Justice is What Love Looks Like in Public

I know that the Baltimore riots happened a few weeks ago, but I wanted to give a little bit of my opinion. Also, it’s really important that we continue to talk about what happened—and the discrimination and police brutality that continues even today.

Being the Wanderlust girl that I am, it’s really hard for me to call one place “home”. I have fond memories of cities all over. But as someone who lived outside of DC and Baltimore in my formative years, those two cities have a special pull on my heart.

And when I think about it, Baltimore especially does. Baltimore is where I first saw underprivileged people right in front of me. I was leaving an Orioles game with my dad, and to my shock there were a plethora of tattered individuals that had appeared while we were watching the action inside the stadium, holding up signs begging for money. I observed them in silence as we walked by, and my heart reached out to every individual there.

The next day I got on my computer and googled (or was it AOL search back then?) what one can do for homeless people. The rest, you can say is history. Well, to say that more accurately, my reaction was already predicted by my parent’s raising me to care about people, my own ability to empathize with people. But I just remember that being the pivotal moment of knowing I wanted—no, needed—to do something. Perhaps I didn’t focus on homelessness, but a general sense of responsibility and desire to do good work. I spent the following years volunteering with my church youth group; everything from working in a soup kitchen and the food bank to raking the leaves of an elderly person’s yard. I wouldn’t say I was driven by an insatiable desire to save the world; I merely felt that these things were more or less my duty as a citizen and member of community organizations.

Police brutality and the murder of young black men by police (and citizens playing at police) is nothing new. Let’s say it goes back to the very first days of this country. The current atmosphere is not merely an increase in those murders, but an upswing of attention and the boiling over of emotions, all fueled by the ability of the internet to share stories and smartphone videos to contradict the explanations of the police.

My heart goes out to Baltimore; the place that first showed me real people in need. Not because it burns, but because the desire to burn exists as a cry of pain. That desire comes from years of oppression and continued police brutality. It comes from the lack of opportunity and the treatment of citizens as the enemies in a war we invented.

Were the riots wrong? All I know is that the murder of a human being is MORE morally reprehensible than property destruction. That there ALREADY have been non-violent protests, community meetings and organizing, discussions about the problem, and so on. But few people cared or even attempted to do anything until property—a thing we value more than the lives of young, black men—was threatened. Our country was built on riots (cough *tea party* cough). How can you condemn a more contemporary riot that is fighting for the freedom—just as the revolutionaries were?

And if we want people to not be violent, I think our first duty is to ask the STATE from engaging in violence. It is the state that is keeping our fellow citizens oppressed, carting them off to jail at alarming rates, and shooting them dead in the street for no reason. The State is the violent offender here, not the people crying out for reform.

But while I refuse to condemn outright the riots, I will point out that, in fact, most people were peaceful. And the day after the riots, thousands of people got together and organized a clean-up day. This is the line I posted with this (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/04/28/baltimore-community-cleanup_n_7162666.html) article on my facebook account:

“Don't HOPE/PRAY for PEACE. WORK for JUSTICE.

‘Baltimore, the place you can B-MORE than what the media says you are.

‘I admire the people protesting, I understand the anger that caused (a small number) to become destructive, and I love that this city has people that have stood up and said that they will do right by their community. Now let's all get together and clean up this mess of structural violence and police brutality.”

Peace is not enough in Baltimore. I don’t want peace. I want JUSTICE. And Justice is everyone in that city to be able to support themselves and their families, whether it is through temporary government programs or increased opportunities. It is realizing those people are not lazy, but that in fact their manufacturing jobs were shipped away, but they were unable to move to a better place, thanks to discriminatory housing practices.  It is ending the de facto segregation that keeps poor black in certain neighborhoods, away from opportunity. It is stopping the mass incarceration that targets black men in the drug war. It is stopping police from gunning down or beating to death young black males. I want justice for these men in the form of a better world (and in the form of their murders being imprisoned). I want justice for black communities across America. I want better police and policing. I want better economic opportunities. I want better schools. I want a better life for each individual in struggling communities. There is work to be done here. Let’s come together to make this happen.

No Justice, No Peace.

Know Justice, Know Peace.

Now back to my time in the DR:

After my fun time with Maria, I came back and kept working on the Savings and Loans groups. My work just keeps expanding, and I fear it will never truly be done. I started off simply re-working the accounting system. Then I added a manual on training. Then I decided to make a detailed instruction manual for the local coordinators/trainers.

When I presented the last part to the trainers, Franklin was really put off. He looked at it, and how I’d presented a week-by-week plan for teaching the group how a group functions. He said he couldn’t work with it; it was too rigid and didn’t allow him to change up things for different group circumstances. “No, this will not work for me at all,” he said, shaking his head. I tried to coax out of him other suggestions, asking, “Okay, well then what would work?” In the end we ended up making a checklist so the coordinators could mark it once they went over a lesson. There was a suggested order, but they were free to jump around.

The intern who had worked with the savings groups last summer came back briefly (Mel). She actually got a grant and will work with them some this summer before starting her job (she just graduated college). We actually went to see another employee of the organization I’m working for, named Kaylynn. She is more or less in Lia’s (my supervisor) position, but in a different region. When the three of us were talking, they also pointed out that the order I had the lessons in was problematic, because it didn’t cover all the accounting initially; I had spread it out over the 3 “Training” months. So we reorganized it, and they liked the checklist idea.

Later, when I showed Franklin the changes I had made, and pointed out that it was like he had suggested, he was a little put off. “Just because I say something doesn’t mean you have to change it,” he said, alarmed.

We tried to explain to him that it wasn’t like that. But that we were trying to be collaborative, and since he was the one doing this work, he obviously has good ideas. Sometimes it is really hard to find this balance, though. I want to get as many ideas as I can from the two local coordinators Franklin & Nataly, but also they don’t have much background with these groups, except for what they’ve been doing recently. Also, Franklin doesn’t like to outright criticize me, so I have to pull it out of him. It’s also sometimes hard to say, oh, well yes I did what you said, but also because I thought it was a good idea!

I’ve also been developing some financial trainings for the groups. The idea is that the Administrative Committee would be trained separately on the actual accounting. But all members would get lessons with every meeting regarding how the groups function, from reading and filling in by-laws to lessons about how the savings function as “shares” in the group. Additionally, they would receive some training about personal financial management. Initially, I used a budgeting lesson that I’d developed while in Benin, but the coordinators informed me it was too complicated for their often old and illiterate members. So I included simpler lessons, including one on consumption versus investments, and one on strategies for reducing spending. Also, I had one lesson be a Feasibility Study, which looks at potential or existing small businesses to see if they are or can be profitable and beneficial. I’d done this with a few groups in Benin, but it was hard to translate it to Spanish and the Dominican context. I definitely used my teacher, M., to help me with the latter, after using Google Translate for the former part. Not that Google Translate is perfect. But it gave me a good place to start. I could read over the translation and think, “No, that’s not what I meant” and change it myself, but not having to translate every word definitely helped.

