, the three men, aged 19 to 22, had been drinking alcohol with a group of Dominicans at a neighbourhood store. Later that night, the Dominicans went to a house where the Haitians were staying and demanded money from one of them. After he refused, the group jumped the men, beat them, doused them with a flammable liquid and set them ablaze, the Attorney General's Office said in a statement. The men died days later from burn wounds in a Santo Domingo hospital. In response to the killings, Haiti's interim government recalled its charge d'affaires "for consultation," said Jean Daniel Lafontant, a spokesman for Haiti's Foreign Affairs Ministry. "The Haitian interim government energetically condemns these criminal acts. It deplores that such deeds have occurred at a time when significant efforts are being made to lastingly improve relations between the two countries," a Foreign Ministry statement said. The Dominican National Police said Thursday it had formed a commission to investigate the attack and find the killers. The slayings seemed likely to further inflame growing tensions between the uneasy Caribbean neighbours, which share 390-kilometre border on the island of Hispaniola.

Roll No Rocks!

2005-08-07T12:53:00.000-04:00

Longs Peak is a ginormous mountain! It stands well over two miles above the sea, at exactly 14,259 ft....And it was dominated. Being one of the toughest 14ers in Colorado and given its height and susceptibility to afternoon lightening strikes I, along with 9 others, began our ascent at 2:00 AM. The hike begins at a little over 9,000 ft. and it totals a mere 7.5 miles; the first 5.5 miles being relatively easy for an acclimated hiker. This took us about 3 hours (this picture is taken from about this point). The next half a mile you are scrambling from bolder to bolder to reach the key hole. The key hole is were you cross from the face of Longs in this picture, to the back side where you no less then risk you life for two hours pulling, crawling, and tight rope walking the last 1.5 miles. It was at this point that I questioned my motivation for attempting this feat and realized that we were not going to get a helicopter lift off the top or find an easy way down. Cheating death, we summitted at the bright and early hour of 7:30 AM. The summit was literally breath taking and amazing and I could think of nothing better to do then take a nap! Why I climbed 7.5 miles and ascended about 1 mile high to take a nap on the jagged rocks of Longs peak, I have no idea. But that's all I wanted to do. As for the way down, I would have actually preferred to descend by continuing to go up but this was not really possible. We left the summit at roughly 9:00 AM and arrived back at our cars at exactly 1:11 PM, which was 11 hours and 11 minutes after we began. Personally, this was one of the most challenging things I have done and an experience that I think everyone should have just once.

As for Peace Corps news and happenings there is none to speak of. Just going through the formalities and paperwork (I have quickly learned it is never ending) that they require. I have also been researching and reading as much as I can about the Dominican Republic. The more I read the more happy I am with my placement and the more excited I get for that September 7th departure date. I'm learning about the geography of the DR which is the most diverse in the Caribbean. There are beaches, mountain ranges, tropical forests, and even desert. I've read about, and am interested in hearing, this type of music called "son" which is Cuban but supposidly from the Dominican originally, although "merengue" and "bachata" are the two most popular music genres in the DR. If your interested in DR news check out www.dr1.com which is an English language site or www.listin.com.do for news if you want to practice your Spanish.

Peace Corps News

2005-07-14T00:50:00.000-04:00

Well after 4 months of dreaming of small desearted islands and scuba diving in the South Pacific I've been reassigned. My new assignment will be in the Dominican Republic! A little bit of relief and dissappointment were my first reactions. I was relieved to know that I would be speaking Spanish again (since I somehow came out with a major in it) and maybe this time it will stick. But a little dissappointed because in my mind I had Costa Rica, Equador, and then any other Spanish speaking country as my top 3 list. So I got #3 which is on the top 3 list...I guess I really can't complain. But I am complaining that I got the only hispanic country in the world where futbol isn't the national sport (this will most deffiently be the hardest part of the 27 months!)!! No but after about 6 days to think about this I am getting very excited and I think that the DR will be an amazing experience for me.

My offical job title is Youth Development Promoter and the short job description they gave me is "strengthening margenalized youth, families, and communities." I do know that this is a very new program in the DR and I have a feeling I may be part of the trail blazing group. I don't know what they will mean but I'm preparing myself for the ambiguity that will probably fill my next 27 months. What else can I tell you about this?? Oh, I'm leaving on September 5 or 6 for staging in Miami and then off to the DR on the 7th so things are approaching quickly. Leave some comments or send me some emails if you want more of the greasy details.

Peace (corps)

Mateo

A Little bLog From CO

2005-06-21T02:14:00.000-04:00

So, first of all I'm sorry if this doesn't read like it should. For one thing I'm using my roommates laptop, who is French, and the keyboard is really messing with my head. I have to think twice before I type an A or else I'll get a Q; qnd thqt ; zqsnùt supposeded to be q ; but q ,. Get the picture; I ,eqn ?? Anyway, enough about my roommates keyboard and lets talk about me! Well, I mean I would really rather not but I guess that's what you came to hear so I'll give it to ya!

Ok, I'm in Colorado. It's sweet. The food sucks. The mountains rock. That pretty much covers it. Alright see-ya.

No, but really it is awesome here. I never realized that we had this type of geography here in the US. I keep thinking I'm in Spain on the Camino because that was the only place I have seen that could compare to the beauty that is Colorado. There are snow capped mountains in view no matter where I look. It's really awesome feeling being this high and so small and fragile compared to the rock steady mountains. I've been doing some hiking, biking, and gasping for air (more gasping than anything else) and will be going camping and rafting later this week. Do I only play all day you ask?? Ohh, no don't worry, my job deffiently makes up for all the excitement I have the rest of the time. I'm a Professional Lifeguard, which pretty much means I yell at little kids to "GET OFF THE ROPES!!" and "GET OFF HIS SHOULDERS!!" all day long (and they still come back the next day and do the same stuff I told them not to do the day before). Kids shouldn't be allowed to get away with the stuff they do! Its time for them to grow up! Anyway, I that's enough...although it barely covers half of the excitementment that is my life here at Snow Mountain Ranch, but this is my bLog and I say it's time for bed.

Ohh yeah! I went to Telluride to see mi buen amigo Will (with Berg and Laura) this past weekend and we all attended the hugely popular (at least with the pot smoking, hippy crowd) Telluride Bluegrass Festival. I mean no harm to pot smoking hippies, because they do amazing things and are amazing people too. Just read "Blue Like Jazz" for more on this subject. Anyway, lets just say 12 hours of live music makes this little boy :).

Alright, let's see if I can figure out enough French to post this bad boy...

Pictures to come (once I learn more French)

Well here's the link to some pictures....http://community.webshots.com/user/ferndinho

Late Night bLog

2005-05-14T01:21:00.000-04:00

It's 1:24. The night before my second final and I'm wide awake. What better time is there to write my first entry? I have to say, I'm really looking forward to putting this new toy of mine to some use. I think it could be really cool. I can put whatever I want on here and you will read it. Ohh, I know you will! But what if it's just really boring and dull (like now perhaps)? Let's just hope I get some more excitment in my life...soon! I have feeling it's just around the corner. I'll let you know...
Goodnight