Let's Go Giants!!! Having watched the last few Super Bowls with team I could care less about and with Portuguese commentators and commercials, I was thrilled to not only have the NY Giants play but also have real American commercials! Having the same two teams that played four years ago, which I watched with my good friends at school in Binghamton of course brought back good memories, but this time I was surrounded by Patriots fans! Patriots fans are a notoriously tough crowd, but something I have become used to since many Cape Verdeans have families living in the New England area and inevitably their poor choice in sports teams (and their awful accents) makes it across to this side of the Atlantic. Streaming the game over the internet saved us from watching it at a local bar and also allowed us to watch the commercials which I normally miss. I must say, I was quite disappointed in the commercials but I was thankful to not have to watch commercials for Super Bock the Portuguese beer whose commercials are as painful to watch as the beer is to drink. We were thoroughly entertained when the Little Rock Arkansas commercials for “fine jewelry” came on (apparently that is where we were streaming the game from!) We had a potluck appetizer dinner which included a little bit of everything, from wings to mac and cheese, pizza, Indian food, oreo cream cheese truffles and rice crispie treats. To wash it all down a caparinha did the trick and gave us enough sugar to keep us up for the late night festivities. Of course the nail biting last 2 minutes kept us all on our seats and with the Giants' victory proved to us that it was worth staying up until 2am to watch the game.

Here are some pictures of the evening. The D-fence and Let's Go Giants sign are courtesy of an afternoon without electricity, forcing us to be creative! (if you look close the "Eli Song" is on top which goes "I believe in Eli...")

A little over a week ago, the Peace Corps Regional Director for Africa and Country Director for Cape Verde called the Santiago-based volunteers to Praia to make an announcement: after 24 years, Peace Corps is closing its program in Cape Verde. (Volunteers on the other islands were consolidated as well and notified by telephone.) The official …Read More

We live in a valley near the foot of Pico d’Antonia, the highest peak on Santiago. Every day we are lucky to see the changing face of this beautiful mountain, and we wanted to share some of those wonderful views with you. This week’s picture of our mountain… January 13, 2012 12:30 p.m. The corn …Read More

The island of Santiago is small enough that a person can make a round trip to any part of the island within one day. The island is pear-shaped, with Praia sitting at the base and Tarrafal sitting at the stem end of the fruit. The drive straight through from Praia to Tarrafal, a drive of …Read More

A couple of months back my roommate got robbed at gunpoint just around the corner from our apartment. In Oakland we call that getting jacked. In Cape Verde we call that a casabodi... as in "your cash or your body." Fortunately, he walked away unharmed, albeit without his iPod. In the following days, as he sought to come to terms with his experience, he turned to poetry as a form of therapy. The haiku he created was hilarious, but due to the sensitivity of the event he was "asked" by Peace Corps not to publish it. If you are worried about my roommate, please don't... he's just fine.

Last week, I got jacked too. Not at gunpoint or with a knife—in fact, I didn't get casabodied at all, but I still feel like I've been robbed. After 2 months of training, and 4 months of service, I found out that due to budget cuts Peace Corps would be closing its operations in Cape Verde in September 2013.* I am still processing this information, and I've only started to weigh the options before me now. Here is an extremely simplified summary of the different paths that I could take, in no particular order.

Start over. Get transferred to another country, go through Pre-Service Training again, then complete 2 years of service there.Finish my first year of service in Cape Verde, then transfer to another country and complete my second year of service there.Finish my first year of service in Cape Verde, then move on with my life.Throw up my middle finger, E.T. (early termination) and go home tomorrow.Obviously, each option is more complex than I've made it sound. Each choice would have its own pro's and con's. Honestly, I only included the last option in this list because I need to vent a little bit. Right now, budget cuts or not, I do feel like Peace Corps has not fulfilled its commitment to me.** That being said, I'm not going out like that. This isn't the end of the world, it's just a big ol´ box of lemons... and you know that means.

C'est la vie, right? The most important thing for me to do know is to figure what is best for me next, and to make the most of my remaining months in Cape Verde. In fact, knowing that my days here are numbered has helped me tune into all that there is to appreciate. Like my roommate, I have also decided to experiment with poetry to help me cope in these difficult times. So, in the spirit of art therapy, I present to you the first in a series of Live From Tomorrow Haikus.

"American Lemonade"a haiku

Dad, I joined Peace Corps...now I feel American...I just got laid off.

Pura Vida,

Drew

*The "official line" is that after 24 years of operations, the Peace Corps Cape Verde Program is "graduating." As the agency faces serious budget cuts and uncertainties, the decision has been made to focus Peace Corps efforts and resources on the countries and people that need it the most. After a full review, six countries were selected for closure: Cape Verde, Romania, Bulgaria, St. Kitts, Antigua, and Suriname. For more information about the decision to end operations in Cape Verde, please visit the following links:

http://www.alfa.cv/anacao_online/index.php/destaque/1741-corpo-da-paz-deixa-cabo-verde

http://www.forcv.com/cape-verde/4435-fim-da-missao-do-corpo-da-paz-em-cabo-verde

http://www.portalangop.co.ao/motix/pt_pt/noticias/africa/2012/0/4/Corpo-Paz-dos-Estados-Unidos-termina-missao,4f357240-4430-4cc7-9a45-f4c21247846d.html

**I understand, and actually agree with the agency's decision to select Cape Verde for closure. I do not understand or agree with the decision to close operations in September 2013, when 25 volunteers will still have one year of left on their service contracts. Sell a tank, have a bake sale, I don't care—let's just finish what we started.

Last week I had a great conversation with a Cape Verdean friend about English-majoring university students (or would-be students) who have no native English speaker to converse with or consult. I could barely contain my excitement as we bandied about the idea of a weekly study session or conversation class. Although I had offered to [...]

We live in a valley near the foot of Pico d’Antoni0, the highest peak on Santiago. Every day we are lucky to see the changing face of this beautiful mountain, and we wanted to share some of those wonderful views with you. This week’s picture of our mountain… December 18, 2011 11:40 a.m. Two ranges: …Read More

While American readers of this blog may have a hard time imagining life in Cape Verde, rest assured that the sentiment goes both ways. Cape Verdeans also find the idea of an American lifestyle mind-boggling and even a bit worrisome. One major source of incomprehension relates to the production of food.

One day as I paused to take a picture of a donkey, a 5th grader approached and wanted to know what I found to be so interesting about the animal. “Very few people have donkeys in America,” I explained, “so I’m not accustomed to seeing them. I think they’re cute.”

He found the idea of sparse donkey ownership troubling. “Then how do people carry water to their homes?” he asked. “How do they carry back their harvests from the fields?”

I explained that almost all houses have water that comes to them in tubes, and most people don’t have land to farm.

This bit of information was far more upsetting- most people don’t farm. “Then how do they eat?!” he demanded to know.

Scott had a similar conversation with a gentleman who works as a Forestry Guard with the Ministry of Rural Development – our ‘employer.’ Scott showed Titino a photo of the house where he grew up.

“Look at all that grass!” Titino said of the yard. “That’s great for the livestock.”

Scott agreed that it would be great for livestock, but that his family and neighbors didn’t have any.

“But they cut the grass,” he observed. “What for?”

This was a little tricky to explain. Scott told the gentleman that people just like the look of it. They plant the grass and water it and frequently cut it just because they think it looks nice.

In Titino’s mind, this practice seemed like a waste of fertile soil. The natural question to follow was, “And where do they grow their food?”

Having now experienced closer proximity to the sources of our food, Scott and I have learned important lessons about its value and gained a deeper respect for its production.

On New Year’s Day, we ate one of our goatlettes.

I know that admitting this will probably spark an unpopular reaction, but I don’t feel sorry for what we did, and you shouldn’t either.

At the end of October, our goat birthed Howie and Saul, two male kids – a bit of an unfortunate break, really. Male goats serve little purpose in the local circle of life. Since you only need one he-goat amidst many a lady goat to ensure future generations, additional males are just more mouths to feed- extra hours cutting grass with a hand scythe. It pained Scott and me to know that our baby goats were destined for the dinner table, but it was a reality that we accepted on the day of their birth.

While it may seem cruel that we killed and ate an animal that we had held in our arms, petted, and played with, when it came down to it, we felt like it was the right thing to do. Saul would be killed, it was inevitable. If not by us, by another consumer less likely to appreciate the full value of his meat. It’s a bit hard to explain how we thought of the meal that the goat would provide as a special thing, a sacrifice. Although we didn’t take Saul’s killing lightly, we didn’t feel like we were doing a bad thing either.

The day that we killed and ate our goat was a special day with friends. The stew fed more than 20 people and felt like a feast. We provided the meat, and Eliza and Jose provided the seasonings, rice, and vegetables. Guisado is delicious in any context, but this time it also represented the daily labor that Scott had devoted to raising our goat and the shared partaking of a gift of value. Since our friends knew that we felt somewhat pained at killing our animal, they appreciated the offer of its meat as something special as well.

Scott and I have learned many things thus far during our Peace Corps experience – some of future value and others that we must immediately disregard upon return to America (such as efficiently spitting fish bones on to the floor during a meal). Learning to appreciate the value of our food, however, is a lesson that I hope will stick with us.

I’m back at home in Cape Verde after a shortvacation in Dakar. The trip was excellent, but the fallout was considerable. Mylegs feel like I swam home from Senegal, my bank account is looking real bad, and my liver has gone on strike inthe hopes of renegotiating its labor contract. In short, we did it big lastweekend.

After six months in my new home, I headed to themainland to participate in W.A.I.S.T.—the West African Invitational SoftballTournament. All I have to say is that if baseball was more like W.A.I.S.T.,then I would play and watch it a whole lot more. Every January, hundreds ofPeace Corps Volunteer from across west Africa converge on the Senegalesecapital for a weekend of mostly-unproductive camaraderie. The weekend followsdirectly on the heels of several constructive events, including the WID/GAD* conference and the All-Volunteer Conference, where folks get a chance to shareideas about their actual work. In stark contrast, W.A.I.S.T. is more likehomecoming meets The Wellington Sevens. I’d like to tellyou all about it, but what happens in Dakar stays in Dakar. Instead, I’ll giveyou just a little taste. So, with no further ado, I present...

Ten Things I’ll Never Forget About W.A.I.S.T. Partying so hard that even the kitten was passed out on the couchfor most of the following day;Pondering the idea of replacing the “Classic 1 to 10 Scale” with the“Binary System” for rating the attractiveness of women... kinda like red light/ green light, or taking a class Pass/Fail;Having a blast on an improvised Slip N Slide (plastic tarp + soapywater);Seeing a softball team plug their defensive gap in the short-stophole with an inflatable killer whale;Charging the mound to tackle (and tickle) the pitcher from Team FarEast after he beaned our batter;Committing hara-kiri after that same team pounded us for threeinnings;Replacing the third “s” in “sh*t, shower, shave” with “shawarma”;Kraus;The taste of a medium rare steak smothered in green peppercorn sauce (good); The taste of homemade moonshineimported from Korea (bad)Now, I admit that this post has been a bit lesswholesome than the others on this blog, and I wouldn’t want you to walk awaywith a bad impression of W.A.I.S.T. Truthfully, despite the debauchery, I canlook back on the weekend and appreciate some valuable takeaways. For example, theopportunity to meet over one hundred volunteers from across the region wasgolden for me. Being stationed in Cape Verde, I am constantly reminded howdifferent my life is from the “typical” Peace Corps experience (if there isone). It was nice to actually compare notes with Volunteers serving on themainland, mostly in rural sites throughout Senegal, Guinea, The Gambia, andMali. Not surprisingly, I found that their experiences were very different—thebiggest shock for me was to realize just how damn many of them there are! Wehave less than 50 volunteers in Cape Verde, plus we are spread out across several islands so we are never in the same place at the same time. At times it felt like therewere that many volunteers crashing at the Regional Transit House in Dakar onany given night.

By far, the highlight of the weekend for me wasdancing. Actually, I’m bumping Michael Jackson’s Off The Wall album at 11:00am as I write this, so you know what I’mabout. It was just one of those times when you’re out there for 4-5 hoursstraight and every song that comes on just happens to be your jammy jam... evenwhen you actually can’t stand it. It wasn’t until the next day when I went to get dressed and observed that my shoes were dirtier than Sarah Silverman's mouth, that I realized just how "active” I had been on the dance floorfor the last two nights.

Believe it or not, Team Cape Verde did not makeit to the semi-finals of the tournament, so we had Monday off to chill out. Myoriginal plan had been to use that day to explore the city a little bit, but Iended up exploring the couch at the Transit House. I can’t remember the lasttime I travelled to a new country or city and saw so little of it. I’m notproud of how little I integrated into Senegalese society during my four day stay—butI’m also not ashamed. Everyday for me in Cape Verde is a struggle to integrate,and I just needed a vacation.

Since my plane did not leave until Tuesdayafternoon, I got to spend my last morning walking the streets of downtownDakar. It reminded me how much I enjoyed riding solo during my travels leadingup to entering the Peace Corps. More than anything, those few hours made mewant to come back to Senegal again—maybe for W.A.I.S.T., or maybe for no goodreason at all. At least I know I have a bucket of new friends in west Africa,and at least a few mud huts that would welcome me. I’ll make it happen...inshallah.

Pura Vida,

Drew

*From Women in Development to Gender in Development

We live in a valley near the foot of Pico d’Antonia, the highest peak on Santiago. Every day we are lucky to see the changing face of this beautiful mountain, and we wanted to share some of those wonderful views with you. This week’s picture of our mountain… January 15, 2012 1:00 p.m. Last weekend …Read More

Sitting next to potatoes and onions in many supermarkets in the U.S. you will often find Yuca.Yuca or Cassava in English is called Mandioca in Portuguese and is a staple of the Cape Verdean diet. It is a root vegetable with thick skin which can be quite intimidating but with a good knife or a peeler it is not too difficult and when cooked right it can be delicious. Kids love to eat raw mandioca as a treat. Normally it is boiled along with other vegetables and served along fejoida or catchupa.

I have never been a big fan of mandioca, but mostly because it usually sitting next to lots of other carboydrates. Is it really necessary to eat potatoes, sweet potatoes, carrots and mandioca all in one meal? I personally do not think so!

Fried up, almost like a french fry, mandioca has potential but it is still not as good as a potatoe and often times can be very stingy which I do not care for.

After discussing my thoughts on why mandioca is not as great as everyone says it is, I decided to look up recipes on how to make mandioca delicious while not fried or boiled. It didn't take long to find multiple recipes for a cake which is apparently very popular in the Philippians. Most of the recipes varied slightly but all more or less looked like a custard coconut cake.

Without all the ingredients I improvised and made my own version. I was really unsure if everyone would like it (I made it for a girls night), but it was a hit and it was finished faster than it took to make it! It was not too sweet like many of the cakes we are so used to but was simply perfect and delicious. For any dare devils, this delicious cake is worth the effort!

Ingredients:3 cups grated mandioca (I made it with fresh mandioca but next time I am going to try with mandioca flour and see how that comes out. )2 beaten eggs1 can evaporated milk (12 oz)1 can sweetened condensed milk (14 oz) 1 cup milk1 1/2 cups dried grated coconut

Directions:1. Preheat oven to 350 Degrees2. Stir together all ingredients3. Bake for about an hour or until the cake is brown on top.4. Enjoy!