For one day, I went to the capital, Santo Dominigo, where I finally got to meet with the rest of the team, who are spread out in the country. They had been there the whole week, discussing their work. Then I came for the last day to present the work I’d been doing, and see what everyone thought, and where it fit in to the organizational mission, and what I’d be doing from here. Everyone seemed really excited. My goal has been to essentially create a template which can be reproduced throughout the country, with clear guidelines and ideas. And this is what they need. They have the desire to do this, and I’ve created the basic tools. It was all very exciting.

My organization: American staff and Dominican counterparts

Afterwards, I walked around the city, which has a lot of architecture left over from the Spanish (including the oldest church in the Americas), as well as various monuments to Dominican revolutionaries. Lia and I went out dancing, which was super fun. Then the next day I spent a bit of time at this small beach near the hotel before heading back to El Seibo.

The first church in the Americas
And a statue of Christopher Columbus,
who ironically wiped out almost all of the original inhabitants of this island

A view of the capital from the top of our hotel

the nearby beach (one of very few in the capital that was actually clean)

A few days later, Mel (the intern who helped start the groups) arrived. We started working on some stuff, and then for two days we went and visited Kaylynn. She is in a region in the south. It was a bit far away, but I was stoked to see another part of the country. We ended up staying in a little town south of Kaylynn, in a house/hostel that sat on a cliff overlooking the beach. On the first day going there, we ran into traffic caused by beachgoers coming back after their weekend trip. People parked on the side of the road, aka in the road, with no regard for those actually trying to move the vehicles. It was a mess. Mel and I actually ended up getting out and walking. It was only about a 30 minute walk up a very steep hill. We were worried that we wouldn’t make it until nightfall, and were worried that we had our computers and cash and everyone around would be a little drunk. We made it to the hostel and got to watch as the traffic finally dissipated after about 2 hours. By that time we were already well-fed by the woman who was running the place and were just soaking in the view.

Nighttime looking over the water

 The next day we got up to watch the sunrise, which was quite lovely, and when we came back, we hiked down the mountain to go to the beach. It turned out to be a little too rough to actually go swimming. Anyone “in” the ocean was just standing at where the waves broke to get a splash, but the waves were simply too strong and too big to go out any further. I stood in the rushing water for a bit, just enjoying myself. Then just laid down on the beach, relaxing. The really cool part about this beach was that there was a series of waterfalls and swimming holes (clearly with man-made barriers to keep the holes swimmable) all the way down the mountain that people were enjoying. Although I would be a bit worried to actually go in at least the lower ones (all that body dirt drifting down—no thank you!). But it seemed like everyone was having a fun time with them.

Sunrise over the ocean

Me, posing, at the cliffside

The work we did was mostly about looking forward. I of course would be leaving in a little over a week. And Mel was leaving soon, coming back for only the month of July. The organization (Kaylynn, specifically, who will be taking the lead on this branch of work) needed to know exactly how my system work, and talk about exactly what she needed to see moving forward. So we discussed what I had, the changes I needed to make, as well as the input I would need from Kaylynn and Mel on specific items.

The next week and a half was basically finishing everything up. Mel and I met with Franklin and Nataly to discuss their thoughts and moving forward. Then she left, and I finished up everything I could, printed out everything that needed to be printed, and finally had a meeting with Franklin, Nataly, and Lia, leaving them with my final work and instructions, ideas etc.

So the first week(ish) of May is “Patronales” in El Seibo, where they celebrate the patron saint (Santa de la Cruz) of the town. This is done, apparently, by having bullfights. Not bullfights where the bulls are actually killed or anything, but simply let into the ring to be harassed by drunk assholes. One bull actually “Noped!” right out. He ran out into the ring when they opened the gate, and upon seeing the hoard waiting for him, turned around and ran right back. It was fun to see this as a cultural thing, but I didn’t really much care for it, even if the bulls weren’t being hurt. Then some fights broke out, and Lia and I noped right out of there once someone brought out a machete. The police were kind of keeping order, but then piling all those fighting into the back of the same pickup truck.

Bullfighting (ish)

We contented ourselves, instead, with walking around, observing the men riding around on horseback. While this is somewhat normal in the DR, it wasn’t so much in El Seibo, except for this week. There were also carnival rides and people selling cowboy hats.

I had one last meal with my Spanish teacher. It was fish cooked in this coconut sauce. Delicious! And she gave me some “Dulce de Leche” actually made in El Seibo right before I left as a parting gift, and one to share with my family.

Yummy!

Working hard!

My host family threw a going-away dinner for me, complete with my favorite food: tostones. These are plantains that are fried and smashed flat. They are wonderful. Lia was there and helped me pack a bit. After she left, my host mom came in and told me that she was really going to miss me, and stroked my hair and cried a bit. She also gave me some little souvenir gifts, which was really nice of her.

Teaching Sammy to fetch

Pictures with my host mom and her two granddaughters

Me with my host sis and the dog we both love, Sammy!

Friday, after I’d printed out some last-minute things, I went to Miches, the beach. It was so wonderful. I stopped in at this little bar right on the beach, and got a coke to mix with rum that I’d brought. I asked the people there to watch my bag as I swam in the ocean. The water there is this gorgeous turquoise, with very calm waves. I swam “laps” back in forth, I floated on my back; I simply enjoyed with glorious calm, warm water for a long time. The beach was completely deserted, except for the occasional moto that passed by. After an hour, I went back in, and made myself another drink. I also brought a book to read, so I was enjoying that. Then I was offered a free drink by the owner, which I graciously accepted (obviously). I went back out into the waters almost bursting of joy for my incredible, amazing life. When I went back in again, the owner offered me another drink, and I stood and talked with him and the two female bartenders for a while. Also there was a kitten, which I obviously played with and petted for the whole conversation. The owner asked me what I thought of Miches and I told him it was tranquil and beautiful. “Like you.” He responded mildly. I just smiled and went on petting the kitten.

Eventually, I did have to leave. The man asked me to tell all my friends about the place. So here goes. If you ever find yourself in eastern Dominican Republic (which you probably should work on), go the Miches. It’s gorgeous. Specifically, go to the Playa Arriba, just over the river, and go to the very first bar you come to (NOT Coco Loco, which is the next bar/hotel). The one I’m talking about has a horse painted on the side, because you can actually get a horse ride along the beach. I never got to do this, but oh well. Maybe next time.

Saturday I boarded a plane and returned to America. I still had some unfinished work, so I sent all that over the internet to Lia and Kaylynn in the next few days, in addition to a very thorough write-up on instructions, suggestions, observations, etc. It feels weird, because I feel like the (development) work is never truly finished. But for me, on this project, it is.

And thus ended my amazing experience in the Dominican Republic.

What’s Next?

