Deportes Para la Vida

My last big hurrah before heading home for the holidays was a 5-day camp/training to learn all about Deportes Para la Vida (Sports for Life). Deportes Para la Vida (DPV) is a Dominican offspring of Grassroot Soccer, an American NGO that “uses the power of soccer to educate, inspire and mobilize communities to stop the spread of HIV.” Grassroot Soccer uses soccer and athletics to educate about HIV/AIDS in the developing world, primarily in Africa.

Deportes Para la Vida works towards the same goal in the DR. As soccer takes a backseat to baseball and is not embraced by Dominicans as in most all other countries, DPV is working to educate using a number of different sports including baseball, basketball and volleyball.

The training was the longest I have participated in as a volunteer. Each of the 8 or so volunteers brought 2-3 youth leaders from our communities to receive the training along with us. The goal was to train the DPV curriculum to Volunteers and our youth so that we can return to our communities and multiply the information to our youth.

DPV consists of many fun and educational activities and will be a really fun course to do with Dominican youth. Along with the two youth from my site who attended the training with me, we plan on teaching the course during P.E. each week in our local school and drop some HIV knowledge while having some fun.

Chicas Brillantes

A few weeks back I had the opportunity to attend an intercambio with 24 young Dominican chicas aged 11-18. I was the only male at the event along with the 24 girls and 4 female volunteers.

The intercambio was for Chicas Brillantes, a Peace Corps initiative for young Dominican girls. The overnight intercambio featured sessions about the female body, art activities, volleyball games and much more.

Chicas Brillantes is a girls club that many volunteers do that covers topics about adolescence and young womanhood and includes many interesting activities and opportunities for young Dominican girls. The girls clubs work year round in anticipation of their seminal event, Camp G.L.O.W. (Girls Leading Our World), which takes place each summer.

Verdict is still out as to whether I will be starting my very own girls group in the months to come. The intercambio reinforced the importance of working with girls in this machismo culture but also how many headaches may come with working with girls aged 11-14. Vamos a ver.

Ants Marching

Last February, a barancon housing more than 40 people burned down here in my site. All of those 40+ people were displaced and a 2-year-old girl died of smoke inhalation. The cause of the fire was a candle, being used during one of many daily power outages, that tipped over and eventually reached the highly flammable zinc roof. The displaced were forced to move into already overcrowded homes with extended family and neighbors and have lived in these uncomfortable conditions for the past 9 months.

A barancon is a barrack commonly found in Dominican bateyes. The barracks were built for the migratory Haitian sugar cane workers and are simply a long concrete buildings divided into several individual housing units. Many units are nothing more than one 10x12 room where entire families live. The vast majority of people in my community live in barracks.

In response to the burned barrack, the community began to construct a new one in August, with economic backing from USAID and Save the Children, to help ease the overcrowding that was going on in homes since the fire.

After months of construction followed by weeks of institutional bureaucracy, people here were able to move into their new homes this week. Watching the move was like watching ants march. The entire community got involved and were carrying suitcases, tables, chairs, mattresses, televisions, etc, in an endless flow until all people and their belongings had been moved and situated in their new homes.

While overcrowding is still a problem, it is much less of a problem this week and a number of families are happy to be in new homes.

People moving into the new barancon as seen from my porch

Eliecel moving into his new casa.

Mwen Pale Kreyól

It has been a long, educational and stormy couple of weeks. After days spent despedir-ing a group of good friends (Felicidades 517-08-02), learning all about the ugliness of cholera and celebrating Halloween and one year as a Peace Corps Volunteer (Felicidades 517-09-02) in a beautiful beach house, I learned a new language in 3½ days. Mwen te aprann pale Kreyól.

Twice each year Peace Corps DR offers a weeklong Haitian Creole course for volunteers living in bateyes, near the border or in communities with a large Haitian/Creole-speaking population. As a volunteer now living in a batey, I got the opportunity to participate.

The training is traditionally held in a batey in the southern part of the country but due to the imminent wrath of Hurricane Tomás, this year we were sequestered to a neighborhood of Santo Domingo for the week. After the initial frustration and disappointment of having Creole training in the Capital and not in a batey full of Creole speakers, training got underway as Hurricane Tomás arrived.

Creole is a very basic language and in less than 4 days I feel like I got a firm grasp on the grammatical structure and some basic vocab. I have already sought out two Creole speakers in my community, ages 6 and 7, to practice with on a regular basis until I get brave enough chat with adults.

As Creole training ended, the brunt of Tomás, the first hurricane to make landfall on the island in my time here, was arriving in the DR. All volunteers living in various high-risk areas of the country, including the Capital where I was, were consolidated to hotels for safety and security reasons.

While hurricanes are not something volunteers look forward to, consolidation due to hurricanes is something all volunteers dream of. Air-conditioned hotel rooms with endless hot water, flushing toilets and an all-you-can-eat buffet. Magical. The amount of weight gained by volunteers during consolidation must be an astonishingly high number. It was a very relaxing couple of days spent with good friends before returning to volunteer reality.

God Hates Haiti

As anyone who owns a computer, television or reads a newspaper well knows, cholera has come to Haiti. This ugly bacterium has arrived on the island of Hispaniola and is wreaking havoc on those living across the border and still displaced by last winter’s earthquake. As if living in makeshift shantytowns wasn’t trouble enough, Haitians now must concern themselves with the threat of fatal, white diarrhea. Can these people ever catch a break?

As we share an island with Haiti, all Peace Corps volunteers in the DR were brought to the capital last week to have a crash course training on avoiding cholera when it eventually and inevitably makes its way across the fronterra and into la República Dominicana. Hay que prepararse.

As if an earthquake, cholera and a long history of colonialism, slavery, dictatorship and abject poverty weren’t enough, a potential hurricane moving across the Caribbean has changed course and has aimed its ugly head directly for Port-au-Prince. The lack of proper shelter will make for a serious disaster if and when the storm strikes areas of the country already devastated by the earthquake and currently suffering from a cholera outbreak. Dios odia a Haiti.

How the Galleta Crumbles

When I initially began this blog, I thought of it as a way to document my Peace Corps experience, update friends, family and interested parties back in the States and, in doing so, give some insight into the life of a Volunteer. I have admittedly failed miserably in Year One to do this.

Like all volunteers, my service to this point has been a roller coaster ride full of ups and downs, highs and lows, peaks and valleys. Things in my first site left much to be desired and my lukewarm feelings towards that site and my work there certainly made for a lack of blog material.

Now I am about to complete my first calendar year as a Volunteer, am living in a new site and ready to give this blog thing another go. I’ll try to be frequent and substantive in my entries in the weeks and months to come.

