Small wins

I have officially been on Jamrock for over 7 months now!  I really wanted to blog more often, but have been super busy with school starting, being deathly ill, and then the first of three week long Peace Corps conferences.  I hate when it’s been so long since my last blog that I just don’t know where to begin. 

I suppose, first, I should say that I am slowly adjusting to this life being my reality and Jamaica my home.  Although this has not come without much trial and tribulation, I seem to have gotten through the worst of it (fingers crossed).  The week between Emancipation Day (August 1^st) and Independence Day (August 6^th) when everyone on this island was swelling with national pride, I was silently freaking out.  As hundreds of Jamaicans were singing Jamaica land of my birth I couldn’t help but feel out of place as the only (and I mean ONLY) whitey within miles.  I felt pretty intensely alone until I started befriending some locals.  Helpful as they were with feeling integrated, my new found friends also meant that I did not devote myself fully to preparing for the coming school year and conference.

School started on September 3^rd, and I spent the first week just evaluating the weakest students’ reading levels.  At first, I was set to work with 36 (out of the 80ish total in my school) boys and girls between grades one and five in groups of one to six students.   I soon realized that I would have to be superwoman to give individual attention to nearly half the school and actually have them learn anything at all in my time here, so we cut it down to 22.  I have some students who are in 3^rd grade and are challenged to make the sounds of the alphabet, so they really do need a lot of attention to catch up.  It was, however, reassuring to evaluate many of the students reading levels because while some of them are reading up to three grade levels below where they should be others are reading three grade levels above.  Needless to say, I have had the opportunity to utilize all my new found patience or, as they say in Patwa, tek time. 

So, as it turns out, I can totally do this job.  I have to admit that I was a bit skeptical at first, not being a trained teacher at all let alone certified to teach children to read and write.  I have had a wealth of information passed on to me from current and past volunteers, staff, and professional resources that has made all the difference.  Just the other day, this second grade girl in one of my groups looked up at me in the middle of a session and said, “Miss, you’re a good person.”  I was so full of pride and happiness at this not only because it was a kind thing for her to say, but also because she used perfect English.  It sounds insignificant, but that is the kind of “small win” (as Peace Corps would say) that gets me through the tough days.

After getting my footing at school, I most unfortunately became very, very ill.   For about 10 days I felt I was potentially on my death bed.  Long story short, I was back and forth to the doctor three times in a week.  I should mention that this doctor is a half hour bush taxi ride and 10 minute walk up a very steep hill away.  Maybe that doesn’t sound so bad, but just try to picture cramming 6-8 adults in a regular sized sedan on a sweltering day when you feel you may have to vomit at any moment and then top it off with a vertical jaunt up the road.  I was really glad that the first time I had to do this I had a fever over 100°F so the heat was almost comforting.  Anyways, the very competent (insert sarcastic tone here) doctor told me I had a flu at first and gave me three prescriptions for just that.  Five days later when I was still unable to eat or even move without assistance, a community member carried me back and he said (SURPRISE) I was dehydrated.  IV fluids and three more prescriptions were the recommendation that day.  Three days after that, I finally felt a little better, but then my arms and legs had turned purple from a mysterious rash.  It could have been one of the six medications I was on, but isn’t it odd that an allergic reaction did not spread all over my body?  Nope.  Must be allergies.  Three more prescriptions still.  I stopped taking them at this point.  I slowly got better with rest and fluids, and began to hear murmurs in the community of dengue fever going around the island.  Look it up.  I literally had every symptom, and if I was elderly or immune system compromised I could have died.  When I tried to get the test results of my blood work just to solve the mystery, naturally it was impossible to get the results and the doctor and the phone in the same room long enough to call me.  The world will never know for sure, but I am seriously thinking of having a t-shirt made that reads: I survived dengue fever and all I got was this stupid shirt. 

During the time that I was ill, I discovered the true depth of the loss of my privacy and independence.  This arose because I literally had several community members so concerned for me that they were bringing over food for days.  At first, I was incredibly touched and appreciative, but all that gratitude was washed away when I realized it was only because they thought I had fallen ill due to my inability to construct a well balanced meal and clean my home properly.  Not only is everything I do seen, heard, and scrutinized, but it is then announced publicly when concerned parties are present to discuss how to remedy the conundrums of the white girl.  To my community, I am basically the feral puppy.  They fail to see where the offense is in treating me this way, so I mostly put on a smile and say thanks, but no thanks.

Similarly when I venture out of my tiny village, I am sometimes mistaken for a toddler or a mentally handicapped person.  By this I mean that I have had simple things explained to me as if I were not the educated twenty something woman of the world that I so clearly am.  I believe this is mostly because people think whatever they are describing is unique to Jamaica.  While these descriptions can sometimes be helpful, I do not however need to have what an almond is explained to me (just for example).  I mean, he really went on about how it is like a peanut but different, very good for you, and full of protein.  Wow.  The almond guy came at the end of a very long day full of very aggressive Jamaicans saying nonsense things to me, and he was the straw that broke the camel’s back.  Actually the comment that tipped me over the edge was when he generously proclaimed that he would not be charging me for his tour guide services which I (apparently erroneously) viewed as him creepily following me around the market.  For my first real freak out in public I guess it could have been worse, but I was left feeling pretty badly when I told him to back off (very loudly) and then I realized he was a madman and he continued to follow me around the market shouting about how he hates all white people.  Good job.  I’m supposed to be creating a better understanding of Americans and this is what I get when I finally lose my cool to the millionth pest.  Anyhow, the good news is he did not get aggressive towards me.  This is something I really should be more cognizant of before opening my mouth in an unkind way in this country. 

There have been more violent crimes than usual committed against women, gays, and even teachers in the JA news lately.  If you haven’t heard about it, I will not encourage you to investigate, but just know that I live in a very small and very safe community where the last crime committed was a theft about 5 years ago and is still mentioned weekly to remind the children and other community members of the importance of safety.  Also regarding the recent hurricane, never fear Peace Corps is here.  They evacuate us in the event of any real danger and their threshold for that is certainly much lower than mine is.  In addition, we PCV’s have a fantastic Safety and Security Coordinator (SSC) to advise us in the safety department.  She was, in fact, voted the best Peace Corps SSC in the world. 