I kept saying “I have no expectations! I can do without internet! I can do without lights or a fridge! I’ve lived in vermin-infested shoebox in Spanish Harlem – I can live anywhere! Just give me a community that needs me, and I will be what they need.” They said it in training too – [...]

We live in a valley near the foot of Pico d’Antonia, the highest peak on Santiago. Every day we are lucky to see the changing face of this beautiful mountain, and we wanted to share some of those wonderful views with you. This week’s picture of our mountain… Taken from a slightly different angle. Can …Read More

First of all, happy belated holidays to friends and family in the States that I wasn't able to speak with in the prior weeks. My computer had an unfortunate accident and is currently undergoing surgery in the States. I'm hoping to be sent something shiny and new, fingers crossed.

The subject matter of this post isn't particularly uplifting and for that I apologize. But I promised people at home that I would update fairly routinely, and this has comprised a large part of my life for the past week e tal.

Let me start by saying that I had a great Christmas, albeit unplanned, home alone in my community. The sandstorms from the Sahara rendered a visit from my friend from Sao Nicolau in the north impossible, and our planned reunion didn't pan out. It was stressful at first, but I ended up having a very unique, very touching holiday at home with my neighbors, including Christmas Eve mass, witness to a quirky Secret Santa exchange (I was too late to participate unfortunately) and some great food with new friends in more distant zones. People here really took care of me, and as cliche as it sounds (I find it's unavoidable in this situation) I was deeply immersed in celebrations that honored what Christmas is truly supposed to signify.

My friend Chris from the States came here for New Year, as well as many people I hadn't yet met from other islands who are from the newer group to come to Peace Corps Cape Verde. It was a fun whirlwind of craziness wherein we tried to tap into everything Fogo has to offer, drinking wine the whole way through and (at least for myself) ending in a two-day sporadic nap session. It was amazing to have Chris out here, and hopefully he writes a blurb to put in here to elaborate on the trip (you're stuck doing it now sucker).

But the point of writing this is that my last weekend was spent going to two different visitas in As-Hortas, a zone south of me where many of my best students live. A visita is a week-long gathering for people mourning a death, and it culminates in a sete (translated simply as "seven," which is a week to the day after the death in this case) when people go to mass and then lunch with everyone in mourning.

There was a lot of stress involved in getting the full story, including a few terrible hours when I was under the impression that one of my best former students from a family that has been near and dear to volunteers in Ponta Verde for generations had been involved and had died. My heart was literally aching at the thought of reaching home and trudging up the hill to partake in the grief that my friends must be experiencing.

Once I reached Ponta Verde I was a mess. I couldn't even go to the visita that day, and made the long walk to As-Hortas two days later after class. The first house I went to was the home of a 16-year-old girl named Kely who had been in the backseat. Her neck snapped as the car hit the bottom of the ribeira and my only comfort when I greeted her mother, bed-ridden with grief and asking for her own death, was that she didn't feel any pain. Her aunt, the mother of another of my students, sadly told me that this girl had never even been to a festa. She was an intelligent, beautiful girl who spent her time studying and helping her family, and she never left home. Her father had given her money for new shoes that night so that she would feel presentable, and convinced her to go with her uncle.

The accident happened on the way back. I hate to admit it, but I automatically assumed the driver was drunk, which makes it easy to place blame (even from me, a distant witness with no right to place blame on anyone). It was New Year at 6am and they were coming back from a festa, and drinking while driving is widely accepted here. But that wasn't even the case. The driver was a young man from a respectable family who never drank. When he was rounding a ribeira, the back door, which evidently hadn't been shut properly, swung open and a woman in the backseat flew out of the car. Instinctively, he looked behind him, and turned the wheel too hard to the left while doing so, and the car flew straight off the road into a ribeira. Everyone but the two survived, and after the first visita I went to the second to get the full story.

The second visita ended up being much harder than the first. The woman who died was 33, and I'd never met her, but she was the mother of one of my 7th graders. I walked up the steps and saw Katia on a bench, glassy-eyed but otherwise expressionless, staring off at nothing in front of her. The heels of her glossy black shoes stopped clicking rhythmically against the bench when she saw me, and I realized that she didn't want me (as a teacher or as a foreigner, I'm not sure) to see her reaction to what had happened. I respected her anxiety and expressed my condolences but moved inside quickly to give her space, but my eyes were already overflowing by the time I turned away from her.

The women at this visita were wailing, customary for Cape Verdean visitas, but this was the first time I'd experienced it in close proximity. I spoke with the cousin of the deceased and discovered that Katia's father had died years ago, he'd hung himself. Her siblings still had fathers but Katia was left with nothing after this. The most upsetting thing out of all of this was the graphic nature of describing everything. I'd casually asked what had happened, to be sure to have the story straight, and the woman told me that Luisa had been in the backseat, and was alive when help came. They loaded her into the backseat of a car, superficially in good shape aside from a scratch on the head and arm, but halfway to the hospital she began gushing blood from her mouth, nose and ears. They tried to stop the bleeding and went through two towels, but she was dead by the time she reached the hospital. I couldn't think anything other than please, God, please don't let Katia have heard this about her mother. But the openness of the culture and the rapidity with which the news was circulating was too apparent for me to hope that that could be true.

Luisa worked for a family up the street who live in America, and they've offered to adopt Katia and bring her to the States. While trying to avoid involving myself in a very intimately personal matter, I expressed to her aunt that I thought this was an amazing opportunity and offered to come to the house once a week to tutor Katia in English to ease the transition. I haven't heard much more about it, but I'm hoping that she takes the chance she has in front of her, as difficult as it will be to leave the few things that she has left of her life.

I went back for the sete the following Saturday and spent a few hours at each house. This time I started at Katia's house, where I felt my support was more important (whatever that means). She seemed to be doing better, and most of the community was there to show support. I stayed through lunch, but the ambiance was strange, and I felt like I was at a normal community gathering, so after two hours I decided to show face at the second house farther down the street.

This time it was the second visita that tore me up. I drank a beer with the men to calm my nerves a bit and then headed up to the second floor. I sat in the mother's bedroom with a small handful of other women from the community trying to show support for the girl's mother, still in bed and in a state of bewildered half-sleep. I was joking with the other women, and even got the mother to laugh a few times, and then the wailing started in the other room. It was a family member, a big woman with an equally big voice that echoed throughout the concrete rooms. I looked at the floor and cried with the women. In a second's time we went from joking about men and the differences between parties in Cape Verde and America to reabsorbing the reality that brought us all together to begin with. I think Kely's mother had run out of tears, and would only occasionally click with her tongue her reaction to the reminder that her daughter was gone. I left with a driver friend of mine and her mother asked me to come back some time soon and pass a day with her, to which I quickly and happily agreed.

I'm not even sure what the point of writing this is. I haven't had a computer (read: internet, tv shows, general distractions) in a matter of weeks now, and this on top of the new level of isolation from lack of contact with the rest of the world led me to a strange, Vonnegut-esque realization that we are, as a whole, completely absurd creatures. We find comfort in distracting things that don't mean anything, and really what we're choosing to distract ourselves from is meaning. I didn't have 30 Rock to turn to, or have an opportunity to watch zombies take over the world before bedtime (which is my favorite pastime), but I felt myself burst at the seams and survive. I reached my threshold of what I'm able to handle, and then surpassed it, and came out realizing as always that I'm still better off than so many others. I exhausted myself giving every part of myself that I could to strangers who couldn't help but put their full weight on me, and I'm not used to that so it was a strain, but what did I lose? What changed for me? Nothing.

I'll get my computer back in a month, eventually have a long day teaching and come home and curl up to whatever show I've bummed from the last computer I've scavenged. I'll choose to stay at home one hot Saturday and read all day and eat macaroni and cheese until I have to nap it off. I'm American, and you can take the girl out of the States, etc. But this week, perhaps more than another span of time in the recent past, put into stark, uncomfortable perspective the things that I have in my life, and the things that matter, and the things that I was desperately hoping do mean something, or could, but ultimately don't and never will.

Life is hard. We have a funny tendency, dangerously coupled with an uncanny ability, to trick ourselves into thinking that we'll be the exception to the rule in the blink of an eye we call our life, without stopping to think that there are no rules. So if there's any point to writing this it's to ask anyone who reads this, just once, and not out of a sense of entitlement or thinking that I've suddenly learned something unlearnable (on the contrary I feel stupid for systematically falling into this trap), to shut the computer or turn off the tv at the onset of the next urge to watch a show or surf Facebook and do something you've never done, or talk to someone you've never talked to. Or just go sit in the grass and do nothing.

I don't know. I plan on spending minimal time in my house this trimester, and getting to know every square inch of this island before I leave in the coming months. My reality will never be as hard is it is for the majority of people here. So I'll continue to give what I can, and hopefully ease the burdens of those who need help, but I'll always be going back to better. Go play in the sun and leave your iPad at home. I'll join you in September. Much love to you all.

xoxoxox

Rakel

Cesaria Evora, known as the Barefoot Diva, passed away just before Christmas in Sao Vicente. While she may no longer be here, she will certainly not be forgotten. Her beautiful unique voice will continue to play on the radio and her songs will remain as the soundtrack of Cape Verde.I had the honor of meeting her in 2009 at the inauguration of the SOS. The funny this was, I was so preoccupied with making sure I greeted everyone correctly ( I kept saying “Bem vindo” – welcome, over and over in my head so I would perfect it by the time the President came in), that when I met her I didn’t even recognize her! I am still embarrassed to say that I shook Cesaria Evoras hand but didn’t even know it was her! After my colleague came up to me, telling me how great it was that I just met Cesaria and I distinctly remember saying “Wait, Cesaria is here!” Well, I gave myself some credit since I was still new to the islands but it is a memory I will always have of her. At the Baia das Gatas Festival of 2009, I got to hear Cesaria sing for the first time. She mostly played in Europe, specifically France where she lived, so we felt very lucky to have seen her live. Her sweet voice had the whole crowd singing and dancing. Her funeral brought the same crowds that frequented her concerts. And just as they would at a concert, they sang and danced behind her as they walked from the city center to the cemetery. Her followers mostly sang her famous song "Sodade," a word which does not translate directly but describes the nostalgic feeling and longing one has for loved ones who have left, something that is dear to the hearts of Cape Verdeans, since every person living here has at least 2 relatives abroad. The following obituary published this week in the Economist is the best obituary I have found. I think it really captures who Cesaria was and what she meant to not only her compatriots but also to her fans abroad. She will certainly be missed! As she sang best "Oi tont sodade, sodade sem fim."

Lately, Adam and I have received a whole lot of beans. A “grocery” haul from my friend Joanna. Most people who live in our region have non-irrigated family plots where they plant corn, beans, and squash during the rainy season (beginning in July). The harvest season here officially kicked off with Corn Eating Day on …Read More

On December 25th, we woke at the normal hour - Scott to tend to the baying little goats, and me to roll over once more under the warm covers and delay the inevitable. Scott brought dainty cups and saucers bearing hot coffee. The cups were a gift to me from the office Secret Santa party, and they have a Christmas pattern on the side. We sipped our coffee in bed while eating platefuls of left-over gruel and delicious fresh cow’s milk. We began our celebration by opening our family’s presents that had fit so nicely under our tiny, stolen pine branch, upended and disguised as a Christmas tree. I had decked it out with the lids of canned goods and a cookie package cut into a long silver strip wrapped around the ‘tree.’

Most of our neighbor’s houses also contained little, Charlie Brown-style Christmas trees tucked into corners and sparsely hung with ornaments. Since the forestry service prohibits the unauthorized cutting of trees in our zone, it’s a humorous fact that nearly everyone has a little tree. It’s funny to imagine each family sneaking out (or, more likely, sending a child) to cut down a sapling under the cover of darkness. The holiday spirit meets the element of danger. Like shoplifting your holiday gifts.

After we had just settled in to watch National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, I got up to feed the chickens and returned to find Scott talking on the cell phone with Chiquinha. We were late for breakfast, she called to complain. We should know by now that breakfast is at 10:00. So we scooted around preparing ourselves to go down to the house, packing up our camera, gifts, and the ingredients for brownies- another tutorial so that Eliza can make them on her own next time.

There was already a little crowd gathered at Chiquinha’s and everyone was in a festive mood. We were ushered into a room with a table spread with cake, sweet couscous and coffee. Man I love cake for breakfast. What a lovely tradition. I fulfilled my duty in eating two slices.

Chiquinha, Antonio and all the gang talked trash about how ungrateful Scott and I were for not having arrived on time, but they quickly calmed down as I settled in to shelling beans with the rest of the group. As soon as we had shelled and picked the caterpillars out of a few liters worth of ervilha, the group split up to take care of chores. Scott went with Antonio to water the cows and cut hay for the livestock. Chiquinha dawned her ‘monkey suit’ (aka: coveralls) to go pick more beans. She needed to get a sack ready to send to her sister by the time the afternoon car passed by. No rest for the weary. Being a farmer means no true vacation days, ever.

Eliza and I stayed at the house with the kids. They were cold and snotty but ran around and climbed all over us undisturbed. New Year’s Day calls for baths and tightly braided hair, but Christmas day is more relaxed. We adults set to work peeling potatoes and chopping seasonings for the meal while snacking on roasted corn on the cob. Eliza was frequently interrupted from her tasks, called away to sell quarter liters of grogue to neighbors already mid-celebration.

A couple of hours after they had set off, the others returned from the countryside having completed their chores. Their timing was magical. Just as they arrived, Pai Natal (Santa Clause) came in the form of a traveling salesman from Guinea Bissau, his duffle bag loaded with socks, underwear, cheaply made sandals, and a pair of dress pants. He benefited from the celebratory spirit as Chiquinha bought a pair of socks for her grandson, shoving them his direction and giving a cursory “merry Christmas.” José treated his wife and mother-in-law to a pair of sandals each. He offered to buy a pair for me as well, but there were none that fit my narrow feet.

Shortly before lunch was ready at 4:00, Scott and I heeded the pleas from the kids and allowed them to open the gifts that we’d brought. They boys immediately inflated their mini soccer balls and invented a violent sort of game that the older men quickly join in on. The little girls put on their Hello Kitty jewelry and strutted around. Stefania preferred sucking on the beads to wearing them. The adults were also excited to open their packages. Although gifts are not much a part of the Cape Verdean Christmas celebration, Scott and I were very happy to give them. It was an excuse to share with our friends, and their excitement was contagious.

When the meal was finally prepared, the men sat down to eat at a table inside the house. Glass serving bowls filled with beans, rice, french fries, and fried chicken sat atop the table. ‘Dead chicken’ was served this year. ‘Dead chicken’ is the term used to describe frozen, imported meat that is purchased at the market in the city. It’s counterpart is ‘chicken of the land,’ poultry that is locally raised and killed. The dead chicken was a generous gift from Antonio’s out-of-town family.

