So, after spending the week before the holidays in the Peace Corps Office in Managua, I had a serious sit-down with the PCMO who was handling my file. What had started out as a day-trip to Esteli for the Va Pues magazine meeting had turned into a second round of the inexplicable rash I got a little less than a week ago. So, the good news is that it means I am probably not allergic to Cipro, but the PCMOs admit that there is really nothing else they can medically do in Nicaragua. And thus the discussion began about Medically Evacuating me home to the States to get checked out. Just to clarify, MedEvac means you are sent to DC or your Home of Record and you have 45 days to recover and get medically cleared to return to service. This protocol is meant for Volunteers in all sorts of situations, normally much more serious (broken bones, serious surgery, etc.), but the PCMOs also discussed the practicality of giving the body 100% chance of getting back to a baseline of health. And then I got another bacterial infection while here this week in Managua....which decided it.
Dad and Sean are still coming and we are still going to enjoy the Holiday Week as much as my health will allow, but I will also be packing and organizing my things in case the evacuation turns into a medical separation. The PCMOs have been incredibly supportive and helpful in getting all the information and paperwork set-up and staying positive. They have been very honest about the various moods that go along with Med Evac. The Assistant Director for the whole PCNicaragua also sat down with me and regaled me with 2-3 other stories of Volunteers who had been fine during all of Training and been completely prepared for site and their service and then could not acclimate to the new climate or for whatever reason, spent the first year of their service too miserable to be effective. "You're not the first, and you will certainly not be the last, and there is no shame in taking care of your body." Thanks Miguel!
Since Peace Corps has been my dream job since I was in high school, and even though it is just an evacuation, it's still a blow. There is a small sense of relief, knowing that it's not just me and that I used all my options available in country. There is also disappointment and a little anger that my body does not seem to be able to get used to my site when other Volunteers don't have problems (or just don't say anything). There is also anger with my site and community, as it is most likely the contaminated water and food that is playing a critical role in this whole thing. There is also overall sadness (that I am getting better about accepting) in that i was just getting warmed up to living on my own and settling into a routine while getting projects set up for later in the New Year. While these may still happen, it is like being thrown into a limbo similar to waiting for my Peace Corps post. I am also anxious that as of right now I haven't had a lot of overwhelming positive experiences in my site (in part because I haven't been in my site that often), so I don't feel I have a resounding reason to go back. However, I have probably spent equal amounts of time in site and in Managua, which is not efficient or effective for getting projects done that require building trust and personal relationships. Hard as it is to admit, Peace Corps is also only 27 months, and I would rather not damage my immune system in the long-run. And there is still the basic fact that I have no idea what is making me sick, which means that if I don't go home, I will returning to a place that I do know will continue to make me sick. That just doesn't seem very smart. But one step at a time.....
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Book Review: Living Poor
Living Poor: A Peace Corps Chronicle
Moritz Thomsen
Thomsen is a 40 something Agriculture volunteer in Ecuador.
After a few medical false-starts, he settles into the quaint little town of Rio
Verde and thus goes the process of completing his service. As a volunteer, his
projects (the size and scale) and his willingness to use his living allowance
to help fund them and his neighbors astounds me. This book came at the perfect
time as I am starting to see the deeper levels of relationships, both good and
bad, in my own community and starting to become disillusioned by the mechanism
and paradigm of poverty while also coming to grips with the dynamic and
two-way street that is development. As a
Volunteer you hear stories about PCVs who were practically adopted, but this
glosses over the subtle (and not so) requests for money and gifts and attempts
to put a pricetag on the gringo. Thomsen describes this perfectly as the
“search for a patron:” for someone who will take care of you, who will do what
you have been trained to think you can’t-support yourself. I laughed and cried
throughout the struggles of the chicken project, the fishing projects and the
trials and tribulations of the co-op. And the eventual financial understanding
of the community, where a dollar is a fortune, is heartbreaking but familiar.