So without further ado, here is my week in volunteerism in the DR...

After a nearly a month of getting to know my new community, learning names and faces and completing the second community diagnostic of my service, I was finally ready to get some classes and projects underway here in my new site. We had planned to start with English classes as, naturally, that is what the youth in the community seem to be clamoring over above all else. (Translation: Sex Ed and basic literacy can wait…I want to know what Vin Diesel is talking about in all those Fast and Furious movies)

I had spent this past weekend in the Southern region of the DR at a despedida for a volunteer friend who, along with an entire group of volunteers, are about to finish their service and return to the US of A. (Congrats y Suerte 517-08-02) I passed on a scenic brunch and free ziplining on Sunday to ensure that I would be back in my site and well-prepared for Day 1 of English class on Monday. This is where volunteer reality set in and things slowly began to unravel.

As I awoke and got ready to head to the local community center to give class, I was informed that there were a group of doctors in the community center giving free AIDS tests all day. Class canceled. So it goes. Doctors administering AIDS tests to the community for free is exponentially more valuable than my teaching basic English and playing games with Dominican youth.

No sweat. We’ll start Tuesday. Unless the key to the community center has been lost that is.

The key is typically kept in the colmado across the street. On Tuesday the colmado does not have the key. The president of the Junta de Vecinos does not have the key. Nobody seems to have the key. Class canceled. Again.

Key eventually turns up, as expected, and class begins Wednesday.

Had this series of events happened last December, a month after beginning my service in my first site, I would have been frustrated and concerned that this would be a recurring theme in the weeks and months ahead. Now, after having a year’s worth of experiences in the DR, the frustration never comes. I know for a fact that this will recur in the weeks and months to come. Shit like this happens here. Así es la vida.

As a volunteer, you are to plan for each class, practice, charla, etc, while knowing that things will never go exactly as planned. Something always comes up. Doctors come. Keys are lost. It rains. Students show up 50 minutes late (or not at all). Sometimes that's just the way the galleta crumbles.

Escout

The Major League Baseball regular season may have just ended on Sunday, but teams are wasting no time looking ahead to the future. A scout from the Chicago Cubs stopped by yesterday to check out some of the local talent. A team from here in Cachena took the field against a team from the nearby pueblo of Consuelo as the escout looked on with interest. The visit seemed very informal and was more observational than anything else, but I would selfishly love it if a member of my community someday played for either the I-Cubs or Chicago Cubs. I foresee nights spent in sports bars bragging of knowing the Cubs' starting shortstop when he was still a shoeless, underfed Dominican kid playing stickball in the cane fields.

Just two days earlier a caravan of locals in a rundown guagua traveled to the airport to greet Pedro Ciriaco, Pittsburgh Pirates shortstop and Cachena native who is back here in his home community during the offseason. Tis’ the season when the big leaguers and minor leaguers make their way back here to the batey and abandon the American lifestyle, American food and indoor plumbing for a couple months.

While I knew that mine was a baseball community, I did not realize just how deep the talent pool might go. Most every male aged 16-24 seems to be an above average pelotero and at any given moment, there are 8-10 youngsters hoping to be signed and swept away to the Land of Plenty. In a community of approximately 300, having even 1, let alone 10-15 players with big league potential is pretty amazing.

Cachena

Integrating into a new community is certainly easier when you understand what people are saying and why they are doing the strange things they do. Having a grasp on the language and culture of the DR has made for a smooth transition into my new community, Batey Cachena.

Cachena is a small community of approximately 250 people set in the sugar cane-filled plains of the eastern Dominican Republic. The entire community consists of one dirt road lined on both sides by barracks constructed decades ago for migratory sugar cane workers. The migratory workers no longer migrate nor work in the cane fields. They have made a permanent home of Cachena.

Two things stand out as interesting:

1. Whereas most of the migratory workers brought to the DR to harvest sugar cane came from Haiti and many bateyes have a majority Haitian or Dominican-Haitian population, the workers in my community were brought from the lesser Antilles island of Anguilla. Rather than Creole, some of the immigrants here speak Caribbean English comparative to that of Jamaica. Unfortunately, very few people here still speak this English and the younger generations born here speak only Spanish.

2. My site is about 15km from San Pedro de Macoris, the Mecca of Dominican baseball where superstars like Sammy Sosa and big league shortstops galore call home. Baseball here is the escape that basketball is in many American inner cities. To many, it is the only perceptible means of escaping an impoverished life. People live, eat and breathe baseball with the hopes of being seen by a scout and whisked away to the US of A. From my small community alone, there is one major league player, three minor leaguers, multiple teens waiting to be called up and a handful of adults who spent a short time playing in the States before seeing their life-long dream disappear far too early.

I am still in the initial stages of getting to know everyone and spending endless hours sitting on porches and complaining about the heat, a volunteer rite of passage. Remembering names and faces, playing Uno with the local kids, daily basketball games with the local dudes and waiting for the electricity to come back on takes up most of my day at the moment. The transition from one site to the next was far easier than expected and I most certainly made the right choice in changing sites.

*Pictures forthcoming.

Moving Day

After two long months of being stranded in limbo between two places, I am moving to my new site on Monday. The past two months have easily been the most mentally and emotionally difficult of my service. Now I get to tackle the mental and emotional stress of integrating into a new community and starting all over again.

While my new site is very much different than my old site, it is just one hour down the road and not a huge adjustment geographically. I will still be in the same eastern region of the country and can even take the same bus to and from the capital. The way of life will take some getting used to though as I am moving from a pueblo with good infrastructure, 24-hour electricity, indoor plumbing and many ‘modern’ amenities to a batey with poor infrastructure, sporadic electricity, latrines and a complete lack of ‘modern’ amenities.

Bateys are communities found here in the Dominican Republic created years ago by sugar cane conglomerates. The bateys are situated in and around sugar cane fields and in the past were populated by migrant workers, brought primarily from Haiti, to harvest the sugar cane for extremely low wages. Over time, many migrant workers have stayed in the DR and began families and lives here. Bateys often have large Haitian populations and are among the poorest and most underdeveloped communities in the DR.

The physical layout of my community is strangely familiar. Situated in the eastern plains of this country and surrounded on all sides by sugar cane fields, the views from my community very much resembles the small towns situated in the cornfields of Iowa. The similarities end there.

I’m looking forward to meeting my new community and getting back to work after many idle summer months.

Agosto

August can be pretty brutal here in the DR. The heat is relentless. The sweat is endless. Energy and ambition are hard to come by. No es facil.