So as I was living in the DR, I took the time to apply for various jobs. The goal had been to stay in the DR in some way, but that never worked out. So I applied for one job in Africa, and a few in the D.C. area. I only got one call for an interview, from a small international development consulting firm in Northern Virginia. So I did one phone interview, one Skype interview, and after checking my references, they decided to hire me. I got the call exactly a week after my last trip to Miches.

So now I have a real, salaried, 9 to 5 job in the DC metro area. It’s super exciting, but also feels weird. Like I will actually be living in one place in America for probably a good amount of time.

I also feel incredibly blessed. My life has been truly amazing—well, forever—but especially over the past 10 years. I fell in love with College of Charleston. I applied to this school and once I found out I got in, I didn’t even bother to apply anywhere else. A few months later they handed me a full tuition scholarship. I had always wanted to go to France. I went my sophomore year. I decided West Africa was calling my name. I went my senior year. I wanted to go back to West Africa. I went there for two years, after finding and completing this great, relatively inexpensive Masters program in Oklahoma, where I met some of the most wonderful people ever. I decided I wanted to learn Spanish and live in the DR and I did (obviously). Then I decided maybe I wanted a real job with real money, and a within a week of leaving my internship, I had one. I’ve worked hard, obviously for all of this, but I also know this shows that a little bit of privilege goes a long way. I have had incredible opportunities and my ability to experience them was definitely helped out by my position in life. And every day I am grateful for that. I want to continue working hard to hopefully make a difference in someone else’s life.

And I want to thank everyone who has supported me over the years. My parents, obviously, my grandparents, my sisters and other family. You’ve always been there to encourage me, help me, listen to my stories. All of my friends who have done the same. To my professors, you have been amazing, and always encouraged my love of learning and inspired me. And thanks to everyone reading who has donated to some project or journey of mine, thank you again. You’ve made my vagabond lifestyle possible and most importantly helped the individuals and communities I strove to improve. 

Thanks everyone for reading my blog. My strong opinions, my struggles, my joys. It has been a pleasure writing this and sharing my experiences. I hope you’ve been able to learn and enjoy. And I hope it inspires you in some way as well!!!

I assume this will be my last blog for a while. I have to actually accumulate vacation days now, not just head off into the sunset whenever I feel like it. I would love to stay in touch, even if I’m not off gallivanting with cool stories to tell. But when I have a new travel story, I’ll be sure to write about it and share once again.

The Ups and Downs and An Amazing Vacation

Saturday, 14 March 2015

Today was my birthday. Pi Day! And Pi Day to 5 digits (3.1415), which happens rarely. I tried to explain the concept of Pi Day to my host mom, but it didn’t work out so well.

Me: “So, first of all do you know the number Pi?” (I draw π on a sheet of paper)

My host mom looks confused

Me: “It’s a math thing, you know, something to do with circles” (I don’t know the word for diameter or circumference in Spanish. Probably should have looked that up first.) “You know what, never mind, it’s fine.”

Host mom: “No, no let me ask my granddaughter.” (Her granddaughter understands what I’m talking about and explains it.)

Host mom: “Oh, PI!!!” (pronounced pee)

Me: “Yes. Okay, well also it’s important to know that in America we write our dates month/day/year.”

Host mom (very brightly, like she’s so excited to share information I might not already know) “But here in the DR, we write the Day and then the Month!”

Me: “Yes, I—that’s not the point. Because this only works with the American dates…”

So anyway, that was how our conversation went. I explained this concept to my host family, and after a while, I think they understood what I was saying, but still didn’t really buy it. Mostly because it all falls apart when you write the dates the Dominican way. I guess you could celebrate Pi Day here on April 31 (31/4). It just doesn’t have that ring to it.

But I left my family and went with L and a Peace Corps volunteer to the beach, about an hour or so away (the same beach I went to earlier with my Spanish teacher. It was quite windy, and sprinkled a few times, but for the most part was really, really nice. I did manage to get a little sun burnt, however—even though I DID put on sunscreen, Danielle—because I don’t think I reapplied it. It was too overcast to make me think of it.

After a relaxing day at the beach, I came home and took a nap, lounged around, etc. My host mom finally calls me to dinner, and I dawdle a little in my room, and then walk out. I see the table is all set up (usually I eat alone, so this was weird). Then I see a bunch of people assembled, waiting for me. The panic starts to rise. No one except the granddaughter has seen me yet. I stand their frozen and finally my host mom and her daughter realize I’m there, and start clapping and singing Happy Birthday in Spanish.

My face—though it was hard to believe this was even possible—goes even redder. The introvert inside of me is screaming, “Ahhh, get out, run to your room and hide/cry!” But I stay and shyly smile. I comfort myself by thinking that if this party was made up of my real family and friends from home, I would be perfectly within my rights to flat out murder all of them on the spot. (I think I have made it very clear to anyone close to me that any surprise party—especially where I am forced to endure this sort of OMG EVERYONE LOOK AT SHANNON THE BDAY GIRL SHE IS SO SURPRISED, let’s stare at her to watch her reaction—would be most unwelcome.)

But this is not a group of people who know or might remotely understand these sensitivities of mine. I feel a surge of affection for the people in the room. They took such time out of their day and made this great effort to make sure that I had a fun birthday, even when I was miles away from my family. It was so sweet of them. I keep smiling (I smile a lot when I am embarrassed or awkward), which I think they took simply as a “I’m so happy smile”. Despite my initial embarrassment, I thought it was quite lovely. It was a very nice dinner of tacos, and my supervisor, L, made a nice cake.

L and I planned on going out dancing that night, so we sat around and talked for a while as I got ready. However, we both ended up being so tired that we couldn’t convince ourselves to go out. I was actually perfectly fine with this, and I just enjoyed the time we did have hanging out. What a nice day.

Friday, 20 March 2015

The organization I work with focuses on working with local entrepreneurs. They have items that they sells (prescription glasses, water filters and solar lamps) that are aimed to increase people’s ability to work—for example, not getting sick due to unfiltered water. But the main part is that they actually find local people who want to sell these. It gives those people an opportunity to make their own money, and therefore has more money going into the local community, and keeps down costs by, say, not needing to hire an American to do that job.

So anyway, Friday was a quarterly conference with all the local entrepreneurs. They all undergo training, but have these conferences to discuss their progress, needs, and also as kind of a motivation, planning upcoming strategies. I went there to present the Savings and Loans groups that I've been working on, and see if the entrepreneurs knew of any interest in their community in starting a group.

But since I wasn't involved in a lot of it, I took some time to go swimming in the swimming pool at the hotel. It was really nice. There were a lot of kids there, I think as some sort of school trip. (A bunch of older people I assumed to be teachers sat around at a table chatting and not paying much attention to the kids.) For the most part, the teenagers were having a lot of fun going down the slide, or dancing merengue or bachata (whichever was playing at the time) on this little island in the middle of the pool, or just swimming around. I swam laps in the shallow end, and just floated around. Some of the girls were really impressed by my ability to float on my back. I tried to teach them, but I don't really know the mechanics of what I'm doing; I just do it. So I was pretty useless, oh well.

