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