This past week marked my 1-year anniversary since arriving in the DR. It is impossible to believe that an entire year has passed. Sometimes it feels like just yesterday we arrived, other days it feels like years. A new group of trainees has arrived in country and we are slowly becoming the wily veterans on the island. Just a year ago, I was stumbling off a plane, wide-eyed and melting in the Caribbean heat. I’m still melting, but most everything else about life here has become much more simplified.

While I should feel like a veteran and be moving into a new stage of my service, lots of changes are happening in my volunteer life at the moment. After months of stagnation and agonizing debate over what is best for both myself and my service, it has been decided that a site change is in my best interest. I will be leaving my current urban site for a much different, much smaller site. The process leading up to this decision has easily been the most difficult aspect of my service to this point.

I will be moving in the weeks to come and in many ways will be starting my service anew. It is an exciting transition and I know it will be best for me moving forward. I’ll be sure to document the move, introduce my new site, explain what a ‘batey’ is and all that fun stuff over the course of the next month.

Camp Superman

Almost one week later, I feel as though I’m still recovering from the exhaustion that comes with spending 4 days with 30+ muchachos in the Dominican wilderness. Last week was the second annual Campamento Superman, where young boys aged 10-14 from all over the DR come to camp, play and learn how to be Supermen.

The trip from my site to the beautiful mountain site of Los Bueyes was long. Really long. Eight hours on 4 buses long. That might be tolerable to you or I, but to my two 11 year-olds who have rarely been outside of the barrio, we may as well have been traveling to Asia. Add to the trip that one of my boys struggles with carsickness and the travel days become even longer.

But we made it and the weekend was full of activities both physical and educational. The boys slept in tents and lived life in the great outdoors. We bathed and spent many hours splashing around in the crystal clear river. We played all sorts of camp games like tug-o-war, had slip-n-slide relays and went wild in alka seltzer tag, a twist on tag where each person is given an alka seltzer tablet to wear around their neck and a bag full of water to splash each person’s tablet. The last ones standing with an intact alka seltzer tablet win. We also put on a science fair, talked about gender and what it means to be ‘men’ and painted Superman plaques. The Dominican boy scouts were on hand to teach wilderness survival tactics and local guides led a nature hike. A Dominican group called Futbol para la Vida came to teach about HIV/AIDS awareness and let the kids and volunteers act out their World Cup aspirations on the soccer field. All in all it was 4 days full of activities for muchachos and volunteers alike.

I was concerned that the boys might get brave and venture out on their own from time to time, especially at night. But fortunately for us, most all of the boys had seen the Dominican horror movie Andrea that takes place in the same region of the country we were camping. Any thoughts the boys had of wandering alone in the wilderness were immediately erased by thoughts of monster lady Andrea lurking around. Any late night noises or bad nights sleep were attributed to Andrea. This fictional character helped keep the boys in check.

Each night we sat around a campfire and made s’mores. I think volunteers missing the simple pleasures of camping and the great outdoors in summertime back home enjoyed these moments even more than the boys.

My two muchachos were a handful to say the least. They were among the, shall we say, least well behaved campers (understatement). But they had a blast and in the end I’m glad it was them that participated. It will be months before their doñas will be able to pry the Campamento Superman t-shirts from their bodies.

Las Galeras

Photos of Las Galeras, Samaná, and an epic 4th of July weekend.

La Playita near our beachfront Villa

Beachfront Villa with Pool (on the right) = Greatest Idea Ever

Beach Football on Playa Rincón

Patriotism on Rincón

Paradise

4th

What a glorious 4th of July that was. A massive crew of volunteers and many visitors from the States overtook a beautiful beach town on the Dominican peninsula of Samaná. We rented a number of houses all over town and I found myself with 15 good friends in a beachfront villa with a pool. Not a bad way to celebrate our independence.

The beaches were amazing, the games of American football on the beach were intense, the company of so many PCVs was great and the stories unforgettable. A 4^th of July pageant, multiple renditions of the Star Spangled Banner and various other patriotic tunes, plus a surprise 30^th birthday party for a fellow volunteer only added to the fun.

Now it’s back to reality (sort of). This week is Camp Superman, a boys camp put on by volunteers that began last summer. A group of volunteers, myself included, will be taking 2 muchachos each from our communities to a beautiful mountain site where we will camp out and put on a 4-day summer camp. More on that (with photos) to come next week.

Costa Esmeralda

This past weekend, a group of us finally made the trip to Michés and Costa Esmeralda. Michés is a seaside town 90 minutes north of my city of El Seibo. The coast that begins in Michés and moves east along the Bay of Samaná and the Atlantic Ocean is known as the Emerald Coast and is one that is undeveloped and absurdly beautiful. People in and around my site have ranted and raved about this, the nearest beach to my site, since day one and I finally took the opportunity to see what all the hype is about.

The trip was almost scrapped at the last second due to the unrelenting rains that have dictated life here in the DR for the past few weeks. But some bravery and a propensity to roll the dice and trust that all things will fall together got us on the bus north. The bus ride from El Seibo to Michés is worth the trip itself. The climb up into the Cordillera Oriental passes through lush green mountains, by large waterfalls and to the northern coast. It was something straight out of Jurassic Park.

The beach at the city of Michés leaves much to be desired but a 3-hour walk along the coast will lead to Playa Esmeralda, a hidden gem and one of the DR’s most beautiful beaches. The long walk flies by as you cross rivers, climb drooping palm trees and stop periodically to cool off in the calm waters. In the 8 hours we were away, we never saw so much as one human being (almost). The rains stayed away. The beach was ours.

I would love to post photos that show just how beautiful the Emerald Coast is, but on our walk back to the city to catch the USA/Ghana match, we finally ran into 2 human beings, 20 minutes from our destination. These human beings decided to rob us. My camera with the day’s photos was taken by two ladrónes with broken bottles and bad attitudes. Michés has a reputation for being a bit caliente, so we knew not to bring much cash or valuables. Our cameras and small amounts of pesos were all they got away with. In the end, we walked away unscathed aside from some pretty serious sunburn, annoyed about being robbed by 2 tigueres with broken bottles.

While my first experience as the victim of a crime in the DR put a blight on the trip, the deserted beach, the impeccable weather and the 6 hour walk through Caribbean beauty was fantastic. Playa Esmeralda is, to the point, the most beautiful beach I’ve seen in the Dominican.

Nueba Yol

I have survived my first trip home to the States during my service and am now slowly readjusting to life back here in the DR. Being in America after a 10-month stay in the Caribbean was interesting. Not nearly as strange as I thought it might be but a change of pace to be sure.