Anyway, it was a pretty nice day, and it was cool to interact with the local partners who were there. I would share pictures from this event (including photos of the people I work with), however, I do not have these photos any more, explained in the next section... 

Wednesday, 25 March 2015

I should start off this next section by saying that I’ve debated if I should share this with you. I know, what could possibly be shocking at this time? I’ve shared everything from defecating in my pants to being stalked/harassed by a man deaf to my protests. I’ve never wanted to pretend that my life is perfect. Growing up—hell, living—can be hard. And certain places are harder to live in than others. But I’ve always maintained this illusion for myself that in all of these travels I am more or less immune from real harm. And somehow burning the entire back of my leg, getting money stolen by my host family, harassed by a crazy man, etc, never really destroyed this illusion. But more recently this illusion has been (slightly) destroyed. I’m FINE, don’t worry, but just a little more worried than usual.

But I would like you to remember as you are reading all of the following that yes, life can be dangerous. And yes, it can be more dangerous in certain places and doing certain things. And furthermore, those increases in danger are not kept out by national boundaries, but let’s just agree that they are definitely hindered by socioeconomic boundaries. So remember for all your worrying, I still have an advantage in life. And that advantage is that I don’t have to be here. I don’t have live in rural West Africa or the Dominican Republic or even the ghettos of Baltimore, DC, Detroit, or wherever there is more poverty and violence. But there are people who do. There are people who do not have parents to help out, money in savings, an American passport, white skin; all things that increase your chances of escaping life’s woes—at least in part. So when you read this, please don’t worry for me. Or at least don’t worry for me more than the people who live here in this same town who might have to deal with this for their whole lives.

…

So some of you may know this already, but Saturday night I was robbed. It was 30 seconds of drama/confusion (the actual incident) which was mostly just the guy smacking my purse off of my wrist (he broke a link, I still have the actual wrist part), and running off with it; followed by an hour of just non-stop rambling, of which I can’t remember much except that I felt if I stopped the constant musing, I would really freak out, followed by two days of depression, and finally today, when I composed this all in my head as I was wondering around El Seibo.

I’m fine, I wasn’t in any way physically hurt in any way. And I’ve been told I should consider myself lucky that I’m alive, and unharmed. And that what I lost, was in all honesty, minimal. I had approximately $5 on me, plus a really old, crummy cell phone, an old (7 years!) camera, and a new flask with cheap rum. I keep contenting myself with the idea that the guy doing the robbing was bummed by his low reward, although maybe that’s just my privilege talking that I would consider a shitty smartphone the raw end of the deal.

But I still spent some days being very depressed. And I felt like I shouldn’t be. Because after all, it wasn’t that terrible. But I realized that part of the problem was my camera: it’s been with me seven years, and throughout many countries in Europe and Africa, all across the US (multiple times over). I feel like I’ve lost an old friend—even though that didn’t stop me from researching new ones online almost immediately.

I’ve been told (by myself and others) that next time be more careful, now I know, now I won’t even have much valuables to worry about! Just be thankful it wasn’t worse.

When I was talking to Maria, my fellow Kérou post-mate about it (who lives in Puerto Rico, just one island over) I even joked that I’ve done so much stupid shit in my life, I was surprised its taken this long for something this bad to happen.

Her response was:

it isn't an excuse though

it just shouldn't happen. Period

And that was a moment of clarity. I SHOULDN’T be happy that I made it out of this ordeal alive, I SHOULDN’T be happy that I “only” had minimal cash and old devices stolen.

I SHOULD BE HAPPY THAT THIS NEVER HAPPENED AT ALL.

Because it shouldn’t have.

And that’s not a happy thought, but it’s not a sad one either. To go extra nerdy on you, it reminded me of a quote from the 3^rd Harry Potter book where Sirius is talking about how in Azkaban, he was able to say sane, knowing he was innocent. It wasn’t a happy thought that the happiness-sucking dementors could take, but it kept him knowing he who he was.

And that’s kind of how I feel. I know this was wrong. I know this isn’t the way a just world works. I don’t have to feel happy just because it wasn’t worse. I’m allowed to feel frustrated by such lawlessness and disregard for the rights of others.

But then I think about the real causes of this; the real causes that make poor countries dangerous. It’s the poverty, the desperation, and the income inequality, and the INJUSTICE of all of that. I’m not even mad at the kid who did this; I’m mad at the circumstances that told him this was the only option left. There is rampant poverty here, and not always jobs. And I would probably feel the same way about someone who robbed me in America. I don’t think people need tougher policing or laws or whatever. I think they need better opportunities.

Because I’ll be fine. Not even a few hours after I’d been robbed, my supervisor (who was with me, but carrying her things in her pockets, rather than a free-hanging purse, which is what made my things vulnerable) gave me an old smartphone (though I can only use it with wifi), and and old camera.

I remember my friend Ryan, pointing out that in Joburg (where she has also been robbed), there are many cases of robbery, to the extent that the more middle-class inhabitants take out insurance policies, and brush off when this happens as just a cost-of-living.

But how can this be treated so lightly? When people within a population accept crime and violence as just a normal, expected part of life, something is wrong. And in some cases, I’m not convinced that the problem is entirely the person committing the crime.

It is wrong that people living in poor neighborhoods might come to expect crime. But there isn’t anything they can do. They can’t move out. They can’t buy insurance on their items. It’s just a part of life, and it happens and it sucks.

It’s wrong that wealthier people (even myself) might shrug off being robbed because, whatever, they can just replace it anyway. They (might) have insurance to protect them.

We deserve better. We deserve communities—not where people don’t steal, but where they don’t NEED to steal. We deserve a world, where EVERYONE can make a living wage legitimately. Where we can then more freely move about, where there are communities not controlled by criminals and communities that are not harassed by police trying to look tough on crime (or casually just getting the city a nice income flow on the backs of black people). Where criminal becomes a label that can ONLY apply to a BAD person, and NEVER just a DESPERATE one. Because no one should be that desperate.

Sometimes I like to pretend that my work here is helping us move towards that better world. It’s not, but it’s nice to think so.

Sometimes I like to pretend that we’re moving towards that better world. We’re not, but we SHOULD be.

And that’s my cynical/optimistic mash of a statement for the day.

But, oh, for my family who worries: don’t think this means I’m going to ignore whatever safety precautions I should be taking. Just because I shouldn’t be robbed doesn’t mean I wont be, so I intend on being more cautious, as a way of self-preservation.

Saturday, 28 March 2015

So today I had a lesson with my Spanish teacher. I told her about the robbery and my feelings about it. She looks at me pityingly, and tells me that the guy probably wasn’t just poor, he was probably just a drug addict. Suddenly I’m feeling naïve, but also disappointed. Like it was better when I could imagine that this guy was just desperate and trying to feed his family or whatever.