On that note, I nearly forgot to say a bit about our Peace Corps Early Service Conference.  Well, it was a combination Project Design and Management workshop as well as ESC.  The PDM part was not a lot of new information for the PCV’s but provided good reminders of stuff I already know and ESC was a great time to reconnect with my fellow volunteers, not to mention an awesome opportunity for a member of my community.  It was a weeklong seminar at an all inclusive resort (oh, woe is me) in which we had to plan a project (outside my day to day job of making the world more literate) with a Jamaican project partner that we want to implement in our community.  This project is based on the information in that report for Peace Corps I did so much belly aching about in September.  I had to do a great deal of research on the current position of my community, its history, and the wants and needs of its members as well as the feasibility of said project given the resources available.  With that foundation, my community partner and I began planning to complete construction on a library and resource center that the last PCV in my village started and could not complete due to funding falling through some years ago.  The idea is to solve several community issues in one project.  In one fell swoop we will create a library, a computer lab, a place for the youth to gather and more space for the primary school as well as have a facility to initiate adult education classes and thereby create better job opportunities by giving people new skills.  The scope of this project is huge and just thinking about it kind of scares me, but I gained the support of the community at the last PTA meeting and will be starting the planning and grant writing process very soon.  Hopefully I will have more to report in my next blog, but at this point I will consider myself lucky if I see this project to completion before May 2014 when I leave.  Although, at this rate I may be half way through the project by the next time I blog.  Just kidding!  I will make a serious effort to be at least monthly with my updates.  Thanks for hanging in there for such a long post!

Growth

This is a broad generalization, but I’m going to say it anyhow: Jamaicans are eternally 25.  After extensive research* I have concluded that people in this country mature (physically and emotionally) very quickly and thereafter remain suspended in a state of agelessness created in no small part by good skin.  Therefore, one can be 11 or 50 and appear to be about 25.  Seemingly, before 11 they do look a bit like children and after 50 they sometimes start to age ever so slightly, but one still can’t be sure.  

*Extensive research refers to nearly 4 months of mental documentation of all of the cases I’ve encountered that support my theory (the technical term for this kind of research is “very scientific”).

This revelation doesn’t help me much in knowing how to address people (other than to err on the side of caution in all cases), but it did shed some light on the day when the students were trying to guess my age.  They started at 40 and went up.  I considered being offended for a moment, and then I remembered that they grew up in a place where accurately guessing one’s age is about as likely as getting goat cheese in a country that has goats roaming through the streets at all times P.S. I know that sounds really likely, but there is very little goat cheese in this country despite the surly bastards’ ever constant presence.  P.P.S. The goat cheese that is sold here is imported. 

Speaking of the livestock, I recently bared witness to a hog being slaughtered, and it was kind of amazing.  I’ll spare you the gruesome details since most people whom I forced to listen to the entire tale grimaced with disgust throughout, but feel free to call me if you want the blow by blow.  The part I can’t leave out is when di ag di die (the hog died).  My eyes welled up with tears when he opened his eyes for the last time, twisted his head back in an unnatural position and finally let out his final breath.  But then I considered the fact that whether I was watching or not, he would die and his body would be used in total as the food chain dictates.  He was transformed from this smelly, hairy animal covered in red dirt to a pink baby-like creature in a matter of minutes. 

It took me back to when my best friend and I raised chickens in a dog-loo in our back yard in Los Alamos, New Mexico.  Well, to be honest, she did all the work-even when slaughtering day came and only 1 of the 6 animals remained.  Although they had been reared in the best way a chicken could hope to live, the strongest of lot had killed off the others simply because he was a jerk (haha- that puts a new spin on jerk chicken).  We were vegan at the time, and the only way we could fathom eating an animal was if we could be assured it wasn’t pumped full of hormones and mistreated its whole life.  The irony is that they still weren’t happy animals and in the end the meat tasted like ash in my mouth.  I’ve since changed my mind about what is ok to eat, and the hog helped remind me of what I stand for.  He lived his life in my back yard with his family until it was time for him to become part of something bigger: me.  The only thing that made me sad about the chickens was that I saw the horrible little lives they led and watched the violent end unfold before my eyes.  I like to think I’m more experienced and wiser now, but my instinct still told me to cry for the hog.  I guess deep down there is still a bleeding heart vegan in me. 

On that note, I’d like to say a few words about ants.  I used to think that ants were not my friends, and I would spend much effort and money to keep them out of my house.  Now, I routinely rinse them off my clean dishes, watch them perform amazing feats on a daily basis, and thank them for cleaning up the dead bug bodies in my house.  Here are a few photos to further explain what I mean:

The ants carrying a dead cockroach up the wall in my living room...

...and out the window.

Obviously, I have a little too much time on my hands.  The summer is almost over, and I think the main lesson I’ve learned from all this idle time is that it’s not good for me.  Although I have reports to do for Peace Corps and a classroom to set up, all this remains barely touched.  I am really looking forward to the structured schedule of the school year, which starts September 3^rd.  I did, however, have a chance to make the schedule of which students I will see when with the help of my principal and other teachers—which was a huge undertaking.  Other than that, I have spent most of my time with my only real Jamaican friend who happens to be an 11 year old student at my school.  I would say this is kind of sad, but to be honest she is totally awesome.  She reminds me everyday to be more appreciative of what I have.  That’s one thing I have noticed about Jamaicans in general: they accept their lot in life with stride instead of complaining about it.  In fact, more often than not they see the benefits of whatever situation life has to throw at them.  What a breath of fresh air! 

 Me and my 11 year old bestie

Speaking of fresh air, there has been a lot of it around here with the threat of tropical storms looming near our little island.  Even in the heart of summer, the weather has been quite breezy and cool here in the hills of St. Ann.  Luckily, Ernesto moved right past us and brought only rains that jeopardized the island wide 50^th year Independence Day celebrations on August 6th.  We came out of it unscathed, and below is a shot of many of my towns people posing for a very black, green, and gold splashed picture to commemorate the milestone. 