Inside the soot-covered kitchen, the women scooped food directly from cooking pots, serving themselves and the children. As the entire family normally does, we squatted upon tiny stools beneath the level of smoke in order to eat our meal in the warm, cozy space. A bottle of wine circulated among the group, and while the women complained that it was bitter, they returned for another sip and giggled that their ears were feeling warm.

While the family would have liked to have put on music and spent the afternoon dancing on the patio, custom prohibited it. Antonio’s father recently passed away, and the family is still in mourning. Instead, several of us moved into the bedroom to recline and relax. The relaxing was short-lived, however, as neighbors began dropping buy to give a “boas festas” and enjoy a slice of brownies.

As it began to grow dark, Scott and I gathered our things and headed for home. There were still chickens and goats to be fed. We, on the other hand, were stuffed. This year we felt fulfilled by our Christmas experience. The holiday time, in general, is a difficult time to be away from American friends and family, but we felt pleased by the day spent with our friends here in Cape Verde.

I love kids. I love them enough to go on recordand state that I want some of my own—just not yet. In the meantime, I’ve beencontent to practice for the upcoming challenge. Some of you reading this havebeen generous enough to dump your kids on me from time to time, and for that, I thankyou. After all, that’s what Coach Drew is here for, right? In addition to thehordes of rug-rats and miscellaneous youngsters that I’ve had the opportunityto pseudo-parent, I’ve also had the chance to hone my skills while rearing mytwo adopted children, Dino and Mia.

Even though they live thousands of miles apartand have never met each other, they do have one important thing in common:they’re both just like Daddy. Dino, for example, loves him some bola*. Like me, he’s really not intorunning just for the sake of it, but give him a ball and he’s on it like afiend on a pipe. All joking aside, I would recommend against using the b-word* aroundhim unless you are already at thepark and ready to roll with ball in hand.

Mia, on the other hand, is not crazy aboutballs. In fact, I literally just tossed one at her and she ran out of the room.That’s OK because she still likes to get active... which brings me back to my originalthought: she’s just like Daddy too. I guess it's true that the apple neverfalls far from the tree—especially the part about falling. Unfortunately, mylittle girl had some kind of spill during a unsupervised brinca** session with some of her friends. Now she’s got a brokenleft arm... just like Daddy. Actually, she’s ahead of schedule—I think I wasabout one year old when I first broke my arm, and she’s only six months.

It may sound like I am taking this prettylightly, but I’m not. I guess the bitter humor is just how I’m dealing with it—the pity, theguilt, and the frustration. After a few trips to the local animal clinic itdawned on me (again) that I’m not in Kansas anymore. Honestly, it’s easy toforget how isolated I am when I’m watching English soccer via satellite andchecking my Facebook at work (just a little bit). Then my little girl’s got alimb hanging limp, and all the vet can do is give her a shot for the pain andimprovise a splint from random wood scraps and a few strips of tape. Oh yeah, Iforgot: I live on a tiny island in a developing country in the middle of theAtlantic Ocean. Somehow it had slipped my mind that there wasn’t a fullyequipped professional doggie surgeon in the local yellow pages. My bad.

If there is a silver lining, it must be that Mia istaking this whole thing a lot better than I am. Like I said, she loves to getactive, especially with other dogs, and this hasn’t slowed her down a bit. Evenwith only three functioning legs, she is still down to rassle and she never passesup a chance to let the other canines know. And since she's just like Daddy, I expect that she won't be letting a broken arm or two (or three) stop her from doing big things.

Honestly, the chances for a fullrecovery are not looking good right now. All I can do is hope for the best andremind myself that either way, she’s got a long happy life ahead of her. In the meantime, think some happy thoughts for her.

Pura Vida,

Drew

*ball**playing around

We live in a valley near the foot of Pico d’Antonia, the highest peak on Santiago. Every day we are lucky to see the changing face of this beautiful mountain, and we wanted to share some of those wonderful views with you. This week’s picture of our mountain… December 27, 2011 7:00 a.m.

We live in a valley near the foot of Pico d’Antonia, the highest peak on Santiago. Every day we are lucky to see the changing face of this beautiful mountain, and we wanted to share some of those wonderful views with you. This week’s picture of our mountain… December 15, 2011 5:45 p.m.

I think most people have a love-hate relationship with holidays. Everyone has their favorite, but we all have the one or two "special" days that we could actually do without. For some, it's their own birthday. For others, nothing is worse than taking the day off in honor of good 'ol Christopher Colombus. Personally, my favorite holiday has long been Thanksgiving, mostly because it marks the last day of sanity before the official start of the Christmas (read: shopping) season. Unfortunately, in the last decade the unofficial start date of the spending season seems to have been moved up to the day after Halloween.

While Thanksgiving remains a bastion of unadulterated family values (history aside), I have to admit that New Year's Day has slowly crept into second place for me, overtaking my birthday and April 20th along the way. Before you correct me, let me reiterate that I did mean New Year´s Day, not New Year's Eve. I do like champagne, chicken wangs and pretty thangs, but I've always liked a fresh start better than a big finish.

With that in mind, I look forward to the New Year, just as I look back with satisfaction on the one that we are wrapping up. I say "satisfaction" because in more ways than one, I did what I set out to do. The obvious one was finagling my way into the Peace Corps after a two year application and training process that can only be described as two-steps forward and 1.95 steps back.

Beyond that, I actually nailed my only official New Year's resolution: to read one book per week over the course of the year. After falling a couple books short of the same goal in 2010, I re-pledged myself to the challenge at the beginning of this year. While I don't feel particularly smarter, I promise you that all that personal time with my books was great for my sanity, and probably saved at least one of you from getting cussed out or flashed on at some point during the year.

I still have a few days left to finalize my resolutions for 2012, but one thing is for sure: the book-a-week program is still in effect. While I have no trouble finding (making) time to read, getting my hands on good books has been a challenge at times. Unfortunately, after a strong run across several continents in less-than ideal climates, my Kindle went kaput a few months back. Luckily, my roommate lets me use his Nook. When I'm desperate, I can read digital books right off my laptop, but that can cause a headache quicker than Fox News. Besides, I think our Peace Corps Safety and Security Guidelines recommend against breaking out the MacBook Pro on the bus on my way back from soccer practice at night.

Fortunately, I've always been an analog boy in a digital world—my vinyl collection dwarfs my drawer-full of scratched CD's in cracked cases. Therefore, it's no surprise that I would take a paperback book over any e-reader, any day. So, to get my fix, I've had to be a bit resourceful. There is a livreria* close to where I work, but the books are dumb expensive, and I tend to be dumb broke. Back in October I got my Municipal Library Card, but I got discouraged to find that the entire Portuguese language collection lacked a single book by Paulo Coelho. In their defense, they do have the complete works of José Saramago, which I plan to dig into next year.

The library at the Peace Corps Office in Praia was more promising. Before shipping out for São Vicente in September, I raided the shelf for some good titles, including one very special one that I had to check out just on principle, even though I've already read it. There's nothing like a library with good taste in modern American historical fiction!

Beyond finding her book (again!) halfway around the world, I've been lucky to have Lita present in my life of literature this year. Recently, she was gracious enough to stand in as my editor, offering some golden tips to refine my first short story. More importantly, my windowsill is now crammed full of books that she's shipped over from the states. Muito Obrigado!

So, for those of you that are interested, here's what I was getting into during all those times when I was nowhere to be found:Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides (2002)The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People - Stephen R. Covey (1989)American Gods - Neil Gaiman (2002)A General Theory of Love - Thomas Lewis, Fari Amini & Richard Lennan (2000)Palace Walk (Between the Two Palaces) - Naguib Mahfouz (1956)Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience and Redemption - Laura Hillenbrand (2002)Devil in a Blue Dress - Walter Mosley (1990)Meant to Be: The Story of a Son Who Discovers He is his Mother’s Deepest Secret - Walter Anderson (2004)The Known World - Edward P. Jones (2003)The World is Flat: A Brief History of the Twenty-First Century - Thomas Friedman (2003)Martyr’s Crossing - Amy Wilentz (2002)New News Out of Africa: Uncovering Africa’s Renaissance - Charlayne Hunter-Gault (2007)My Wild Irish Rogues - Vivian Moore Hallinan (1952)The Fortune Catcher - Susanne Pari (2002)The Bonesetter’s Daughter - Amy Tan (2001)Negro President: Jefferson and the Slave Power - ??? (2005)Women of the Silk - Gail Sukiyama (1993)Soul on Ice - Eldridge Cleaver (1965)Bacardi and the Long Fight for Cuba: The Biography of a Cause - Tom Gjelten (2008)Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone - J.K. Rowling (1997)Motherless Brooklyn - Jonathan Lethem (1999)The Ugly American - Eugene Burdict & William Lederer (1958)Small Business in the Third World - Malcolm Harper (1984)Dark Star Safari: Overland from Cairo to Cape Town - Paul Theroux (2003)Slaughterhouse-Five - Kurt Vonnegut (1969)War Talk - Arundhati Roy (2003)The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (1892)The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks - Rebecca Skloot (2010)Anthem - Ayn Rand (1938)The Manifesto of the Communist Party - Karl Marx / Friedrich Engels (1848)Alice's Adventures in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll (1865)George Washington - William Roscoe Thayer (1922)Blindness - José Saramago (1995)Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance; An Inquiry into Values - Robert Pirsig (1974)The Lacuna - Barbara Kingsolver (2009)The White Man's Burden: Why the West's Efforts to Aid the Rest Have Done So Much Ill and So Little Good - William Easterly (2006)The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafón (2001)Soccernomics: Why England Loses, Why Germany and Brazil Win, and Why the U.S., Japan, Australia, Turkey—and Even Iraq—Are Destined to Become the Kings of the World's Most Popular Sport - Simon Kuper & Stefan Szymanski (2009)Water for Elephants - Sara Gruen (2006)Mountains Beyond Mountains: The Quest of Dr. Paul Farmer, A Man Who Would Cure the World - Tracy Kidder (2004)Bel Canto - Ann Patchett (2001)The Big Short: Inside the Doomsday Machine - Michael Lewis (2010)1984 - George Orwell (1949)Outliers: The Story of Success - Malcolm Gladwell (2008)Fight Club - Chuck Palahniuk (1996)The Control of Nature - John McPhee (1989)The Talented Mr. Ripley - Patricia Highsmith (1955)Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen - Christopher McDougall (2009)The Portrait of a Lady - Henry James (1881)Reading Lolita in Tehran: A Memoir in Books - Azar Nafisi (2003)Starship Troopers - Robert A. Heinlein (1959)Bound Feet and Western Dress: A Memoir - Pang-Mei Natasha Chang (1997)

Stay tuned for my thoughts on the best and worst from the list above, which will be posted soon on the "2011 Reading List" page.

Pura Vida,

Drew

*livreria = bookstore

I am alifelong learner. No, that does not mean I loveschool. It just means that I love learning. I guess that is why I love teachingand coaching—after all, there is no better way to learn. As I look back on mylast ten years of working in various capacities, I can point to one consistenttheme. When I stop learning on the job, it’s time for me to move on. I’ve had atleast one job where it was clear that my manager was not interested—or possiblythreatened by and opposed to—my professional development. On the flipside, I’vebeen lucky to have several jobs where my managers wanted me to develop me tothe point where I could do their job.

While I avoided having specific expectations about Peace Corps, I have to admitthat I was primarily attracted by the learningopportunity. Of course, I was and still am looking to help people, but I didnot need to travel halfway around the world to find folks in need of help—I’m fromOakland.

For me, education is simply a matter of personal and professional health. In thatsense, learning is my medicine. Like medicine, it takes many forms, someeasier to swallow than others. On one hand you have tough stuff… think LawSchool. Now, I’ve never been, but I hear it’s something like a 20,000-hourdentist appointment. What about college? I guess that one is kind of likeprescription drugs: necessary, but often times the generic ones are just asgood as the high-priced brands.

Sincearriving in Cape Verde, I’ve swallowed a whole bunch of medicine and hadplenty of “learning opportunities.” For me, there was a clear parallel betweenthe 13-week regimen of anti-malarial pills and the 9-week Pre-ServiceTraining that I went through. Both seemed to last forever, and both caused heartburn and strangedreams. Then there were the endless sessions on the medical and safety concernsof the Peace Corps, which I liken to the Oral Rehydration Salts that kept mefrom wasting away during my weeklong battle through the cycle—essential butdisgusting.

Thankfully,not all medicine is created equal. Take Robitussin: that stuff is pretty good,and I hear it works for everything. More importantly, not all learningopportunities are as painful as my Pre-Service Training (PST). With a tip ofthe hat to our Peace Corps Training Staff, I can gladly say that this past weekwas the perfect example. I just got back from three days of In-Service Training inthe capital city, which was everything that PST was not. Even the bread duringcoffee break was better*, and that’s what really counts after all. Butseriously, I walked away from three days of trainings feeling more motivatedand better prepared to do what I came here to do. Even the medicine was quick andpainless: one flu shot and a bag of supplies to take back to my island.

The onlybad news is that in a couple of weeks I will have to start another 42-daycourse of anti-malarial prophylaxis. But that is a small price to pay for theopportunity to visit Dakar, Senegal in January! Stay tuned... HappyHolidays…

Pura Vida,Drew

*Pao Quente is officially the best bread bakery in the country. Too bad they have not opened up shop on São Vicente yet.

I haven’t heard John and Yoko’s Happy Xmas even once this year… yet. (I truly hope I haven’t just jinxed myself by writing that down.) In fact, throughout this November and December the fact that the Holiday Season is upon us has, at times, slipped to the back of my mind. Here, November began with …Read More

One of the big themes of my Peace Corps experience, dating back all the way the application process, is the idea of commitment. Before I even knew what country I would be posted in, or when I would be leaving, I made a commitment to myself: I would see it through to the finish—27 months. For me, this mindset went hand in hand with a commitment to avoid having expectations—good or bad—about what my Peace Corps experience would be like. Basically, it was a two-part affirmation to myself. One—I had absolutely no idea what to expect, and if I thought I did, based on an info pamphlet or another Volunteer’s war-story, than I was playing myself. And two—no matter what the surprises, I could and would handle them. So far, this approach has carried me pretty well through the first five months, and I’m glad that I prepared to be unprepared. You are always surprised by the things that surprise you... that’s what makes it a surprise.

Along the same lines, I made another important commitment to myself. I promised myself that over the course of my service I would not start anything. I know this one take some explanation, so give me a chance. Don’t get me wrong, I love to start stuff—projects, businesses, activities. The point is, I did not come all the way to Cape Verde to “do my thing.” I certainly want to be involved with the launch of exciting projects while I am here. The important thing is that I will not be the one who starts them. Being an “idea guy,” it can be difficult—damn-near impossible—to hold back when I see an opportunity. But if development work isn’t damn-near impossible, then you’re probably not doing it right. So I haven’t formed a new soccer team, organized a co-op, or launched any awareness campaigns lately. Instead, I’ve been scoping out the landscape, getting my hands dirty when it’s welcome, and doing the double-dutch dance, waiting for the right second to jump in and start jamming.