But then again, it doesn’t change my conclusions much, even if he was a drug addict. Because I think that there are still a lot of structural realities that make drugs related to crime. For example, the fact that drugs are illegal makes their prices higher. People with addictions then might need to steal. (Did you know, for example, there was a study done where one community actually set up part of a hospital where heroin users could go and get their heroin for free? As much as they wanted, but they had to consume it in the hospital; they couldn’t take it out. And the actual cost to the town—the facility, the drugs, the doctors, etc—was negated by the greater savings to the town in not having to enforce this law, not having to deal with the crime from addicts, etc). So my philosophy is that internationally we should end the War on Drugs, and treat addicts as people someone who are sick and need help, not as people who lack morals and must be punished. I think communities would fare a lot better if we allowed people to get treatment, instead of scaring them away with threats of punishment.

So anyway, I guess this incident didn’t really change my views on life (I’ve been all for fighting poverty since I was young, and against the War on Drugs for many years now). I just get to add this to my explanation for my desire to change the world, or whatever. I don’t really know this man or his motivations, but I do know mine.

I guess it only robs me of the kind of nobility I was starting to feel. Like, yes, I suffered, but I had helped this guy feed his family. Turns out, I was (possibly) only helping him feed his habit. Now I feel more of the crushing sense of my continued naïvety.

I did have a funny incident related to this whole thing, however. I had immediately used Lia's computer to log out of everything on my phone. But a few days later, I realized that Google actually has the ability to find phones where you have a google account on them. I see one device listed there. It puts it as located in El Seibo, the DR and there is an option to "ring" the device. I get really excited and just know I'm going to freak out my robber (or more likely the person he sold my phone to. I press the button, and suddenly I jump as my tablet besides me starts ringing. I sigh, realizing that, of course, my phones has been logged out of google for days, and has possibly been wiped.

But I install a program on my tablet so that I can find it, as well as remotely erase it if I want to. I plan on doing this as well with my phone, whenever I get a knew one. It's kind of cool. I even read this story of a guy who got his computer stolen in Central America. He had install a computer program before, one that would help you recover it. Essentially it spies on whoever is using the computer. He recorded all of the messaging people were doing, was able to see them log onto facebook, could take videos of them as they were using the computer. Technology can be quite terrifying! Granted, in this case you had to be in physical possession of the computer to install the program initially, but there are different things that hackers do remotely. (Keep a little sticky over your computer cameras, people!) Anyway, he ends up essentially blackmailing the person who now owned it to give it back to him.

I think dreamily of having the knowledge or presence of mind to log onto google and screenshot my phone's movements, then printing this out for the police, who might have had a real investigation. I'm not even sure, however, if my terribly old phone would be up to it. But it's nice to think about. And for the future, I'll always have that. Although, if my phone ever is stolen again, maybe that person will know to wipe everything, so oh well.

Then there's this cute story of a guy that had his phone stolen: http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/i-followed-my-stolen-iphone-across-the-world-became-a-celebr and traveled to China to meet the man who happened to buy it, lol.

La Semana Santa

But don’t worry everyone. Life, it turns out, gets better. At least for me, right now.

Holy Week (La Semana Santa) is a big thing here in the DR. Everyone parties a lot, and takes (family) trips to rivers, swimming holes, wherever they can have a nice day. And it just so happens that Maria, my post-mate from Kérou is in the Dominican Republic! She just finished up with her USAID job in Benin, and is soon headed off to Namibia, where she’ll be working for UNICEF. Her family conveniently has a vacation home in the DR, and so she invited me to join them for this week while they’re here. Also very conveniently, it’s not that far from El Seibo. I headed there Monday. My host mom’s son drives a bus along (part of) the route I needed to take, so he picked me up. His bus has WIFI, which blew my mind. I just kept thinking, “Wait, where am I again?” He was nice and helped me find my connecting bus to my destination.

I arrived, and Maria’s family picked me up and after finishing an extensive grocery store run, we went to their house. It is a community resort that has golf courses and what not. Mostly this place is for people that have second homes (Maria’s family informs me that they are mostly Spanish or Russian families). There is also a hotel on the property.

I took a swim in their pool which was really nice. Maria’s family keeps serving me drinks and what not, and I had a pretty chill evening. I also impressed her and her family with my Spanish. I’m sure it’s not perfect, and I can’t always express exactly what I want to say, but Maria says that since I’ve only been here since February, it’s pretty impressive.

Tuesday, Maria and her family went golfing. I’ve never golfed (since I’ve been informed that putt-putt doesn’t count). I was a little worried about hitting a ball through someone’s window, so I didn’t actually participate, but I went along for fun. I got to drive my own golf cart, which was a great time!!!! I might have gotten a little carried away driving maniacally around the fairway, as people searched for their golf balls… I was also assigned to be bartender, bringing people beers as requested!

I also learned a great lesson that if you ever want to learn how to curse in a new language, just go golfing with native speakers. At one point, Maria's mom had a bad shot (ok, sorry, I really don't know any golf terms. It's whatever the first time you hit the ball at a new hole is called). According to group rules, each person was allowed one do-over for the entire game. So she goes to tee again, and lines the ball right into a water. She yells a word I've never heard before, then, horrified, turns to me with her hand over her mouth and says, "NEVER repeat that!" (Luckily for her I'm really, really bad at learning new vocabulary just by hearing it. I HAVE to write it down to remember. But I made Maria tell me what it was when we got home, so I could add this to my list of fun words to say.)

Maria seemed to get more frustrated as the day went on. It was same frustration I’d feel when I’d bowl or play putt-putt with my family. And my father, who really had no more practice than myself still seemed to do infinitely better. There we were, just trying to have fun (BUT I ALSO REALLY WANTED TO WIN) and he just breezes through this random sport.

I noticed, however, that everyone golfing this day wasn’t particularly good, ESPECIALLY when it came to putting. Like honestly, I haven’t played putt-putt for YEARS, and I could have probably (not really) done better. I amused myself with this thought. But when Maria finished one particular hole where she just couldn’t seem to get the ball in, I whispered to her, “Well the good news is that NO ONE here is actually good at putting.” She looks at me and laughs, knowing the truth of my words, and carries on slightly merrier.

#GolfCartSelfie

Maria and Her Mom, Golfing

At one point, I ran out of rum, because I had been promised that we would actually drive by the house at one of the holes, and stop there for a drink. Therefore, I didn’t bring so much. I was fine, since I was tipsy and enjoying myself, but Maria’s parents hated to see me empty handed. So at one hole, Maria’s dad gave me directions back to the house, and I head off with my golf court. Suddenly I’m driving around this huge resort and nothing looks familiar. Luckily I have an excellent sense of direction, and was able to easily make it back to Maria. She informs me her dad was mistaken, and it was the NEXT hole that is close to her house, her dad was just a little confused. So I head off again, and finally find the house, grab some rum and extra beers, and head back, and enjoy the rest of the time. Afterwards, we headed back to their house. I took a brief nap since I was so tired. That night, Maria and her family had a small party, inviting other people from the neighborhood.