There are hilarious moments interspersed as well, like machete fights,
miscommunications, overturned fishing boats and of course the rides into the
city crammed into a truck with livestock inside and on top of the vehicle.
Thomsen does make a profound difference in the lives of Ramon, Orestes, and
Vinceta, his co-op corps, nit at what price? As he says, “living poor is like
being sentenced to exist in a stormy sea in a battered canoe, requiring all
your strength to stay afloat, living wave to wave.” We are taught as Americans
and PCVs to develop, to improve, to better people. But it’s impossible to do
this equally for everyone. So benefits are unevenly distributed and then the
jealousy and isolation begins. Like the city kid who is shunned by his own for
going to college, the corp co-op members are threatened and almost destroyed by
petty rumors and exasperated fueds. The people will truly be happy when they
find peace and success within their own culture and customs. Projects fail and
flounder because people are afraid of change, afraid to trust, and afraid and
threatened by what change might bring: the audacity of hope is crushed by the
comfortable familiarity of abject, but communal, poverty. There’s no way the people
in Rio Verde or Thomsen could have known the social consequences before they
happened but it is heartbreaking to read how the co-op general store suffers
from theft and the storekeeper can’t help himself from buying too many new
things. There is Ramon, who uses his
money to take his wife out of the town to give birth in a hospital and start a
life properly nourished and nurtured (Protein deprivation for the 1st
5 yearsof life permanently destroys up to 25% of human intelligence). We are
taught to think this should be the norm; that with new money, everyone will be
Ramon and invest in health and education. But the truth is that the Ramons, who
are the shunned city kids (to beat the metaphor into the ground), are the
exception and the material luxury goods and status symbols are too tempting in
addition to a lack fo experience and knowledge of how to invest and save for
long-term planning. I knew development was hard and dangerous, but this 1st
hand account of a PCV stands as a warning and a guide for my own roller-coaster
of feelings towards paradigm of effective and sustainable change.
Book Review: Walk in the Woods
A Walk in the Woods: Rediscovering America on the
Appalachian Trail
Bill Bryson is funny. Let’s just get that out of the way.
Ok. This travel journal recounts the exploits and adventures of Bryson and his
friend, Katz, as they, like so many others, try to walk the entire Appalachian
Trail. For those of you who don’t know, the AT is more than 2,000 miles long
and you have to climb to the highest point in almost every state on the East
Coast. Spoiler Alert: they don’t climb the whole thing in this book. But that’s
not the point. I will also brag a little in that I have done sections of the AT
(including the great Katahdin, which Bryson does not summit). But he has
summited Mt. Washington in New Hampshire, which is still on my bucket list. But
that’s not the point. It’s not the competitive athletic nature that abounds in
this novel. Quite the contrary, Bryson mixes anecdotal accounts of the
day-to-day, with its typical bumbles and blunders, with lesser-known
information about the history of the trail and the nature and government
surrounding it. Granted the majority of this information comes when both men
are still invigorated by the initial days in the south, but I appreciated
Brysons respect for the little towns that he stumbles upon and what they used
to be. I didn’t know about the dangerous
Pennsylvania coal fire towns or that the AT was originally meant to be a string
of hostels and basically vacations and retreats above treeline, which,
depending on who you ask, it kind of is. But my favorite parts resound with the
funny frustration of preparing for an adventure that sounds much better in your
head than when you are schlepping along ridgelines; the packing list, the food,
the backpack posture, the weight, where to clip things, your first time at the
outing gear store with the guy who is clearly (ridiculously even) more
experienced and intense and excited about carabeaners (not sure how to spell
that) than you. And then there are the bears. Pardon my French, but the best
line of the whole book comes as Bryson is describing what he would do if not
one, but 4 bears, came into his tent: “ Why, I would die, of course. Literally
shit myself lifeless. I would blow my sphincter out my backside like one of the
unrolling paper streamers you get at children’s parties- I daresay it would