So, while my contributions have often felt peripheral, I still feel like I am in the right spot. It is still rewarding to witness other people reap the benefits of their own hard work, even when they could have done it without me. For example, I conquered the cycle just in time to attend the closing ceremony of the Culinary Class. Oh, I remember their first days of the training when they needed a recipe to boil water. Look at 'em now—how ya like them apples?!

Not everything in my life has been restaurant quality over the past week. Unfortunately, I have to admit that I recently broke an important commitment to myself. Shortly after my arrival in São Vicente, I vowed that I would never eat meat out of a can. Actually, I’ve been staunchly anti-canned meat for my whole life. When I was growing up, Spam was not a real dish, it was just an idea that came up when clowning folks**. As in, “your mama’s got snakeskin teeth.” Or, “your mama eats canned Spam with a spork and loves that sh*t.” I remember my visit to Hawaii as a child, when I first saw Spam on a actual restaurant menu. Eventually, I learned that Spam’s popularity throughout the Pacific Region is a legacy of the U.S. military presence, which only made me less likely to indulge. I even made it through living a couple of months on Guam without eating “spahhhm”*** even once—sorry Vicky, it’s nothing personal.

Let me be clear, this is not just about Spam—all canned meats are off limits. And don’t give any crap about “it’s just like eating canned tuna," because it’s not, and you know it. But, like I said, I broke down this week. Being a foodie, I was ecstatic when I finally got access to my own kitchen so that I could expand my diet beyond corn, potatoes, salt and butter. But as I stepped out of work on Monday, I recognized a funny feeling on the back of my tongue. It was a craving for something I first tried during my homestay during training: "spaghetti." So, I swallowed my pride, headed to the store, and grabbed the necessary ingredients for spaghetti a la Cabo Verde*: 1 pack of pasta, 2 eggs, butter, and a can of salchichas. Yes, I said a can of salchichas—that's how we roll.

Later that night, I sat down with a bowl of pasta goodness that made me feel just a little bit more integrated. Not surprisingly, my roommate decline to partake in the feast, but he was there to support me in my time of weakness. Besides, we reasoned, if you’re gonna eat canned meat, it might as well be hot dogs—after all, can it really get any more processed than miscellaneous meat parts and preservatives stuffed in an animal intestine? So, I loaded up my fork with a heap of noodles, hot dog and hard boiled egg, dripping with melted butter and hot sauce. And as I savored my first bite of the goodness, the sweet words of Luther Ingram floated through my head...

“If loving you is wrong, I don’t wanna be right.”

Pura Vida,

Drew

* No, this is not the actual name of the dish, it's just what I call it. Many Cape Verdeans find marinara or tomato-based sauce to be "too acidic."

**For the Motown Generation: clowning = playing the dozens

*** The vowel sound in the Chamorro pronunciation of Spam is the like the sound that the dentist asks you to make. As in, "say aaaaah."

The holiday season is officially upon us. One interesting perk to living in a foreign country is the opportunity to celebrate twice as many holidays as normal. Seeing as how Scott and I are oddly dangled between two cultures, we get to adopt the best of both words, thus doubling our merriment… and exponentially increasing our observation of UN educational holidays. Within the last few weeks we have celebrated Thanksgiving, Saint Andrew’s Day, and Worldwide Fight Against AIDS day.

This November Scott and I decided that we wanted to eat a traditional Thanksgiving feast, but we didn’t want to do it alone. Cooking up a giant meal for just the two of us sounded much more depressing than exciting, so we decided to bake pumpkin pies with the Young Women’s Culinary Group on Wednesday and cater a meal for our co-workers on Thanksgiving day.

We were all set for the holiday feast. Preparations for the meal began months in advance when Scott planted pumpkin seeds and sage in the garden behind the house, and miraculously, two pumpkins were ready right on schedule. On Wednesday the cooking group girls were skeptical of a “squash dessert,” but once they saw that the ingredient list contained sweetened, condensed milk and the squash was pureed rather than served in chunks, they were willing to give it a try. We were short on plates, but the girls snarfed down slices of pie out of the palms of their hands, and no one uttered a complaint. Pumpkin pie was a hit.

On Thursday Scott and I scurried around cooking up a storm. In addition to pumpkin pie, we made Hargis family stuffing and gravy, Ansley family sweet potato casserole, and rosemary garlic fried chicken legs. Cape Verdeans are generally not shy about expressing honest opinions, so Scott and I were plenty nervous about the crowd reaction, but our fears were unfounded. We relaxed and began to enjoy the meal as co-workers returned for seconds and asked for recipes. The two of us were visibly beaming with pride. The greatest moment of satisfaction came when one colleague slouched lower in his chair, caressed his protruding belly and moaned that he was “sooo full.” He then returned to the table for another helping of sweet potato casserole - an authentic Thanksgiving experience.

A couple of days later we joined neighbors in a simple celebration of Dia de Santo Andre. Saint Andrew is the patron saint in another community where there were full-scale festas, but in our town the observation simply demanded eating copious amounts of corn on the cob. Done.

Then on December 1st the community gathered in commemoration of Worldwide Day Against HIV/AIDS. The percentage of people affected by HIV/AIDS in Cape Verde is not near that of many African nations, and Cape Verde is determined to keep it that way. In our town the elementary school teachers organized an area-wide soccer tournament as a reminder of the commemoration and had a special assembly for all of the students to discuss transmission and prevention of the disease. Sexual activity starts very early in our community, and so the teachers held nothing back in their explanations. Given the circumstances, I fully support their methods, but I still found it a bit shocking to hear 6-12 year-olds chant in unison the three types of intercourse through which the HIV virus is spread.

Peace Corps is also committed to providing HIV/AIDS education as a world-wide initiative, so I partnered with some community members to host a gathering. A group of 40ish people met to watch AIDS-related film shorts created by youth across Africa and then discuss the films in small groups. While most of the participants were young people, there were a couple of wild cards on the attendance list including a 74 year-old gentleman.

The day after the activity, the gentleman took me aside to express his appreciation that the youth in our town were being taught about AIDS. He wanted to let me know that he, himself, was no longer in a position to worry about becoming infected. He said that although he still talks a big game, he no longer has the energy to go chasing after women aside from his wife.

Just as I thought that the conversation was coming to a close, the elderly man returned to make a clarification. “You should know that in my younger days I was quite the catch,” he said. He continued to detail a few of his conquests as I squirmed searching for an escape. Before I found my way out, however, he managed to get in one last word. “I’ve never caught HIV but I do have an infectious disease that makes it burn when I pee….”

And what do you say to that?

Happy Holidays!!!

I can't believe my time in Rwanda is in its final days. After finishing the previous week in my bed with fever, headache and stomach pain I finally made my way to the hospital to get checked out. Good new: It was not malaria. Bad news: I have an infection. I had to unpack the Cipro I had already put in the "to give away" pile and as soon as I started taking them I immediately felt 100x better. Thank goodness because I didn't want to cancel my goodbye party at our new Technical Adviser's house. I took it easy, drank a lot of water, and managed to save up a little energy for dancing.

Some people have a photographic memory. I have what I would call an audiographic memory. In my mind, almost every song I hear is in linked, in some way, to a past experience or period in my life. You know what I'm talking about. I’m sure you can think of a song that will ALWAYS remind you of the first time you asked someone (or got asked) to dance, whether you were twelve and twenty-one. It’s just that for me, this aural memory has always been stronger and deeper than any other form of recollection.

My first months in Cape Verde have brought plenty of highs and lows, each with their own soundtrack. My best memories of Cape Verde will always be associated with the honeyed sound of Mayra Andrade, or the Gypsy-styled yearning of Tito Paris. Three weeks ago, I passed up a chance to see the latter live in concert, in the interest of not spending money that I didn’t have. Luckily, two weeks later I was sitting at a hotel bar enjoying a free night of coladeira music. Sometime after midnight, the lead singer blessed us with a pleasant surprise when he invited a special guest to the stage… Tito Paris! I doubt I will ever hear coladeira music again in my life without being transported back the outdoor patio of that hotel. And next time he comes to town, I definitely got money on it. But enough of the sweet stuff. As I said, my time here, like anyone’s life, has its highs and lows. Honestly, after a high Thanksgiving week, the last 8 days or so have pretty much kicked my ass. On the 30th we closed out a beardiful Brovember with the festival of M.E.A.T., which featured three-meat (no bean) chili and fried chicken smothered in beef gravy. Later that night as I laid up in my bed trying to get some rest before another day of work, I suddenly felt my stomach turn upside down—and it’s been all bad since. Being bedridden with a bad case of "the cycle*" is bad enough when you can get some rest. Now, imagine trying to cope when the entire country is blasting Rihanna on repeat. Coincidentally, my least favorite thing about this country, by far, is their clinical obsession with “Man Down,” and for that reason, the song will be eternally associated in my mind with the low points of my Peace Corps Service.The lows this week also include my not-so-illustrious soccer career. It appears I counted my chickens before they hatched in my last post, because after telling me that I had made the cut, the coach decided not to sign me—he wants me to help coach instead. Yes, it hurts my pride. Yes, I’ll get over it. After all, it’s been several years since I accepted that I was just a good player who planned on becoming a great coach. I wouldn't change anything about the last month of tryouts (except the result). I played hard and I played well, and I still have a good team to train with. Plus, I've made some more friends, and I’ll be there to support them at the opening game this Sunday. Hopefully, we will honor the passing of the great Sócrates by notching a win for the Corinthians family. If there is anyone who’s really suffered during my status as “man down” it’s Mia. With nobody to play with she has gone literally stir-crazy (plus, I think she’s in heat). Lucky for her, we got to squeeze in a little play date with her best friend, MC**. Enjoy the moment of Zen, and please say a prayer for my bowels. Pura Vida,Drew

*Peace Corps slang for diarrhea, deriving its name from the fecal-oral cycle that often causes it.**Named after the great Stanley Kirk Burrell.

I often think if counting down the days until I set footback in America is good thing. It plays strange tricks on one’s psyche. Thinkingof something so far away tends to get me out of the “Peace Corps Mentality”. Ibegin to think of the things that will be instead of what is. I should be herementally. I need to focus on my projects that I have worked so hard for herebefore looking forward. I still have nine months left here and have initiatedbasketball projects, wildlife collections, a children’s book, a biodiversitycount with the Protected Areas of Cape Verde, and of course my data collectionthat I will use for my M.S. degree. There is not a lack of work to be done,only a lack of motivation. I have been living in Cape Verde for a year and ahalf now and have only seen three islands. That’s weird right? I guess what I amtrying to say is I am feeling restless here on Boa Vista. The idea of being ona rock that would fit inside of 1604 (the loop around San Antonio) sometimesmakes me a little crazy, like Jack Nicholson in The Shining. I need to explorenew things. That being said, next month I have a trip planned to Senegal toparticipate in a little thing called WAIST (West African Invitational SoftballTournament).

WAIST is a great opportunity for volunteers to blow off somesteam, a place where little judgment is passed upon letting loose. Also, thedays leading up to WAIST will be host to the GAD (Gender and Development)meeting as well as the All Volunteer Conference. These meetings are exciting becausethey give volunteers an opportunity to exchange ideas and best practices. Ithink I will be presenting my basketball program at the GAD meeting. I will besharing how I have worked with and through the basketball team to get them fundedfor jerseys and the work that the head coach and I are currently working towards.Our ultimate goal will be to get some professionals here to help train both thecoaches as well as the players, more on this as it progresses.

Processing lizards in the "office/lab"My research is going well. Collecting female Cape VerdeSkinks (Chioninia spinalis boavistenis)is proving very difficult. I have two theories about this; 1) the sex ratio inthe population within my study area is skewed towards males. 2) The energybudget for females and males are different. In other words, females spend moretime and energy with their clutch then they do foraging or other activitiesthat would require energy outside of the burrows. I tend to believe the latter,but who knows… it’s all a big guess anyhow. I saw this picture the other daythat reminds me of this dilemma. It essentially showed the more you research atopic the less you know. Questions arise that would never have been posed hadyou not begun researching the subject. So the more I look into the life historyof this particular lizard the less I feel I know about it. I am constantlysecond-guessing my results and methodologies. A friend of mine, a PhD candidateat Texas A&M, assures me this is normal and not to get hung up on thesethings nor to make assumptions and judgments until the data is analyzed. Ishould stay focused on what I set out to find in the first place and not getside tracked with all the other experiments that I would like to perform. Iwill push through the urges to wander from the study that I have set up now andthat’s easy when you have friends visiting.

I recently played tour guide to the parents of a greatfriend of mine, Matt Kubal. He is a PCV on Santiago and his folks spent theirlast few days in Cape Verde here in Boa Vista. They wanted to spend most of theirtime in Sal Rei and so we explored the village for three days together. I hadsuch a good time hanging out with them; it was almost like having my own folkshere, but obviously not exactly. However, the experience did get me talkingwith my folks again about coming to visit…. and now they have decided to takethat leap of faith with me and come to Cape Verde! So I will plan their tripwith great vigor and do my best to achieve ultimate travel satisfaction. Itwill be tough not to have a good time here. If the season cooperates, they mightbe able to see Loggerhead Turtle. At the very least they will get to experiencea culture and country they previously did not know. That can never be takenaway, we always have our experiences.

My green tea bag just told me that "The worst loneliness is not to be comfortable with yourself."

This life really is just an epic expanse of a rollercoaster.

Fuckin Mark Twain.

.......

I've known Rachel Day since June of 2006. We were roommates during our life shaking study abroad trip around Ireland. 6 weeks, 2 weeks in 3 different cities. Every time we'd get our roommate assignments Rachel and I were together. Oddly enough, we weren't very close then. Not for any particular reason, but we were both different people then. I think one thing we did have in common was we didn't necessarily go to Ireland to find ourselves, and yet the most unexpected can change you forever. I always know when a relationship is extra special to me because I can't remember the moment I fall in love. I have no clue when it clicked that we were going to be friends forever. But I'm sure as hell glad it did. For the remainder of college we only grew closer, and I can now proudly say that Rachel Day is one of my closest friends, more than a sister... someone I don't know how not to love.

In all honestly when Rachel first told me she was applying to Peace Corps I was extremely excited but also very nervous. I know she's a strong woman and was at a point in her life she needed a challenge. Although I couldn't bring myself to not be a skeptic and to jump to conclusions about how she'll manage where ever she ends up. Well, I do still worry for her the way I do any close friend, but I can now honestly say that she has surpassed any expectations and I could not be more proud. I don't want to say she's a new woman because we all always saw it in her, but I can say that she has grown so much and truly conquered the unfathomable challenges that come with that journey.

Now enough about how amazing Rachel is...