Wednesday was a relaxing day. I spent the late morning swimming in the pool, and then Maria and I went to the clubhouse for internet and a drink. Maria’s family is so wonderful, letting me stay here and making delicious meals for me. I’ve enjoyed talking to her dad as well, in a mix of Spanish and English. He definitely makes some Dad-jokes, and Maria rolls her eyes and says “Papi!” discouragingly, but I go along with it. I'm enjoying it.

Thursday, it was a little drizzly, which Maria informs me is terrible weather for golf. Later it cleared up, though, and the hot sun seemed to be doing an excellent job of drying everything. So Maria and her parents went out golfing. But at hole 4—which happens to be adjacent to their backyard, Maria comes storming over, declaring she has had quite enough of golf for the time being. I feel fine with this announcement and we spend the rest of the day just chilling, mostly in the pool.

That night, one of her parent’s friends was having a little get-together. Conveniently, their house is located only a few houses down. So Maria and I walk over there. The hostess insists on plying me with drinks. The conversation around I only understands bits a pieces—and more when Maria explains it to me. Then I talk for a while with the hostess, a really delightful woman. Turns out, she actually has family in Bel Air, Maryland. We had a really fun conversation. I left this gathering feeling so wonderful about humanity. These people had no reason to like me except that I happened to be plopped down in the same village as their friend’s daughter years ago. Yet they treat me so wonderfully, and are so welcoming and hospitable.

Friday, we go to the beach. It is actually a little drive away. Although we are only on say public road for all of five seconds. From the entrance of Maria’s neighborhood to the entrance of the resort where we are headed is simply the distance to drive around a traffic circle. We go to a hotel’s property. It is part of the resort’s agreement with the place where Maria lives, that all residents get access to the beach there. Or quite possibly the same people own the hotel and community. I’m not exactly sure.

Anyway, the water is absolutely gorgeous, except for a bunch of reeds/leaves. Quite frankly, I’m surprised such high-class resorts wouldn’t have gotten rid of them, say, hours ago, but perhaps they are too difficult of a problem. There are SO MANY people lying around on the beach, and even more doing various water activities, such as paragliding, and taking booze-cruises.

Beach at Bávaro

Maria mentions that the beach is not, say her ultimate vacation spot. That’s partly because that is what she grew up around. The beach is something that is always there. I have to agree with her that this beach isn’t that incredible. For all the raging that is done about Punta Cana, it doesn’t seem all that great. I guess if you’re there to drink and meet Americans who just want to tan, this is a fine place. But for me the beach, obviously involves drinking, but it involves hanging out with friends, and not overrun by tons of people you don’t know, with at least a little space to breathe. And without ropes in the water that restrict your swimming so that you don’t get run over by incoming booze cruises or kayakers, or whatever.

Nevertheless, this experience was fine for what it was. I took a walk along the beach, mostly too absorbed in my own thoughts to really notice the other tourists around. I took a dip in the water. Then I headed up to lay on nice lawn chairs that were provided. Maria and I alternated between reading our book and chatting. In the mean time, some guy working for the hotel brought us drinks that we ordered. It was really all quite relaxing.

Saturday we briefly went to watch Maria’s team—Atletico Madrid—play. Other than that, the weekend was entirely made up of chilling around the house, swimming, chilling, etc. And we played some Rummikub!

Rummikub!!!

Sunday morning I spent as much time left to chill in the pool before packing everything up and heading off. It was easy to take the bus back, and I met up with my host mom’s son for the second leg of the trip. There was a lot of Semana Santa celebrators on the road. It turns out, during celebrations, people just park their cars on the “shoulder” of the road, which is really just half of the lane. Then they walk around in full revelry. Therefore, there was a bit of traffic getting back. I made it though, and thought back to the wonderful week I’d had. How lucky I was to be placed with Maria! She is such a wonderful person, smart, funny, and a good friend. She is now headed off to Namibia (in southern Africa). I wish her so much luck, and maybe now we know where my next adventure will be…

Back in El Seibo

I’ve just been working a bunch. I've created a whole trainers manual, including a schedule. The local coordinators, however, were not impressed by the rigidity of the scheduling, so I developed a sheet to make everything a little more flexible. Also, I've started developing a workshop on financial management, specifically personal budgeting. It's been a challenge, to try to make these trainings as straightforward as possible, while still including all the pertinent details.

The girl who originally started the Savings and Loans groups has actually gotten a grant to continue working with them and growing them. She is flying down at the end of April, and I have therefore extended my time here by two weeks, so we can have some overlapping time to collaborate. Another two weeks before I have to leave this tropical island and start the dreaded job search? Fine by me!!!

Of Hills and Shades of Green

I am really glad that I chose the Spanish teacher that I did! M is really wonderful. She constantly involves me in activities in the community and her life, which is awesome. Plus my Spanish is rapidly improving.

She invited me over on Sunday her first week of teaching—for what I understood to be dinner, but turned out to be lunch. So it was actually lucky that it rained that day, and I didn’t go hiking like I had originally planned! Her brother shows up at my house, minutes before I’m about to sit down with the food my host mom has prepared. “Are you ready?” He asks, to which I offer up only a confused stare. Five minutes later, I am grabbing my keys and purse, running out the door, and muttering an apology to my host mom. She asks me if I just didn’t understand, and I respond, “I don’t understand ANYTHING!” She laughs and tells me she’ll put my meal in the fridge and I can have it for dinner. This is actually great news for me, since lunch tends to be the more delicious meal of the day. Dinner is usually boring mashed potatoes with cheese or egg on top.

So I make it to M’s house, where she apparently lives with her parents. She has her own apartment, but because her kids are out of the house (one in college, one in school in the States), she finds she can save more money this way. She is cooking a nice meal for us, and after eating, we just sit around and chat for a while. She has told me that today’s Spanish is a bonus class, and it is really fun just to sit around and talk about our lives, in a less formal way. It turns out her daughter lives with another relative in Lancaster! I explain that this is actually pretty close to my family!

Monday I printed out the first copies of the accounting sheets I’ve been working on for the Savings and Loans groups. Then I went out to the batays outside of Seibo to meet with the local coordinators, N & F. I showed them the work that I’d done, and asked for any suggestions from them. Then we met with one of N’s groups. It was weird because it was dark by the time we met. The town doesn’t have much lighting, so we were using solar lamps, but just stand-alone ones. N and her groups really don’t understand the accounting system that well, so they will require the most work.

The rest of the week and into the next I just spent making the changes to the system that N., F., and I talked about. Then I also made a worksheet so I could finish and audit of the groups, to make sure they were all where they needed to be. This probably took more time than necessary because I am a perfectionist, but it worked out.

F’s group seems to be doing well. I easily found minor mistakes that they’d made and highlighted these. Their total cash matched up (almost) with their balance in the accounting system.