Only after removing myself from the rat race that is American life was I truly able to see it for what it is. It makes me more thankful for the tranquility of life here in the DR even while knowing that when my time here is up, I will reenter said rat race without missing a step. Inevitable. Until that day, I have much time to cogerlo suave aquí.

America is a pretty wild and incredible place. A land of consumerism and hot water on demand. Of personal motor vehicles and freaky fast internet. Wild and incredible.

Now I’m back and it’s summer, aka Hurricane Season. The rain is even worse than it was when I left (which I didn’t believe possible). Most days seem to be spent indoors waiting for the rains to pass. Thank Dios for podcasts and books. School is out and daily schedules have changed completely. I feel like I am having to learn the daily life of my community all over again.

So I’m readjusting back to Dominican life and summer schedules, starting to use Spanish again after a 2-week hiatus and waiting for the first of many hurricanes predicted to pummel the Caribbean. It’s going to be an interesting summer.

Moho

The rainy season may have just begun, but it is already kicking my ass. The constant rain keeps everyone indoors and makes holding regularly scheduled classes and/or meetings a near impossibility. The constant rain has also turned my small apartment into a breeding ground for moho, or mold.

I don’t have a back door to help air pass through my place and have persiana windows that do not let in large amounts of sunlight. Those things coupled with the rains have made things good and damp in my apartment for the past few weeks. The dampness and humidity have led to lots of moho. I am fortunate that my apartment itself is made of bloc and not wood, but all of my furniture is wooden and currently black, blue and fuzzy. The mold on my dresser has spread to clothes and the mold on shelves has spread to books and papers. Lots of stuff had to be thrown out.

The past few days have been full of scrubbing everything with bleach and asking neighbors and businesses where one can buy a dehumidifier, which has led to blank stares and mistranslations. Apparently they are far from common down here. So for now it is just bleach baths for all of my belongings and hoping that my black fuzzy roommate has gone away for good. Vamos a ver.

Llegó la Lluvia

The rainy season has officially arrived. After watching much of April and May pass by in relative dryness, it has been raining for almost a solid week and with no end in sight. The showers have even been accompanied by the only thunder and/or lightning I have witnessed in this country. While I normally would be looking forward to the next thundershower and the lazy day that accompanies it, rain (and lots of it) completely alters the pace of everyday life here in the DR. Dirt roads become mud holes, rivers rise, tin roofs leak and daily life becomes more complicated. All those things together make for extremely slow days when people rarely leave the house and work and school become optional. I’m enjoying the down time and there are few things better than sitting on the porch with a book while the rain falls, but I really hope the rains leave with the month of May. That said, hurricane season opens in June and all predictions say that this season will be active, so the rain is likely here to stay.

As the rainy season begins, the election season has come to an end. ¡Por fin! Election campaigns have been in full swing since the fall and are possibly more obnoxious than U.S. elections, if you can believe that. Politicians and politics in general are equally ridiculous and corrupt here as they are in the States, but here the ridiculousness is far more overt. Political favors are done in the open rather than under the table.

The senatorial race in my province was especially bizarre in this cycle. I won’t bore you with the details, but at the end of the day an aging man with zero political experience won in a landslide over the incumbent. Only after it was determined that the aging man’s popular young son was constitutionally unable to run for office in this province did ‘Papá’ get named as his replacement. Like in America, politics is a ‘What have you done for me lately?’ game. And the ruling Purple Party has paved roads, erected buildings and paid straight cash in exchange for votes. With a résumé like that, there was never any doubt they would win and win big. 31 of 32 Senate seats big. Talk about a supermajority.

Politics have been at the forefront since I arrived in DR last August, but the months of being inundated with all things electoral are over. The trucks carrying banks of blaring speakers and caravans holding up traffic are gone. The television and radio ads have ceased. The political favors have been put on hold for another 2 years, when presidential elections set the events of political lunacy into motion once again.

So for now it’s less bulla and more lluvia. Lots and lots of lluvia.

Celebrando el Este

This past weekend I went to another weekend-long camp called Celebrando el Este (Celebrating the East). This youth conference/camp is designed to be a celebration of the eastern region the DR, the DR itself and the entire globe. Over the course of 3 days we touched on issues of diversity, geography, history, world cultures and more.

All volunteers living in the eastern region were invited to attend and bring 2 youth along to participate. Fortunately for my youth and I, the conference was held just down the road from my site at Rancho Don Fernandez, a ranch founded by former gold glove-winning shortstop Tony Fernandez, who is from nearby San Pedro de Marcoris.

The Dominican educational system is, well, shit. Therefore, topics of history, geography and all things having to do with life off of this island are rarely taught and seldom learned. For example, most Dominicans think New York City and the United States are the same thing. Almost no Dominicans can find the DR on a map and few have knowledge of other cultures and religions that exist in the world.

Along with our group of Peace Corps Volunteers of many cultural, racial and ethnic backgrounds sharing stories and culture, we invited volunteers from both the Korean and German equivalents of Peace Corps to share their cultures as well. The Korean volunteers did a tae kwon do lesson, which the kids ate up. We also presented info on 9 other countries around the world and give the kids passports and stamps for ‘visiting’ each of these countries. And we tie-dyed t-shirts, which was a first for our youth.

It was a fun weekend and provided valuable info to the kids. Discrimination and racism are serious problems here in the DR and any chance for youth to compartir with people of different backgrounds and educate themselves is a good thing.

Korean volunteer and youth practicing tae kwon do.

Tie-dying shirts.

With my 2 youth.

The youth with their certificates.

Patronales

Every town or city in the Dominican Republic has an annual celebration in honor of its Patron Saint called Patronales. Patronales here in El Seibo is the first week of May and is highlighted by the only bullfights left in the Dominican Republic. Yes. That’s right. Bullfights.

A group of 4 volunteers and I hitch hiked from another city in the east to my site on Sunday afternoon to see this for ourselves. Bullfights are one thing. Bullfights in the Dominican are a very scary prospect. The ring is erected for this week only and is located on the western edge of town. Right beside it is the shadiest looking carnival imaginable. The ferris wheel and handful of other rides were clearly first used in 1950’s America and made their way down here after being deemed unsafe for human usage circa 1975.

There are no bleachers or spectator seating set up around the bullring. Instead, there is some plywood placed upon ancient scaffolding that one can stand on for the price of 50pesos ($1.40). Once we secured our vantage point and enough rum to make us forget about our personal safety atop the scaffolding, we patiently waited for the toros to arrive. Random Dominicans entertained the crowd by riding horses, playing stickball and plugging their favorite politician (Elections are May 16^th).

About one hour after they were due (or right on time in the DR), the 5 bulls arrived and everyone got ready for the madness. This isn’t Spain and the fights are to be humane. The matadors evade the bull using a cape but do not kill it. That said, humane treatment of animals doesn’t really exist here.