Fogo, Cape Verde... quite the little volcano she's got. I'm not going to go into too much Travel Magazine detail, but here's my top ten thoughts that spring to mind when thinking about the trip:

1. Absolutely beautiful black sand beaches, some that stretch as far as you can see and others are small private coves

2. We hiked the volcano, which I'll admit was extremely challenging for me (i need to get my booty to the gym), but it was completely worth the aches and pains going up (and coming down). The views were spectacular and the company was even better. I loved sharing that experience with 3 incredible ladies, oh and our lovely guide

3. Donkeys make noises they don't teach you in preschool

4. Thanksgiving should be a global holiday. Not because I'm a proud American and think everyone should celebrate our holiday, but because the idea of cooking a lot of food and sharing it with others translates well

5. Bucket showers aren't as bad as you might think

6. Wine is yummy even on a volcano

7. The playful innocents of a kid and the undeniable wisdom of the elderly is universal

8. African beer is really not that tasty

9. Everyone's African doppleganger lives in Fogo

10. Have your adventures while they're there to be had, but never forget you can always go home.

When I got back to the states I spent about a day in Boston. First time in Boston and I must admit it really made me miss the east coast. I think Beantown would be too cold for me but I kept wondering if I should give NYC another chance. Anyway... more importantly, I thought a lot about the Fogo trip while wandering the streets. The first bit of American news I heard was that people were literally being shot, pepper sprayed and trampled to death while shopping on Black Friday. I feel like if I go into my detailed opinion of these events this note will be way too long... so I'll just leave you with that tidbit of information and you can discuss among yourselves.

Fogo is not that different from anywhere else. I feel like some would be insulted by this comment but the truth is every place has its pros and cons. It's just a matter of finding a balance where ever you may end up, whether you're there for a week or a lifetime. People surprise me how different and yet similar they can be. I think that's what allows me to have faith in humanity... to not completely give up on anyone or anything.

I'd personally like to thank Rachel for hosting Meghan, Lolly and I, and for trusting us to appreciate her current way of life. I couldn't be more proud of her, both watching her leading a class and go about her Cape Verdean life.

"Not all who wander are aimless, especially those who seek truth beyond tradition, beyond definition, beyond the image."

This is a quick interjection meant for all of the volunteers I know, as well as those I don't. I came across this poem recently and it articulates points that I or friends have made in recent conversation. I was touched by its relevance, and just want to post it in hopes that it may touch a chord with someone else when they need it.

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice--

... though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do--

determined to save

the only life you could save.

-Mary Oliver

I am not going to spoil everyone’s holidays by going off on a rant about the FUBAR state of the world, the insane lack of equity in our global society, and the ever-growing divide between the rich and the poor. In fact, I have recently overdosed on that entire conversation. In the last few months I’ve read a few different books that in some way or another offer insights and ideas about international development and aid. For the most part, the books have been interesting, but I am more interested in the work that can be done, and change that can be made in my neighborhood or at my job. When it comes to fixing the world, I am temporarily out of service.

I am so oversaturated with the idea of sweeping international development, that I recently did something I almost never, ever do. I put a book down after reading the first thirty or so pages. Admittedly, I was hesitant to start reading The End of Poverty (Jeffrey Sachs, 2005), for a few reasons. Like I said, I’ve recently read several books that get into a lot of the same issues (White Man’s Burden, Dark Star Safari, Mountains Beyond Mountains). Also, I am just a little skeptical of the idea that some guy (no matter how smart he may be) has discovered the secret to ending world poverty and has managed to outline this in simple, digestable bestseller. Lastly, it didn´t exactly excite me that the foreword was written by Bono*. So, as I reluctantly turned the pages through the first chapter, I felt a question percolating to the front of my mind. In all this discussion of how to address the gross economic inequalities in the world, I began to wonder how (or if) Sachs would address the issue of how the world got this way. In other words, if the White Man’s Burden is to save the world’s brown people, does that responsibility grow out of the White Man’s historic role in the underdevelopment and undermining (see rape and pillage) of brown societies over the course of several centuries? Or, are we of the opinion that the developed world is just lucky, and therefore they/we should share because it is nice, and the right thing to do? Well, I did not have to wait long to hear Mr. Sachs’s take on this question. On page … he writes (italics mine):Let me dispose of one idea right from the start. Many people assume that the rich have gotten rich because the poor have gotten poor. In other words, they assume that Europe and the United States used military force and political strength during and after the era of colonialism to extract wealth from the poorest regions, and thereby to grow rich. This interpretation of events would be plausible if gross world product had remained roughly constant, with a rising share going to the powerful regions and a declining share going to the poorer regions. However, that is not at all what happened. Gross world product rose nearly fiftyfold. Every region of the world experienced some economic growth (both in terms of the overall size of the economy, and even when measured per person), but some regions experienced much more growth than others. The key fact of modern times is not the transfer of income from one region to another, by force or otherwise, but rather the overall increase in world income, but at a different rate in different regions." (p. 31). And that was enough for me to stop reading and move on to the next book.** Assume?! Wait, I’m pretty sure that colonialism happened. And it is downright fallacious and fellatious to argue that the massive transfer of wealth from a lot of countries to a few is irrelevant or non-existent because the overall amount of wealth in the world has increased. But-I-ain’t-the-one-to-gossip-so-you-ain't-heard-that-from-me. Plus, I promised you this blog entry would not be about saving the world. The title of this post actually refers to my own life, as I live it day-to-day here in Cape Verde. As in: the things I have and the things I have not. And since I rambled on a little bit in the intro to this post, we will handle the next part in the most efficient and fun way possible. It’s list time!!! In honor of Thanksgiving, I present to you, the things I am grateful for having AND the things I am grateful for not having. Enjoy: The Have-Nots (The Things I Don’t Miss Having) Microwave – If you can’t find a way to cook it without a microwave, you probably shouldn’t be eating it anyways. Mirror – I am not saying that I look good no matter what (but thank you). All I’m saying is who needs a mirror in the house when you’re celebrating Bro’vember? Shaving is not permitted this month anyway. After the culminating Festival of Meats on November 30th I will take my crunchy self to the barber and get cleaned up. Hot Water – I came to Cape Verde swearing that I would NEVER get used to cold showers. I was wrong. My roommate and I (combined) less than 1 cubic meter of water per week.

The Have’s Teammates – There’s really nothing like being on a team. One of the hardest parts of travelling so much in the years leading up to joining the Peace Corps was not being able to fully join a soccer team. It was a great opportunity to train with good teams like Bay Area Ambassadors, University of Johannesburg, of FC Manica, but I haven’t suited up for an outdoor league match since my last game with Bosnjaci in the SFSFL in 2009. But after a few weeks of tryouts, Corinthians will be announcing their team roster this Friday, and I will be on it! Yes, I am proud and thankful for that. Special thanks to all my coaches over the years (Jim, Micah, Rusty, Rene, Ibra, and on and on). Just to clarify, this is a picture of the all mighty Burners Indoor Men's Team, not Corinthians. Cape Verdeans can be light-skinnededed, but they are still brown. A Roommate – Over the years I’ve been fortunate to have some great roommates. Long-time followers of this blog have already been introduced to Jelly. My folks back home in the town know that Trevor and I go waaaay back, and will be honorary roommates for life. Felix was the perfect roommate, until he fell completely in love and stopped hanging out with me. But I forgive you because she is hot and you ended up marrying her. That being said, my current roommate, Rory, and I have a certain chemistry that I wouldn’t trade in. Can you imagine living with someone AND working with someone everyday and NOT wanting to murder them? Well, I am happy to say that I do not have any intentions of murdering Rory, and I enjoy going almost everywhere with in tandem. In fact, we decided to celebrate Halloween this year as a pair of Mormons!

Neighbors - I love my hood and all the people in it!Cheap Fish - No explanation required. Students – This one speaks for itself. I am a lifelong learner, and the best way to learn is to teach, so I give thanks for having students, on the field and in the classroom.

Colleagues – A lot of jobs suck. Mine doesn't.

Furniture- We finally took the plunge and bought some real furniture to supplement our not-so-deluxe plastic picnic table and chairs, and the foot stool that we made out of recycled soda bottles. We will be eating a whole lot of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches until the next paycheck, but it’s worth it to feel like you actually live in your apartment. A Guest – For me, this one is a lot more important than it may seem. In November 2009 I packed my life into boxes, put them in storage and left town. For the next two years I basically lived off the hospitality of some of the best people in the world (Pops included). While not paying rent is awesome, after a while I began to look forward to having the opportunity and the ability to pay that love forward. So, when a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer contacted me via my blog over a month ago, I jumped at the opportunity to play host. After wrapping up two years of service in Morocco, Adriana has joined us in Sao Vicente for a week of decompression and thanks-giving. No, we don’t have much to offer, but it means the world to be able to share it. Plus, she can cook!All that is just to say, just be thankful for what you’ve got, and be grateful for not being loaded down with all the things that you actually don’t need anyway. Happy Thanksgiving, Chicken over Turkey all day (especially if it’s not my Daddy’s grilled Turkey). Lovage. Pura Vida, Drew *My roommate told me a great story recently that reflects our feelings on Bono and his ilk. It goes like this… Halfway through a U2 concert, in between songs, Bono starts clapping very slowly. “Every time I clap my hands… a child dies in Africa dies.” A voice from the crowd yells, “Then stop f*cking clapping!” **It is hard for me to overstate how big of a deal it is for me to not finish a book once I started. To put it perspective, I read every last page of Don Quixote and 2666, even though in both cases I had decided early on that I wasn’t enjoying it. Once again, thank you Colleen and Lalita for those horribly overrated suggestions. New Rule: no recommending 1000-page books unless you've actually read them yourself. Lita, I forgive you because I just got the awesome batch of books that you sent me in the mail. Colleen, I forgive you because statute of limitations on being mad about a book has recently expired.

The past month has flown by. It’s hard to imagine that November has already come and almost gone.

Scott and I closed out October with the 2nd annual reverse trick-or-treating escapade. Going house to house to pass out candy was even more fun this year than last since we know the people in our town better. When people saw us coming, they ran to get the rest of their family members. “Scott and Melissa are coming with candy!” And miraculously, 365 days after having last heard the phrase, many people remembered the words “trick-or-treat.” Well, they remembered a distorted version, at least. Nya Juninha, 70-something, said “tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck.” To which we replied, “Great! Have some candy!” Scott went dressed as Bob Marley, and I was a butterfly. Reverse trick-or-treating is a blast. I highly recommend it.

Our baby goats, Howie and Saul, are now 4 weeks old. By day, they are excellent jumpers and very playful. At night they sleep in our bathroom to give their mother’s milk a chance to replenish. (This is how Cape Verdeans do it- we’re just following orders.) We awake before 7 each day to the sounds of baa-ing and the pitter patter of little hooves on the concrete floor.

Work with the National Park team, English for Tourism group, environmental education for grade-schoolers and a day with a scouting group have kept us busy. (The Scout’s, by the way, extend their invitation to any American troops who would like to pay a visit and go camping with them. Knot tying knows no language barriers.)

Of course, the most noteworthy event of the last month was Ken and Judy’s visit to Cape Verde. Between helping with chores around the house, taking day-hikes to neighboring communities, and traveling to a couple of towns across the island, I think mom and dad managed to stay sufficiently busy. Now that Scott and I have adjusted to the language, customs, physical inconveniences, and long up-hill walks that are part of life in our town, we have a hard time thinking of much around here being abnormal. I was interested to hear from my parents what their perspectives on the country and community were.

When asked to give their impressions or to list things that they found surprising about their experience in Santo Antao, Cape Verde, here were their responses:

“The people are very sociable, hardworking, caring, and boisterous.”

“They farm in unimaginable ways.” (aka: on near vertical terrain.)

“I don’t know what I thought people wore, but I just never imagined them dressing the same way that we would in America.”

“We take for granted how good we have it in America.”

“I was struck by the sense of community – people sharing, helping each other out, spending so much time together.”

“I didn’t realize that you [Scott and Melissa] knew everyone across the entire island.” (editor’s correction: They all know us. We know many of them. Sometimes we’re forced to fake it.)

“I know you told me it would be here, but I hadn’t expected to find bottled water and good ‘ole Coca-Cola.”

“I was really impressed by the honesty of the driver who returned money to you.” (A van driver gave us incorrect change without us noticing. The next day he saw us in another town and stopped to make things right. Most people here are unbelievably kind in this way.)

“I didn’t know there were so many foods that taste like potato.” (Referring to inhame, manioc, and bread fruit)

“I hope people here don’t base their impression of white people’s hair on the way that mine has looked since I’ve been here.” (Fear not, mom, there are always the German tourists whom you can count on to look goofier than you do.)

Our neighbors were very glad to have met my mom and dad and to match their faces with the photos they’ve seen. Everyone told my parents how very young they looked- thus quickly endearing themselves to my folks. Neighbors enjoyed watching mom and dad carry water from the spring, attempt to pound corn, play a traditional board game, and stroll around town. The only complaint was that their visit was too short. “Surely a couple of months would have been more appropriate,” they say.

However brief, it was nice for Scott and I to get to share a little bit of our experience here with loved ones from home, and we were impressed and appreciative of their willingness to go with the flow- it’s not easy to feel 100% out of control.

Shots from the highlight reel:

Howie and Saul

Look! It's Bob Marley and a giant butterfly. Why do Bob's dreads smell like old socks?

Judy and Ken take Ribeira de Paul

Shelling beans at a neighbor's house. Antonio, in the white pullover, is one of our best friends.

Pitching in to water the garden

We’ve now been at site for two months: our duration at site has now grown longer than the time we spent in training. This feels like a milestone. Despite not having started any projects in earnest, I feel more and more like a veteran volunteer rather than a trainee. At this time I am still …Read More

Yesterday I had the privilege of attending two of our IPC (Interpersonal communication) sessions. Before I go into the details, let me give you a little background on this activity.

One of the ways that we reach our target audience is through the IPC sessions. Each session involves a group of adults or youth but no more than 25 people per group. The groups are led by peer educators (youth) or community health workers (adults). By having a small group of people, the leaders of the group can control the flow of the meeting and assure that each person participates. The objective of the IPCs is to help participants change risky behaviors.

Most of our partner organizations use IPC sessions as one of their main activities for our behavior change project. On this trip, I went with one of our RPOs to do supervision of session.

We arrived towards the end of the IPC with about 14 women and men sitting in a circle and many kids running around, being curious. This health issue for this community was safe water. The people we visited are part of the population that we classify as "most vulnerable." They receive government assistance, including free health insurance, clothing, and food. As a vulnerable population, getting people to change their behavior is a huge and difficult task. For this community, there was no water source near by so they have to travel down the hill (by hill I mean mountain) to get water from the river. They buy jerry cans of water for 20 francs a can which is about 3 cents. Each jerry can holds 20 liters of water.

The community health worker leading the session was talking about one of our products when we arrived: Sur'eau. Sur'eau is one of our 2 water purification products. During this IPC the group discussed the importance of having clean water and how Sur'eau can treat their river water. One bottle of Sur'eau costs 250 francs, about 40 cents. This one bottle treats 50 jerry cans of water or 1000 liters of water. One of the hardest parts of behavior change is convincing the population that changing their behavior is worth it. While we do sell health related products, the most important aspect of our work is improving people's lives. By getting them to change their behavior to improve their health and invest in it (using safe water, mosquito nets, doing family planning, and using condoms to protect against unwanted pregnancies, STIs, and HIV), they can increase their livelihood long after the donors pull out. Because the vulnerable populations receive things for free, they get into the mind set that they should always get handouts. Getting them to invest in healthy behaviors is difficult but once they get into the mindset and invest in their health and future, the process is sustainable and snowballs into healthier lives.