even give a merry toot- and bleed to death in my sleeping bag.” Bears are an issue along the AT, but nowhere
near to the obsessive degree to which Bryson makes them out to be. But it’s
still funny. And the characters along the trail are priceless, including
Chicken John who keeps getting lost on the trail and the woman who keeps
clearing her ears by snot-rocketing. But it’s the purposeful meditation that
comes with putting one foot in front of the other, and becoming “a walker” that
was the most powerful. Walking through nature and history is one thing, but
having the fortitude and the discipline (or the lack of social life) to decide
to partake in some of the most grueling walking there is on the East Coast, takes
a personality that one might say is similar to that of those that would join
the Peace Corps. You know what you are getting into in the outline, but not in
the details, not in the day-to-day. And it is the same personality that has the
ability to adapt to the daily challenges and also incorporate breaks and
rewards in an otherwise punishing and awkward life decision. And most
importantly, as Bryson comes to terms with not having actually completed the
full length of the AT, it is about knowing your limitations and taking joy in
all the accomplishments, getting a great deal more out of the experience that
the start and end points. And don’t care what anybody says: if you climbed one
mountain, you hiked the AT and if you lived in a foreign country for 27 months
working for development, you did the Peace Corps.
Heads Up It's a long one to update everyone since Thanksgiving
The Medical Saga that led to the Menagerie
I had heard so many stories of PCVs being gifted pets by
their community or taking in strays. The Volunteer who came before me had 2
dogs. And did I tell you she had 2 dogs. By the way, as every member of my
community says, she had two dogs….and she left them both here, where they cried
for weeks after she left. So, my community is not so much concerned with my
having pets as they are with what will happen to said pets after I finish my
service. Nice. But anyway, to start, I was promised a puppy German Shepherd,
Traviesa, whom many of you have seen in pictures on this blog. I made the
amateur mistakes of believing the word of a Nicaraguan (this may sound harsh,
but you will understand once you’ve lived here) and falling in love with an
animal that wasn’t under my rood yet. I then left for IST, or Training, for the
last weekend in November. This was followed shortly thereafter, with the
Medical Saga of 50 Shades of Diarrhea. Needless to say, the Medical Staff
wanted to check me out. Because I was in Managua on a weekend, the Bioanalysis
lab was closed and the Medical Staff preferred Metropolitano, the
state-of-the-art hospital that is even nicer than Porter Hospital in my
hometown. It’s actually kind of disgusting and sad how developed this one
little spit of land is in a country that is just one step above Haiti. But I
digress….
So Metropolitano apparently can email you your test results
or you can check them online with a PIN. I have never had a problem with giving
blood before, but Mr.
It’s-Sunday-so-it’s-a-slow-day-and-I-am-the-worst-male-nurse-ever decided to go
fishing around in my arm and then had the nerve to tell me to calm down,
breathe, and drink some water. I did more than 10 tests over the last 2 weeks;
blood, platelets, urine, parasite, amoebas, cryptosporidium (no idea on this
one), the works! I had stayed in a hotel in Jinotega for the week prior to IST
because I self-diagnosed a bacterial infection and a fever. The test results in
Jinotega pointed to not one but 2 bacterial infections (2 for the price of one)
and it’s quite likely that at least one was the same infection from the week
before. I stayed in the hotel to be
closer the lab and have a little more control over my diet (and be closer to a
modern toilet and hot water). The results from Metropolitano came back with
lower bacterial counts (yay for antibiotics) but a new yeast infection. Oh boy!
But that came two days after the fact, because the entire hospital network was
down, and the Peace Corps Office was closed on Monday. Thank God for the pool
at the hotel! The PCMO I had seen most often also wanted to check me for parasites
that do not show in other tests, so between walking back and forth to the
office, the hotel, and the lab, I
checked my email.
There was a general
email to all PCVs titled “Cats.” A
volunteer in Masaya had found a stray cat in her house and had begun taking
care of it when it has given birth to 4 kittens in the next couple of days.