As you can see, try as I might to fit in here with language, mannerisms, and a righteous tan I’m just not quite there yet.  I’m working on it thoughJ. Fifty years of independence coupled with all the Olympic medals Jamaica has earned in the last week have made for a nation full of pride.  I even found myself rooting for my new home team instead of America.  I’m calling that growth. 

I’ll end this discourse there, but not without yet another list. 

Funny T-shirts I’ve seen:

         ·            “I make milk, what’s your superpower?”- So true. Men do not have superpowers.

         ·            “Don’t bro me if you don’t know me”- It’s catchy, but I have never heard anyone say bro in Jamaica. Ever.

         ·            “All the good ones are gay”- The shirt wouldn’t say married, of course, because most people don’t care if you’re married.  But it’s funny to me considering this is the most homophobic nation in the world (I’m pretty sure that’s still true, but if you have reliable internet and want to check me on it, do let me know the verdict).

It's gonna be a great 2 years

Here are some questions and statements Jamaicans have said to me that are actually all English words, but definitely required some further explanation:

“Miss, yuh a wear test glass?” = “Miss, do you wear glasses?”

“You can share your lunch?” = “Can you serve yourself?” (p.s. my response to this question was, “Umm, with whom?”)

“Miss, how many parts of your ear are bore?” = “Miss, how many times are your ears pierced?”

“Make me left the car, carry come.”= “Allow me to exit the car and I will bring it back to you.”

“Miss Young is soooo fat.” = Ok, this one means exactly what it sounds like, except that it’s not meant in a derogatory way.   It is meant in a way that the person saying it to me wishes she was as fat as me.  Sometimes I can’t believe this is true, but take it from me: in this country I am the ideal body type.  Here, the whiter and fatter you are the better.  It just blows my mind because in America the tanner and thinner you are the better.  I seriously have women stop me on the street to tell me they “like my shape”.  Wow.  I effing love this place.

I recently had a chance to go to a club in Ocho Rios (affectionately coined Ochi by the locals).  Ochi is a resort town, but not the most popular one by far.  I was there on a Wednesday night with my PCV friend Claire, and at this particular club that means J$1000 (about US$12) buys you all you can drink.  For that reason, this is the night the Jamaicans come out to dance, or rather dagger.  Daggering is a very sexual way of dancing which sometimes involves people jumping from the top of a 20 foot sound system onto their partner.  I suggest searching “daggering” on youtube to fully understand it.  I did not get altogether daggered thankfully, but I did learn that if you simply stand in a spot where your backside is exposed someone (or several someones) will just dance up on you.  This cannot be avoided, save leaning up against a pillar or the bar.  It will take approximately 30 seconds for you to get a Jamaican “tail”, as I call it, if you try to dance with female friends alone.  Overall it ended up being a really fun night and the best part was lying in Claire’s driveway looking at all the stars that I could never see in NYC or even Santa Cruz, for that matter.  The whole sky seemed to glow.

Today was one of those days when I loved everything Jamaican.  The kids learned the things I taught them with record breaking speed, I didn’t leave school with a headache from their screaming, plants looked more lush than usual, I got a good sized seat in the taxi, hell -even the smelly man sitting next to me couldn’t get me down.  I love this kind of day, and lawd gawd I need them sometimes after all the uncomfortable unfamiliarity’s of Jamrock. 

School has just finished for the year, and I’m looking forward to a more relaxed summer comprised of short (9-noon) summer school days and some free time to set up my classroom.    Even after being at my site less than 2 months I know I’m really going to miss the school leavers.  I made it my aim to get to know the kids as fast as I could, and I have successfully learned at least 2/3 of the students names at my school as well as discovered a great deal about them and, in turn, Jamaican culture.  I have a feeling it’s gonna be a great 2 years.  I’ll sign off with some pics of the school leaving ceremony.

The choir

The school leavers

The Board

The cultural item (a dance)

I do not poop in a hole

Sorry for the long delay since my last post.  The past few weeks have been busy to say the least, and I am still without internet at my house.  After we finished our sector training in Ewarton we still had yet to have site orientation (where we are actually spending the next two years) as well as about one week more in Kingston finalizing our training and prepping for swearing in.  That last week I mentioned was mostly spent poolside at our hotel with a beer or glass of rum and ting in our hands.  It was a good week.

I have now been at my permanent work site since swearing in as an official Peace Corps Volunteer on May 18^th.  I’m proud to say that I seriously ended up with the sweetest site of the lot of us, if you ask me.  I have my own little house in a compound with another family less than 5 feet away.  The yard is beautiful, the school is a stone’s throw away, and the school staff and parents are super caring and involved in community happenings.  While I didn’t care so much about the actual community/location that I would end up in, I realized right from the get go how much the interest and involvement level of my school colleagues does matter - and I definitely lucked out. 

The teachers and principal at my school

My school

My likkle house

To mark my first day at site with good luck, the rain fell right after my arrival and I got a marriage proposal within 24 hours of being here.  Then, my first full school day started with a colder than usual cold shower (due to the cool mountain air) and I headed to the school to introduce myself to the kids I hadn’t already met the previous night and join in on devotion (p.s. Jamaicans pray before and after everything, and I do mean everything).  After being shown around the village and the nearest “town” as well as meeting all the prominent community members I headed back to the school to finish off the day.  The kids had an impromptu talent show in the afternoon since it was Teachers’ Day and the rain was falling so there wasn’t much hope of hearing it even if there was a lesson.  These kids can dance and sing with the best of them.