After the IPC focused on safe water, we attended a youth IPC led by peer educators for a group of about 20 boys and 1 girl all under age 24. This session was more interesting for me (partially because I was there the whole time and it was more dynamic). The session started with a game. We lined up in two lines and stood shoulder to shoulder. While the one line sang a song, the other line passed a potato behind their backs from one person to another. When the peer educator said "stop" everyone stopped and the singing line had to guess who had the potato. I don't think they guessed correctly the entire game.

Next we went inside and the peer educators introduced the topic- HIV/AIDS. They asked the group how they could tell if someone has HIV by physically looking at them. After they gave a bunch of responses (not quite sure what they said since it was in Kinyarwanda) the peer educators reminded them that just like in the game we played, you can't know if someone is infected just by looking at them.

They spoke some more and then pulled out condoms and a wooden penis for condom demonstrations. They passed out a brochure with instructions in Kinyarwanda. Instead of the peer educators just doing a demonstration, they asked the group if they knew the steps of correctly using a condom and went around the circle allowing them to explain and demonstrate. Once everyone figured out proper condom use they discussed reasons why people their age do/don't use condoms, if they carry them around with them on a regular basis, and other stigmas related to condom use.

Even though I could not understand most of what was being said, it was really great to attend these IPCs. It was good to see our peer educators and health workers in action, what challenges they face in the field, and the great work that they are doing on a daily basis.

This past weekend I traveled to Nyungwe Park with 3 friends and we found ourselves on an adventure. I'll go into details in a minute but first let me give you the highlights:

- 700 Colobus monkeys in the park

- 18 hours in a car

- 5 animal species seen (including 2 poisonous)

- 4 hour hike through the rain forest

- 2 fire places enjoyed

- 1 medium sized waterfall

So Saturday morning we woke up early and drove down the the park. I had made reservations at a guesthouse but when we arrived there was no one that worked there to be found. Of course the phone number to the guy I had talked to was turned off as well. Eventually we found someone and they gave us keys to the rooms. We were the only people there and it was a bit creepy. The Exorcist may have come up in conversation one or two times throughout the day. There was no food there and apparently no restaurants in town so we decided to drive into the park and see what we could find. We also wanted to make arrangements for our hikes since the start of all the hikes in the park was a 45 minute (so said the park rangers). An hour and twenty minutes later, we made it to the hike starting point. We got information on the hikes and prices and walked around the USAID funded buildings. They had the skull of the last elephant from the park on display.

We then drove to the fancy Nyungwe Forest Lodge. At $175 per person (all inclusive) we this was definitely out of our budget so we did the next best thing: ate a nice lunch. Since we decided to forego the $60 canopy walk, we figured splurging on lunch was a great idea. So we had their fixed price 3 course meal. I can't say it was the best food that I've ever had but it was acceptable. The passion fruit capirinha however was probably the best mixed drink I've ever had.

Mountain monkey (we thought it was a Colobus but later found out we were wrong)

Driving by a bog in the park and yes, I sang "Rattlin' Bog" as we went by!

Tea plantation

More tea

Close up on the tea

The drive in to Nyungwe Forest Lodge

Anxious to get our food

And then the rain started...

Artistic rain gutter-- it came from a pipe at the top and these decorative rings directed the water flow

Possibly the best drink I've ever had!

Appetizer: avocado and tomato salad

Chili soy sauce stir fried chicken (too salty and too spicy)

CheeseburgerTrifle with Amerula sauce

The mist over the hills after the rain

We took our tea at the end of the meal inside since it was getting cold and dark. We sat around the fire place which they graciously lit for us and enjoyed tea around the fire.

Chandelier with cool tree design

This chandelier is made from tea strainers! Such a neat idea!

Traditional dung paintings

We didn't want to drive another two hours back to the cheap guesthouse so we asked if there were any other places around. The guesthouse on this side of the park was booked so the receptionist told us about a place that his friend manages not too far away. We tried bargaining a price on the phone and decided to go to the hotel to see if we could get it any lower. This hotel, the top hill view hotel, blew us away. It is brand new and I had never heard of it. The manager and staff were super friendly and were so accommodating. They did let us pay the amount we felt comfortable with and we spent the evening in a suit complete with living room with fireplace and huge bathroom with a bathtub! Quite a rarity in Africa!

ignore my bag spilling out all over the bed

Aah! This is the life!

Way more fun lying by the fire!

View from our balcony

View of Lake Kivu from the hotel

Main building

Looking onto the rooms from the main building

Inside the main building

Breakfast before our big hike

We head out on Sunday morning to do the 4 hour hike to see a waterfall. This trail is known for seeing mahogany trees. One of our group almost was't able to go due to her footwear. But after explaining that she had hiked Mt. Kenya in flip flops and promised not to do anything if she got attacked by ants or snakes they let her come. Our guide was really nice and showed us different types of plants and animals in the forest. One tree that came from Ethiopia had leaves that have been used by travelers as toilet paper. As you can imagine, the leaves were very soft.

What not to wear when hiking...

Proper hiking footwear, notice the socks over the jeans to avoid ant bites

We took the pink trail

Cutting open fruit that chimpanzees eat

Colobus monkeys!

Three little monkeys sittin' in a tree...

We did a little photo shoot between the roots of a tree.

Amazing canopy!So beautiful. And then it started to rain proving how awesome nature is,

Looking at the canopy from the base of the tree

Time to pull out the poncho!

We finally made it to the waterfall. I can't say its the best waterfall I've ever seen but who doesn't like waterfalls?

And we went into a waterfall photo shoot!

After taking a photo break, we sat down to have a snack and found the largest earthworm looking creature I have ever seen.

Tasty snack!

Not so excited about this worm...

After we hung out with the worm, we continued the hike which looped around towards the new Canopy walk. On the way we ran into a few other forest creatures. The first was a tree frog which apparently is poisonous and can kill a small snake. Notice how well he blends into the tree.

A few minutes later we found a baby green viper. This guy is also pretty dangerous and I'm really glad we did not see his mother.

Continuing on the hike, we made to to the Canopy Walk or at least to see the Canopy. We did walk across a small bridge made from the same steel used on the Canopy Walk. It was almost as cool...almost.

The real canopy walk

Our awesome guide

Natural vine: George, George, George of the jungle...

Stuck in a cloud

Orchids

The final ascent

Somehow hiking in flip flops leaves your shoes cleaner than hiking in shoesAfter the wonderful hike it was time to drive back to Kigali. Thinking that it would take us about 4 hours we should have been home around 5:30. According to google maps there are 2 ways to get to Kigali from the park. The first way we took to get to the park through Butare. Since we saw a sign at the other end of the park to Kabuye and google maps showed that it would take about the same time, we figured we'd go a different route. BIG MISTAKE! The road from Butare was paved and smooth sailing. Little did we know, the road to Kabuye, while quite scenic, was an unpaved twisty mountain road. Since it's rainy season, there were big piles of mud everywhere which even in our 4 wheel drive vehicle were terrifying. It ended up taking 4 hours to get to Kabuye and then another 2 1/2 back to Kigali from the paved road. We felt lucky and fortunate that we made it back safe.

Mountain monkey on the way out of the park

Watch out, he's coming at us!

Driving back through the tea plantation

Blurry but you can see the dirt road we took for the next 4 hours

Rice paddies

Rice paddies and agriculture

More fields of agriculture

Rice paddies

Lake Kivu- I'm pretty sure we drove around the entire lake

So there comes a time when you need gas. When there are no gas stations out in the middle of nowhere, you find a small village and fill up on gas that they have collected in water bottles. These bottles are really meant for motorcycles to fill up on but since there are no gas stations, we got used to the shocked responses and hoards of people as we filled up the car. In the following picture we are about 2 hours from the paved road. The town must not get many white people because we were immediately swarmed. We were asked for money and objects, hair stroked by older ladies, and lots of staring from kids.

Attempt at getting the sunset over Kivu while racing to get to the paved road before darkWe barely made it to the paved road before dark and were relieved once we did. We ended up getting back home around 9:30 pm. It was a crazy trip but such a blast and had a great time with my friends!

With turtle season coming to a close, it seems strange to look back on all of the relationships made in such a chaotic time. There are night patrols, English classes needing to be taught by yours truly and two other PCVs, sleepless mornings, and the ever impending foot injury. It is not a matter of if you will receive a debilitating foot injury, but when and how severe.

The foot injury was a thing that never concerned me in America. I never thought, I should be careful here not to injury my feet. I think this true for two reasons:

1) Last year I wore closed toed shoes a total of 5 days in Cape Verde. This was just not the case in America. I almost despised flip-flops before Cabo Verde. These days I wear them for everything…. That is as classy as I am willing to get here. When in Rome. 2) The chances of even the seemingly insignificant injuries turning infected are much greater here. I think this has to do with a general sanitation issue throughout Cabo Verde. Thus, cuts on feet become much more serious to me than ever before. I had bad luck with feet injuries this past turtle season and even had an unfortunate spill during a serious game of sand soccer (I still have some serious scar tissue from that incident). But, we continue on...life moves in the same speed that it did before. One must keep on no matter, and had I not, I would have missed out on some really fun people.

There was a German girl who was really cool, demanding and all-knowing, but very fun. The English guy who just so happened to be a fellow herpetologist. I will never forget the night that my roommate and his girlfriend realized that there was more than one herpetology-obsessed person that they now knew. As we discussed new taxonomy and general evolution of squamates over many a’ brew, the blank stares that we received from our company were ignored. The Italian who could not handle the turtle patrols. A German whom I am almost positive should have been born American and many others that have left lasting impacts. The relationships formed over the course of three to four months, during such a hectically tranquil time tend to be remembered in only the best way. But of course real work was accomplished during a wonderful time on the beach working with both Natura2000 and Turtle Foundation.

A picture at turtle camp with a visiting PCV from Santo AntaoHands-on work with these organizations affords me valuable experience as well a close working relationship with both organizations vital to my work as an ecologist for the Protected Areas of Cape Verde. Our Protected Areas team on the island of Boa Vista is nearly complete, and I will have a website for you all to visit soon. Since I have been tasked with building the website, I can probably tell you the day that the site goes live. I am also still collecting data on Chioninia spinalis boavistensis, also known as a lizard. With my current study I am be looking at reproductive cycle, diet, and habitat selection. All of this will give some insight into the life history of this particular organism, which I think is way cool. Another neat aspect is just adding to the general knowledge of the environment. We know so little, and to gain knowledge, no matter how insignificant, about one of the creatures within the phylogeny of life is an incredible thing. I know that many people think, “It’s only one lizard” or “why is it important to save one species”, but this is the wrong way to think about this issue. If this is your thought process, then my question is when do we stop saying ‘it’s only one’? Where do we draw the line on massive extinctions that we are currently seeing? We are not the pinnacle of evolution. We have merely evolved to a different state than other organisms. We are clumsy and maladapted to many of our current habitats. We need to remember that this earth cannot sustain us at the current rate of usage and extinctions that we are seeing today. Now I will come off of my soapbox and tell you a little success story about the basketball project that many of you in America are familiar with and have even pledged support.

Coach G counting the equipment

I was sending out emails to every organization and NGO that I could think of looking for support for the women’s basketball team on Boa Vista. Then within a matter of days I found support from an unlikely source, the United States Embassy of Cape Verde. They were speedy and more helpful than I had imagined could be possible with a government entity. They were able to donate $1,700.00 USD to our cause!!! We were able to get special order jerseys, tops and bottoms, from Portugal, legitimate women’s basketballs, and cones. I gave a short speech at one of the practices where we unveiled the jerseys. All was right in the world that night. Now I am trying to find speakers and money for a Women’s Rights Day. This is proving to be more difficult than I had originally planned, but this is one of my top priorities to be finished before I leave Cape Verde. Which, for those of you counting… is not very far off these days.

In honor of my birthday I had a party at my house. I wanted to do it potluck style and of course I always have to have food and drinks on hand.

Before the party started we cooked up a storm. Two of my colleagues came over early to cook and they made oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and butternut squash salad. I was sad that one of my favorite restaurants in town, Papyrus, had closed so in tribute I made gnocchi with vodka sauce.

Oatmeal chocolate chip cookie dough

Chopping the chocolate!

Butternut squash salad

A pinch of salt to the start of a vodka sauce

I combined a few recipes for the gnocchi with vodka sauce and came up with the following (this is made with ingredients found in Rwanda as well as kitchen supplies):

Gnocchi:

6 potatoes (about 1 kilo)

3 cups flour (plus more if its too soft)

1 egg

Boil potatoes with skin on. Once they are boiled, remove the skin and mash them to a pulp with a fork (A potato masher would have been excellent if I had one). Create a well in the middle and add in the flour. Mix with your hands until they are thoroughly covered in dough and sticky. Add a lot of salt and pepper. The dough should be soft but not too sticky. Roll dough into "snakes" on a table and cut with a butter knife into small pieces. Use a fork to put pretty lines on the gnocchi (also serves the purpose of getting more sauce on it). Meanwhile, boil water with salt. Once the gnocchi are made, drop them in the boiling water until they float up from the top. Put cooked gnocchi in an aluminum foil made "take away" container that can go in the oven.

Vodka Sauce:

6 tomatoes, diced

2 onions (red)

2 cloves garlic

fresh basil (from friend's garden)

1 cup vodka

1 container Masaka farms creme fresh (or any other creme)

Akabanga sauce/piri piri/ hot sauce/ red pepper flakes

Parmesean cheese

Chop up the garlic, onions and tomatoes. Saute onion and garlic in a pan until soft. Add diced tomatoes and chopped basil let simmer for 30 minutes. Add in 1 cup vodka and simmer for 30 minutes. Whisk in the creme with a fork so that it doesn't curdle. Add in some shredded parmesean. Add hot spices to taste.

Putting them together:

Add sauce to aluminum foil container (ie baking dish) and top with extra parmesean. Bake as long as you can take it before you think you NEED to eat, ie 10 minutes. Voila! Delicious!

People started arriving and eating. After awhile we started up the dance party and for the next 4 hours we were standing outside my house in a circle taking turns going in the middle. It was a little intimidating but a lot of fun!

Hanging out on the wall

This was probably the song Bella by the Dreamboys, one of our favorites!

He said he doesn't smile in photos...