N’s groups’ accounting, on the other hand, are everywhere. Luckily, they are only doing savings at this point, so there’s no reason that they shouldn’t be perfectly correct. I don’t think N understands accounting very well, and this is why she wasn’t able to explain it sufficiently to the groups. I am hoping the changes I’ve made, however, make everything more straightforward. In the next (now 2) months, I will concentrate training the coordinators, and developing a good manual for further training.

I also spent some of my time just walking around Seibo. It is quite hilly. Oddly enough, the main road that travels east across the north side of the town, and then curves dramatically to go south through the center of town, is actually quite even. It slopes down and up gently. But all of the other side roads travel up for a block, then down; up again, then down. It can be quite tiring, but at least it’s a good workout!

View of Seibo from my Supervisor's House

More views of El Siebo

Saturday, my Spanish teacher, M, invited me to run errands with her—essentially an interactive class! We stopped in the pharmacy, by the phone company to pay her monthly bill, paused to get her shoes cleaned, then walked down to the river just south of Seibo. It was very overcast, but we took some pictures for fun.

My teacher, in front of Seibo River

Then we went up to the Fish Shop that is just off the river. I learned that in the DR, saltwater is called the same, but freshwater is called “sweet” water! I thought that was cool. There were also turtles swimming around under the sink, which apparently some people eat. We watched the owner of the shop clean and cut up the fish for M. The fish was scaled using a simple contraption of metal soda tops that were attached to a short wooden stick.

Then M bought some coconuts, and said that the next day, she would fix me fish in a coconut sauce. If that sounds delicious, that’s because it was! We had another day of a delicious meal and time to chat. In the afternoon, I headed out to the batays. I was meeting with Franklin’s group for a final review of the accounting sheets. I’d made some changes, and wanted to double-check with the actual group that I’d done what they thought was necessary to improve everything.

Throughout the week, I kept working on the accounting sheets. And I took a few more opportunities to walk around Seibo. It’s really quite beautiful. Plus I came across, a New Orleans-style cemetery, which was pretty cool.

Carnival and Adventures in the countryside

February 27 is the Dominican Republic’s independence day. Interestingly, this the date of independence NOT from Spain, but from their neighbor, Haiti.

Haiti, of course, is the site of the most successful slave revolt in history, and became an independent nation in 1804. Dominicans declared independence from Spain in 1821, but two months later, the entire island was united under Haitian rule. Dominicans were not to fond of this move, and fought for their own rule in the Dominican Independence War, finally declaring independence in 1844. (Followed by a brief time that one Dominican politician actually attempted to have Spain come back to be the colonial power)

The history of Haitian-Dominican relations is very fraught. I honestly don’t know much about them, except what I’ve picked up the last few weeks. Dominicans consider the occupation from 1821-1844 by Haiti as offensive. Haiti, however, has remained a much poor nation, and many citizens have sought work in the DR. There is a lot of animosity. The Dominican dictator, Trujillo, order a massacre of Haitians. Haitians are typically much darker than Dominicans, usually being approximately the shade of Africans, while Dominicans are shades of mixed to almost white. According to the stories, Trujillo’s soldiers interrogated all of the dark-skinned individuals they found near the border, and asked them to say perijil. Haitians have a hard time rolling the r’s (more accustomed to the French way of pronouncing r’s), and so those that failed were slaughtered with machetes.

But, recently someone was lecturing me on how this one time (I’m not sure if this was recent or in history) a Haitian stomped on the Dominican flag, so I guess it’s all justified. /sarcasm

Even today, however, Haitians continue to seek out opportunities in the DR. Almost all of the sugarcane workers are Haitian, often here on temporary visas, or descendents of immigrants. There has recently been a crackdown on undocumented workers.

So under these circumstances, the celebration of Independence included such highlights as school-children reenacting the battle for independence by the lighter-skinned students appearing to fight the darker ones (wearing Haitian military garb), and then one student stomping on a paper version of the Haitian flag. Then later, I saw a group of children in black(er) face. So… all that was very awkward.

It’s amazing how alive and well racism and discrimination are in every part of the globe. And everyone considers their specific racist leanings justified for whatever reason.

Most of the day’s celebrations, however, focused on Dominican pride (rather than racism disguised as nationalism). In the morning, there was a parade of all the school children in the area.

M (my Spanish teacher) invited me, which I thought would simply be watching the parade from the sidelines. Sleeping through my alarm, I hastily dressed (forgetting my little jacket to cover up my scandalously exposed shoulders. Arriving at the space beside the governors mansion, I find M on the steps with the governor, alongside other important politicians and school officials. As I hurry up to her, she introduces me to the man in front. “This is the governor!” she proclaims. I sputter a bit, before finally managing to spit out “¡Mucho gusto!” (Good to meet you), and when I shake his hand, I show respect by gripping my elbow—a method used sometimes in Benin and all the time in South Africa, when I was there—instead of doing it the Dominican way, which is to grab your co-shaker’s hand with both hands. I'm just so flustered!

All the sudden I’m standing with (aka trying to hide myself in the back row) the governor as official pictures are taken. And during the parade, I’m in his procession. The parade ends at the church, and there is a short service, in which, only the most important people (myself included, apparently) take part. I felt so awkward being thrown into this group. I'm not an important person! I voice this thought to M, who laughs and says that I am here as her "Special Guest".

Picture of the governor (in Green) during the ceremony

Afterwards, there is a presentation of all of the schools. For the entirety of this, I sit beside M, up on stage, across from the governor. The performances of each of the schools is pretty cool. A lot of them include merengue/bachata dances. Some are chants, or some interpretive dances.

One of the most interesting involved presenting facts about the DR (a priest to represent the national religion in Christianity, a “tourist” to represent the biggest industry is tourism, etc.) This was followed by an interpretative dance and chanting, which apparently brought M to tears, it was so patriotic.

These demonstrations were followed by the performances of the color guard of the various high schools, which I thought was pretty cool. So many Dominican flags!

After this was finished, I went home for lunch. Then I went to M’s house. She had to complete some school-related work, so I went to the parade myself. It was kind of a Mardi Gras/Halloween combo. In fact, people here don’t celebrate Mardi Gras (called Carnival in Spanish-speaking nations), but celebrate “Carnival” on their Independence Day. I guess it makes sense, because so much celebrating in one month might be too much.

Some of the costumes

Everyone was positioned out on the street; a small huddle of friends standing in a circle, surrounding their bottle of liquor and whatever mixer they decided on (usually rum and OJ). I thought it was funny, the absolute lack of open container laws in existence. The parade—which was supposed to start around 3, but obviously started late—contained various people marching, some floats, and tons of costumes. It was quite a sight, and everyone really seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Dancers in the Parade

One of the floats

A Ferris Wheel Float filled with terrified children

The night would have hypothetically devolved into more revelry (some of the crowd was stationed in the usual spot, which is a open-air bar next to the discoteca), however, I was whisked off by Milagros to her countryside house.