So far my job has been rewarding as well as challenging in ways I couldn’t have imagined.  The kids at school are so curious about everything I have to say, whether it be teaching them a little French here and there or answering their unending personal questions about me.  I think I have done an ok job at teaching them something about cultural sensitivity even in this short time.  One example is piercings.  Here, if you have exotic piercings or even more than one hole in your ear you may be perceived as a go-go (stripper).  So naturally they had some questions about the closed up holes in my ears that are still visible when looking from a few inches away.  I seriously thought I was protecting myself from this talk by removing all my facial piercings and minimizing the ear ones to 2 each, but these kids are looking at me with a microscope!  I explained that in American culture it is not just the go-go’s that get piercings, but often people just trying to express themselves.  A couple of them got it I think, but most still had looks of disagreement on their faces.  One girl even went so far as to say that if you have more than one hole in your ear you cannot be a Christian.  This was my cue to rant about how when the bible was written even doing things like eating all the candy and sugar the kids pump themselves full of would be considered a violation of your temple.  Then I think even fewer of them understood.  That’s when I called it a day.

Another time I was telling the kids about America and how cold it is where I’m from.  They have an understanding of snow from TV, but have never seen it, of course.  When I told them the winter temperature in Celsius and explained how high the snow gets and what maneuvering in it is like, one little girl said, “Wow, you must have to wear TEN SHEETS!”  I laughed out loud despite my best efforts to hold it in.  You see on this island, people almost exclusively sleep with only a sheet.  That’s how hot it is.  Don’t get me wrong, they do have thin blankets, but the only way I could explain the kind of blanket I have always slept with was to say it’s like two thick sheets sewn together with the fur from baby chicks stuffed inside.  This was marvelous to them. 

During my short time observing and learning in Jamaican schools, I have discovered some wonderful things and also some difficult things to deal with about the system.  Foremost of the difficult things is the fact that the grade a child is in is not based at all on academic merit, but rather solely on his or her age.  Our Program Manager told us a story about when she was teaching seventh grade and the census had changed the age that a student must be to be in that grade.  She said an administrator just came in one day and escorted a student who was too old from her seventh grade class to the ninth grade.  Mind you, the student was not at all prepared for ninth grade curriculum, but that was the way of it and nothing could be done.  I know I said in my last blog I wasn’t going to try to change the system, but some things REALLY make me want to try!  The cultural differences are easier to adjust to than the political ones. 

During training I went to my first “nine night”, which is a celebration traditionally thrown by the family of a deceased person and is held 9 days after that person dies.  These days I think it’s more like 9 days after the funeral to allow time for relatives who have migrated to return.  Everyone is invited, whether you knew the deceased person or not.  You just show up and they’re all happy to see you.  My experience was probably not so typical of a usual nine night due to the fact that us trainees went at about 8pm and I left by 11.  Normally, the party starts at 10 or later really, and goes until dawn-ish, but I am usually in bed by 10 so that was just not happening.  When we arrived they were still playing Motown music, which we all enjoyed very much despite it being broadcast at an earsplitting volume.  It was just so out of place, though, after weeks of nothing but reggae, dancehall, and ska.  We played dominoes, drank Red Stripe, scream talked, and did a little two steppin’ white person dance. 

After my second beer I decided it was a fantastic idea to sit on the ground and pet the dog that had been lying listlessly in the midst of the pandemonium for the duration of my time there.  Would you believe that several Jamaicans, upon seeing what I was doing, turned towards me to point and laugh?  Of course they did.  They don’t have the same relationship with their pets as Americans do.  Here, dogs are solely outside animals and their purpose is to protect.  They are feared by most Jamaicans, but also beaten or have rocks thrown at them by people young and old.  I’m not even a big dog person, and this seems ludicrous to me.   One thing I have learned though is that if you pet a dog he’s yours for life and will protect you to his last breath.  One of my host family’s dogs, Rex, proved this to me by following me to class every day since I started treating him like a companion.  No matter what I did that stinker would find a way out of the gate and trot beside me the whole way down the hill the mile-ish distance to the community center, barking and snipping at any other dog or person who got too close or possibly looked too ominous by his standards.  I found it as endearing as the multiple scars on his adorable little 19 year old face. 

Somehow I think it makes it harder that I have most of the comforts of home here. I have electricity and running water, so why can’t I have hot water and internet too?  It seems like if I had to poop in a hole and read by candlelight I might not miss internet so much, because it would be such a long shot.  But here it’s just out of my reach and it’s quite bothersome.  Hopefully I will work this situation out shortly (the internet not the hot water that is).  

I have had a chance to visit a few of the other volunteers at their sites and see a bit more of the island, and all I can say is that I can’t wait until all of you visit me.  This is a beautiful country that reminds me to be appreciative of living in a place that other people spend their life savings to visit every single time I walk out my door.  Sometimes I just have to laugh at the utter absurdity of some situations-like when I was in a taxi that actually managed to fit 9 people in it (only 2 were less than adult age).  But it’s surprisingly still not that bad, and I’ve learned that laughter gets me through those awkward moments.  I must also mention as a warning to those of you who may visit that my skin is in a perpetual state of peeling.   Despite my efforts to bathe in sunscreen, my shoulders and chest are taking some serious heat.  The good news is that under the peeled skin is still more tanned skin, unlike in the past when the tan would peel off to reveal even whiter skin than I had to begin with.  At this rate they will be calling me brownin (and not whitey) in no time!  I think I’ll end this entry with one of my famous lists… likkle more (later)!

 

Briana and I at swearing in (check the fab tan, yo)

Things I miss from home:

Being able to find and buy anything I want in every town in America

Stevia

Good internet access

Driving

Not being scared to travel at night

New things I’ve discovered that I love and don’t know how I ever lived without:

Jackfruit

Bammy

Constant marriage proposals (don’t judge me, it’s good for my self esteem)

Sunny days, everyday

Daily hugs from about 80 children

Falling asleep to crickets chirping

Watching the rain pound on the earth nearly every day

One one coco, full basket

The rainy season has begun, and while I really enjoy listening to it fall it does thwart my plans at every turn.  In general, Jamaicans don’t do a whole lot when it rains.  If you are caught out when “di rain eet fall”, your plans change.  For example, last Saturday some of the trainees along with some Jamaicans went to a play (performed mostly in Patois) in Kingston.  It took us about 1.5 hours to get there and about 3.5 hours to get back due to the bridge on the main road being inundated by the river.  We had to take a detour, which I’m actually kind of glad about considering this bridge is one lane with no guard rails and fairly frightening even in the best of conditions.  Overall, we had a great time though.  The play wasn’t too hard to understand (despite the language barrier) thanks to some good acting-- and as a major plus I had my first beer in 2 weeks. 