My favorite artists in Rwanda- check out their website www.ivukaarts.com

Not quite sure whats up with the peace signs here

Our attempt as serious faces

“Picked up a package yesterday and I was happy! It was some boxes full o’ goodies from my Pappy!” - “1-Luv” by E-40 (In A Major Way, 1995) Tonight we will celebrating Halloween in style. And although there won’t be any trick or treating, I’ll be fine because I am finally stocked up on my favorite candy. After over a month of waiting, I finally got almost all of the packages that have sent to me since September. Just to be on the safe side, I requested an shipment of Sour Patch Kids from multiple sources. I can happily report that those sources came through, and now me belly full. Special shout out to my cuz, Quineen! In addition to the teeth-rotters, Fauntie* came through with a massive and crucial cornucopia of tasty spices for the kitchen. Here’s the updated of the third shelf in our pantry, which just might put Pont d’Agua to shame:Curry PowderChili PowderGingerCuminGround FennelFennel SeedCorianderMustard PowderGarlic PowderGaram MasalaTurmericBay LeavesPaprikaPappy’s SeasoningHerbes de ProvenceBlack PepperSaltZatarain’s Creole SeasoningCajun Spice SeasoningCrushed Red PepperItalian Seasoning MixCinnamon SticksCarolyn Saucier “Earthquake Garlic Sauce”Carolyn Saucier “Volcano Italian Sauce” Not bad, considering I live in on a tiny island with hardly in any rain in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Wait, did I just say “hardly any rain?” Yeah, about that... So, apparently it does rain on São Vicente. We just get a year’s worth of rain compressed into two days. Last Monday, I woke up around 5am to take Mia out to xi-xi ("shee-shee"). I got about half a step outside of my room before realizing that I was splashing about in water half an inch deep. I thought it was just our toilet leaking (again!), but as I rounded the corner of the hallway I saw that our whole apartment was on its way to becoming a fishbowl. So much for Posh Corps**. After a few hours of scooping, pushing, mopping and bailing, I managed to get most of the water out (thank the Lord for tiled floors). Unfortunately, that night found my roommate and I at war against the elements yet again—this time the water was coming in through windows in the kitchen. Both of us are Small Enterprise Development Volunteers—not civil engineers—so we were a little short of brilliant ideas to prevent a repeat of the previous night. The best we could do was slap some duct tape over windows, get to mopping, and pray for a break in the rain. We both agreed that what we really needed was some sandbags. Unfortunately, my shipment of Sour Patch Kids had not arrived yet, so we were short in that department. Next time I promise we will be ready with a candy-grade levee that will be the envy of FEMA. There is a silver lining to every cloud, and this week’s storm was no exception. The heavy rains left the ground ripe for cultivation, so we got to work in the garden at the Centro de Juventude (CEJ). A previous Peace Corps Volunteer on this island ranja’d a whole bunch of seeds from the Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds company in Mansfield, Missouri, so now we have a nice selection to work with. After weeding and breaking up the ground, we planted three sets of seeds in paper egg cartons: sweet red peppers, squash, and watermelons. In honor of Halloween we also sowed a few pumpkin seeds directly into the ground. Maybe next year we can do a little jack-o'-lantern, pumpkin seed roasting cross cultural exchange activity. When I got home I was still feeling the green thumb, so I kept on rolling. We’ve been saving our 1 liter juice containers, so I cut a bunch of those in half and filled them with some terra sabi (“borrowed” from the CEJ). In the coming months, inshallah, we should be harvesting at least some of the following goodies: Pink Accordion TomatoesWilliams Striped TomatoesArkansas Traveler TomatoesLettuce Leaf BasilLicorice BasilSerrano Tampequino PeppersGolden Treasure Sweet PeppersBull Nose Sweet PeppersChinese Yellow CucumbersGround Cherries So, consider this your invitation to dinner. The food will be spiced to perfection, the veggies will be homegrown, and dessert will be sour and chewy. All you have to do is book the ticket. See you soon, Pura Vida, Drew

* Fauntie = The Fun Auntie = Carmen Anthony ** Volunteers that serve in Continental Africa like to poke fun at those of us who are lucky to land an assignment in Cape Verde, where most of us have electricity, running water, and a functioning government. Therefore, Peace Corps Cape Verde is sometimes to referred to as “Posh Corps.”

The island of Santo Antao is preparing for a major whirl-wind, a shock to its system…. A visit from the Wilsons! That’s right. My mom and dad are about to stretch their wings, try out their new passports, and see what life is like for me and Scott in Cape Verde.

There have been several international phone calls devoted to the planning of this trip, and through conversations with my mother I’ve come to understand that my blog posts may not paint a completely accurate description of the day to day living that Scott and I are accustomed to. For instance, at some point my mom mentioned packing a suitcase of bottled water, peanut butter and granola bars so that she would be able to eat and drink while here.

She was pleasantly surprised to hear that bottled water is very easy to find, and so are many other familiar foods. Scott and I eat an absurd amount of peanut butter and I’ve never in my life consumed so many packs of Ramen Noodles. Perhaps because I tend to write about the more interesting aspects of our lives, I have unintentionally placed emphasis on our home-grown produce and poultry and devoted less time to the cans and cans of tuna fish, black beans, peeled tomatoes and SPAM that we’ve put down. All of these items are readily available in the city. Since the vast majority of food consumed in Cape Verde is slowly shipped in from other nations, we have access to a plethora of nearly indestructible, questionably nutritional, non-perishable “food” items. These packaged items supplement our meals of more traditional, locally grown foods.

I think I was finally able to communicate to my mom that familiar foods would be available to her. Not all the food here is totally different from food in America. I can’t be sure if I got my point across, though, because I had a hard time hearing her over the squeal of my neighbor’s pig who was being lead to slaughter. True story.

I think the words “Peace Corps” tend to evoke in people ideas of totally exotic lifestyles, of hardship and even mild martyrdom. But Scott and I don’t view our experience as roughing-it or some sort of sacrifice. There are certainly some inconveniences related to our living situation, but those things are minor compared to the far greater annoyances associated with work and social challenges. The real roughing-it for me is the problem of waiting.

In Cape Verde, waiting comes in lots of forms. There’s your traditional “go-postal” kind of waiting. This involves inefficiency at the bank or sitting on a curb for a couple of hours waiting for a ride home. It’s frustrating, but familiar, and I’ve largely grown numb to it.

I’m having a harder time with “professional” waiting. This sort of waiting means it will take several weeks for a partner in a position of authority to get around to responding to your request for assistance, permission, etc. When you finally nag to the point of becoming a nuisance, the answer will likely be a casual and vague, “hm. It could be possible. We’ll talk about it later.”

And last but not least, there is the “boredom” sort of waiting. There are far fewer organized forms of entertainment in our community and limited electricity to boot. Our neighbors have an amazing capacity for sitting still and staring off into space together. Of course, there are great conversations as well, but people in general are just better than Americans at simply being… without feeling that they need to be amused. Scott and I are not quite there yet. We’ve certainly increased our ability to sit alongside neighbors and withstand what formerly seemed like the world’s longest awkward silences, but the Americans in us still feel the need to be entertained. Our standards for fun seemed to have slipped, we realized the other night, as the two of us enjoyed an impromptu game of charades. Alone. We tied.

Cut us some slack, though, it has been raining for 5 days straight, and there are only so many hours that a person can bare to sit still reading or watching movies on the laptop.

Speaking of waiting… Ruby Sue has not yet given birth. I’m beginning to suspect that she’s not pregnant but just really really fat. Her walk has turned into more of a goat waddle, though, so we believe there may be a little one any day now.

***Update***

Since the composure of this post, we descovered two tiny goats sitting with Ruby in her house. Ruby birthed them without so much as a peep. The kids are now two days old and the size of small cates. They´re very cute. Pictures to come shortly.

I found this article this afternoon which describes Kigali's streets. While nicely kept, there are no street names or at least street signs which means getting around Kigali is based on giving landmarks or telling the driver a neighborhood and then directing them to the place. If you don't know French, your ability to get somewhere goes down about 70%. Some moto taxi drivers speak basic English but if you want to end up where you are planning, they understand French way better.

For me, famous for my lack of direction, it has been quite a challenge explaining things to people. For instance, I had a party for my birthday and tried giving out directions. What I wrote out seemed extremely complicated but it was all land marked based. To get to my house you have to make 3 turns and describing them is not so easy. "Turn right when you see a red and white barrier in the middle of the road where you are not supposed to take a u-turn" "Turn at the school." "Continue down a small road." " Look for the house marked with a silver star or just look for my roommate's car outside."

Even my office building's address is "the pink buildings" on "the road to the hospital." The only way mail actually gets here is because we have a P.O. box but I still laugh every time I address a letter back to the states.

In b-school, when you talk Rwanda it is frequently about its development process compared to Singapore's. The government is certainly making an effort to increase development, foreign investment, and decrease reliance on foreign aid. This article talks about Kigali's cleanliness, development goals, and reasons for such an emphasis on keeping the city clean. Plastic bags are illegal, people are paid to clean the streets as part of a poverty reduction program (and I swear I've seen people painting the pristine black and white lines at least 2 times since I've been here), and the last Saturday of every month is a mandated day of public service (mostly planting and cleaning). In the five months I've been here, they have put in reflectors on the streets and street lights that tell you how much time you have at the light. At the school near my house, the entire school spends the Friday before picking weeds, picking up trash, and beautifying the school. This upcoming weekend is this public service day, called Umuganda, and I plan on spending it cleaning in my neighborhood. There are signs everywhere designating where to go based on where you live and its highly organized. It's an awesome time to be here with the government's Vision 2020 policy and plans and seeing how PSI works with the government (and other NGOs) to help accomplish these goals.

A few weeks ago (aka the last week of September) I spent a week in Ngoma helping with the 12+ refresher training for mentors. This training reviewed the training that they do with the girls each weekend, went over activities and got their creative juices flowing, and reviewed/updated them on the M&E tools. Between the instruction and activities, we did ice breakers for them to do with the girls. The following photos are of the mentors doing the Human Knot ice breaker.

The other day I looked up and I realized that I have been living in Cape Verde for more than three months now. I cannot exactly say that time has flown by, especially when I consider the nine weeks hard time in Pre-Service Training. At times those minutes felt like hours. Even now, as I settle into my new home on the island of São Vicente, I would have to say that the last three months has felt like… well… three months.

The only thing that really shocks me is the thought that I have been here in Cape Verde for a longer period of time than I spent in South Africa last summer. It isn't a question of how fast or slow the time has passed. Instead, I find myself comparing everything I did in South Africa with everything I have done so far here, and honestly, there is no comparison. The good news is: that puts me right on track with the Peace Corps' expectations of a new Volunteer. Let me explain. Much of the Peace Corps approach to development work grows out of a process known as PACA—that is, Participatory Analysis for Community Action. I'll skip the seminar and settle for giving you a snapshot of what this actually means. Basically, instead of showing up as an “expert”—presumably fresh off the boat from a faraway land and culture—and prescribing remedies for the development of a given community, PACA is a strategy for immersion and research, with the goal of eventually being in a position to actually help. The key word is “eventually.” For example, before you pitch an idea to a community leader about building a cool new community center, you might spend a few weeks compiling a “seasonal calendar” or a “daily calendar” that would help you to understand the patterns of life of different people or groups within that community. Why is that so important? Well, it would help you figure out when the best time to schedule a planning meeting would be. Or, who might actually use the community center, and when might they use it. The good thing about PACA is that it works. The tough thing is that so many of us volunteer-types want to jump right in and get our hands dirty. We want to feel like we are actually making a difference and changing the world (wait, did I say that out loud?). But when you combine the training phase with the emphasis on easing into our actual assignments, you are left with three months that feel worthwhile, yet not exactly game-changing. Sure, I got to roll up my sleeves a little during my first three months here, but only in the last week or so have I really started cooking. In the literal sense, I have been helping to teach a culinary class, and after two weeks of theory in the classroom we took our first trip to the kitchen. The lead instructor of the class is the General Manager of Pont d’Agua, one of the classier establishments in our city. This week's visit to their kitchen—where the practical sessions will be held—brought me back in time to my first “real job” at the Burlingame Country Club. Now you know your boy can burn, but I am hardly qualified to train fifteen students who are looking to land a actual job in a professional kitchen. Instead, my role as a an instructor is to address elements of professionalism and entrepreneurship to add value to the training. My work experience in the industry is just a plus.

Things are also heating up in terms of my other responsibilities at work. This week, Rory and I started teaching an English class for the staff and volunteer leaders of the Centro da Juventude. We also just submitted plans for two more classes that we will start teaching in November: Aula de Profissionalismo and Aula de Microsoft Excel. Feeling productive is not just about doing development work and changing the world. Sometimes it’s just a question of feeling like you're living right. For some it may mean going to church, for others it means spending quality time with the kids. In my life there has always been a correlation between living right and cooking. If I haven't cooked a meal for a week then I know there is something wrong. In other words, something (psychological or situational?) is stopping me from making time for the right things in my life.Fortunately, as the title of this post suggest, the kitchen is officially open. Rory and I have been piecing it together over the last four weeks—a cutting board here, a can opener there. We've sourced our favorite spices (or at least the ones that are available), and now we know who’s got if for cheap. But last week I knew the final piece had fallen into place when I got a phone call from DHL* saying a package had arrived for me… MY KNIVES! Thank you Big Brother Jaime-san for making that happen, and I hope they served you well over the last two years.

We wasted no time getting to work in the kitchen at home. We recently hosted “family dinner” for the seven Peace Corps Volunteers that live on this island. We’ve also knocked out some tasty spaghetti (a little too often), sweet curry chicken with sautéed greens, rosemary pork chops with mashed potatoes, spicy popcorn chicken, sweet and sour chicken, sweet and sour pork, and fried rice. If you are wondering about the last three dishes, the answer is yes: there are plenty of Chinese people in Cape Verde. But they just can’t burn like the Chinese people back home in the States, so we decided to take matters into our own hands.

As I wrap up this family-sized portion of a post, I have to give a quick shout-out. Since I started Live From Tomorrow I have had a couple of friends tell me that they have been inspired to start their own blogs. Since we’ve been talking about cooking, I want to take a moment to plug one of those. “A Vu on Food” is the work of my littlest friend with the biggest heart (and appetite). After studying at Le Cordon Bleu in London, Christina Vu launched her blog as a way to share her foodie adventures from around the world. Whether you’re looking for a creative new recipe, or just want to sit, read, and salivate, I highly recommend you take a trip (by clicking on the link above). Until the next meal… Pura Vida, Drew

*If you are sending me a care package (you are, aren't you?)... DO NOT USE DHL!!! It is stupid expensive. I recommend International Flat Rate Shipping from the good 'ol USPS. Also, do not declare some ridiculous inflated value, because I will have to pay customs on my end.

Now that I have been in Rwanda a few months, I felt that it was important for me to see some of the activities that we do. I spend most of my time in the office so going in the field and seeing what we are collecting and analyzing data on gives me more of a connection with what we do.

Last night I had the opportunity to attend a Moonlight VCT (voluntary counseling and testing) event in Kigali. Our partner organizations implement these invents- one group does the actual counseling and testing and another puts on skits, songs, and entertainment while people wait for their test results.

These activities are held in areas with large amounts of people at risk. This particular one was held by the stadium, a place where there are lots of bars, sex workers, hotels, and foot traffic. The group that does the entertainment sets up a stage, puts on loud popular music and draws the crowd. People enter into the event and register when they arrive. They are given a number which is used for the VCT.

People register as they arrive for the eventThe person in charge of this event walked us through the different components. Here she is explaining to our PSI Fellow how the system works.

Next we visited the laboratory. The lab technician explains the process of testing the blood. There are 3 tests that they can perform on the blood. If the result tests positively for HIV, they do additional tests to ensure that it is not a false positive.

Here he is showing us how they write all the tests in a logbook.

After explaining the lab we walked over the the tents where they did the actual testing and counseling. The photo is quite dark but you can see that people are in line waiting to be tested.

Here a counselor is counseling a patient. She explains to him the possible outcomes of the test before he takes it. Before reading the results, the counselors prepare the patients for possible results and next steps.

While they are waiting, the performance group entertains the crowd with music and dancing.

Here, two actors are performing a skit about a woman that gets pregnant and asks him to get tested with her. Here, he has just found out and is speaking with his friend about he does not want to get tested because he has been sleeping with many girls.

He later decides that he should get tested, calls the girlfriend and they go to a moonlight VCT. Here they are anxiously awaiting results. They find out that they both tested negative and they shout for joy.

We received the following email (edited for privacy) from one of our 12+ focal points and it completely made my day. It's great to see how a project you are working on really takes off and affects the people involved in it!

"I would like to share with you a good idea that I observed in one of the teams of girls with their mentors. This initiative is a Sunday home visit between girls with the main objective to build solidarity among them. They make rotations to visit each girl and they make some surprise activities for those who have a birthday. One parent was happy because a team had visited her daughter."

Money makes the world go 'round. But, it also turns nice gestures into selfish endeavors. Therefore, I prefer the favor system.

Some examples.

My friend Buba, and others from West Africa, make a type of green about three-four times a day. And everytime they make it they share with others. So much so that it might make sense to start selling cups of tea; something that is done in the capital. But Buba and the others just give it away free. I frequent these afternoon tea sessions so I feel its a nice gesture to give something back in return. So, whenever I go to the capital I try to pickup a package of tea or some vegetables that they can't find here in Pedra Badejo. Just so I don't feel like a mooch. And the other day I was over at Buba's house, watching a soccer match, and apparently it was dinner time. So, I ate. Good stuff, too.

And this system, I see as more humane than our current. Creating more personal relationships rather than dealing with money, an object that doesn't allow for exceptions or delays. I guess it is similar to the idea of time banking, which I don't know much about. But it just seems more human to exchange something, with more behind it (someone makes the tea, travel to the capital to buy tea), that creates an even greater bond of friendship, rather than money changing hands.

Money keeps us strangers, makes us distance ourselves from others. Favors build friends. Favors imply trust. Money doesn't. Favors are the future. And, I'm done.

Whenever people outside of the US think of Americans, what do they think of? From what I gather, they think of Bush and Obama, Rihanna, Michael Jackson, Eminem, and Chuck Norris. They fearfully think of Columbine, 2Pak videos, and 9-11. And they think of opulence; dollar bills pouring freely from over-stuffed pockets.

For many folks living in rural Santo Antao, Cape Verde, their image of America is tied to the NATO Troops. Some years ago, for reasons that I’ve not been able to piece together, there was a unit of American NATO military personnel living and working in Cape Verde. What their official business was, I have no clue. However, the impression that they left was that their purpose was to give away gifts. My neighbors have shared with me happy tales of the materials donated to schools, pieces of candy given to children, and food items provided to families.

What the Troops are equally famous for, however, is of greater interest to me personally. One evening, several enlisted men joined a dance party at our town’s store/bar. Where they good dancers? I don’t know. Did they make the ladies swoon? Well, at least not in the intended way. All that remains of the Troops’ legacy is that…. wait for it….. they loudly and shamelessly passed gas. All of them. And they thought it was hilarious.

And thus publicly passing gas is what comes to mind when my neighbors think of Americans.

Skip ahead to 2010. Enter Scott and Melissa.

Upon arrive in our community, Scott and I proudly introduced ourselves around town as Volunteers from America. Unbeknownst to us, we hit two unfortunate misrepresentations with one stone.

In Cape Verdean Kriol, the term “volunteer” is most often used in the following phrase screeched at children by an infuriated mother: “ ‘cha de volunterismo!”

Loosely translated: “Enough of the Volunteerism!”

Meaning: “Stop acting like an idiot!”

And so we go.

Of all the millions of things that you’ll do in your life, it’s downright inspiring to imagine what you’ll be remembered for. Furthermore, as a Peace Corps Volunteer, an entire community may form an impression of an entire nation of people based on your actions.

Scott and I are busy marching around Cape Verde acting like “volunteers” and representing you- all of you Americans, with our every word and deed. Watch out ; )

During my first trimester of my first year in Fogo, a friend of mine listened patiently to my frustrations regarding disciplinary problems in my classroom, and said to me, “I wouldn’t wish a first year of teaching on my worst enemy.” I shrugged the comment off at the time, thinking that my second year surely couldn’t be too different from the first. And now here I am, and for the millionth time during my service I find myself thinking “ok, I was wrong.”

The difference is astounding. One year ago I was grasping at straws trying to find anything at all that I could do to keep things in order. I didn’t have teaching resources, my Kriolu wasn’t strong, and I didn’t understand the learning styles of Cape Verdean children. The blank stares I encountered were disheartening, as was the amount of time it took me to figure out how to make my students grasp even the simplest concept.

I’m not quite a month in to my second year in school now, but I’ve taken every painful lesson from last year and combined them into some hybrid version of success. I love joking with my students, but understand now the fine line between light-hearted lessons and getting kids so excited that they become uncontrollable. Everyone participates, like it or not. I have the “teacher face” down, and can stop kids from talking without saying a word. That might be my favorite. I leave my personal emotions at the door when I walk into the classroom. My first real effective day last year came after a breakup, but in retrospect I think the only reason the students behaved that day was fear. Effective, but not my style.

Last year my favorite thing to say to people was that my kids are the best and worst parts of my service. I think once the year goes on that may be the case once again, but I have a handle on it now. A friend in the States, a very successful and wonderful teacher, told me someone said to him once, “I tried teaching. I get it, but it’s not for me.” For me, it’s become something that I think I’ll need to do for the rest of my life…maybe just not professionally.

For anyone who wants to try, I highly recommend teaching ESL. Before joining Peace Corps I taught in Arlington for a year, only once a week, to an amazing and diverse group of people. I taught people of all ages, from nearly every continent. I still remember their faces, and their kind words, and I have a beautiful card from them hanging on my wall. To date, aside from Peace Corps, it remains the most meaningful thing I’ve ever done.

So I get it. Teaching every day from the crack of dawn to two may not be for me, but it’s stuck with me. I saved some of my favorite parts from a project that I did last year with my eighth graders. Some of the papers made me want to quit, but some of the students took the opportunity to convey their emotions and thoughts in such a poetic way; I was insurmountably proud of them. Some were just hilarious. These were some of my favorites:

I like my father. She is the best father.

The holiday that I liked is the holiday of Christmas. Because I was together with my friends, brothers, my family, girlfriend, and my mother, and my father. The party was more pleasant with music in house of my aunt. I danced very with my girlfriend.

At first day that I went to school in Ponta Verde, I finded many friends.

We spent time there and spent one midnight happy.

I like policemen. I like to go to the beach. I don’t want to be rich. I want to have a family with a woman that I love. I like my English teacher.

I’m 12 years old. My homework is about a party in Santo Antonio. It is very short but is very interesting.

During summer vacation, the weather gets hot, and since I live close to the beach I go there almost every day to swim. Even when the vacation is about to end, I still be happy because when I return to school I will be in a different grade and that will be a new experience.

A month after my grandfather died I had many sad. I liked him, he gave me a lot stories. He was seventy years old.

Last year I went to the island Brava over my island vacation. I was walking around the city. The city was full of flowers by the side and seemed to be the paradise. Out windows at night we were looking at the sky. Took many photographs.

(Anyone interested in ESL in the Northern Virginia area should look into REEP: The Arlington Education and Employment Program. Please feel free to email me with any questions, and check out their website at http://www.apsva.us/Page/2019.)

Warning: this post is NOT about my life in Cape Verde... it's just about life, family, history, and slavery. In that sense, I guess it is related to Cape Verde, one of the historic hubs of the Atlantic slave trade. But if you're looking for a travel blog that rambles on about all the cool stuff here, you can skip this entry.

My guess is that most of you have NO idea who Silas Chandler was... well, he was my Great Great Grandfather, who was the last slave in my family, and the first to "get free." A few years back a tintype of him was appraised for a pretty penny on PBS Antique Roadshow. Since then, his memory and story has been (mis)appropriated by many, including some "historical societies" seeking to propogate or reinforce the myth of the Lost Cause.

Last year while researching my family, I came across a blog called CWMemory (Civil War Memory), hosted by a high school history teacher in the South. The blog included a recent post called "Descendants of Silas Chandler Speak Out" which featured a real dose of truth from my cousin Myra, who I actually did not know at that point. After reading her post, I emailed the history teacher, Kevin Levin, to offer my perspective as another descendant of Silas Chandler and to request an introduction to my cousin. Mr. Levin featured my email in the next post, along with his response to it.

Here it is:

____________________________________________________"DESCENDANTS OF SILAS CHANDLER SPEAK OUT (PART 2)

Afew weeks ago I shared an email I received from a descendant of Silas Chandler, who is one of the most popular “black Confederates.” I’ve been in contact with two descendants and am planning a telephone conversation, which I hope will lead to an announcement of some ideas I have to help bring a more complete story of this individual to the general public. Yesterday I received an email from yet another descendant, [Andrew Williams]:(italics added by Kevin Levin for emphasis)I am a direct descendent of Silas Chandler from California. Over the years, I have heard many versions of Silas’ story, from family, on the web, and from Confederate historical societies. Thank you to Ms. Sampson for shedding some light on the subject from a reliable, direct source.I remember when my great, great grandfather Silas was awarded the Iron Cross posthumously, and some members of my family attended the ceremony. While I’ve always had mixed feelings about it, it has ultimately become [a] source of pride for me, not offense. I may never be exactly sure how it went down, but I know that I have Silas to thank for my freedom. Believe me, I have no love for the Confederacy or its symbols… I’m just also no big fan of the Yankees, and have no illusions about why the Civil War was fought.I also know that some of the greatest men in history end up being “honored” by their enemies. This would not be the first time that history has been rewritten to make folks look more sympathetic or benevolent (see the movie “Glory” and the mounds of misinformation that it contains).Anyone that thinks that Silas joined the Confederate army out of some “love” for his master is naive at best, and stupid/racist at worst. That being said, there were many slaves that were dragged into the field to fight against their own self-interest. This happened in the Civil War, and in the wars for centuries and millennia before.Honestly, I just hope this discussion unearths as much truth as possible. Thank you again to the Chandler family for helping to set the record straight. I look forward to learning more.Andrew Foster Williams

Oakland, CAThe (in)famous tintype of Andrew & Silas Chandler

I, [Kevin Levin], am featuring this comment for a couple of reasons. Most importantly, it reflects a memory of the war that is much more complex than anything the Sons of Confederate Veterans or United Daughters of the Confederacy would have you believe about the legacy of the Civil War within the African-American community. Both organizations reduce their narratives down to loyalty to master and cause and they do this by commemorating slaves as soldiers. Their preferred narrative has nothing to do with understanding the story of black men in the army or helping families uncover their histories; rather, it is an attempt to dissociate the Confederate war effort from slavery as well as the Lost Cause myth that slavery was benign. Unfortunately, both organizations have been successful in convincing black families to take part.

What I appreciate about Mr. Williams’s response is the extent to which his narrative fails to support or vindicate either a Lost Cause or Emancipationist view of the war. It sits uncomfortably in the middle. On the one hand Mr. Williams has little patience for stories of a loyal Silas Chandler, but he is also suspicious of the assumptions that reduce the United States to the moral cause of emancipation.Mr. Williams's comment may also tell us something about why African Americans have been absent from public commemorations of the Civil War and why they may stay away during the Civil War Sesquicentennial. After all, much of our public remembrance and memory of the war is wrapped up in the dichotomies of North v. South and Union v Confederate. Where does Mr. Williams's memory of the war fit into all of this? It's no wonder that many African Americans are suspicious of Civil War Memory.- Kevin LevinMarch 10, 2010

http://cwmemory.com/2010/03/20/descendants-of-silas-chandler-speak-out-part-2/_________________________________________________________

After this exchange Mr. Levin introduced me by email to y cousin, Myra Chandler Sampson, who took it upon herself to do some serious research to set the record straight. So why am I posting this on Live From Tomorrow, today? Simple reason: tonight PBS is doing a special that will (hopefully) tell the true story Silas Chandler, and the now-infamous tintype that sparked off the controversy. Unfortunately, I will not be able to watch it live because I am in Cape Verde. So, please watch for me!!! I promise it will be interesting. I'll let PBS take it from here... long live the truth!!!

Pura Vida,

Drew

Silas and Lucy Chandler on their Wedding Day 1859/60. They were still slaves at the time.

Two weeks ago, while at a conference in the capital of Praia, the Peace Corps medical officer pulled several volunteers aside and told us, “there’s be an outbreak of conjunctivitis here on Santiago, chances are it will probably be on the northern islands soon.” This harbinger of the sickness to come was accompanied by a [...]

Spring is in the air in Santo Antao, Cape Verde. The weather is beginning to grow cooler, but just two short days of rain were enough to launch the growing season into full swing. The mountain sides have turned a brilliant green, and beans, corn, squash and potatoes have sprouted and thrived. With luck, we’ll have one more day of rain in the next week or two, and that will be enough moisture to carry us through to the harvest. A hand-full of rainy days constitutes the entire Cape Verdean “rainy season.”

Our baby chicks that hatched in April are all grown up. When the young roosters began trying out their pubescent, voice-cracking crows, we knew it was time for a chicken dinner. (1 rooster is plenty. 4 was entirely too many.) Rooster #2 was laid to rest on a bed of mashed potatoes, covered with a delicious BBQ sauce, and accompanied by a side salad. Mm mmm. Although we intentionally avoided naming the birds and hadn’t develop much of a loving relationship, I felt a little sad to kill R2. After all, he did still come running when I called “baby chicks!” at feeding time. Scott and I petted him gently before killing him and hid the process and evidence from the other chickens. I’m fairly certain that we’re the only people in town who have ever been concerned with the psychological effects of their actions on their chickens.

Last night our friend Antonio arrived at our house with an unexpected treat. Ruby Sue has returned from pasture, and she has a bun in the oven! Ruby was husky before, but now she’s downright bulbous. It’s hard to say when exactly she got herself into this predicament (her free time with other goats was largely unchaperoned), but we’ve been told to expect a goatlette in October. I am very excited.

Scott and I have reached the official mid-point of our service in Cape Verde. To commemorate the occasion, we joined the 20 other volunteers from our training group to attend a mid-service conference. We were also subjected to a medical exam including needles, urine specimens and stool samples. Providing feces in a cup was a new experience for most of our group, and we were all very concerned that the hotel housekeeper would check one of our mini fridges and immediately escort us from the premises. In a couple of weeks we should know whether Scott and I are hosting any internal guests. It was no surprise that all other tests came back clear; we’ve been very healthy so far.

According to the PC medical office, mid-service is the time when volunteers are supposed to sink into a depression. Neither Scott nor I am there yet, but I have to admit that knowing we’ve reached the half way point has caused me to look at my service in a different, slightly panicky light. What can I realistically expect to accomplish in the time that remains? I have plenty of ideas for projects, but I feel certain that many of them will closely resemble fertilizer and far fewer will sprout.

And now some photos...

Who doesn´t love a good squash?

We ate the one on the left.

Ruby Sue got knocked up.