This poor girl is not a cat person and is about to COS (finish her service) on
the 14th of December. So she wanted to know if anyone wanted some
cats. Well, in my current medically downtrodden and emotional state, I replied
that sure I would take them. She texted me asking how many I wanted. I replied
that they looked too young to separate and she replied that it would be best to
keep them all together. Sure I’ll take them all. And, thus I spent a week in
Managua as “that girl with the kittens” moving from hotel to hotel with a big
cardboard box with holes punched into it. Needless to say, all the other
Volunteers staying in the hotels wanted to see and ooooo and ahhhhh over Mom
and kits. And a big thanks to Hotel Los Pinos for letting me keep them in their
hotel while I went to appointments.
By Thursday I was more than ready to leave, and the tests
had all come back negative. Still was not feeling 100%, but once the tests come
back negative, there is no reason for the PCMO to keep you in Managua. The doctor asked me how much of my current
situation might be psychological………………………………yeah no not going there. She did
offer to send my report to a specialist and to the Medical Office in Washington
to see if there was anything a new pair of eyes might be able to get. But, with
the holiday season coming up, that might take a little while. So I gathered my
things at the hotel, shoved Momma Cat into the box and tried duck taping it
shut with the help of Hotel Staff, grabbed the bag of worms (I was also carting
worms since IST to hopefully use for vermiculture-they did not make it sadly).
Momma Cat managed to escape in the taxi, but the driver helped me shove her
back in before finding out that I had missed the 8AM bus to Jinotega and
waiting with a very pissed off Momma in the Mayoreo bus station. The bus driver
refused to let me have the box in the bus, so he loosely tied a piece of string
around the box and threw it up on top of the bus. Unfortunately, after the 3
hours bus ride, I simply took the box and walked to the next station to get the
bus to my site. I did not notice until it was too late, that the box was much
lighter and not moving. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Momma Cat had escaped en
route. Don’t know where, don’t know when, but somewhere along the highway, or
in the bus station, is a very confused white cat with yellow and black
splotches. Luckily, I was able to stock up on baby formula and a bottle. Based
on e-How.com “How Old are Your Kittens?,” I was able to determine that the
kittens were somewhere between 2-3 weeks old, since they had just opened their
eyes and ears while staying in the
hotel. I was able to stay with a Volunteer en route to my site so I wouldn’t
have to walk to my house in the dark. She fell in love with the kittens and we
snuggled them and coddled them for hours. I got them back to my house the next
day and they have become the things-to-see for all the youth in Cuatro
Esquinas. The first few days were rough bottlefeeding, in part because the baby
bottle teat is about 10 times the size of Momma Cat’s teat and I can only
imagine how scary that looks coming at you, but once they got hungry enough, we
have all become pros. Words to the wise; it’s easier to wrap them up, it’s
easier to do them in turns multiple times, the little nails don’t hurt that
much, they learn to pee and poop on their own within the 3-4 week period. So that’s how I got 4 small mouths to feed.
But wait, there’s more……
Once I got back to site, and spent a full day getting used
to the feeding schedule for the kittens, I hiked up the hill to see Traviesa.
She was still there, but Dona Coco told me, sheepishly told me that they
actually weren’t selling the puppy. I begged and tried to understand why they
would go back on their word and even offered to pay for her, but her son said
that the pup had gotten bigger and started following him and he wanted to use
her to work the cows, so no. I was literally in tears on my way down the hill.
It may sound really cheesy, but I had
told so many people about that dog and had made myself believe that once I got
healthy and once I got back I would get a dog and this just seemed like one
more way in which I was still an outsider, out-of-sync and running out of
patience. Dona Coco told me I could wait 3 months until the mother gave birth
to her next litter, but I walked down to the pulperia (general store) where
Dona Moncha also had a few smaller black puppies. She had not vaccinated them
or given them vitamins like Traviesa had, but I was emotional and irrational
and asked her if she was selling them. One for 100, she said. Done. The next
day I returned and bought to bigger of the two. I had to carry her back to the
house, because at 3 months, she is not leash-trained and also terrified of
everything. I had already bought dog food in Jinotega on the way back to site.
