Doña

Last night, dark storm clouds crept in from the horizon. The neighborhood was dark because there was no luz. It was a ghost town. Leaves blew about; the trees trembled. Thunder moaned in the distance. Lighting bolts dashed across the sky. A mist blew in as the rain started playing melodies on the tin roof. The smell of a summer storm wafted in the air.

Doña Esperanza, a tall hefty woman of 68 with thick eyeglasses and a toothy smile, and I sat quietly in the "galeria" (front porch) watching this drama unfold. We like to sit on the galeria a lot, to “coger fresco” (catch the breeze), compartir, and watch the neighborhood goings-on or observe flying objects or brewing storms. Usually we talk about the town, the luz, the weather, what I did that day, her brief life in Brooklyn, but I’ve never really broached the subject of family. So I asked her how many children she had. A simple and considerate question… People ask about families here rather than what you do for a living. However, her answer saddened me.

She told me that she had 3 children, but only was living (her daughter who lives with us). Her only son died while serving in the military when he was 21, but he wasn’t killed in combat. One day after doing some exercises with his group, he drank a hot soda (“refresco caliente” as she told me), and the next day, he died. The assumption was that something wrong with soda… Strange, but I didn’t want to pry any further into the circumstance.

Ten years ago, her daughter, a doctor, and her granddaughter, who was 7, were traveling to a town in the West, when their “guagua” had an accident and caught on fire. Four people were killed in the accident. As my Doña put it, two of them were hers.

I wish I could say that this was the only time this question of family elicited such a sad response, but it’s not…

When I was in training a few months ago, I was sitting down in the dining room to have lunch. My training host doña and I were chatting and I asked her about her children. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen, leaned on the door frame, and started crying. She told me that she had just lost her daughter a year ago to a disease. I was speechless, and I felt so bad.

The doñas in this country shoulder a lot of weight. The majority of the time, they are the father and the mother to their children (Where are the fathers, you ask? They are either off having second or third families, they live on their own, or they’re working in the States and sending back money. Generally, fathers don’t provide emotional support for the family, just financial support.). Doñas work tirelessly to care for their families. They wake early in the morning to buy the groceries and begin cooking the mid-day meal. They spend the day washing clothes by hand. They scrub the house up and down. They gossip with the neighbors to find out the news of the town. They are the towers of strength in any family, and their opinions carry a lot of power. Doñas will hold you by the hand to point you in the right direction. Hungry? They will insist that you sit down as they serve you something to eat.

So last night, as I was sitting on the galeria with Doña Esperanza, I gained a new respect for her. I couldn’t see her in the dark, but I could feel the pain in her voice as she talked about her deceased children. I could imagine her eyes remembering… and yet, in spite of all, she never runs out of smiles or high-pitched giggles. She continues on while she tenaciously hangs onto her faith in God.

Profe

Yep, that’s me… I’ve become a “profe.” (pronounced prof-a) It’s what all the students call their teachers here, short for “profesor” or “profesora.” I passed a student from my center the other day, and she said, “Hola profe.” I felt really proud and special.

I’m still working on my diagnostic, as that’s my primary assignment so far, but I’ve also started regularly teaching English classes. Usually, I’ll share class time with the teacher in which I spend the first half of the class teaching concepts like grammar, introductions, the English alphabet, while during the second half, the regular teacher teaches his portion. I’m considering this part of my “internship” work, as I will be planning my own advanced English class for the fall (among other things). I’ve already discovered methods that I can incorporate into my own class. I want to make it dynamic, fun, and I want to do it right. I feel like sometimes the education here leaves something to be desired, so I really want my classes to be memorable, and more importantly, I want my students to learn something.

I have a lot of thinking to do. I will have to be creative. Regular teaching supplies aren’t readily available here, so I’m going to have to scavenge a little. Today I drew pictures on flash cards to represent descriptive adjectives (like happy, sad, fat, thin, etc.)… Well, my pictures look like a 6-year-old drew them, so maybe I’ll keep them for another time.

I find the teaching experience to be quite fulfilling. I can see that my students appreciate the positive feedback and the special attention I give them. They are always smiling, and I especially enjoy the laughs we share together.

And guess what one of my students brought me today? Nope, not an apple. Instead, he gave me a mango! I really am in the DR!

Where I Live (In a Few Pictures)

At the playa.

My new sisters

The famous mosquitero!

My sister and our neighbor dancing Bachata (I'm still afraid of it).

A rainbow, or "arco iris," as I learned yesterday.

I became obsessed with capturing this "arco iris" (and saying it too.).

My Peace Corps PR shot. Taken during a walk with my sisters.

Caballos!

