So there’s just one more story to tell I suppose. Although I apologize for the huge gapping gap that is basically January - May. Those months breezed by with conferences, visitors, traveling, calling the US embassy to get the police to release Gaby and Guillermo’s car, graduations, and just a generally deeply rewarding life. Can I blame the blog silence on being burned out on writing after all those grad school applications?First things first: Ruth. Ruth’s new doctors put her through some stellar treatment that got her arm surgery ready. It for the first time wasn’t oozing puss and sweetly sickening smells. But the surgery was put on hold until she completes 3 months on her new epilepsy meds. Jean, who will be living and working out of the capital in the Peace Corps office and was on the med mission and met Ruth, will help me out and keeping on top of the situation. But the plan is to do the surgery probably within the next month.So let me back up and share a 2 journal entriesApril 29th :2 weeks from now I’ll be in Atlanta right about now, si Dios quiere. But I’m still here now, tonight, listening to a mouse squeak in the kitchen. Today was Honor’s day at the high school. What an joy to be a part of. Sometimes I feel so guilty for leaving. Like now is when I can really be effective. Now I know these people and they’re mine and I can see the way ahead. But I’m off to Boston, to my country, to be near my first family. What a blessing it is to say that. To love and be so loved. This is the hardest decision I’ve made. And I now chose it confidently for various reasons, but it still hurts. Sometimes I really do feel it, lo siento, and it aches. It’s hard to fully wrap around mentally. There’s just these moments where it’s awful and terrible. And I hate it. I will miss them so much. May 9th:Today is Monday and I leave on Thursday. Early morning. Three full days left here in my querido Imbert. I’ve never been able to imagine what this would be like. I’m drinking some sort of celery tea because I’m pretty sure I have an amoeba, but I don’t want to call Peace Corps - afraid they’ll ask me to come down to the capital - stealing more precious days here. It really does taste like liquid celery if you can imagine that. But I digress because i don’t know how to write this. I have no reference point. There are moments where the splendor and novelty of America and her constant electricity, carpet, food variety don’t tempt me in the least. I think, “No, I’m happy here, thank you very much”. Because I’m not sure my life has ever been this fulfilling before. I’ve never felt so fully alive, so fully human before --- eating only seasonal foods from local earth sold by people out of their homes who know me and then there’s all these meaningful relationships with Dominicans and PCVs. In these past few days I’ve received an incredible gift from my community. Through words, gifts, songs, Bible Verses, jokes, and mangos, they’ve expressed not only how much they love me, but recognized my love for them. There is nothing I could want more in this world than for my community (wherever, whoever it may be) to know, to believe how wholly and fully I do love them. I am honored to be able to give and receive this great love.Every time a group finishes their service, our volunteer staffed magazine, The Gringo Grita, prints surveys of the exiting volunteers. One of the questions is what do you hope to take back to American culture. One of the volunteers in my group poetically said, “refer to where I live as ‘my community’”. It’s true. It makes me smile. You’ll often hear a PCV talk about their town as “my community”. It’s sort of PC lingo, but it identifies where we live and the people who surround us there as a source of pride and of belonging. Can you imagine us in passing slip up and say “my community” instead of Atlanta/Corvallis/DC/Austin/etc. When I hurt, thinking about leaving, it excites me to bring back these pieces of dominican/ PC culture. So now I am back. Doing what feels like is a whole lot of nothing, but it’s a good nothing: I fatten my dog up. I meet my grandmother for dinner. I watch my mother grow her tomatoes upside down. I am present when friends get married and celebrate birthdays. I call my sister, my aunt, and my cousins. I stop by my godson’s on the way to the Braves game. These are all good things. But nothing satisfies me yet like life on hispañola.