The first night she did what any puppy in a new place would do-she peed and
pooped in the house. Thank God for concrete floors that are easy to clean. I
named her Sombra (Spanish for shadow) because she is all black except for a
little marking on the front of her chest. I washed her with flea and tick soap,
which was exciting because she can kick and squirm for a puppy. I easily got
just as soaked. I walked with her into Praderas to buy a real leash and collar
and vitamins and parasite meds. Everyone in my house drinks filtered water, but
God only knows what Sombra eats when she goes outside. She was nice enough to
take the hint after I tied her up outside to cry for a whole morning (literally
cry and howl) that she was supposed to do her business outside. She refused to
leave the house to go to town, so I carried her in my shoulder bag the whole
way there and then dragged her the whole way back on the new leash. She’s
starting to get the idea. She will not let me go anywhere around the house
though without following; latrine, kitchen, take a shower at my neighbors,
etc. She is neutral with the kittens at
least. But that is how I got one more mouth to feed. Current total is 5, not
including myself. And she hops into bed with for the night now that she’s
clean. It’s almost like home again to have something to cuddle and talk to.
By the way, I am not turning into a crazy cat woman. At
least 3 other volunteers have already claimed kittens once they are older and
the volunteers come back from their vacations. Still haven’t figured out what
we are going to do with the animals for when Dad and Sean come….will have to
see if they can feed on their own. Fingers crossed. I do love how my community
understands that I hardly leave my house now, because I am taking care of “los
ninos” or the children. According to them, because I don’t have actually
children of my own, these are my kids. My kids have taught me to be patient,
and to expect less of my day, to take it slow and develop manageable routines.
And they are also just funny to watch. As any single or new mother would admit,
the days fly by when there are at least 3 feedings in them. J
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Thanksgiving and Hiking in Jinotega
So we actually went hiking after Thanksgiving, but I uploaded the photos in opposite order...oops. First Thanksgiving in the Peace Corps and away from home. Had an awesome time (minus being sick) and it just goes to show that Peace Corps Volunteers always make the best of things.
Saturday went hiking with a bunch of Health Volunteers. We hiked to the Cross on the West side of Jinotega. This is the cool touristy thing to do in Jinotega: hike straight uphill up a huge flight of stairs (imagine Stair Master) to a huge cross. And you get views like this of all of Jinotega City as you walk up.
Walking down with the same cute kids. Here he is holding Katherine's hand "so he doesn't fall." I definitely think this shot is in the running for the next Peace Corps promotional material: Life is calling: Where will you go?
Saturday, November 24, 2012
The New House and the RASH
The Great Rash of 2012
The Chill Out Hammock Area
The Kitchen
Ok, so now that the crisis has passed (knock on wood), let’s
get the adventure out. Last Saturday I
got back to my site from Managua with Cipro for a bacterial infection, when I
started breaking out in welts and huge red splotches at around 7 at night.
