We went home (back to the USA) for my sister’s wedding for three weeks in October. The ceremony was beautiful and everyone was in great spirits. I was happy to find out that most of my family and friends have been doing relatively well in my absence. America, in general, seemed to be doing quite well.

Although nearly everyone I talked to reported financial hardship, I couldn’t help but notice that conspicuous consumption seemed unabated. The average American has a sweet life compared to most Jamaicans, almost saccharine. This realization initially stirred up feelings of reverse culture shock for me. On a whim, Molly and I made an impromptu road trip to New York City, which served to starkly juxtapose the lifestyle I had become accustomed to in rural Jamaica, to the fast paced culture that I was born into in America.

In Manhattan, we saw nabobs regularly shelling out $3.50 for a cup of coffee, and two or three times that for other adult beverages. Times Square shone bright as ever, a glowing symbol of capitalism at its zenith. The well-maintained roads were still congested with empty vehicles, as carpooling appears to remain out of vogue with most motorists. And although I was prepared for the I-pod ubiquity, the saturation of smart phones took me off guard. In short, although people reported tough times, for the most part, there appeared to be a sizable cushion.

I too comfortably slipped back into this American lifestyle. However, visions of my community of Mocho back in Jamaica kept flashing in my mind. One night, while waiting for a train in a crowded New York City subway station, I pondered how to obtain funding for some incipient projects back in Jamaica - in particular, a community film and skills training series. A subway musician singing about his dog provided the soundtrack to my silent soliloquy. It was then, when I was perfectly harmonized with both American culture and my vividly fresh Jamaican experience, that I began to dodge projectile vomit from what appeared to be an over intoxicated ivy-league undergraduate. Because of my suspicion of the prestigious pedigree of this particular puke, I began to wonder how much he spent to spew his last meal on my shoes? Was it $20? Maybe $50? Probably more. What could that pay for in Mocho?

At the conclusion of my evasive maneuvers, I observed that the stoic musician had not stopped strumming his guitar throughout the vomit deluge. Further, his forever-rambling song with a chorus consisting entirely of dog barks had earned him $10-15 in tips in less than 10 minutes! At that moment I had an epiphany, “What if a small group of average Americans, maybe 50 or fewer, skipped just one indulgence, say just one cup of coffee. Then this same group could pool their savings from indulging only slightly less and donate the kitty to a community project back in Mocho?” The conversations I had suggested that Americans do want to help people in the developing world, but don’t know how. Many feel as though the tiny contribution that they could comfortably make would not make a difference. Skeptical readers might ask how the money saved from not buying that proverbial cup-o-coffee would improve the life of an impecunious family in Jamaica anyway? Well my friend, you are a perfect candidate to become a “Peace Corps Partner.”

The local agency that I work with, the Mocho Community Development Association (MCDA) is raising money for a community training and film series. Similar programs initiated in other parts of the world have been great development successes and proved very sustainable. The community is asking for a small grant to buy a multi-media projector. You can make a contribution to help them. When they raise the funds they need, they will stop begging and get down to work. There is no overhead. Your contribution will go directly to buy the equipment needed for this project. That’s it. For more information or to make a donation, please go to the Peace Corps Partnership website. Thanks for reading. -Dave p.s. The above was based on a true story.

I was sitting on the hand made, asymmetrical and antique varnished bench in the tiny ramshackle shop across road from my house. I leaned back against the door jam as I waited for “Mad Man” to finish his purchase and synchronous yet incoherent rant when I heard a woman call outside, “Dem dogs a go bite me up? (Will those dogs bite me?)”

“No man, a dem dogs deh nuh go chrouble yu. (No, those dogs won’t trouble you.)” I thought I reassured the strange lady.

She sauntered up to the counter. “Sell mi five busta (Please sell me five hard coconut candies),” she hollered to Brother Tom the shopkeeper.

In the time it took the normally very efficient Brother Tom to retrieve the candy and dole out her desired portion, something must have registered as askew in this woman’s mind. She pivoted, digging her heel into the uneven and red stained poured concrete floor and glared askance in my direction.

“A-oo-dat white man?" (Who is that white man?), she demanded of the others in the cramped shop.

I chuckled.

Now suspicious of a woman who has never seen me before but comes off strong, Brother Tom scolded, “A where yu com from?” (Literally, ‘Where do you come from?’ but really asking where are your manors and who are you to be asking?)

“S-Town” (a small district about five miles distant, whose name has been changed to protect the innocent), she replied apparently still unaware of her faux pas.

Simultaneously, a pick-up rolled up in front and unloaded three of my neighbors. They made a beeline for the shop door threshold.

“Ou yu a go come up a fi mi yaad and ax oo mi is? (How are you going to come into my yard and ask who I am?)” I shot back, slightly incensed at the crassness of her question.

Incredulously she squawked, “Your yard?”

“Yes man, my yard!” Perhaps feeling the need for vindication I cried, “Brother Tom, which part mi live?”

“Ya so yu deh.” (Right here.) Tom chirped, while counting the change.

The rest of the crew reached the shop steps and in quick succession all shouted “David!” upon making eye contact. This exchange delivered a surfeit of exculpatory evidence thus proving my right to be there. Together with the ensuing commotion caused by traditional exchange of greetings and handshakes, not to mention demands to Brother Tom for rum and cigarettes, the arrival of the cavalry, as it were, had rendered the previous discussion moot.

I reflected about this encounter later that night. I had always thought about my integration into Jamaican culture from my perspective. Had I integrated into the apparently “static” culture of my little community? But this event signaled to me that something had changed. Our presence as integrated community members has changed the community identity. In other words, part of living in this community means you know David and Molly, the Peace Corps Volunteers. Basically, the woman in the shop signaled to my community that she was an outsider by not knowing who I was, but the rest of the people who ‘belonged there’ signaled their belonging by knowing me.

She experienced what I have been dealing with since I got here. Far from what I used to know at home in the U.S., I have had to learn people’s sometimes exotic names, their inter-relationships, priorities and politics as I tried to navigate through heretofore terra incognita. Now, less than half a dozen miles away from the place where this woman was probably born and lived her whole life, she was more of an outsider than me. To top it off, I have only lived in my present yard for eight months!

I also thought about the emotion that this encounter stirred in me. Why was it so important for me to tell her it was my yard? Maybe it is because I like to think of myself as so Jamacanized at this point that my aura should belie the notion to any competent observer that I am anything but a local. It may also be because I think of this as home now. Did I just say that? Where is home? Sometimes, thinking of going back to America is a little scary. I don’t mean any offense to my friends and family by this, but I have just really gotten used to life here. A couple of months ago I walked into the nicest supermarket in Kingston and was overwhelmed, borderline hysterical, by all the variety. Worse yet, compared to some super-super markets in the US, this one was considerably sub-par. Other times, knowing that I will be delivered back to the comforts, regularity and sometimes opulence of America helps get me through some more trying moments. By the way, here I have a more comfortable lifestyle than many in my community. My Peace Corps stipend, meager as it is, allows me to live reasonably well. And even some of the worst off people here have it better than many people throughout the world suffering in refugee camps and dying from famine, plague and war. I’m not saying that I have a rough time here, but it sure ain’t what I was used to. There are some clear differences in life between here and in the US. I love and hate things about both countries and cultures. (Maybe that is a signal that I feel like I know both of them well enough to do so.) At times I miss life in America, but when I leave Jamaica, I am sure I will miss it too.

