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!