Since I am only allergic to zythromax and I could visibly watch the splotches
move and get bigger, I called the PCMO (Peace Corps Medical Officer), who
immediately stopped the Cipro and recommended Benedryll to get it under
control. Side note: the Peace Corps Office is technically closed on the
weekends and the coming Monday was Veterans Day. Yeah! After moving into my own house and another 48 hours
of lots of Benedryll (and even more suggestions and home remedies from all of
my neighbors), I walked into Praderas and hopped the bus to Jinotega and then
Managua to get into the office first thing Tuesday morning. I love Dr. Maria
Auxiliadora, my doctor of choice, because her lovely reaction to my situation
reassured me that I had a right to worry. Her exact words were, “It’s not the
worst I’ve seen, but it’s more than mild.” She sent me to a specialist at the
big, fancy Metropolitano Hospital (bigger and fancier than Porter Medical in
Middlebury- see concentrated medical resources in one of most impoverished and
malnourished countries in this Hemisphere). The dermatologist gave me stronger
prednisone (which I had been taking for a few days after getting it in Praderas
from a very drunk gringo pharmacist). I also got Allegra and Benedryll and was
told to follow-up in 4 days on Friday. And told to not eat (deep breath)-fish,
pork, milk and cheese, fried foods, things with condiments, pineapple, apples,
strawberries, seafood, etc. Oh-and the Gender and Development Training Workshop
was going on at the same time-so I was a zombie while working on empowering
women! And let me go on the record saying that there are only so many things
you can do in Managua before going crazy and/or broke. I easily just walked
back and forth from the hotel to the PC Office to reorganize my backpack at
least 3 times in one day. Good side- TEFL and Environmental groups were COSing
(close of service). Peace Corps
Nicaragua has a tradition that every volunteer gets to ring the bell in the
middle of the office to the applause of all the present office staff. There are
smiles, tears, hugs, and even one engagement proposal!! It was a mental
pick-me-up! Another good side was that almost all my roommates in the shared
hotel rooms were Health Volunteers who offered their concern and expertise
about the Great Rash. It was a little
amusing that the breakfast staff at Hotel Brandt’s knew me by a first name
basis by Wednesday and asked about my “condition.” Thursday was my first
spot-free day and then got the ok from the dermatologist to go back to site
after Friday! And we still don’t know what actually cause this lovely adventure!
The PCMO thinks that it may have been stress and/or a reaction with the Cipro.
But, like the number of licks to the center of a Tootsie pop, the world may
never know…. But here’s a picture to give you an idea of the things the tropics
can do to you.
The Rash Day One Hour One (don't think you want to see more)
The New House
These are not going to go up on the blog for very long per Peace Corps security protocol (don’t need people knowing where I live in detail, especially since all the youth who really want to know just have to walk down the road.) There are 4 rooms: bedroom, kitchen, shed, and middle entrance room. There is electricity inside and enough doors and windows with bolts and heavy duty gym locks that I will lock myself in and out at least once before X-mas. I took the pictures of indoors as I was unpacking, so forgive the mess and Witness Protection look. It’s a little better now. Already transplanted my tomatoes, spinach, and strawberries that I had been raising in recycled plastic bottle. I live next to the CICO, an abandoned preschool building. There is a washing board and faucet there that I share with the mom, Heysi, who lives on the other side of the CICO. That’s when there is water. Granted, Pantasma rarely has water shortages, but it was just coincidence that I left with the Great Rash of 2012 there was no water and when I returned a few days later, there was no water again. Thank God for the generosity of Nicarguans, I was gifted water buckets and some food to tide me over until I could get my own. Similar to how Vermonters can agree to talk about the weather for the first 15 minutes of every conversations, my neighbors started every conversation with the water update. is water. Granted, Pantasma rarely has water shortages, but it was just coincidence that I left with the Great Rash of 2012 there was no water and when I returned a few days later, there was no water again. Thank God for the generosity of Nicarguans, I was gifted water buckets and some food to tide me over until I could get my own. Similar to how Vermonters can agree to talk about the weather for the first 15 minutes of every conversations, my neighbors started every conversation with the water update. “Hay agua? Vino el agua?” or the worst “Se fue” (It went). My neighbors to the other side are the wonderful family of Don Oscar and Dona Marlene. Marlene is very quiet and 6 months pregnant. She loves to sing in the morning and the afternoon. Oscar plays on the baseball team on Sundays (he’s the catcher) and is a carpenter and engineer for the Hydroelectric project up the mountain. He’s the one who installed the entire new roof for my house and has offered install a shower or help make any other projects during my service. I am currently looking for wood to make a box for lombrices-vermiculture!! Still cleaning and organizing, and figuring out where the ditches are, but I would relate it camping. It’s what you make of it. I spend a little more time working on the basics (latrine, water, food prep without refrigeration, etc). And there is a team of bats with whom I am sharing my clothes dresser.