Anyone who lives abroad will get this feeling I am sure. As a Peace Corps Volunteer, my stint is relatively short compared to many migrants who have one foot in Jamaica and one in the so-called First World. Roughly half of all Jamaicans live outside of Jamaica, mostly in America, England and Canada. They are part of the Diaspora. They left Jamaica to find work to support themselves and their families. After spending lifetimes away from their homeland, many ‘returning residents’ try to bring a piece of their adoptive home with them back to Jamaica. Sometimes, it is a washing machine, or a car. Other times a taste for imported cheese or a heavy British accent. It comforts them. So what will I bring back from Jamaica besides the cliché taste for Caribbean cooking, a better appreciation for Rastafarian culture and Reggae music and a nice farmer’s tan? A new place to call home.

-Dave

“Yu know dat wan David?”, the postal clerk queried.

“Uh, no not yet. Ow yu seh it? Turn your hand and make fashion? ”, I muttered

She cheerfully replied, “Yeah man, like if my car want wan new engine part, but mi nuh have di money and mi wrap one wire around something and make it wok, den mi turn my hand and make fashion.”

It is not very common anymore that someone uses a Jamaican figure of speech that I don’t know. But here once again learning Jamaican culture has paid dividends and I was rewarded with my favorite expression in the Patois lexicon so far, “Turn your hand and make fashion” (Pronounced more like, Churn yu (h)and an mek fashion). Roughly translated, it means making do with what you have or showing ingenuity in the face of scarce resources. Resources have been scare here for a long time, a very long time. Necessity being the mother of invention, the people have learned to get by with less.

Jamaicans are imaginative conservationists and proud of it. Earlier that same day I had helped a community member to recycle old tires into flower planters for sale. On other occasions I have witnessed Jamaican men sitting in a smoke filled rum shop splitting a match into four ignitable pieces, so they would be able to light three more splifs. This resourcefulness is also taught young as every little Jamaican boy knows how to make a kite out of a plastic bag and a toy car out of a juice box and four plastic bottle caps. If it can be done with less than a Jamaican is doing it.

Perhaps, “Turn your hand and make fashion” struck a cord with me because it reminded me of my favorite antique American expression, “Use it up, make it do or do without.” Long ago I adopted this unselfconscious environmental slogan from my grandparents’ depression as a personal mantra. I am not saying that I think poverty is a good thing, but the fact is we conserve more when we have less. The proof of this is in the news. Earlier in the day I heard on the BBC that for the first time in history there has been a global decline in the demand for electricity. The commentator said this was attributed to the global recession. Now I am not pro-recession, but think of how much less coal will be burned because of this reduced demand.

Some see this relationship in conflicting terms: the economy vs. the environment. But we environmentalists think of it differently. Basically, it is always cheaper in the long term (and sometimes in the short term) to be pro-environment. In other words, go green to get green. The fundamental principle of this philosophy is conservation. In light of recent economic trouble, people in the developed world would be wise to learn from the developing world’s example to start “turn hand and make fashion”.

-Dave

p.s. Big up to Molly’s Mom for coming to the Rock to visit. Hope you enjoyed yourself and come back soon.

p.p.s. The school garden program is still going on during summer break with the help of some dedicated volunteers. Check out the photo montage!

Each Peace Corps group entering service is numbered sequentially. I came as part of Group 79 –the 79th consecutive group of volunteers to come to Jamaica. That is a lot of groups when you think about it. In March the new group of Peace Corps Volunteers, Group 80, came to Jamaica. I went with a few Group 78 Volunteers to meet them at the airport. They were happy, excited, weary from traveling, and full of questions and apprehension. They were just like every other new Peace Corps Volunteer group in history. One Peace Corps staff member compared the new volunteers’ apprehension to that of the expectant mother who is not sure that she will be able to deliver, even though women have been doing it for millions of years.

A few of the questions they asked me on their first day in Jamaica reminded me of my first few months in Jamaica and my eagerness to take it all in. My answers and their reaction to my answers made me realize just how banal some of my everyday, yet quintessentially Jamaican, activities have become. Take this exchange:

Newbie: Where do you get your hair cut?

Dave: My neighbor Dapper, he lives a few houses down.

Newbie: You mean he has a barbershop?

Dave: No, not really. He just cuts peoples’ hair on his verandah. Sunday is his busy day.

Newbie: Oh…how much does it cost?

Dave: For a shave and hair cut I pay $300 Jamaican or about $3.50 US. I guess that is a lot cheaper than you would pay for it back home, huh?

(Incidentally, I really like getting my haircut by Dapper. He gives me a Jamaican

-style cut, but knows to leave it longer so I don’t burn my head. Additionally, Dapper is one of the best-read members of my community, so he always wants to talk about interesting cultural and historical topics and he has taught me a lot.)

Since that first day I have gotten to know some Group 80 volunteers better. Overall, I have been impressed with their professionalism and enthusiasm. But, that is how they should be in that stage of their service. In contrast, after 11 months here, many of the PCVs from my group have entered a lull in their service where they feel like their projects are running up against more frustrations than successes. Our disappointment apparently shone through to the Group 80 kids as they have taken to calling us “Group seventy-whiners”! Perhaps we deserve this moniker, but I am already starting to see some signs that the whining has spread even to the newbies, as they too see what the challenges are.

I don’t mean to seem pretentious, but I have been relatively immune to this whining disease. I recently wrote a letter for the Peace Corps Jamaica Welcome Book that will be sent to the prospective Group 81 volunteers. I started my letter, “I have the best job on the planet.” Is this naive optimism? Have I had amazing successes? Am I just sticking my head in the sand? No, I don’t think so. I just think that the good here outweighs the bad. Where else can I go talk with a Rasta carpenter who happens to have some young birds perched in his hair, help teach a craft lesson at the primary school, hike along a beautiful mountain trail and help design a community disaster shelter all in one day? The best part of this is it all counted as ‘work’! It helps people, I learn a lot and I get to eat fresh tropical fruit as I can stomach  Jamaica is bombastic and I have not even gotten to talk about all the fun you can have in your down time here!

-Dave

p.s. Some new pictures are on the Flickr site.

I have wanted a dog for a long time. I have watched dogs for people and lived with other peoples’ dogs, but I have never had my own dog before. My family never had a dog. In college I had no time or stability. After college, I probably could have kept a dog, but I anticipated eminent departure for the Peace Corps. No dogs allowed are in your luggage when you join the Peace Corps.