I was shocked to find how quickly my tolerance to coffee and alcohol disappeared.  The first day our trainer, Ilene, brought instant coffee to our training site I decided it was worth at least trying.  Turns out it’s not so bad, and I can safely confirm that it does indeed contain ample caffeine to do the trick.  I was WIRED!  I’m not sure I’ve ever been so talkative in my whole life… to the point of annoyance I’m sure.  Likewise, when I was forced to chug my Red Stripe in the play’s fifteen minute intermission I found I was pretty buzzed and having a blast for that last half.  Whether I understood it or not, I was laughing my ass off.  The lesson here is: do fewer drugs and it is way more fun when you do indulge.  

Jamaica is not proving to be good for my “inside voice” practice.  In the states, I’m frequently told to keep it down, or reminded that whoever I am talking to is right in front of me.  Not here! No sa!  Between the rain on tin roofs, incessantly barking stray dogs, multiple fans going at all times, open windows and loud screeching cars with reggae blasting, and extroverted Jamaicans I am generally told to speak up.  Those of you who know me well will realize how outlandish this is. 

A couple of Fridays ago, I went to a Bible bowl with my host mom and brother at her church in their nearby home village about 20 minutes drive from where we are staying now.  This is where I learned that I had apparently been calling my host mom by the wrong name for the first week here.  The first conversation we ever had went something like this:

Me: “What shall I call you?”

Her: “Anyting yuh want.”

Me: “Ok, Denise then?”

Her: “Anyting yuh want.”

Me: “OK.”

I thought her name was Denise Williams because I could have sworn that’s what the Peace Corps paperwork said that I got prior to meeting her, but at church everyone calls her Barbara or Sister Vince.  I had no idea how I could have been this far off.  Then I became concerned that I somehow went home with the wrong woman.  I started to investigate.  I looked back at my rent receipt, which she signed.  There it was, plain as day: Denise Williams.  WTF?  Could the 20 American missionaries at her church have been as mistaken about her name as I thought I originally was, and she just didn’t correct them?  Was I misunderstanding the Jamaican vernacular in that severe a way?  I finally broke down and just asked her, risking feeling foolish.  It turns out her name is Vince Barbara Denise Martin Williams.  I really could have called her just about anything and she may not have even noticed.

Church is a big thing here, to put it mildly.  I ended up spending basically all day (10:30 am to 10:30 pm with a two hour break in the middle) Easter Sunday there, too.  This was mostly due to the 20 minute cab ride between church and home that I mentioned.  It’s a huge part of community integration so I feel pretty accomplished having stuck it out,  but I must admit I’m not stoked on the fact that all church services here are on average at least twice as long as they are in the states.  Almost everyone is Christian, but I have seen some Jehovah’s Witness churches as well as there being a significant Rasta culture.  I have yet to meet anyone who recognizes Atheism or Agnosticism.  Needless to say, I already miss my freedom of religion.  It’s true what they say: you don’t know what you got til it’s gone. 

This week I went to shadow a current PCV, Kelsey, in Trelawny parish.  This is the first time each of us trainees has traveled alone.  It was both exciting and a little scary, but if you can make it in NYC they say you can make it anywhere, right?  I thank my time in the Big Apple for helping make the travel part nearly seamless, save being charged double fare for one leg of the journey (which amounted to a loss of approximately US $4) and a Jamaican guy who happened to be traveling the same direction as me being quite let down when I (lied and) told him I was married after he had so thoughtfully written and sang me two original songs in less than an hour.  Regarding the shadowing, first I will say that I learned an immense amount from Kelsey not only about what my professional life might look like but also countless valuable tidbits regarding everything from social integration to home sickness.  Not to mention I got to have some much, much, much needed girl talk.  Its things like this that keep you sane, so don’t judge me. 

Now, a word about efficiency in a foreign country: I left Monday morning at 8:30 am and by the time I got there school was nearly out for the day (despite being just a little over a hundred miles away). So we went to lunch with some other volunteers and trainees, laid on the beach for a few hours and then went out for ice cream dinner.  On Tuesday I got to see a few pull out sessions (this is what my job will primarily be: pulling out 1-6 students from 3^rd and 4^th grade classes who are not up to par to assist them with literacy/numeracy) as well as Kelsey’s book club.  Then Wednesday was really just another travel day.  Basically, out of a 3 day shadowing excursion I observed for one full school day. 

 Kelsey and I at the beach

 We were the only people there!

Kelsey's school

This is the usual speed of things in Peace Corps Jamaica.   Partly because it really does take it out of you to travel and (in general) live in another country, but also because they want to give us time to integrate.  The first 3-4 months of service after swearing in is meant to be focused on just this, which amounts to not taking on too much work-wise or trying to start any secondary projects.  Two out of three of the Peace Corps goals involve cultural understanding (both on the parts of the host country nationals and the Americans of one another), and the other is the actual work that you do.  I explain this now because I expect in posts to come that I will be referring to things as second and third goal projects meaning they satisfy that cultural understanding bit.  At first when I really got to thinking about this it made me feel like the work we will do will be less productive or meaningful than I originally hoped, but upon more thought I realize that when people understand other people of different backgrounds, religions, cultures etc. that this is how we change the world.  One person at a time.  They have a proverb here in Jamaica for this (and just about everything else): One one coco, full basket.  This basically equates to: I am just a raindrop in a river. I may be small and insignificant alone, but with thousands of others we can make a big difference. 

With each day we learn so much more about this culture and what we really can hope to achieve here.  After my shadowing experience I understand that I can’t change the Jamaican school system and will be lucky if I directly change a few children’s academic lives, but what I’m now certain of is that giving kids hugs everyday when they don’t get nearly enough loving will definitely change their lives forever in a way that is more important to me than anything I’ve ever done before.

~B

No, yuh riddy riddy white!