How do I tell this story? Where to begin?They took Ruth back into the OR to change her dressing, get a better idea of what they could do. I went in too, explained what was going on until she was out. They had to do it under anesthesia because it would be so painful. Ten months ago she had an epileptic seizure onto a wood burning stove with a large pot of boiling beans. Since then she had had 4 skin grafts- 3 taken from her legs, 1 from a cadaver. Now she was out. and a team of American plastic and reconstructive surgeons began to unwrap her bandages. When the reached her festering flesh there were a series of comments on the overwhelming yet sweet smell of bacteria that was causing a very serious infection. As they began to scrub with sterilized brushes and pulled of the dead skin graft, the mood turned sober. Never had they seen something like this- exposed bone, rotting flesh. It became clear that the surgery planned for next week would not happen, that amputation was instead a possibility. Amputation. The doctor in charge of the mission, Dr. Gharety, said, “Well I thought I could be a hero with this one.” As they smoothed over slabs of silvedine I thought, here I’ve brought this 23 year old mother to the capital for reconstructive surgery and she may go home with no left arm or right hand. Double Amputee. What have I done? How am I going to tell her?They bandaged her back up and took her to recovery. I went to tell her dad what happened. I said it was worse than expected- exposed, infected bone in the arm and hand- now the plan was to try and save her limbs. The doctors at this medical mission did not have the equipment or capability to do the complicated surgery, but - there was a but, a ray of hope - Dr. Gharety would call some Dominican surgeon friends with the capability to do the surgery and if they were willing, he would pay for it. He would start making the calls early the next morning. Ruth woke up - cracking jokes - ready to dance. I asked her Merengue or Bachata and she said either one. Later I would give her the news. She took it well, in stride. I’d explain one more time to her mom over the phone who lives in France, working, sending money back to her. Dr. Gharety did call the next day, and his friend, Dr. Hernandez, sent us to his best resident, Dr. Aviles for an unscheduled consult. When we arrived she was in surgery and so we waited outside the OR room. Hours later we finally tracked her down. She saw Ruth, took her dressing off, took pictures, and wrote about 4 pages of pre-op tests she would need to get done. So the answer was yes. And while it was a relief, a step forward, it also felt like sinking further into the medical/surgical/recovery pit, deeper into the struggle. But the night is darkest before the dawn, right?While I’m back in Imbert, Ruth is still getting tests done in the capital and will meet again with Dr. Hernandez and Dr. Aviles on Thursday to schedule surgery and get a game plan of what exactly they will do. The whole week still weighs on me. Every moment with Ruth I couldn’t help but think that she was only receiving help/attention because of a generous white doctor and an idealistic Peace Corps Volunteer. I escorted her everywhere, worked out the issue with the check in US dollars, made sure the tests happened in a timely fashion, got the medical supplies, etc. She was lucky to be by my side, and I hated it, resented my compassion as it revealed more intimately how healthcare for Ruth was a consequence of chance and circumstance. After working out a plan for Ruth, I headed back to the public hospital where the medical mission was hosted, and I began again to translate for Dr. Gharety for walk-up consults. This was my main job besides Ruth’s personal healthcare advocate. People would come with their problems and Dr. Gharety would determine whether his team of doctors would be able to help. A man showed up with a white gauze taped over his right eye and nose. He waited patiently for a couple of hours for Dr. Gharety to get out of surgery. Finally I welcomed him in, sat him down and Masiano began to explain what happened. Two years ago he had been shot in the face while working. He received 2 surgeries and spent a year and 8 months in the hospital. He still needed more surgeries, but the doctors at the hospital kept saying come back next week. Dr. Gharety asked to remove the bandage. Masiano had no nose, just a skin flap with two tubes hanging out so he could breathe. He had no right eye, just skin pulled and stitched over the socket. When he exhaled air came out of his eye socket. He also still had pieces of the bullet in his face. Dr. Gharety looked at me and said there was nothing they could do. That it required complicated reconstructive surgery that they again didn’t have the equipment to do. But