The aboriginal inhabitants of Jamaica, the Tainos, kept dogs. The Taino zemi or sacred sculpture, associated with the deity of the Underworld looked like a dog. According to Spanish accounts, Taino dogs were hairless and did not bark. Columbus on his first voyage to Jamaica brought a pack of 20 mastiffs and greyhounds for the purpose of subjugating the native peoples. When the Taino dogs met the Spanish dogs, they learned to bark. Soon, the European and indigenous dogs interbred. After the British gained control of Jamaica, the dogs continued to be used to track down and attack runaway slaves and Maroons (Senior 2003:154-156).

Today, dogs are ubiquitous in Jamaica. Almost every Jamaican yard has a dog or two. Some yards have a whole pack. They eat scraps and provide protection. Burglary is an ever-increasing concern here and dogs in the yard should at least tip you off to a nefarious visitor’s presence. Jamaicans almost let their dogs cross the threshold into the house, although some let their dogs enter the veranda. They are considered unclean and are sometimes subjected to what P.E.T.A. would almost certainly describe as inhumane treatment. As an extension of their historical use, there is some evidence, especially in the resort areas, that dogs are conditioned to greet light skinned and harass dark skinned people. In this role as instruments of the system of oppression, dogs are held in low esteem. However, at the same time they are most valued as a vigilant guard against evil and are often associated with death. Some say that dogs can predict a death and see duppies or spirits (Senior 2003:155-156).

Purebred puppies are available here for a price of $10,000-$15,000 JA (about $110-$165 US). However, the majority of the dogs you see here are called ‘mongrels’ or ‘common dog’ they do seem to be well adapted to their environment. For instance, most of them are shorthaired. Also, Jamaican dogs all eat chicken bones. This came as somewhat of a shock to me, after being told that dogs would choke on them. However, considering the amount of chicken bones here it only makes sense. They are also apparently instinctively territorial. Certain regions seem to have a prevalence of certain phenotypes. For example, there was a prevalence of medium brown and gray dogs in our last community in St. Mary. In our new district in Clarendon there are more short, brown and black dogs.

When we first reached Jamaica we lived in a yard with a few very good dogs, so there was no need to get my own dog. The next yard we lived in also had a couple of nice dogs. In January we moved into a yard with no dogs. This didn’t seem right and we decided to get a dog.

For a few weeks as we walked around our community, we asked people with puppies if they had more that they might be willing to give to us. However, there never seems to be a puppy around when you need one. Finally, when walking home one day I heard a puppy crying. He was small and helpless. Hiding in the roots of a tree high up on a road bank. I can’t imagine how he got there. I asked the people across the street- “A fi unu dog dis [Is this your (all’s) dog]?” The answer was, “Nuh, but yu kyan ave im. Yu wan wan scandal fi carry im? [No, but you can have him. Do you want a black plastic bag to carry him?]” “Uh…no tanks” I said. After consulting a few more neighbors, I finally found a young man who claimed ownership of the puppy in question. He said that the pup came form his dog’s litter, but the mother had rejected him and I could have him. I picked up my new pup and carried him home – a distance of a little over three miles. Along the way there were several people who commented about the new addition to my family. Every time I walk back that way there are still a few people who ask how he is doing. That night we gave him a bath, picked fleas off of him, and tried to keep him warm.

Next we set upon naming him. I had always wanted to name my first dog Goliath for comedic purposes. However, Molly suggested a Jamaican name. We considered an eponym Jamaican National Hero, but after local consultation it was determined that it would be considered offensive. So we started looking for other names. Perhaps, a geographic feature? Blue Mountain seemed odd and John Crow is a mild expletive here. I liked Kingston, but it seemed too aristocratic.

In the eighteenth century, Jamaicans gave their dogs tongue twister names. Sources record names including, “Run-bruk-you-catch-um-good” and “Little-did-I-thought-that-man-was-so-deceitful”. One early-eighteenth century mulatto slave driver is said to have had six dogs named: “Gainst Me”, “Creold Woman”, “Fair to My Face”, “Good Woman’s Scarce”, “Woman Worst All” and “Help Myself” (Senior 2003:155).

Fortunately for me, and my imperfect Patois skills, dogs nowadays are given much shorter names. We have known dogs named “Pepa [Pepper]”, “Bwoi [Boy]”, “Lassie” and “Bob”. We also began to think about common Jamaican names. Like all babies, ours looked like an old man. We know several old Jamaican men with the pet name (nick name) ‘Fitzy’. This is an abbreviated form of English inspired names like Fitzroy and Fitzronald. So Fitzy stuck.

Over that last several weeks, Fitzy has become integrated into our routine. In the mornings while Molly and I tend to the garden, Fitzy chews on sticks, digs holes and tries to steal pieces of chicken manure to eat. Over the last few weeks he has gotten better at staying out of the garden beds, keeping from underfoot and playing by himself, non-destructively. In short, he is a good farm dog.

In addition to scraps, we are feeding him puppy food from the super-market. We buy the cheap stuff from Brazil with packaging all in Portuguese. By the way, does anyone know the Portuguese word for melamine?

We also do at least a little training every day. We play tug-of-war, fetch and wrestle. Now at about 2 ½ months old, he knows how to come, sit, lay down, and roll over. I am trying to teach him stay and shake hands, but he is resisting. His favorite toys are an old plastic dustpan and coconuts. This has led us to describe his breed as a ‘coconut retriever’. He also eats the coconut meat.

However, Fitzy, like me must live in two worlds. He must be a tough Jamaican yard dog while we are here, or at least bark when someone comes into the yard. However, we plan to bring him back to America with us when we finish Peace Corps. (There is a form to fill out. Many Peace Corps volunteers do this.) When we get back home, he will have to become a typical American family dog. We might even live in an urban setting. The question is, will he have culture shock? In other words, you can take the dog out of the country, but can you take the country out of the dog? With this in mind, I train him to know both worlds. He is allowed onto the veranda, but we also take daily strolls around the yard perimeter to evoke his latent territorialism. I too must have a foot in each world. I have to integrate into my community and act like a Jamaican. I also have to maintain my own identity and present myself as an American development worker. Fitzy and I are learning and adapting. A process that is certain to continue back in America.

Yesterday, I put him on a leash and walked him down the road to the Primary School ‘Sports Day’. He walked there fine, but on arriving he was hesitant to go into the large crowds and did not like the loud noise. He did however bask in the attention lavished on him by all of the students. The youngsters marveled at the fact that he didn’t bite and could even do tricks on command. They were certain that such a smart dog could only have come from America, and when told that Fitzy was a native Jamaican mongrel, they were shocked. The adults present were not as impressed. Nearby parents and teachers scoffed that he was too fat and too tame. One older man scolded, “You mustn’t let people touch him. You have to make him tough so he guards the yard.” When I told one teacher that he never barks, she retorted, “Then he really is useless isn’t he?” After a little over an hour we were both getting tired and needed to go home. As we walked home, I thought about the Taino dogs that learned to bark.

--Dave

References Cited

Senior, Olive

2003 Encyclopedia of Jamaican Heritage. Twin Guinep Publishers, Red Hills, Jamaica.

For a long time I would daydream about being a Peace Corps volunteer. This began sometime in my early high school days. Typically I would be squeezed into a mini-bus trekking through African savanna or hiking up a Andean mountain to speak with a small farmer on the importance of composting. There were always pit latrines to construct in my musings.