Muchachos in the soccer field

Walking with my sisters

My favorite pastime during the "siesta": reading! (I'm currently reading "One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez... I'm getting into the Latin American authors.)

My favorite "refresco" on hot days: Pepsi in a glass bottle.

My new friend, "La Cuca." He's said my name once.

Cuca stealing a taste of Pepsi

Work Photos

I realize that many of my photos feature me enjoying recreational activities, so here are some to demonstrate my work. Here I am in my work environment! (It's not all paradise, ya know. I have lots of work to do too... I will try to put up some of my teaching activities soon.)

Giving a presentation

More of the presentation (and yes, I'm speaking Spanish!)

Happy about the success of my meeting

Presentation about my diagnostic to the employees at my center

With some employees at my technology center

Students in the computer lab

The "Special Blog Post" Club!

Hello Fine Readers,

The life of a Peace Corps Volunteer consists of rather diverse experiences and profound feelings. Sometimes things are really great; sometimes they’re terrible. That’s just the nature of living in a culture foreign to your own. You are wearing a different pair of glasses than almost everyone else.

Therefore, it is impossible for me to divulge everything on this public forum. There are some unpublished posts I would very much like to share with some of you, but I have to retain a certain level of PR and respect for the people in the community.

Accordingly, I’ve decided to share some posts offline with those of you who are interested. If you are family or a friend and would like to receive these “special posts” by email, send me a request via email or Facebook (include your email in your message!). If I don’t know you, but you are an interested reader, write me a comment with your email address (my comments are pre-approved and I won’t publish your email), and I’ll consider whether to add you to the “subscription list.”

Also, this will be a good way for me to gauge my readership. I’m not sure how many of you are actively reading…

Thank you for your interest.

Cheers,
Alanna

A Day in the Life of Me

I realize that most of my blogs have been reflections of my service here and anecdotes about the more interesting aspects of my daily life. However, I have not shared my day-to-day, hence the purpose of this post.

8:00 to 8:45 AM – Wake up, sometimes to an alarm, sometimes naturally. Normal bathroom routine.

8:45 to 9:15 AM – Eat breakfast: Strong Dominican coffee with milk, bread (sometimes toasted, sometimes with peanut butter), fruit, vitamin pills, anti-malarial profilaxis (once a week).

9:15 to 10:15 AM – Do my business on the internet: research, send out emails (business and personal), read some news, post blogs, etc. etc.

10:15 to 10:30 AM – Walk to the Centro Tecnologico Comunitario (CTC), which can be an adventure (Read the “Awkward” blog about the various obstacles).

10:30 to about 1:00 PM – Hang out at the CTC. Right now, I am in the diagnostic phase of my service. My job is to snoop, get answers to my questions. I have been talking with teachers, the administrator, attending a few meetings in the community, designing my diagnostic plan, creating instruments (surveys for interviews… ah, I feel so academic), and speaking tons of Spanish.

1:00 to 1:15 PM – Walk back home. It’s usually burning hot at this time, and I have to walk up huge hill to my house. Very hard.

1:15 to 3:00 – Lunch and siesta time! Yay! I usually help myself to healthy portions of the “bandera” (traditional meal here… rice, beans, chicken, salad, and sometimes plantains. Yum!! My Doña is an excellent cook. One day, I’ll take pictures.). After lunch, I retire to the porch with a Dominican coffee and a good book. Usually, I’ll talk to our pet parrot (named “Cuca”). Lately, I’ve been knitting too. At times, I’ll take a nap. I love very relaxing siestas.

3:15 PM to about 6:30 PM – Walk back to the CTC and then more snooping. Many times, I have meetings with the administrative committee or the employees of the center. Sometimes I observe classes. Sometimes I just get information. Yesterday, I helped teach 2 classes – one computer class and one English class. Let’s just say I was more successful in the English class.

After 6:30 PM – I usually sit on the porch and “compartir” with my family for a while and whistle at Cuca. If there is still light out, I’ll read. Then there’s dinner, more “compartir-ing” with the family by moonlight, a cold bath (though during this time of year, quite refreshing), and a good movie in my mosquitero.

By Midnight – I’m sleeping safely in my mosquitero and the house is quiet, aside from a humming fan and some serenading frogs outside.

Awkward

I think that adequately describes the Peace Corps experience here in the DR.  Awkward.

I walk down the decrepit sidewalk daily.  I carefully tiptoe around potholes, mud puddles, old ladies hobbling along, vendors selling their wares, parked motorcycles on the sidewalk.  Yet, it never fails.  I’m clumsy.  I’m a tripper, and there’s always that crack that gets me.  So I lunge forward, in front of everyone watching.  I stand out.  I’m blonde, white, and I don’t move with the liquid grace of busty Dominicanas.  It’s just awkward.