The first bull charged its way into the ring and the 3 Dominican matadors in full costume (plus baseball cleats) got to work. The matadors walked away unscathed and the toro seemed to lose interest quickly, spending most of his time staring at the positively suicidal spectators lining the inside, yes inside, of the ring. In time, men on horseback entered the ring, roped the bull and drug it away.

This pattern continued more or less with each passing bull. The bulls did get the best of the matadors occasionally, taking them to the ground and giving the crowd something to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ about. The one glaring difference was that with each subsequent bull, more and more drunken Dominicans would enter the ring to taunt the toro and try to play matador. Using the shirt off their back or a political poster, they would provoke the bulls and risk their lives.

By the 5^th and final bull, at least 60 Dominicans charged a 2,000 pound animal, pulled its tail, jumped on its back and tackled it to the ground. Pure insanity. One swift kick of the leg or thrust with the horns could have produced serious injuries. In fact, one man died earlier in the week. That death did nothing to deter the locals from risking more death and/or bodily mutilation by playing with dangerous animals.

While this Dominican shitshow was disturbing, it was most definitely entertaining The makeshift ring, the creepy carnival, sketchy scaffolding, the drunk Dominicans. It was a unique cultural experience that only takes place here in my site. That said, I did not make a return trip later in the week. Once was more than enough. I can handle waiting 365 days until the nextPatronales to put myself through that again.

Escojo

Escojo Mi Vida is a Peace Corps initiative aimed at tackling the issues of HIV/AIDS and teenage pregnancy that exist here in the DR. Along with these topics, we volunteers teach youth about values, self-esteem, racism, drug and alcohol abuse, abstinence, birth control and other topics directed towards adolescents and young adults. In the past 3 weeks I have begun an Escojo group with twelve youth in my community aged 14-19.

This past weekend was the Escojo Regional Conference for those of us fortunate enough to live in the beautiful eastern region of the DR. The annual conference offers volunteers the opportunity to bring 2 youth to Santo Domingo and further their knowledge about Escojo. It also offers youth an opportunity to travel and see parts of the country they might otherwise never see. The Conference took place at a Catholic retreat center located right along the Caribbean Sea and was a great success.

It was great to see 40+ youth work together and become fast friends. It was also great to see a development program work the right way and move towards true sustainability. Many of the speakers at the Conference were Dominicans who have graduated from the Escojo program and have now become leaders themselves. It’s always great to see Dominicans taking the development into their own hands and not rely solely on the presence of a Volunteer.

We offered many charlas and activities focused on HIV/AIDS prevention and teenage pregnancy awareness. There existed a less than small amount of irony talking sex and giving condoms to teens in a Catholic center, but what are you going to do? Hay que protegerse. All of the youth had to take care of an egg in pairs for the weekend as if it were a baby. It was never to leave their sight and more than a few babies died along the way. We had a bonfire with smores and an overall great time.

My two youth, Robinson and Elizabeth, were really empowered by the Conference and are already planning community service activities and fundraisers for our group. I couldn’t be happier to see 17 year olds taking the initiative and already becoming the peer educators Escojo is designed for.

My jóvenes Robinson and Elizabeth

Roasting marshmallows at la fogata.

The group with their Certificates.

Peluquería

The year: 2004. The City: New Orleans.

It was 20 months before Katrina would devastate and Bourbon Street was buzzing in the days leading up to the Sugar Bowl. I was there for the game, though I had no dog in the fight. What I had was a ticket, a desire to see one of America’s most unique cities and a mop of hair on my head.

Being 19 at the time made for a somewhat anticlimactic stroll down Bourbon, the city’s center of tourism and debauchery. The Tiger and Sooner fans were out en masse and the infamous beads were flying. Maneuvering through the crowded streets while underage and unable to actively partake in the festivities was akin to walking through Caesar’s unable to lay down a bet. A royal frustration. A test of self-restraint.

I was not allowed to so much as enter most of the street’s establishments. One of the few that would have me was a barbershop. A proper barbershop. A throwback with the red, white & blue pole. The elderly barber seemed interesting enough and, no doubt, full of great stories. Most barbers are after all. So barbers on Bourbon must be master storytellers.

The worst haircut I have ever received soon followed. It was difficult to determine whether the old man suffered from Parkinson’s or was simply inebriated, but he was in rough shape. His hand moved in a perpetual ‘jabbing’ motion. Not a problem under normal circumstances, but a problem when scissors and my face are involved. In the approximately 15 minutes I spent in this quirky old man’s chair, I blocked out a doubtlessly fascinating story and managed only to perspire straight through my own clothes and the barber cape. Though it was unseasonably warm for January, it was not the heat but fear for my wellbeing that sent my sweat glands into overdrive. I walked away physically unscathed, but it was some time before I sat for a haircut again free of apprehension.

To this day this remains my most vivid memory of my time in pre-Katrina New Orleans. Not the National Championship game nor the French colonial architecture but some ridiculous story of a ridiculous, had-to-be-there, experience in a Bourbon Street barbershop.

The year: 2010. The city: El Seibo, DR.

My barber’s name is Denny. His peluqería is a one-room building just up the street from my host family’s home and not far from my apartment. Denny is a nice guy. His accent is thick. He talks fast, but he’s nice. Denny drinks. Denny cuts hair while he drinks. Denny is a nicer guy.

The peluqería is a fountain of chisme. Chisme is gossip. Old men come here to get haircuts and gossip. Not unlike in the States. If you speak elderly man Dominican Spanish, you could learn a lot of interesting things about your community here. Unfortunately, I am less than fluent in elderly man Dominican Spanish and learn nothing. I smile awkwardly and nod while waiting my turn in blissful ignorance of all the latest chisme.

In my first visit I explained to Denny how I like my hair cut. He heard nothing. The bachatta was blaring on the stereo and he was focusing hard on his Presidente. I can hardly blame the man for shoddy work. I am most likely his first non-Dominican customer and my hair type is not what he is accustomed to working with. Denny doesn’t use scissors. Just clippers. He has been known to spontaneously shave my beard without warning. He charges an extra 50pesos for these sneak attacks.

As my hairline continues to prematurely recede, I need haircuts at less and less frequent intervals. But each time I’m due, I approach the peluquería with trepidation, never quite sure what to expect. A genial Dominican who talks too fast? A tipsy guy prone to sneak attack shaves? After 5 months and 4 visits, I still don’t know. I’m not sure I ever will. Denny keeps me guessing. He keeps things interesting. He forces me to relive my day on Bourbon Street here in the DR. He’s a nice guy.

Flying Solo

I have been moved into my own apartment and living solo for about three weeks now. After 6 months living with 3 host families, it is a great feeling to have a space that is entirely your own. Most Dominicans find the desire to live by oneself as odd. It’s simply not the custom here. I am asked by all my new neighbors where my wife/girlfriend is as they crane their neck to get a glimpse inside the gringo’s casa. They peek in with wonder as if they are getting a glimpse into Area 51 and not into the roach-infested studio apartment of a twentysomething living on a volunteer’s salary.

It’s small and cheap and perfect for a volunteer living more or less out of a suitcase for the next 20 months. I pay the equivalent of about $70/month. Pretty insane to think a place this size would cost upwards of $1,000 in cities like New York or DC. I’ve got a great view from my porch of the mountains to the north and very tranquilo neighbors, which are definite pluses. Plus my host aunt lives right behind me, meaning anytime I feel like mooching I need only walk 10 feet to a hot meal or fresh squeezed juice.

Having full control of my diet and not devouring daily heaps of viveres has been life changing. I no longer spend my days suffering from or trying to avoid gastrointestinal issues. I can eat what I want, when I want. I can play my own music. I can read at all hours free of guilt. I am no longer inundated with the bulla that comes with living in a Dominican household. It’s nice. The beginning of yet another new chapter of service.

I have made a few observations since moving into my own Dominican casa.

1) Window screens work - My host family had screens on their windows and I had almost no problems with bugs for my entire stay there. Within days in my new place I was bitten to hell and came down with Dengue fever. Not the greatest week of my service.

2) Ants are the bane of my existence – They are everywhere. I was okay with them going after the sugar. I let it slide when they got into my cereal. But when they tainted my peanut butter they crossed the line. I quickly learned to stash all food not sealed in plastic into my dorm-sized mini-fridge. Ants own me.

3) Dominicans are loud – This I’ve known since Week 1 in country. But living alone has reinforced just how much yelling, loud radios/TVs and general bulla there is in the typical household. There is still bulla, it is the Dominican after all, but it is now taking place exclusively outdoors.

4) “Water sucks, it really, really sucks” – I was spoiled rotten in my host family’s house in that we had a tanaco (a water tank that stored water daily and pretty much ensured that we would have water 24 hours/day). Now I live like a more average Dominican in that I receive water to my place twice daily for a total of about 4-6 hours/day. It’s a whole new ballgame organizing meals, showers and bowel movements around the time the water comes. If it comes at all.

5) Elvis had the right idea - Peanut butter and banana sandwiches are as good as it gets. They have replaced rice as the primary ingredient in my diet. I haven't gone so far as to grill them (Elvis-style) but will give it a go in due time. I could eat one each day for the next 20 months and not even begin to tire of them.

I got plenty more observations but don’t wanna fill this up with complaints. I’m ecstatic to be living solo and no amount of ant armies or leaky pipes can bring me down.

La Vista

The Grita

Here in Peace Corps DR we are fortunate to have ourselves a wonderful little Volunteer-run publication called the Gringo Grita. The Grita is made by volunteers, for volunteers and is an outlet for we vols to share our success stories, lack of success stories, poetry, campo recipes, witticisms and more. Each of the biannual issues features profiles of volunteers closing their service in which they share their experiences and words of wisdom. I can’t imagine that many other Peace Corps countries have such similar publications so it is something to aprovechar. Yet another perk of serving in the DR.

I recently decided to put some of my infinitesimal free time towards writing something to submit to the Grita. I have no idea whether what I wrote will be accepted and printed so I figured I could at least share it here.

Keep in mind that this is written for PC volunteers who are oftentimes out of the loop as to cultural and/or political happenings back in the States. It is also written towards an audience of Spanglish speakers, which explains the occasional italicized insertions of Spanish.

Teabagging is All the Rage

Upon applying to the Peace Corps, I had developed a romanticized vision of living high atop a mountain in the Andes. Or maybe in a mud hut on an African savannah. Perhaps in a Mongolian yurt. Asia’s tepee.

Wherever I ended up, I fully expected to forego all forms modern technology. Spend two years of my life unconnected. Offline. Completely off the proverbial grid. This expectation left me feeling equal parts liberated and terrified. Giving up the rat race, turning off the cell phone, shutting down the computer and leaving the 24 Hour News Cycle behind sounded like an incredibly cleansing experience. That being true, I have friends that gave up Facebook for Lent and suffered withdrawals over the course of just 40 days. Could I really make it 2 years?

As we all know, being placed in the DR doesn’t leave us wholly isolated from technology unless we put ourselves in self-imposed exile from all modern devices. We are given cell phones. Internet exists for many. While we live in the developing world, we can choose at our own discretion to cross that invisible threshold, log onto the internet and step, ever so briefly, into the developed world.

While I had that romanticized view of life offline, I have no complaints about occasional access to the glorious interweb. It suits me, as I am somewhat of a news junkie. I like knowing what Obama is doing. What congress is not. Where in the world Osama Bin Laden isn’t. Which movies I missed. Who is leading the medal count at the Winter Olympics and all else going down in the Great Wide World. But while sometimes it is nice to be informed, other times the information is just too much and makes me further embrace the relative simplicity of our lives aquí and being away from the insanity allá.

Case in point: Did you know the biggest current political fad in the States is Teabagging? You heard me. And this is not just happening in frat houses across the country but everywhere. In Red states and in Blue. White people all over the U.S. have gone crazy for Teabagging and have adopted Sarah Palin as their leader.

I am being serious in that there exist an ever-growing number of politically motivated groups referring to themselves as Tea Party Patriots. These Patriots have spawned an entire coalition of offshoot groups known as the Friends for Liberty. They are upset with the current political and economic situation in the US of A and are dead set on reclaiming their freedom by means of public rallies, the blogosphere and the airwaves of Fox News as Glenn Beck lends his voice and infinite wisdom to the cause when not too busy crying on national television. Some of them have even foreseen the possibility of “another civil war” on the horizon.

The name is derived from the “No Taxation Sin Representation” colonists of 1773 and their raucous Tea Party of the Century in Boston. Unfortunately, the modern day Teabaggers did not hire a youth consultant before adopting a name now synonymous with clandestinely inserting one’s testicles into an unsuspecting mouth. One simple Google search and the angry activist Teabaggers would have been led directly to Urban Dictionary and quickly learned why Americans under the age of 30 can’t help but snicker at their ill-monikered “movement”.