So now that I am here, what is it like to be a Peace Corps volunteer in Jamaica at the end of the first decade of the 21st century? It is everything I expected but it is different than I imagined it would be. Now I still “small-up” on a mini-bus to travel around the country. I even have had the quintessential experience of livestock being seated next to me on public transport. In my case I held a box of newly hatched chicks on their way from the farm store to the coup. I have electricity, something of a disappointment. In the taxi the other day, a local farmer gave me a box of chickens to hold onto for the ride. I paused and thought, ‘Well it’s not sub-Saharan Africa, but I am in the Peace Corps.’

Transportation is kind of difficult, but not like I had grown up on stories of Peace Corps volunteers traveling 16 miles on foot, followed by a canoe down river just to get to the post office. To get my mail, I have to go to the main road. A place I go almost every day. The taxis don’t come down my road frequently. To walk our to the main road takes about half an hour.

I thought I would be speaking a little known African dialect, while I sometimes used Swahili or French. Now I use Patois or Jamaican Creole almost every day. But almost every day I also use at least some English. But Patois is very close to English and all Jamaicans speak at least some of both. It is easy for me to ask for an English translation from anyone. For many of my Peace Corps counterparts they don’t have that luxury. This allows me to learn the culture and language faster and makes my job of ‘capacity-building’ or ‘teaching’ as I call it easier.

My water is all catchment, so I have to treat it before drinking. But I don’t have the community well that I had imagined. The catchment at my house is big and prior to us no one lived here. The neighbors got used to taking water from the catchment and still come over to catch a couple buckets of water when they need drinking water. They don’t treat it, but if I drank that same water I would get sick. Interestingly, I just taught a class about how to treat their water as part of a environmental club unit at the local primary school. However, good drinking water is in short supply here. The schools buy water, but in the night sometimes the water is taken away by the locals. If they don’t have water, the school has to close. This happened two days last week. As we say here, “It cyan guh so!” To try to address this I told some community activist about a program I heard about to improve public water supplies in rural Jamaica. We met on Monday and are beginning to sort out what we need to do to apply for it and how to best help people. It might not solve the problem, but it is the best I can do right now.

However, almost everyone in Jamaica has heard of the Peace Corps. At surprisingly high frequencies they even know what we do. And so far, everyone has said they like the Peace Corps. In fact, the mere mention of our status as Peace Corps volunteers will make ordinary Jamaicans spontaneously offer us a token of their gratitude on behalf of their community and country. Often people will give us some fruit or vegetables they grow or as a recent trend, give us a ride to where we are going. Recently, we have gotten a ride from two off duty police and one minister. The rent we pay for our home is inadequate for the property. But the landlord is letting us have it for cheep because he knows we don’t have much money and has known several past Peace Corps volunteers and appreciated what they did. It really hit home though when Molly and I walked in to the Mocho clinic, just to kill a little bit of time and introduce ourselves. The clinic director, a woman perhaps in her sixties, took us by the hand. The love in her seemed to overflow. It made me feel that this was a woman who was an expert at bedside manor. As she took us around the clinic and introduced us to every staff member and told us of the personal and professional relationship she developed with previous Peace Corps volunteers I knew we were welcome. When we left we had her person cell phone number. As I walked away, I realized that she never really let go of our hands the whole time we were there. As we left the clinic, a group of high school students called to me. “Sir you lost your wallet. The principal has it.” I had left my wallet in the restaurant across the street after I paid. The students found it and brought it immediately to the principal. This is a special place and we feel welcomed and loved.

-Dave

Jamaicans have another name for their country, Jamdung. It is a reference to the poverty, which oppresses many Jamaicans. My community is made up of mostly poor, landless farmers. They call themselves 'peasant farmers' but people in the development game call them 'subsistence farmers'.

In my community, bauxite mining brought both development and destruction. Bauxite got really active in the area in the late 60s and 70s. The company bought land, relocated families and returned more marginal ‘reclaimed’ land. Farming declined and livelihoods were threatened. At the same time other parts of Jamaica that relied on the banana trade were suffering from increased competition from Central and South America.

In the late 20th century the poor economy in Jamaica overall induced a mass exodus from Jamaica as well as other Caribbean islands to other more prosperous English speaking countries. To this day, many people rely on their family members abroad to supplement their income with their foreign earnings. At the same time, the tourist industry in Jamaica expanded and people got by.

However, people are increasingly concerned about how the "Global Financial Crisis" will affect Jamdung. Tourism is expected to decline, as well as exports. Many are also worried that their flow of remittances will be impacted. This is of course coming on the back of the "Global Food Crisis" which also hit here. In this complex problem, agricultural inputs (i.e. chemical fertilizers) are becoming more expensive, thus raising the cost of produce, grains and meat at a faster rate than peoples wages are rising. This is not a major issue in wealthy nations where we spend a small percentage of our money on food. However, the developing world already spent a higher percentage of their earnings on food and had less of a margin. Millions around the world are being squeezed into malnutrition.

In many ways, my work in the Peace Corps has never been more important. When viewed from this perspective, it can seem overwhelming. However, when I see my Jamaican friends working hard to help their community uplift itself and address the needs of the current population, without causing more problems for future generations, I am heartened, inspired and motivated.

On a more personal note I have started to begin to really assimilate and have some of those classic Peace Corps moments. For example, the other day I was squeezed into a minibus, going down a sinuous narrow country road. I was grooving to the songs on the radio and chatting in the local dialect and thoroughly enjoying the scenery. In the next taxi I took, a local farmer gave me a box of chickens to hold onto for the ride. I paused and thought, ‘Well it’s not sub-Saharan Africa, but I am in the Peace Corps.’

I also notice that when I am talking on the phone with my friends and family in America I have unintentionally begun to use Jamaican Creole grammar and vocabulary. This is a little bit confusing to them and embarrassing to me. Linguists call it ‘Creole Interference.’ It means that the Jamaicans, who speak mostly Patois have a hard time forming proper English sentences. My personal experience in this now makes me appreciate the difficulty many Jamaicans face in being fluent in two closely related languages.

Here is another one. I went to visit a local farmer friend. When we were ready to go, he asked if I had ever ridden a donkey. When I told him no, he wasted no time. He made me get on and I rode it all the way back to his home- about two miles. I wish I had pictures.

This is the last personal antidote. We moved into a new house. The house where we live has a large water catchment tank. All the water from the roof goes into it. No one in the area has piped water. If you don’t have a catchment tank, then you either have to buy water, beg it from a neighbor or get some from the community tank which could be several miles away. We noticed that several neighbors were accustomed to catching water from our tank because no one had lived there for a long time before us. Now this is a problem. If my tank runs dry, then I have to buy it, and I might not have the money to do that. At the same time it is difficult to tell someone that they can not have water. To make it worse, the community tank is about two miles away and not in good repair. What can I do? It seems wrong to come to a community to help people, and then take away a resource that they used to use. I asked our host father, who lives in another house in the yard. He said that we can not let people take our water. So the next time our neighbor came to take water I asked him if he had another way to get water. He said yes, he could drive his car (he is a taxi driver) to a community tank and get some. I asked him if he could do that, and he obliged. Other neighbors might not have the same options and what can I say to them? I decided that this is an opportunity for development work. I told some community activist about a program I heard about to improve public water supplies in rural Jamaica. We will meet on Monday to try to figure out what we need to do to apply for it and how to best help people. It might not solve the problem, but it is the best I can do right now.