And people will just stare at me.  It’s cultural, nothing malicious.  People just stare at each other, but I’m a novelty (and American culture dictates that we don’t stare… it’s rude), so I can’t get away from stares.  Ahhh, awkward!

Ah, the silly miscommunication that is my mantra.  I stutter on my words.  My teeth get stuck on my lips when I try to say “alphabeticazión” (which I’ve been trying to say a lot lately). It’s just like those crazy sidewalks, except with speech.  People always try to finish my sentences.  Frustrating.  Or if I don’t completely hear what they were saying or if I understand the Spanish but not the context, they attempt to tell me in English.  I’m not to be handled with gloves; I just want clarification in Spanish!  Frustrating.  Sometimes they talk so rapidly and nod their head.  And I slowly nod in agreement and then afterwards I realize that I agreed to something unintentionally.  Awkward.

As far as I know, I’m the only blonde Americana living here (If there were others, I would know about them.  There are some other Americans who live here… I’ve heard about them, because everyone knows everybody here.).  Therefore, I’m somewhat of a celebrity here.  People know of me.  Some know me as “rubia” (typical), while others know my name.   Yet, many times I can’t place where I met them, much less their names.  In these situations, I feel just plain awkward.

Modongo (cow intestines) for dinner, now that’s really awkward.

Public speaking.  I’m shy, as most of you all know.  I’m quiet, and sometimes I just prefer to keep to myself.  Yet by merit of being a PC Volunteer, I have to public speak everywhere.   I attend an English or computer class to observe, and then in the middle class I’m asked to stand up and introduce myself.  Crowded meetings of community leaders, I have to sit in front and stare out at the crowd.  Of course, I have to speak (you all know about it.  I wrote about it in a previous blog.).  Even when I go to church to get my fill of the great Dios who everyone talks about (“Si Dios quiere,” “Ay, Dios mio!” “Gracias a Dios.”), the pastor says a few words about me (ah, surprise!) and then asks me to stand before a crowded church on Mother’s Day, speak in a microphone, and introduce myself.  And as a side note, my Spanish on this particular Sunday was crap.  For some reason, my mental Spanish program was having some bugs.  So yes, you guessed it, AWKWARD.

I’ve come to expect all this awkwardness, that it’s fazing me less and less.  I find myself staring back now, grabbing the microphone, just walking up to somebody and start speaking my mangled Spanish.  It’s normal, this awkwardness. 

You wanna know something funny?  The word “awkward” doesn’t exist in Spanish!  All this awkwardness isn’t really real in the DR!

So I’m the only one feeling awkward.  Now that’s awkward! Hah!

 

Dejé Mi Corazón en Brooklyn

Sometimes my mind wanders off and I spend a lot of time contemplating.  My eyes become vacant, elsewhere.   I’m usually thinking of someone; someone who has given me strength and endless encourage.  He thinks I’m beautiful and every time I look into his eyes, I realize he’s telling the truth.  When I feel hopeless, beaten, he’s patient enough to pick up my pieces and glue me back together… and even though we’re thousands of miles apart, he still touches me.

It’s important that I mention him because missing him is part of the journey.  He is my sacrifice, my piece of home.

I honestly don’t think I would be right where I am today if he hadn’t befriended me all those years ago.   And in the last moments before my departure from my old life, when I wasn’t sure if I should come or go, he had enough strength for both of us, to look into my eyes and tell me what I knew myself.

I admire him for giving me wings, for sending me off to live my life.   But he’s right here with me, in my spirit, typing as I type, smiling as I smile, thinking as I think.

I feel like he’s carrying a piece of me right now.  Part of my heart is somewhere in the streets of Brooklyn.

-To Sasha

Swearing In Pics

A few pics from swearing in, courtesy of Lindsey and Woodley.

All the lovely ladies

During the ceremony, Jared gave an awesome speech about Doña power

Woodley and me

REVISION TO MY MAILING ADDRESS!

Hey All,

So I think the address I had previously posted on this blog is not complete.  I'm a little annoyed b/c that was the address I was given.  To those of you who have sent me something already, I apologize and I will pray that the packages and mail will arrive eventually.

I plan to check out the post office here to see what the procedure would be to set up a mailbox in town; therefore, look out for an address change.  I would suggest before you send something, check with me to confirm the address.  The mail service is certainly frustrating in this country b/c there is no door-to-door service and mail can take FOREVER to arrive...  

Anyway, my address....

[My name, PCV]

Cuerpo de Paz

Av Bolivar 451, Gazcue

Apartado Postal 1412

Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic