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 3rd
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!!!