-Dave

p.s. There are some new photos on Flickr. Check out our new puppy! He can sit, lay down and come. I am working on training him to bring me the paper, but the closest place to buy one is two miles away.

Hi Loyal Readers. I know it has been a long time and you are all probably wondering what happened to me. The long and short of it is I have been pretty busy lately and have had little access to internet. We moved sites and now the closest internet access for me now is half an hour away. Today I wrote this entry at home on our laptop and brought it to an internet café in a nearby city on my thumb drive. I try to spend as little time in this city as possible for safety reasons.

Our new site is south central Jamaica. The area has been heavily mined for bauxite, which significantly reduced the agricultural productivity of the land. We are here to help the community recover and generate income through alternative industries.

We are living in a room in a house of a respected older man in the community and his adult son. It is a nice set up including a solar powered water heater (hot water showers!) and a washing machine.

My work includes working with some local schools on starting compost piles and school gardens and environmental education lessons. I am also helping with a community heritage tourism and oral history project. I am particularly excited about this project because of my background. I have a degree in Anthropology and I worked in archaeology for several years.

-Dave

I don’t know the first thing about cricket, but I have always wanted to learn. I took in my first match this weekend, but it was probably not the best one to learn on.

This past weekend, National Heroes Weekend in Jamaica, we went to the little community of Pimento Walk, overlooking Ocho Rios. This is a small, close-knit community whose citizens mostly work in the bustling port town of Ocho Rios in the tourism industry. There are a few farmers also. Our own community also has people who work in Ochie and people who farm, however, the proportion is in reverse. The Patois in general seems to be not as thick and I noticed some words and phrases are more common here than our home community.

We came to this pleasant community to go to a fund-raiser, held by a community organization, that our host community organization is linked with. How do you do a fund-raiser with an emphasis on FUN? Here they decided on holding a rummy vs. blind cricket match. Yeah, it’s not normal here either.

It is kind of difficult to explain. Basically, a team from Kingston, that plays in a league, composed entirely of sight impaired people played against a team made up of people from Pimento walk, who were drunk enough on rum to be blind. Estimates varied for the final score, however everyone agreed that the blind team trounced the locals.

It was inspiring watching a group of people who do not let their individual challenges check their ambitions. After the game, one of the blind team players sat down to a game of dominoes with three locals. Here too, I was impressed that he could feel the dominoes to know what he had, what other players put down and then remember what was where and play well.

The food served was excellent as well and the locals as friendly as any I have met in the friendly country of Jamaica. It was also a pleasure to link up with one of our good Peace Corps friends Benjee.

-Dave

Perception is everything. As an anthropologist, I view race as a cultural construct. For more on this, see the Society for American Anthropology position on race. This is not to say that it does not exist, just that there is no biological support for the concept. Essentially, it is something that we made up and can be incredibly flexible depending on the culturally created definitions of race.

For instance, I think of myself as a 26 year old, American man. More college punk than respected elder. I also think of myself as white- German - Irish decent. Yet here, I also want to "come in like a Jamaican." By that I mean, I want to live like a Jamaican and I want to be accepted by ordinary Jamaicans. In the last week or so, it became apparent to me that I can be perceived very differently by different people.

Most times, especially if I am with Molly I think I am perceived as white European/American. Most times people who don't know me call me "whitey" or "white man". With this identity comes hundreds of years of Jamaican racial history -most importantly slavery. Most times, this manifests itself in higher ascribed status for people with lighter skin color. Accordingly, most Jamaicans treat us better than they do each other.

This ascribed status is even extended by people who don't know us. Several people have reassured us that in the middle of a gun fight in the worst 'garrison' in Jamaica, we would be taken care of and escorted out of danger by strangers. This is because, as white Americans, we are clearly not involved in Jamaican internal affairs.

The other day we were walking through a major tourist town with a Jamaican friend of ours. When we were minding our own business a man across the street called to our friend, "Hey tour guide where are you taking them?" This made me angry and I yelled out, "Why yu so fas bredren? Im nuh wan tour guide, im fi wi fren!". In retrospect, the man meant no disrespect and was just making sure that people who looked like tourists were not being taken advantage of. But it still made my blood boil.

Yet sometimes, people people apparently see me as "non-white." For instance, occasionally people call me "brownin(g)", the term for people of mixed ethnicity*. Last week, a couple of men in a taxi were convinced that I was from Pakistan. No amount of American English could convince them otherwise. Similarly, it took a little while to convince some vendors in the market that I have never been to Jamaica before the Peace Corps. They could not understand why I could speak Patois so well if I was not born here. In the end they said, "ahrite" and gave me a look like, "Why doesn't he want to just admit that he is Jamaican by birth?".

Age too is in the eye of the beholder. Lately, I think I must look older than I feel. Recently, everybody in my community my age or younger seems to call me either "Mas David", "uncle" "dads" or "(h)elder". All are terms of respect. I like that. However, I seem to be the youngest man called any of those things in our community.

Don't get me wrong, I like being respected and feeling safe. I just don't like that some of it is due to my pigmentation.

-Dave

*(Foot note) This is not meant in a disrespectful manor. Jamaicans just like to have names for people that describe their phenotypical attributes. For instance, the person of Asian ancestry is "Mr./Mrs. Chin," the peanut vendor is called "nutsy". Pet names (yard name, or nick names) are huge here. Almost everybody has one. They are often brutal in their self deprecation. Which is why we know a person with a stutter called "Stammer" and a handicapped man that gets around on crutches known as "Mr. Shakey".

This past weekend we participated in the International Coastal Cleanup Day in Port Antonio. It is about a four hour trip for us, so we stayed the night at another Peace Corps Volunteer's apartment. Our camera battery was dead, so I don't have any pictures.

This is an annual event globally and the third year they have participated in Port Antonino. About 8 Peace Corps volunteers and 60 Jamaicans, mostly school children, or 'schoolas' participated. We cleaned up two beaches. Although not as bad as some of the beaches we have seen, there was still a moderate density rubbish scatter over most of the beach. This consists mostly of plastic bags, bottles, food containers and plastic utensils (i.e forks, knives).

We could not have possibly cleaned everything, but we did make a difference. Unfortunately, we started late, didn't have the materials we needed right away and took breaks for breakfast, lunch and heat. When it was all done, we probably picked up 15 bags of trash. At least 100 times that was left. Hopefully, the message made it through to some of the young people -taking care of the environment is an everyday responsibility, not a once a year event.

-Dave

This weekend we went to a spot on the White River called Blue Hole. I can't describe how beautiful it is, and the pictures don't do it justice. It is like a little piece of paradise. It was also one of the scariest moments of my life when I jumped from a cliff into the Blue

Hole (not pictured) from about 30 ft above. We went there on a weekend so there were no tourists. Apparently, the cruise ships bring truck loads of them there during the week, but the ships don't come into port on weekends.

We were met by a young, local man named Kevin. Kevin takes care of this area. He picks up trash, cuts steps, plants flowers, cuts the grass, maintains the rope swing and shows tourists around. He also does death defying stunts like jumping from 40+ feet and just missing the rocks below, walking down waterfalls and swimming through an entirely underwater chamber. For all this, he just asks for a small tip. I got his contact info and I am hoping to work with him on developing community tourism in the area. I don't want a lot of tourists to come there, but I want them to spend more money when they are there, and I want more locals to reap the benefits.

-Dave

In Jamaica there is the toun (town) and the conchri (country). The toun is basically just Kingston, Montego Bay and some of the large port cities. The conchri is almost everywhere else. The other name for the conchri here is 'di bush.' Sometimes farmers will say "Mi a go a di bush" or "Mi a go a di junjel" both of which mean they are going to their fields. I have never lived in the country before, but now I definitely do.

Somethings in the country take some getting used to for a city boy like me. For instance, the roosters crowing before dawn. At first this would abruptly wake me up , but now I see it as a pleasent alternative to the electronic alarm clock.

Other things in the country are just as nice as can be. People take time to introduce themselves to us because we are new in the community. People also want to share the harvest from their land with us. For instance, today our new friend Fitzy, a farmer in his 70s, gave us some chocolate that he had harvested and processed himself. I am glad to say that this sort of thing is more common than not here. I am sorry that my fellow Peace Corps volunteers serving in more urban settings do not get to experince this country hospitality.

The down side is that the country is also forgotten about sometimes. After Tropical Storm Gustav there was considerable damage to the roads and moderate to large landslides. By now most of the debris has been cleared, but the road damage will probably not be repaired until cars can no longer pass (i.e. there is less than one lane left). Still, I will take the counrty life over city life for now.

-Dave

We made it back home with little difficulty. Because some of the bridges were still out, we had to take a circuitous route back which also cost extra, but the Peace Corps will reimburse us for that. The roads were passable, but often had landslides or fallen vegetation blocking one lane. Other areas were damaged by land slippage associated with the storm.

Back at home there was no power so we got to try our our Peace Corps issue kerosene lanterns. Some water had leaked through the roof in the kitchen and come in through the bathroom window that doesn't close properly. After mopping that up we found that moisture had permeated our closet and one of our bags got moldy. Oh well, hopefully the sun will kill the mold.

They say that Peace Corps volunteers like to tell "war stories." So, here is one of my first. Last night and this morning I waged a war on rodents and I think I am winning the first battle. Last night we caught two mice in traps, which is an average kill ratio. This morning, one of our dogs Pepper got into the shed and was whimpering that she could smell mice but couldn't get to them. I moved some boxes for her and she killed one big rat, and three mice. Then the other dog, Boy, realized that we were having fun and joined in and helped Pepper kill three more mice. By the way, the singular for mice in Patois is 'mice'. The plural is either 'mice dem' or 'mices'.

-Dave

The Peace Corps Jamaica Group 79!

As an addendum to my last post, I will note that my speech went smashingly! When I delivered it last night everyone laughed (with me), some people cried (because of the reaction it evoked) and when it was over I got a standing ovation. Immediately after, the Ambassador broke with protocol and came up to me to congratulate me on doing a great job. After the ceremony, during the refreshment break, the Jamaican Minister of Foreign Affairs in charge of trade asked me for a copy of it and invited Molly and I over for dinner the next time we are in Kingston. Later some of my friends said that their favorite part was when I said "Big op tu di bassada!" I guess because they don't think of her as a real person. So, I think it was a success. Also, as my Jamaican friends might say, "Wi did bus weh lyik kyit" or "We got exposure."

The refreshment break was cut short due to the impending Tropical Storm Gustav. We hustled back to the hotel, and then out to the only grocery store in Kingston that was still open. We were the last people let in before it closed. What a mob scene! It rained through the night, with some moderate wind but now it is starting to clear and people are starting to clean up. We never lost power, but apparently much of the island did. Due to the storm and flooding of some major bridges, Peace Corps is putting us up in a hotel in Kingston until things are calmer. (Side note, I was named after my Great Great Grandfather Gustav, who went by David).

-Dave

This Thursday a very important speech will be delivered by one of the most popular men of our time. The anticipation of this speech has been building all week long. Of course I am not talking about Barack Obama's speech to the DNC this Thursday. I am talking about the speech I will deliver that same day, perhaps coincidentally.

I was elected by my peers to deliver a speech at the swearing in ceremony. Peace Corps tradition necessitates that two representatives of each training group deliver speeches. One is in English, the other in the host country native language. I was elected to deliver the Patois. In front of the ambassador and everyone! Well, I just finished writing it and I am happy with it.

My final days as a Peace Corps Trainee have been spent pleasantly in Kingston. It has been especially nice to get together with everybody for one last time. Though there was a bit of stress as I was writing the speech and everyone spent some time preparing for our final exam. We find out our final score and if we can swear in tomorrow. Everyone including myself is looking forward to training being over so we can get down to work and so we don't have to take any more tests.

-Dave

There is a pandemic sweeping Jamaica. It affects the young, the old, men, women and all groups. All week it has caused people to show up late to work, including some Peace Corps Jamaica staff. I am talking about Olympic Fever.

As soon as we got here people were telling us that Jamaica had the fasted man in the world. That man is Usain Bolt. Bolt today claimed his third gold medal, setting new world records each time. I have met a few people who know or knew Bolt, but everyone in the island loves him.

Jamaica is one of those places where the flag appears on a lot of things. It is on clothing, painted on fences and murals, and stickers on cars. However, since Bolt won his first gold, national pride has been racing forward as fast as Bolt himself. With each further win, the Olympics become more the talk of the town and the country, and the flag becomes even more prominent. From what I am told the celebration is way more than when the Jamaican bobsled team of "Cool Runnings" fame beat the Americans in 1993.

Yesterday we went into the nearby town of Ocho Rios for language training. Our co-worker asked us to buy her a Jamaican flag handkerchief when we got there. In Ochie they were for sale by street vendors for $100J and most cars had one either tied to the antenna or had a huge Jamaican flag decal on their hood. We have been to Ochie several times already and we never saw so much Jamaica memorabilia as we did this time.

People in taxis, on street corners on the radio and T.V. just can't stop talking about it. Newspapers now consist of about 70% stories on the Olympics. People will say to me, "Wi mashed-up wan-neks Merican rekord tuday," which means "We shattered another American record today!" To this I respond, "Ya mon, wi mash-up Beijing!" The joke is that when the anti-doping people test Bolt all they will find is yam, dasheen, cassava and dumplings.

It is a little bit like being in Buffalo when the Sabres were in the Stanley Cup or in Denver when the Rockies were in the World Series. I mean, you don't have to have a radio on to know we just won another gold, because the whole community will celebrate loud enough for everyone to hear. The main difference is the sense of nationalism, and that everyone appears to be following it.

Now the government is said to be planning on fixing the roads around where Bolt grew up. But the hope of the rest of the country, myself included, is that the government will declare a national holiday when the athletes return home.

-Dave

The word Jamaica comes from the indigenous Taino language and it means 'land of wood and water.' This is still a fairly accurate description on the whole. One major reason so many cruise ships come here is because they can fill up their water tanks. However, in the dry season, water can be scarce.

Water in our community is a huge issue. Water is supposed to come through a pipe twice a week. People then take that water and fill up big tanks, usually kept on their roof or a high spot in the yard so they can have running water all week long. Our family has just such a set up. (Water heaters are pretty much unheard of outside of rich urban communities.) Storage water is good for washing and bathing but not for drinking and cooking. We get water for flushing the toilet from rain catchments drums outside the house. However, in the dry season, water might not come by the pipe for weeks. When we arrived there had not been water for over two weeks. By the start of the second week at our site, the tanks ran out of water.

To get drinking water (or any water when it is not delivered by pipe) we have to go to the closest source -a pipe under the road about a mile away from the house. The water for this pipe is gavity fed by a nearby spring. Our host father and our supervisor have been helping us with this. Because he has a truck he can fill up multiple jugs at the same time, including the giant Peace Corps issued jugs that are almost to big to lift. However, our host family has moved to their other house, two towns away now. They did this because it is closer to where they work and they needed to save money on gas. For us to fill up the tanks ourselves, we would have to take a route taxi, but that can be expensive because the driver will charge by the container. Hopefully, we can find people in the community who are going to get water themselves and we can tag along in their truck.

Last week we were in Kingston for training and when we came back we found the water had come back on while we were away and we again had running water from the storage tank. For a very brief period we had running water and refrigeration -the feeling is indescribable! That feeling lasted for almost two whole days, before the storage tank ran dry again.

-Dave

As I mentioned earlier, our home is bigger than any apartment that Molly and I have ever had before. It is an upper flat of a house all to ourselves. There is a front porch, a living room, kitchen, hall bathroom and our bed room (there is one other bedroom, but we can't use that because our host family stores things in there). We are starting to get settled, but there is still some adjustments that we have to make.

We are beginning to re-decorate. This is a delicate process, because our host father's late mother lived there last, and all of her things were still in the house. So we have been slowly moving some of her things into the spare bedroom.

We got a refrigerator last weekend. This is a huge step forward. Now we can keep perishables and leftovers. The fridge had not been used since our father's mother lived there three years ago and when we arrived and plugged it in it was not working. It took our host family a few weeks to get it repaired. But with the cost of electricity so high, it is a luxury that not everyone here can afford. We have always been good at conserving electricity, but here it is just as much economic as it is an ethical thing.

One good sign is that last night I had my first dream mostly in Patois. I could even understand most of what was being said.

-Dave

So there isn't much about Jamaica that is a real culture shock for us. For instance, our flat is bigger than our last two apartments in America. One thing that will take getting used to is that dairy isn't available. But I think that, that is more common in most of the world than not. Ganja is smoked much more in the open here, but it reminds me of being in college.

One of the distinctly most un-American things about Jamaica is how people get around. First of all, there is a lot of walking to be done. We walk even more than most Jamaicans because we want to meet people and we don't want to spend all of our money on taxis. So lets talk about Jamaican taxis. The first thing that we were told even before we got on island is that the driving on Jamaica will take some getting used to...and is a leading cause of death.

A taxi could be any type of car but often are station wagons. coming down the road you can pick them out by the loud decals plastered on the windows. The legal taxis have red plates, but they are not common in some rural areas. Therefore, sometimes you have to take 'white plate' illegal or 'robot taxis.'

There are two sub-divisions, the charter taxi which are like taxis in the U.S. They pick you up and take you to a destination. They can wait for you too, if you pay them. They don't have meters, so you bargain with the driver before you get in. These are rare outside of urban areas.

Next you have route taxis. These cabs go from point A to point B and back to point A. Think of it as a carpool, with 7-10 of your closest friends. The driver gets his own seat (the driver is always a man). Then, next to the driver, on the stick shift is a petite girl. In the passenger seat is a man. In the back seat, you can fit four adults or more if you have some little pikni (children). Then sometimes you will have a few in the hatch back or in the trunk. People can get on or off anywhere between point A and Point B. The fare is the same no matter how many people you share with, but changes with how far you go. Though, friends of the driver may pay less or nothing. We saw one respected elder in our community get into our taxi for a short distance and I don't think the thought of him paying anything ever crossed the mind of anyone involved.

The next most common way to get around are route buses. These are just vans, converted to fit about 20 people. Similar rules apply to these as for taxis. One difference is here, to conserve space, your new wash tubs might be held by the man in the front, while you hold some woman's baby and the person next to you is holding groceries for another person. Its kind of communal and nice.

The thing that seems most un-American is the violation of our personal space norms. But once you get used to not being able to move and thinking that you are going to die as the driver passes a slower moving car on a winding, 1 1/2 lane, hilly road called Devil's Race Course at night, its actually pretty fun.

A down side I would assume is that the shocks and breaks on the taxis/buses wear out much faster than with normal American driving habits. This has got to be exacerbated because most Jamaican roads outside of large cities are almost more pot hole than road. I am told that the damage happens after hurricanes and is never repaired.

One of the great things about this system is everyone can get to where they need to go for cheap. Another benefit is that there are fewer cars on the road and fewer carbon emissions. Finally, it provides another way to meet people. On one bus ride from market to home the other night, we had a great time talking to some locals. One local farmer told us that he had respect for us taking local transport and not living like a tourist because we are getting to know "the real Jamaica." It was nice of him and it is probably mostly true, but I wouldn't know how else to get around.

-Dave

It is a slow process, but I think we are becoming Jamericans. I learned to play dominos. I know how to order white rum and Red Stripe. We can understand more Patois when people are speaking to us, but when strangers are having a conversation in a taxi we still only pick up a little bit of what they are talking about. But I am doing better about speaking Patois that is understandable to locals. For instance I said to our cab driver the other night, "Mi av som sitin ina di bak." Which means "I have some things in the back." He looked at me and said, "Yu chat Patois?" and I responded "A likkle bit." In the market, we are starting to get a feel for how much some items should cost, but this has been a costly process. The biggest thing though is we are starting to get to know our community.

On the work front, I am also making some progress. Our training project was to rejuvenate the compost pile at the college where we were staying. This was a big project. There were a few major problems with it. First, there was no funding for it. The environmental club started it and then it became defunct. The maintenance staff tried to keep it up, but it was no one person's job to work on it and there was no time to do it. There was a watering system, but in the dry season when it was needed, no water was available due to regional water lock offs. There were also some misconceptions about how the compost process works.

The maintenance crew would collect the litter that accumulated in the yard and mix it with the organics. Then they would put the clippings and the trash in plastic garbage bags and deposit the bags in the compost pile. After the organics composted in the bag for a long time, they would sift the compost, and toss the garbage on the ground next to the pile. Apparently, some of the people thought that given a long enough time, plastics would also compost. We dispelled that myth and told them that by removing the organics from the plastic bag more soil organisms could reach the compost and make it turn to soil faster. We also made up some simple signs with basic textual descriptions and and pictures that described how to compost.

Training was an important part of the project but funding was also a major problem. To give the project a jump start, we Peace Corps Trainees sifted through the entire pile to remove the non-compostables. To give some incentive to continue work on the project, we suggested that the proceeds from the sale of the compost* be divided between the maintenance staff, the school and the environmental club (if it reforms). We also picked up trash around the compost pile, brought in some seating, and identified and labeled some of the flora. The goal of the 'beautification' of the area around the compost pile was to lure students and staff to the area and to get them interested in the compost pile. With a little help from the college community, the pile could be turned more regularly and turned to soil more rapidly, producing more income.

At my site I have been given the job of making a map of the community and plotting all of the environmental problems, possible heritage sites and tourist attractions. Of course, this is a little more difficult than it is in the US because we don't have any funding, we don't have any mapping programs, there are no detailed existing maps of the area, google maps of the area just look green, and I don't know the system or the area here. So today I am beginning some background research. Once I get an idea of what I am doing, I will bring in some community members who are interested in learning the process. After all, the point of the Peace Corps is skills transfer.

That's all for now. Stay tuned for stories about traveling in Jamaica, getting harassed in the market and the availability of public utilities.

-Dave

*Yes, this is a foot note. With the rapidly increasing cost of petrol around the world, synthetic fertilizer prices are skyrocketing. This means that farmers who were already living close to the edge are being squeezed even more. They have to raise their prices and the people have to pay more for their food. However, there is not more money in their pockets, so you end up with the "global food crisis". Therefore, compost, now more than ever, is an important element in holistic farming. It reduces the amount of fertilizer one needs and can be produced for little money.

Well I have not been very good about posting for my eager fans. But here is what I can summarize about my first month in Jamaica.

Weather: It is amazingly hot and humid almost every day. It really makes you sweat a lot which is why everyone wears undershirts, even with t-shirts. it rains fairly frequently, but rarely for long.

People: Some of the nicest people in the world. Even in Kingston people will come up to you and try to talk with you just because you look like you are from 'foreign'. Most of the time they just want to talk and welcome you to Jamaica. Sometimes they want to sell you something. But if you are polite and cool, they don't bother you. Just reply in Patois like, 'Wagwan breda, mi fram Merika, but mi liev er nou." In the country side, it is overwhelming how nice people are. Most days we walk to and from work, about 1.5 miles. Almost everyone wants to say hi or have a conversation and we always have people trying to give us some produce that they have grown on their land. We accept often, but if we accepted all the time, we could not eat half of it. As it is, we share with our friends and people who live in our yard.

Land: Beautiful. Some amazing natural beauty here. Although most tourists only see the beaches which are nice because of their clear blue Caribbean waters, the interior in my opinion is nicer. The Landscape is hilly and lush. The only real eyesores are litter and mining. Trash collection is a huge problem here with most areas not serviced at all or severely under-serviced. Mining is a huge part of the economy, so despite the environmental issues associated with it, it is not viable at this point to stop. However, some point in the not too distant future, experts say the mines will be tapped and Jamaica will face the environmental legacy of decades of mining and a huge hole in the economy.

Peace Corps: Everyone that we have met from the PC staff and other volunteers seem cool and into what they are doing. There are a few people in our training group that we are especially close with and we hope to remain friends with. We are also pretty happy about how the staff and other volunteers look out for each other. The PC medical coverage in particular is pretty awesome.

That's all for now. Just a quick not to let all out our peeps that we are doing great here and more updates will follow.

-Dave

We left Denver on Tuesday. We drove across Kansas on I-70 to Lawrence to meet up with Alicia, another PC Jamaica-79 trainee. She is going to be working in Environmental Promotion. We had a couple of cool beers and talked about PC stuff for a few hours.

The next day we drove to Columbia, MO. There is a great Peace Corps -Fellows USA program at MU and we wanted to take a tour of the campus. We talked to Craig, a RPCV from Ecuador and a Geography Grad Student all afternoon about the program. The buildings on campus are nice mid-19th to early 20th century constructions that could make you think you are at a private school. From there we headed toward Mammoth Cave, KY. We spent the night in a hotel in Indiana.

Mammoth Cave was great. It is the longest cave in the world and has a lot of cool formations. We took a 4 1/2 guided tour of the cave. There was a spelunking tour offered but we could not partake because I left my boots that go above the ankle in Denver. We camped in the park next to the Green River for two nights. The first night, some older southern men camping next to us offered us their meal of fried catfish, frog legs, coleslaw and corn bread. We accepted and exchanged pleasantries. Later Molly mentioned that we were going into the Peace Corps and we could tell they did not approve. Suddenly, the jovial mood changed to one of hostility and condescension. Oh well, the third goal might be easier once we have returned.

From there, we drove non-stop until we got into Buffalo at 2AM and collapsed at my parents’ house.

Since then it has been a whirlwind of seeing family and friends, organization, planning and being very excited. Edit, after a brief mix-up at Sato Travel (the Peace Corps travel agency) we have our plane tickets to staging and our hotel reservations in Miami. I just can't wait to get back on the road again!

-Dave

Well not really. But we did have a nice conversation with the Associate Director of Peace Corps Jamaica in charge of the Green Initiative. Among other things he told us that: learning Patois is not hard, Molly might get to use her agriculture experience helping farmers find local markets for their crops and I might get to use my archaeology experience setting up heritage tourism stuff. Well, it's not much, but at least we know a little more. We also told him we would prefer a more rural placement, which probably means somewhere inland. Nothing is for sure yet but it is good to have made contact.

Today is our last full day in Denver and Molly's last day at work. Our friend Micah is going to come by later with a pick-up and take most of our furniture for his new apartment. For dinner we are going to our neighbors' apartment, and they are cooking us a traditional Guatemalan meal. We have met so many good people in Denver, I will miss them. I still have to finish packing and cleaning our apartment, so...

-Dave

We finished the last of the major paperwork today. This has been a difficult process as Dave has been working in Prescott Arizona and Molly in Denver Colorado. Our invitation came to our apartment in Denver, and then Molly had to send the Visa and Passport paperwork to Arizona. When it was in transit, our placement office called and reminded us that it takes 6 weeks to process the paperwork, and we only had...6 weeks. Thanks. Filled it out and over-nighted it back. Then we started on our aspiration statements and resumes. These are not hard, but we still wanted them to look good. Therefore, after a few versions were emailed back and forth, we emailed them to Peace Corps Jamaica. Now, Dave just has to get back to Denver, we have to pack all of our stuff, wrap everything up, drive to New York, hang out with friends and family and then fly to Miami. I sure hope the passport stuff gets taken care of in time! Otherwise, we have no jobs, no apartment and no Jamaica!

We just received our invitation to serve in the Peace Corps in Jamaica (2008-2010) and we are very excited. This is the story of service.