Here’s a rundown of the things I have not used as of yet, the things I wish I had brought with me, and the stuff that came in super handy:

Not used:

Mostly games (cards, story cubes)- I really thought I would need these to break the ice with the other trainees, but it turns out that Peace Corps already had plenty of painful “get to know you” activities planned. I think I will use them with di pickney (kids) soon though.

Bible- carried it to church once but it didn’t matter because theirs was so different. I guess it still earned me some church cred.

Wish I had brought:

Strappy sandals-everyone wears them because it’s like walking on the sun to wear closed shoes, and PC lied about them not being appropriate so I just bought some (for only J$1950!)

School supplies- I didn’t think through the fact that we are students for 9.5 weeks. Whoops. Luckily these aren’t too expensive here either.

 More spanx/flexees- can we say sweat rash between my legs?

The game set- this will be invaluable when teaching children logic (hint, hint Maurer please send it to me)

Soooo glad I brought:

My external hard drive -for movies/work out videos/ music etc., even though I didn’t bring that many movies other people did and we share. Yippee.

Tons of clothes- you all thought I would regret that but the only stuff I haven’t worn yet is my sweaters because it isn’t hurricane season yet.

Hairspray- Mo you tried to stop me and I am so glad you failed. Talk about frizz!

Jewelry- they all think I’m stylie. HAH I win.

7 nail polishes- some of you thought this was too much, but let me tell you Jamaicans are more into mani/pedis than I ever could be, and that’s really saying something.  I could have used some brighter colors though. Sidenote: Oddly, many people here grow out their toenails which make mine look short and stumpy.

Speaking of things that surprised me, I have to admit that I thought my fellow Peace Corps Trainees would be cut from the same cloth as me.  It’s amazing how different we all are, and while I’m trying to learn about them and embrace our diversity it’s hard to spend so much time with 34 other people you just met.  On Sunday we arrived at our Hub training site where we will spend the next 5 weeks.  This is where the three sector groups (Education, Agriculture, and Youth Development) are split up into different rural communities and get specific training in the area that we each will be primarily working in.  I am really enjoying the cooler mountain air, going to sleep to the serenade of crickets, and waking up to the roosters crowing as well as working with a more manageable group of 10 other people.
I am really missing my first host family and community, though.  They taught me more Patois than I could have learned in a month in class, and also gave me the inside scoop on what Jamaicans really think about a plethora of issues.  Not to mention they made me feel at home in a foreign country.  The host families had a going away party for us trainees on Saturday complete with chicken foot soup, festival (fried dough), a VERY sweet punch and of course tons of reggae.  We danced and sang and hugged until we couldn’t hug any more.  Here are a few pics.

 My new hero, Joan.

 Most of group 83 partying it up, Jamaica style.

My host family #1

One of the highlights of our second community so far has been learning that all of the streets (with no street signs) have at least two names: one for a person who probably lived on that road hundreds of years ago and one for the main attraction of that road.  For example, Louise Road is named after the Louise family who used to live there, but everyone calls it Clinic Road because that’s where the clinic is.   You wouldn’t believe how complicated this can make things, especially when everyone speaks a language you can hardly understand to begin with. 

Even better than that was when I stopped off at the grocery store today after class to pick up a couple items and walked home alone.  This must be the first time I have walked alone in Jamaica because I have never gotten so much attention in my life!  I had the great fortune of happening upon the high school by my house letting out as I walked by, which amounted to hundreds of Jamaican adolescents yelling things like “Whitey!” and “Babi luv” (from the boys) at me.  One girl nearly fell down in the street when she saw me.  I believe I said “Good Evening” at least 4 dozen times, and when I replied to what must have been the hundredth “Whitey” with “Yes, I am white” I got “No, yuh riddy riddy white” in return.  Confirmed: I am translucent.  Lucky for me tans are not coveted in this country. 

Until next time,

B

Hello! Good night!

So we have just begun learning the native language, Patois, but already some differences in the way they speak cannot be ignored.  “Hello, good night!” Was how my host father first greeted me.  For some reason they take our usual, “Good morning, afternoon, evening” to a new level… and I like it.  And when they’re actually going to bed they say, “Night night”. 

That is them speaking formal English.  Patois is what they describe as pigeon or broken English.  I played dominoes (the Jamaican pastime) for the first time last Saturday with my host mom, Nikki, and a couple of the neighbor guys.  This turned out to be a fabulous observing (and kind of learning) experience for Patois.  They went easy on me and my host mom (who had never really played before), and I was blessed with beginners luck.  The game is surprisingly like poker.  So after a while of enduring our naivety, the guys wanted to play a real game with the “professionals”.  This is when English went out the window.   I understood less than half of what they said, and thought they were going to get in a fist fight more than once based on the body language being thrown around (and I do mean thrown), but no.  It was all in good fun.

If you aren’t at all familiar with the Jamaican way of life, they are candid to say the least!  At first I was really put off by this, but I now understand that they really aren’t trying to be cruel, but rather honest.  They tell it like it is and don’t really expect a response or explanation.  The examples our trainers gave is that if someone has one eye you call him “one-y”, or if he is missing a foot he’s “stumpy” or “tumpy” in Patois.  They take no offense to this, so when I was called “fluffy and nice” and the “Jamaican whitey” I followed suit by replying with a wave or a thanks.  I’m hoping (in vain) that this is as explicit the blunt Jamaican names get for me.   The good news is that for every time I’m called fat I’m called beautiful about 15 times.  The two seem synonymous here, and I got my first marriage proposal at the market on Saturday to prove it.

The cultural differences are too many to list here, but suffice it to say I’m adjusting.  A lot about it is the same, thankfully.  I haven’t had to take too many bucket baths and the cold showers are generally welcomed due to the heat.  The food is great, and I’m infinitely thankful for my former Jamaican housemate from New York for bridging that gap a bit. I even tried turkey neck, which was surprisingly like beef.  They do eat all meats with the bones in, ALWAYS.  And everything is doused with a hefty serving of sugar, being that it is one of the major crops grown here.  I haven’t been eating many fruits and vegetables, despite the amount of the stuff they grow here, because most Jamaicans eat 4 food groups with each meal: starch, starch, meat, and sugar. 