It’s a simple, cement house, with only one room (with two bunkbeds), a bathroom, small kitchen and a porch that wraps ¾ of the way around the house. There is running water, but no electricity, since apparently people would just come and steal the electrical wires (which can be worth a lot of money) and the family would be none the wiser until their next visit. So M brings candles and torches. I also had a little battery for charging through USBs (Thanks Mom!). I think of how much this would have been helpful in Benin, but then I remember that this was not true when I left. When I initially left for Benin, the only thing I had that would charge through a USB was my iPod and speakers (and this is why I didn’t think the solar-panel my mom wanted to get me then would be useful). While I was there, I acquired a Smartphone, and since being home, a tablet, plus a little USB-LED light (again, Thanks Mom!). And of course, the battery-USB-charger I doubt was a thing (or at least an affordable thing) two years ago. My how things have changed, and quickly!

Outside the house was a fire pit, and M told me how much she enjoys cooking over the fire when she is the “campo” (countryside). We swapped stories of campfire foods (I explained camp-cookers). One day she made a traditional soup-ish thing, which was basically a bunch of viveres (plantains, potatoes, yams) and chicken, in a nice tomato sauce.

M, boiling water for some hot chocolate

Saturday we went to the beach, in a town called Miches. There are, of course, many, many beaches in the DR (the country being an island), but this one is the closest. The drive there is stunning. It was a little overcast/foggy while we were going, but you could still see the beautiful green landscape on both sides. The road was often cut into the side of the mountain (or at one point a lonely high point, with a sharp drop on both sides), reminding me of some of the drives my family took when I was younger.

Curve in the road...

View from the drive with the beach in the distance

The beach at Miches isn’t as pristine as one might imagine, since there is a river that spills out into the water in the middle of the beach. The river being brown murks up the crystal blue waters a bit, but regardless the whole area is quite lovely. We walked along the beach for a bit, and came across a mangrove cove. Then we went and got lunch at a street-food-esque place famous for it’s crab (no Old Bay seasoning, though L ). Then we went back to the beach, and sat in a nice open patio. There was music playing too, and M convinced some male acquaintances to dance with me and teach me the merengue and bachata.

Sunday morning, M’s daughter, and nephew showed me this beautiful site, which involves crossing a creek and then walking up a short hill. The view is absolutely gorgeous! It’s amazing to think about how many different shades of green there are to see! Especially considering that living in the Sahel for two years, the most dominant color was brown/red.

I add to the green with my dress!

I made it home in time on Sunday to go to F’s Savings and Loans group, where I am continuing to introduce the improved accounting system.

Wednesday, I went on a “Chocolate Tour”. One of the volunteers stationed northeast of El Seibo works with an organization that puts these on. It is through the group “CONCADO”, which is a cooperative that ensures quality in the organic cocoa of members, as well as fair trade with the buyers. The tour was for a group with World Vision, but I hopped in just to see.

The tour started in the main processing plant, which is just outside El Seibo. Here, groups bring in all of their chocolate. Lesser-quality chocolate goes immediately to the drying process, and then is sold for cosmetic purposes. The better chocolate, however, goes through a 5-day fermenting process.

Cocoa comes wrapped in this kind of white film inside the plants. The seeds are thrown—with this film—into wooden bins. There are three rows, and the seeds start in the top row, before being shoveled down into the lower levels after a period of 24-48 hours. The levels simply give the cocoa beans a chance to be stirred up and aired out, and ferment better. It’s quite an ingenious system! This process is what gives the beans a dark color and a strong taste.

Cocoa plant, freshly cut open

The fermentation system

After this the beans are dried. There are two options for drying. One is natural (laid out on racks in greenhouse-esque structures)—which is the cheaper but longer option—or drying in a machine fueled by fire—which is more expensive, but quicker. The latter option is only used when there is a surplus of beans being brought into the plant, which must be quickly dried.

After being dried, the beans are then bagged and ready to be sold.

The tour of the processing plant ends here, but there is another part in Los Batados (where the PCV is stationed). Here is a women’s group that actually harvests some of the cocoa, AND then takes some of the cocoa to make chocolate products (hot chocolate, bars, etc). They provide a place for groups to dine as well after each tour. So I got to go to this community—which is spectacularly gorgeous—dine on some nice food, see the home-made chocolate process, eat fresh made chocolate, drink cocoa wine, and have a short tour of the nearby cocoa orchard. It was all very lovely!!!

This week my host mom, took me to her (family’s) countryside house. It actually is where her sister and sister’s family live (as opposed to just a vacation home). Her sister does a lot of agriculture things, and A LOT of animal husbandry. She tells me there is a lot of “money” in the countryside (she repeats this a lot while looking at the pigs: pigs can be big money-makers). However, she—my host mom—has no desire to live there. There are pineapples, sour cherries, orange trees, passion fruit trees and the like growing around the house. There are quite a lot of pigs, also chickens and rabbits. In the fields, there is some corn, plus a number of cows, and some horses.

My host mom, picking sour cherries

Me and my host mom

My host mom with her daughter

A tree outside the house

Little piggies

I accidentally/on purpose have mentioned now to multiple people that I want a horse. I think they’re so lovely. AND, PC Volunteers in the DR are actually allowed to own them if they choose!!!!! Ah!! Anyway, my repeated voicing of how much I want a horse, meant that Ermna demanded that her son (who was also kind enough to give us a ride to this house in the first place), saddle up the horse and let me ride. And by that, of course, I mean, I can sit on it while he slowly guides the horse along the path, and Ernma and her daughter gasp if they horse shows any sign of wanting to do more than plod along.

HORSE SELFIE

Regardless, I was quite happy. Of course, I have great visions of galloping along in the countryside of the DR, but at this point it’s been a while since I did any such thing. The horses I rode in South Africa were trained very well to be amenable to any rider and not to break out much. To think that I could completely control a horse left free to gallop along would be foolish, so I very much welcome these opportunities to get be on horses, and get back into being comfortable with them in baby-steps.

Plus, I found in Miches there is a little hotel that offers horseback rides along the beach (at $10 for a few hours), and all I can say is, “YES PLEASE!!!!!!” Plus my Spanish teacher has mentioned the possibility of going to some caves west of El Seibo. You have to take horses out to the entrance of the caves, which is a fine idea, in my opinion.

So that’s basically been my life for the past few weeks: exploring this stunning Caribbean country, learning about its culture and economic activity, and developing materials for the Savings and Loans groups.

Oh, and a sidenote: in the DR, one of the common ways to point out that someone is, say not the best is to call them a “tiguere” (pronounced TEE-ger-ey). It can be used to refer to hoodlums in the street or just someone teasing you. It literally means “tiger” but here it means “smart-ass”. My mom would be proud: I’ve been called a “tiguere” multiple times, mostly by my Spanish teacher. Usually it was when she was simply trying to get me to expand my Spanish, but I came back with a smart-ass remark.