These are not going to go up on the blog for very long per Peace Corps security protocol (don’t need people knowing where I live in detail, especially since all the youth who really want to know just have to walk down the road.) There are 4 rooms: bedroom, kitchen, shed, and middle entrance room. There is electricity inside and enough doors and windows with bolts and heavy duty gym locks that I will lock myself in and out at least once before X-mas. I took the pictures of indoors as I was unpacking, so forgive the mess and Witness Protection look. It’s a little better now. Already transplanted my tomatoes, spinach, and strawberries that I had been raising in recycled plastic bottle. I live next to the CICO, an abandoned preschool building. There is a washing board and faucet there that I share with the mom, Heysi, who lives on the other side of the CICO. That’s when there is water. Granted, Pantasma rarely has water shortages, but it was just coincidence that I left with the Great Rash of 2012 there was no water and when I returned a few days later, there was no water again. Thank God for the generosity of Nicarguans, I was gifted water buckets and some food to tide me over until I could get my own. Similar to how Vermonters can agree to talk about the weather for the first 15 minutes of every conversations, my neighbors started every conversation with the water update. is water. Granted, Pantasma rarely has water shortages, but it was just coincidence that I left with the Great Rash of 2012 there was no water and when I returned a few days later, there was no water again. Thank God for the generosity of Nicarguans, I was gifted water buckets and some food to tide me over until I could get my own. Similar to how Vermonters can agree to talk about the weather for the first 15 minutes of every conversations, my neighbors started every conversation with the water update. “Hay agua? Vino el agua?” or the worst “Se fue” (It went). My neighbors to the other side are the wonderful family of Don Oscar and Dona Marlene. Marlene is very quiet and 6 months pregnant. She loves to sing in the morning and the afternoon. Oscar plays on the baseball team on Sundays (he’s the catcher) and is a carpenter and engineer for the Hydroelectric project up the mountain. He’s the one who installed the entire new roof for my house and has offered install a shower or help make any other projects during my service. I am currently looking for wood to make a box for lombrices-vermiculture!! Still cleaning and organizing, and figuring out where the ditches are, but I would relate it camping. It’s what you make of it. I spend a little more time working on the basics (latrine, water, food prep without refrigeration, etc). And there is a team of bats with whom I am sharing my clothes dresser.
Oscar and Marlene have two kids, Oscar Junior and Oscary (she’s a girl). They are both adorable and very curious. They and Isabel’s son, Engel, take turns just walking into my house and following me, watching everything I do. The Oscars are much more talkative, and try to update me on all the pertinent information of their lives. I think they are just wildly happy to have someone to talk to who is interested in doing projects. They are super creative and like to tinker. Engel is much younger, and currently is getting over pneumonia. Everyone is sick actually. The climate change, however small it may seem in comparison to New England, does a number on the community of Cuatro Esquinas. Everyone has grippe- which encompasses all flu-like symptoms. This is in part due to the slow damp end of rainy season and the entrance of chilly, uninsulated nights and mornings as we change to dry season. Jinotega is more mountainous and higher up, so dry season requires a sweater until March unlike the rest of the country. My fellow PCVs in Leon and Chinandega could not believe I even had a sweater when I came to the Office.