A handful of the volunteers at the beach

Speaking of crops grown here, I saw my first Rasta man carrying basically an entire pot plant for sale on the beach last weekend.  He was none too happy when all the whiteys shooed him away without as much as a second thought.  It is actually illegal in Jamaica, contrary to popular belief, and of course just being illegal stateside is enough for Peace Corps to ban it from our latitude for the next two plus years.

I should say a word about safety.  The bad news is that Jamaica is rated, I think, third in the world for murder.  The policeman who came to talk to our group had this theory that if Jamaica’s population wasn’t so small they would rate much lower on this scale.  I think he was basing it on the fact that 80% of the murders are gang related and if there were more non-gang Jamaicans, by his thinking, then the number of murders per year would be the same and the per capita % would go down.  I could argue that there would just be more gangsters, but I decided to let this one go and not get involved in gang activity. For those of you concerned with my safety after that rant, don’t worry.  We’re in good hands.  Ann, our Safety and Security Coordinator, was voted the best in the world and our safety is paramount for Peace Corps.  We’ve been getting tons of advice and learning tricks to blend in and not get ripped off, not to mention we are basically treated like children having to check in with several people if we go anywhere other than our homes and to class.  We are still in the first leg of our training journey and are admittedly residing in a small safe town, but it is a great place to get used to the kind of things to come with a little bit of a stupid American buffer to help with the learning curve.

On that note, I’ll leave you until next time.  Inna di lates!

~B

I made it!

Wagwan! (Jamaican for What’s up or How’s it going)

Our one day orientation (called Staging) was held in Atlanta and was basically what you would expect from such an event.  A couple of ice breakers to  get to know Peace Corps Jamaica Group 83 members (totaling 36 of us) mixed with a lot of  policies and discussions about what we expect as well as what is expected of us.  The notable part of this was really when we left the hotel, which was 2am, to catch our 7:10am flight. 

On account of the excitement of it all and in no small part thanks to the 3 hour time difference I had one day to adjust to (not to mention daylight savings time the weekend prior), I did not sleep at all that night.  We arrived at the airport at a little before 3am, only to haul our belongings (no small feat) to the completely deserted check in counter.  When they opened an hour later, check in went fairly smoothly and after security we were left with about a 2 hour wait before the flight.  I fear this is only the beginning of a long relationship with the “hurry up and wait” lifestyle. 

The super fun part is that as soon as we arrived in Jamaica (11:20 Jamaican time), the representatives who met us at the airport whisked us right off to the Peace Corps headquarters for a paperwork buffet.  By the end of this extravaganza I was seeing double.   We had a short break and dinner at the hotel before they took us back to headquarters for the 50^th anniversary celebration of Peace Corps in Jamaica. 

We were told several times what an honor it was that we were invited to this event, and specifically instructed to wear the nicest outfit we brought.  After meeting our 36 new best friends for the next two plus years and still going on no sleep we had to put on happy faces and mingle with I don’t even know how many more people.  Once the event began, things got a little fuzzy for me.  The ceremony opened in prayer, which I’m learning is a tradition I am going to have to get used to in this country whether it is a government facility or not.  Then several people spoke about the great relationship Jamaica and the US have and how wonderful that is, and how wonderful it was that we were here for the 50^th anniversary of it as well as the 50^th anniversary of Jamaica’s independence.  While all of this is very true, I don’t think anyone really paid attention until the entertainment came. 

Two beautiful ladies sang the national anthems of Jamaica and the US separately, and then a group of about 10 dapper looking Jamaicans took the stage.  They sang a smattering of classical to traditional Jamaican to gospel songs, and were a-freking-mazing!  Towards the end they drummed, showed us some Jamaican dance and even dragged a few people from the crowd onto the floor with them.  I could not have been more relieved that I escaped this fate.  They did however have all of us on our feet dancing and singing “One Love” by the end.  We even had another 30 or so minutes of mingling after that.  Maybe this sounds banal to you, but to have lived through it and knowing the state all 36 of us were in makes this fact unbelievable to me. 

Yesterday was the first day of actual training, and despite a full night of restful sleep most of us still had a hard time keeping our eyes open for the morning talks about the basics.  We had lunch in downtown Kingston and the afternoon sessions were shorter and more interactive, though.

I could give so many more details, but my time on the internet is limited since I haven’t been able to access it from the hotel.  We are meeting our host families for the next two weeks tonight after we get vaccinations and open our Jamaican bank accounts.  I promise future posts will be more interesting and well thought out, but I just wanted to get an update to everyone so you know what’s up in the life of Jamaican Brandi!  More time! (Later)

~B

Patience is a Virtue

I'll start at the beginning of my Peace Corps experience by telling you why I joined and the arduous process that then ensued.  

My very good friend, Mo (a.k.a. Chris Heidt), wanted to join Peace Corps when we were attending Indiana University of PA together.  He told me at the time that there was some sort of physical test requirement, kind of like joining the U.S. Army.  Being the endomorph that I am, this instantly precluded me from thinking about it further.  

Fast forward to several years later after.  I've graduated college with a B.S. in Mathematics, moved across the United States three times, and lost about 50 pounds.  I was unsatisfied with my job working at a small medispa and was deep in thought trying to figure a way out that would lead me to a more rewarding career as well as satiate my intense desire to travel, not to mention be as far from a sales position as possible.  Up until this time, the best solution I had come up with was to try my luck at being a flight attendant; an idea I nixed when I learned more about the competition in this field and also realized I could not care for my cat or ever own plants again if this was my career path.  

Regardless of the fact that (as I would later discover) there is no basic training for Peace Corps like I originally thought, I realized this would no longer the obstacle it would have been 50 pounds ago when I heard an advertisement on the college radio station.  I got butterflies in my stomach and was excited to the point of nausea when I realized I had discovered the answer I was looking for.  Within a couple months time I had worked through my fears of living and working in a foreign country for 2 years and change.  I started the lengthy online application and told my boss of over 4 years that I had to follow my dreams.  Although he ultimately supported me, he certainly made an effort to exhume any fears I had and deter my leaving, stating that he believed my life's satisfaction would be a product of my personal relationships and not my career.  Of course I politely disagreed and went on thinking I was in the home stretch.  Little did I know I had much to learn about myself and patience before this dream would materialize.  