In all seriousness, and, scrotal humor aside for the moment, the Tea Party movement seems to be gaining traction. It was a driving force in the late Ted Kennedy’s Senate seat going to a relatively unknown former-nude-male-model-of-a-Republican and causing the Democrats to lose a filibuster-proof supermajority in the Senate and, along with that, any realistic chance of passing a meaningful piece of legislation relating to universal health care.

What once seemed to be a movement of bat-shit crazy right-wingers wielding firearms at Obama rallies is now catching on with independents and libertarians from coast to coast. The bat-shit crazies are still there and answering to the gruesome twosome of Beck and Palin but an ever-growing number of angry Americans are latching on in order to “reclaim America via the Patriot movement”. What began as some loonies questioning Obama’s citizenship and/or religious affiliation has spawned into something bigger, creepier and with potential political power in an election year.

And so goes my current relationship with technology and the internet. Sometimes I read about Olympic glory, discover new music and Skype good friends. Life is swell. And other times I read about rampant adult teabagging, Tiger Woods’ infidelities and other inanities driving the ever-evolving cultural zeitgeist. ¡QVMV! Sometimes I am upset and utterly perturbed by what it is I am reading and desire a return to my blissful island ignorance. I vow to resist, to lock my laptop away, to use restraint when passing the barrio internet café. But without fail, I inevitably crawl back, at 30 pesos/hour, like a junkie in need of a fix.

Could I have made it 2 years offline? I’ll never know. The Andean mountaintop, African savannah and Asian tepee are but distant, romantic daydreams. Hispaniola is home and technology exists in varying forms. I will never be sure if I could have stuck out two years without the wonderful World Wide Web. But I can be sure that I could have gone my entire life without knowing that grandparents across America are Teabagging en masse.

Carnaval

February 27th serves double duty in the DR. It is simultaneously Independence Day and Carnaval. There are numerous Carnaval celebrations across the country and my city of El Seibo is no exception.

I didn't know what to expect of the parade and celebration here in El Seibo. The celebrations in other cities, most notably La Vega, are well known and attract visitors from all over the DR and across the globe (I'm already looking forward to visiting La Vega next February 27th). I hadn't been feeling too well on Saturday and had little desire to sit through a noisy parade. I decided that if someone in my host family invited me to go with them, then and only then would I go. Otherwise I was going to chill in bed watching Curb Your Enthusiasm all day. I quickly learned that an invitation from the host family wouldn't come. You see, my host family is Cristiano. Here in the DR being Christian is the equivalent to being evangelical in the U.S. And being Christian in the DR apparently means you are not allowed to have any fun. Anywhere there is dancing or non-Christian music taking place, my host family is not allowed lest they be punished by God. Although, they found a Holy loophole and watched it all on TV.

With my family glued to the TV, I decided fever be damned and made a trip to the city center to see what all the fuss was about. The fuss was noisy. The parade was lined up and down the city's one main thoroughfare. Floats, dance troupes and people in costumes filled the streets. The reoccurring theme was el toro. The eastern DR is known for its bulls. The baseball team in La Romana has the toro as a mascot and each May at the Patronales festival here in El Seibo there are bullfights. Another reoccurring theme was la bulla. The DR is a very noisy country. If it's not the music blaring out of the colmados it is the million motorcycles that fill the streets. During Carnaval it seems to be all of those things at once. I didn't spend much time partaking in the festivities. Just enough to snap a few pics and say that I 'experienced' Carnaval in DR.

Febrero

The month of February has almost past and it has been quite some time since I updated this bad boy. I'll try to give a quick rundown of the month that was before moving into the hectic month to be.

February began with a 3-month In-Service Training. It was here at a retreat center outside of Santo Domingo that the 13 remaining Youth Volunteers from my group congregated to share the results of our Community Diagnostics and look forward to the future. Our Dominican project partners were able to tag-along for the first two days of the training and aid us in our presentations. After our project partners departed, we volunteers had mountains of information relating to grant writing, potential projects, safety & security and more piled on us. It was a week jam-packed of info and activities and lots of fun too thanks to a pool, basketball court, bunk beds, Catch Phrase and good company. Just being surrounded by fellow Americans, the English language and good food for one week is more than enough to recharge one's batteries before heading back to our sites.

But the week improved as we joined a number of other Volunteers in the Capital for some R&R and the Super Bowl. We had a very un-Peace Corps experience as we watched the game in the Hard Rock Cafe in the heart of the Colonial Zone. Plasma TVs, Budweiser and wings are not things I anticipated seeing during my service, but for about 4 hours that was our (sur)reality. Great fun. The Saints won. And shenanigans were carried out in Parque Colón and in front of the oldest cathedral in the Western World. All in all a fantastic week.

Then it was back to our sites and time to get going on the painstakingly slow process that has been getting projects underway. I'm starting off with some English teaching and a Volleyball team before moving onto bigger things but even classes and sports have seen difficulties in their early stages. This is not abnormal but certainly frustrating. All in time.

My biggest and best (if I do say so myself) news of the month is that I finally, at long last, found myself an apartment (Pictures to come). It is a bit undersized and a tad overpriced but ideal for anyone living more or less out of a suitcase. I have spent much of this past week buying necessities like a bed and stove and hope to fully move myself in by March 1st. I am beyond elated about finally living on my own. While I genuinely like my host family, after four months even my real family can get on my nerves. Four months with one family and 6+ months with multiple host families has taken its toll. The mannerisms that were once entertaining, quirky or simply 'Dominican' are now becoming obnoxious and occasionally driving me towards the brink of my sanity. Por eso, the move is highly anticipated.

I have found the moving process can be difficult for a person without any form of transportation. Lugging things around on foot can get tiresome and paying for moto rides can get costly. But the ends most definitely justify the means and I am days from host family freedom. I'm gonna do myself a Tom Cruise-style Risky Business dance the moment the door closes.

So 3-month training, moving out and project stagnation are my February themes. Plus I hit the Quarter Century mark in age. The verdict is still out on whether this a good thing or a bad thing.

March brings a whole slew of activities both Peace Corps-related and non. I will be hoping to see my projects come into fruition while adding a few others and spending a weekend in the Capital for official PC business. On top of that, a group of 25 new Peace Corps Trainees will be arriving in my site for their month of Community-Based Training. The IT Trainees frequently carry out their training here in my city, my barrio and one lucky future volunteer will even be staying with my host family. Should be a nice jolt of energy to see 25 new bewildered gringos strolling around. I'm looking forward to meeting the new folks and having some fun. Rumor has it they make frequent trips to the playa, so I may have to hop on that bus.

On top of that March is the month of visitors. Many Volunteers have friends and family dropping by this month and I am no exception. My family will be kicking it in Punta Cana for a week, which should be terrific. Punta Cana is supposed to be the top tourist beach in the country and one of the tops in the Caribbean so I am excited to experience it. Plus, real food and unlimited drinks make me happy.