There is definitely a change in routine towards more independence, but also a scary sense of losing momentum as I shift to living on my own schedule. This also comes around the 3 month mark and I’ll admit that I certainly thought I would be knee-deep in projects and community activities when I looked at this point in my service from the perspective of a Trainee. Thank God for Dona Marlene and Dona Marta. As they say, “You are just starting.” We are so fixated on results and production as Americans, that I can physically feel my heart beating faster as I think about nutrition charlas, youth soccer games, cooking classes, latrines installed, ovens made, things built, things done. One of the local guys walked in on my conversation with my host grandmother and just offhandedly mentioned how he liked me better than the last volunteer because “you’re like us-you placticar y pasear (chat and pass time).” I was flattered and relieved these conversations were helping build social reputation and capital. Thank you for having a big family and the 20 Questions Olympics at Thanksgiving and X-mas. But the difference now, is that people are coming to visit my house to see me. They are placticar-ing with me about my security and giving me their phone numbers for whatever I may need. I’ve read about this generosity and sincerity of Host Country Nationals, but I will admit that I have never lived in a community long enough to just live in it (there was always sports and school, etc.). But here, it is my job and to the better of my experience to integrate, acclimate, adapt and reciprocate. I am getting better about not having to think about it or be culturally sensitive. But, I still have to remind myself, daily if not hourly, that development is a slow process. One volunteer once told me, “They were here before you got here and they will be here in 2 years when you leave; you have to find the balance between being the driving force and one of the guys.” Another volunteer who is about to extend her service offered, “It’s not about the flashy projects. More often than not, it’s balancing just living in your site with your basic job requirements. Just be ready for the opportunities when they come, but don’t force them. Your community should not suffer simply because you’re fighting boredom.” And lastly, “It is important to integrate and blend a little with your community, but don’t give up parts of yourself. You are what got you into Peace Corps. It should be a mutually beneficial and additive process; you don’t have to compromise to be a good volunteer.” While it is the best advice to keep you service individual and not compare to others, at the same time fellow PCVs are by far the best resources for coping and just sharing the moments.
My Room
More Book Reports: a lot of time on the bus
The Glass Castle: by Jeannette Walls
This is an incredible memoir with the same tenacious and
objective spirit of writers like Frank McCourt. I inhaled this book in less
than a week (and a few bus trips to Managua-10 hours round trip). Jeannette is
one of 4 and you follow her and her unique family from state to state. Her
father is brilliant, a story-teller and hard worker-when he’s sober. Her naïve
childhood innocence holds out longer than the average person, through the
pickled fights and the broken dreams and piggy banks. The title comes from the
blueprints for an actual castle her father uses as his trump card whenever he
requires a good show of faith from his ever-faithful but eventually faltering
family. He incentivizes the creativity of his children to hang on and believe
in him a little bit longer, just one more time. This is with the backdrop of
several struggling parts of the U.S.-New Mexico and California ghettos to
long-gone coal mines of West Virginia and then the homeless corners of New York
after all the children have left the deranged nest to find their own lives in
the Big Apple. I found myself appalled, intrigued, amazed and awestruck and
also laughing, sometimes at the same time. You just can’t believe that this all
happened to one person, but the genuine tone and honest narrative makes it not
just possible, but inspiring. From
eating out of garbage cans to fighting at school because they are the dirtiest
students, I see the same spirit and infallible desire to play in the children
in my site. They may be hungry, malnourished, with family webs that confound
the imagination, but they still want to play soccer and braid hair.
The Good Doctor: by Damon Galgut
Did not leave as much of a lasting impression, but still a
good quick read. In essence, South Africa after apartheid with a small clinic
in the middle of nowhere and there is one doctor who has been there longer then
the newly, fresh-off-the-jeep rookie who has come to change the world and start
clinics, etc. Again, some parallels to the inevitable disillusionment of Peace
Corps service with the search for personal relationships across drastic social
political, and economic differences. The doctors clash over everything from
ideology to what is change and what is their purpose and what are reasonable
expectations given the living conditions and strife. It’s short and bitter, but had a few too many
introspective moments with not enough background information for me. However,
it does bring to light the importance of the composition of the volunteer or
the development worker down to the very last detail. Your character and makeup
is just as important as the community you are working with and it’s not just a
give and take. They are relationships and they are messy. J
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