Enter Ian.  I met Ian one evening at a cocktail bar when I was out with a couple of friends loudly exclaiming my excitement for my new life plan.  I think my positive attitude and confidence played a role in starting what would be one of the most significant relationships of my life.  Although I told him immediately about my intentions to work abroad and tried to be emotionally unavailable, I cared for this man right from the beginning and our connection was undeniable.  It was slow at first, and I continued the online application during the first month or two of our courtship.  By the time he started sleeping over almost every night, my dream took a standstill.  I hardly noticed when it had been 6 months since I had logged in to the application site, but luckily the website keeps track of this for me so I became painfully aware of my goal taking a backseat to my new love.  I told Ian I had to continue the process and at least see where it took me.  He was nothing but supportive.    

After finally meeting all of the initial application requirements (over a year after I started this endeavor), I had my interview.  I can't believe I didn't vomit right there in the San Francisco headquarters.  I did, however, jump up and down in the waiting room before I even went in to meet with my recruiter.  I guess my answers were satisfactory because I was nominated on August 24, 2010 for a Math education assignment in Africa.  Exactly what I wanted!  I would get to return to Mathematics and maybe even use my French minor!  I was told I would likely not receive an assignment until the following summer, so I had to curb my enthusiasm a bit to focus on the now and get through this waiting period without those around me hating me for wanting to abandon them.  

Fast forward again to the following March.  My little sister has gotten married and become pregnant.  This news did not sit lightly with me.  When she called to tell me about the baby to come, I bawled unabashedly.  Partially because she is five years younger than me and the society I was raised in tells me to be ashamed of being nearly 30 and not married with children, but mostly because I knew I would miss the birth and first couple years of my niece or nephew's life.  Knowing this, I had to at least see her before I left.  I traveled to the Air Force base where she and her new husband live in Washington state and expected an uneventful trip in a very boring town.  Instead, I left her house on crutches.  Silly doesn't begin to describe how I acquired my injury. One little piece of uneven pavement in her driveway and a thoughtless misstep by me took my life in a different direction.  To add insult to injury, I received my invitation to serve in Malawi only a couple of days after returning home.  

I instantly accepted the invitation pending another visit to my podiatrist, as she had explained to me that I could be out of the cast in a matter of a couple of weeks.  This would put me on track with the 3 months of healed time required after breaking a bone to go to Malawi on June 14th-- but just by the skin of my teeth.  

All the while my nearly two year relationship with Ian had started to take a turn for the worst, and not only because of my pending departure.  As I learned more about what I wanted out of life I learned more about what he wanted too, and these visions were unfortunately not of the same future.  While my broken metatarsal caused me to lose my independence to do all the things I was used to doing like cleaning  my apartment, walking to the laundromat, and getting around my workplace to perform the various tasks necessary (just for example), I realized I had to gain my independence from this kind man who I loved very much.  I just couldn't fill out yet another "Romantic Involvement Form" from Peace Corps, so when an even more detailed one arrived (complete with case scenarios) I sighed with exhaustion.  I didn't know what I was going to do about my relationship while I was away for 2.25 years, especially because Ian had refused to even consider visiting me!  The document did what it was supposed to do.  It made me ask myself and my boyfriend the questions neither of us really wanted the answers to, and one night after a tearful realization that he would never be the husband or father of my children that I had romanticized about, we ended it.  

Shortly thereafter (now it's the beginning of April 2011) with the help of yet another expensive x-ray, my podiatrist revealed to me that I would be cast bound for at least 2 more months.  I cried a lot during this period of my life, and I am not much of a crier.  I had already started training my replacement at work, and my boss was very accommodating by altering my role there to cater to my infirmity.  He said he would keep me on as long as possible, but there was just no way he could employ me until my new expected staging date somewhere around June-October 2012 as estimated by my Placement Officer.  Thanks to my good friend Amy, her husband Andy, and a little thing called the knee scooter I made it through this dark time in my life. 

I still had to come up with a new plan for the interim.  Luckily I had a great deal of time trapped in my apartment to figure it out.  The most viable plan seemed to be to move in with a family member or one of my friends, preferably someone in a city so I had some chance of getting a new job to pay off my mounting medical bills.  I also had a chance to rethink the importance of being in a Math education placement and decided to prioritize getting there as quickly as possible over utilizing my bachelor's degree, knowing this meant I would have other requirements to meet before getting another invitation.  I solidified my arrangements to move to New York City with Poopie (a.k.a. Sara Krull) and said goodbye to my honorary family of 6 years in Santa Cruz, CA.  

I was fortunate enough to get a job within a month of arriving in the Big Apple, but I had to conceal my altruistic intentions or risk never finding employment.  My nightmares revolved around incurring more injuries and hiding my true identity to those around me.  I am incredibly transparent when it comes to my subconscious.  Then one glorious October day I received a conditional invitation to serve in Jamaica as a Youth Literacy Adviser, but not until March 2012.  I had yet to complete 30 hours of teaching English as a Second Language, and I quickly found a program called We Are New York that offered exactly the kind of familiarity I needed.  The format was simple yet highly informative for the students, and it allowed me to do something I had never done before with very little training.  More than anything, teaching ESL to New York immigrants from all over the world kept me pumped for the trip to come.

My adventures in NYC have been enlightening, to say the least.  After all this is the greatest city on the planet earth, or so I'm told.  I'm also told that everything happens for a reason.  Many times over the last 10 months I have looked at where I am in life and wondered, "Is this the reason I broke my foot and couldn't go to Malawi?"  I have also speculated on why I made the decisions I did during the Ian era.  The best answer I can come up with is that I still had more to learn about patience, even when I thought I could have written a book on it a long time ago.  Nearly 3 years after starting the online application, I am now less than two months away from the commencement of my Jamaican adventure, and I couldn't be more elated.  I look forward to telling you all about what I learn, the friends I make, and the quest to come!!