Fin.

Ill

Sick. Again. For those of you keeping track at home, my ratio of healthy days to sick days in my site is about 1:1. ¡Que Vaina Mi Vida!

I am fortunate to have access to a television during this time I am living with a host family. Especially on sick days. As soon as I move out on my own, my TV in the DR days are numbered. For now I’m able to keep up with some sports (damn Vikings) and see the occasional movie in English. Also, there are 4 American TV dramas televised here that are not dubbed. Alas, only 2 of those 4 are not of the Law & Order franchise. But that does leave me with 2 or 3 hours a week of House. I had never seen the show back home but I am so hungry for English language programming that I would probably watch Fox News if we had it. For those of you who are unfamiliar, Dr. House is a sometimes psychotic, often grumpy, always brilliant diagnostician who, in true TV fashion, solves the strange medical mystery without fail while fighting his own demons. It’s actually a really good show.

Why am I talking about House?

As I lay in bed Tuesday night with a fever and what can only be described as pus balls growing in the back of my throat, I couldn’t help but try my hand at self-diagnosis, Dr. House-style. Is it just another Dominican mystery virus? Dengue Fever? My eyes do hurt. What about strep? I’ve had that before. Oh Shit!! It could be throat cancer! I don’t even smoke!

This went on for some time before a Peace Corps doctor was called to curb my self-diagnosed delusions (It was strep). Luckily, even while living in a developing country, I have some of the best medical care available. Thank You United States Government! If only every American could have health care provided by the government. A quick trip to the capital for some antibiotics and all was well. My Doña thought I might not need to make the trip to the capital. She was going to be more rational and pray the demons out of me. She prayed in her Dominican evangelical way, which is pretty much just yelling and gyrating while occasionally saying Jesus’ name. More praying at me than praying for me. I was a little put off by the whole episode but let her do her thing. While I appreciated her effort, I was pretty certain at that moment it was penicillin I needed, not Jesus.

I almost had a second bout of sickness en route to the capital when a child asleep in his mother’s lap across the aisle from me on the guagua threw up all over himself, his mother and everyone in his general vicinity. I was spared a vomit shower by the kind Dominican soldier sitting next to me. For all I know he was on his way to the border to help with the Haiti situation; and now he would smell like vomit for the 7 hour trip there. ¡Que Vaina Su Vida! As the sight or smell of vomit is almost guaranteed to make me vomit, I sat with my head craned out the window, like a canine with a gag reflex, until the woman and her child got off the bus.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the entire episode. A child projectile vomits on public transportation and passengers are neither alarmed nor upset about being vomited upon. It’s just a seemingly normal part of everyday life. Shit happens, right? In 5 months I am already almost completely desensitized to these crazy daily occurrences. That's acclimation, Homes!

Fish Out of Water

"There are no foreign lands. It is only the traveler that is foreign.” – Robert Louis Stevenson

After a slowdown during the holiday season, life is starting to return to its normal pace (which is still pretty damn slow). Diagnostic work is getting thrown together and prepped for our upcoming 3-month training. Hard to believe we’ve been in our sites for 3 months already. And now 5 months in country?! ¡Diablo!

Aside from the pace of daily life, the pace in which I am devouring books has returned to form. Books have been a constant in my early life in my site. They offer a source of entertainment to fill the void in life sans internet or television. They give me an opportunity to think in English for but a few hours a day and give my brain a break from the cerebral overexertion that comes with living life in a second language. They provide a source of further escapism from the already escapist lifestyle I live down here.

I recently read a wonderful book called Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri that consists of a number of short stories about Indian immigrants living and adjusting to life in America. I’ve found myself reading a lot about the immigrant experience lately. I suppose it’s because in some ways I am living a quasi-immigrant experience myself. I have multiple ‘fish out of water’ experiences in each passing day. I find myself for the first time in my life a member of the minority. In fact, aside from Haitians, I am the only minority and certainly the only gringo in my community. It is a novel and alien feeling to see things from this end of the spectrum.

My life is presently lived in somewhat of a fishbowl. Eventually the novelty of having a local gringo will surely wear off. In time the members of my community will learn how truly uninteresting I am. Sooner or later this world will feel natural while the States become foreign. For now I relish the feeling of being somewhere unfamiliar. Of having an experience comparable to that of Ms. Lahiri’s characters but rather than moving to America, I’ve moved from it. Of feeling and taking in newness everyday. Of learning a new language and way of life. Of being in the classroom of the world.

El Terremoto

So there was an earthquake this week. You might have heard about it. I think it was on TV. I actually did not even feel the quake out here in the east, which is the opposite side of the island, but it could be felt on most of Hispaniola and the destruction in Haiti is obviously catastrophic. As if the residents of the poorest country on this hemisphere didn’t suffer enough in their daily lives.

I would have gone the better part of a day without even knowing there was a natural disaster just hundreds of miles away were it not for my Doña calling everyone she knows to warn them about the impending tsunami. After quickly confirming I was in the DR and not Southeast Asia, I deduced something had occurred in Haiti. There was no tsunami and life here on 2/3 of Hispaniola goes on in relative normalcy while life on 1/3 of the island falls into complete and utter disarray.

Unfortunately while being so close to the damage there is little one can do from here. Volunteers are not allowed in Haiti and I’m not sure what could be accomplished in the wreckage even if we could go. There are potential opportunities in our communities to collect supplies and non-perishable food items to send across the border but asking the poor to donate to the poorer doesn’t seem to benefit anyone too greatly at the end of the day.

It is obviously a horrible situation. Most all situations in Haiti can be labeled as such. My only hope is that this disaster leads to sustained relief provided by the international community, especially the U.S. It would be very easy for us to drop a billion dollars and three tons of energy bars in Port-au-Prince, pat ourselves on the back and wash our hands clean of the situation. But the problems in Haiti stretch far beyond this natural disaster and we should offer sustained aid and support to a neighboring country. That a place like Haiti can even exist less the 800 miles from the richest, most powerful country on earth boggles the mind.

Whatever anyone back home can do for the Haitian people, do it. My experiences with Haitians since arriving to the island of Hispaniola 5 months ago have been overwhelmingly positive. They are a people that work very hard for very little. Send money; you don’t need your nails done this week. Send old clothes; you know you’ll never wear that ugly shirt again anyway. Educate yourself on Haiti and the difficulties these people face. Read Mountains Beyond Mountains and learn about the efforts of Dr. Paul Farmer. Do something besides gawking at the horrific images on the television only to change the channel. Act.