this time their were no friends to call. No one on the island could do this type of complicated surgery. The DR didn’t have the technology or the training. Doctors here had done all they could. I told Masiano. I watched him move from hope to despair. He told me how difficult his life was. And he wasn’t complaining, he was genuinely expressing his pain. He told me everything he had on had been given to him. His family didn’t live here. He had no money. His family lived in Haiti. At this comment, another Peace Corps Volunteer, Malia, began to speak to him in Creole. Then he looked at me and said, “My life is so hard. Sometimes I ask God to end it.”I remember saying, “Don’t say that”. And Malia said “God is with you, God knows”. He nodded and smiled with tears in his eyes. I asked for his name and said I would pray for him. He thanked me and had one last request. He showed me a 500 Indian bank note and wondered if we could change it. I took it, walked over to Patty, Dr. Gharety’s sister-in-law who scheduled the surgeries. She was gathering up all the pesos she could find. She said, I’m going to give him all my money. She handed me 1,990 pesos. I walked over to Masiano, told him Patty could use the Indian money, that it was worth 1,990. She would buy it from him. And he left, with ammunition in his face, 1,990 pesos in his pocket, and blessings. It was a hard week. There were redeeming moments, smiles on kids faces, jokes with doctors, but they were few in comparison to how much human struggle we saw. It would have been easy to walk away fearful, afraid of suffering, certain of how little we have to face big problems. But I am a person of faith, and despite how overwhelming it all is, and, boy, is it, I choose, avidly, with deep earnestness, to believe that we have enough, always have, always will, and that Ruth and Masiano will live abundantly.

Words:Almost Heaven, Hispanola, playas, bachata, bañando in the river, life is hevi, playing domino, eatin’ la bandera, dressing like vagosCampo Roads, take me home, to con con, and an apagon, dice la doña, tu ‘ta ma’ gorda, take me home, campo roadsAll the tigueres gather round us, siging, quiero una americana, pa’ mangar mi visa, well , all i wants, sustainability, i can’t have that either, tear drop in my eyeChorusRidin’ in the guagua, my stomach starts to rumble, dreamin’ of that bath room in my site far away, senta’o, pega’o I get the feelin that I shoulda been home yesterday, yesterdayCampo Roads, take me home, to con con, and an apagon, dice la doña, tu ‘ta ma’ gorda, take me home, campo roadsCampo Roads, take me home, to con con, and an apagon, dice la doña, tu ‘ta ma’ gorda, take me home, campo roads

I just spent almost the entire past week in consolidation. I really shouldn’t complain - 24 hour electricity, flushing toilet, TV, air conditioning, no cleaning dishes... I even had bacon one morning! But best of all I got to spend time with fellow PCVs. Still, we all just wanted to be in our sites... building stoves, giving classes, meeting with our youth groups, finishing aqueducts, or perhaps petting our dogs/horses/cats.Tomas, gracias a dios, didn’t hit as hard as expected in Haiti or the DR. But I guess when the government is responsible for your safety and well being, they’re willing to take extreme measures and put up upwards of 100 people in hotels for 5 nights. Before I was scooped up out of my site, I was giving cholera talks at the school in the morning and night sessions. In fact, two Fridays ago, PC consolidated us for cholera training. The purpose was to first scare us and then inform us. I’d say they achieved both. They told us the Center for Disease Control announced that there is a 100% probability that the epidemic would make it’s way to the DR. It’s inevitable considering how the countries share the same watershed for the whole length of the border. Here’s the two most important things about cholera:1- it’s a bacteria2- you die from dehydrationThe bacteria spreads only from feces to mouth, so say a latrine with infected poo gets in the water stream and contaminates the water you drink or the vegetables you eat. Or maybe an infected person poops and doesn’t wash their hands and handles your food or shakes your hand. Flies can also carry the bacteria from poo to food. All this means we can easily control cholera through proper hygiene and cooking/cleaning food and purifying the water we drink. The other good news is that since it is a bacteria, once a person is infected it can be killed easily with antibiotics. I spoke bout all these things and more with about 12 different groups of students. It was fun teaching them rehydration recipes and making them repeat “Caca-a-Boca” with puzzled looks on their faces. It’s also quite a change because this information is potentially life saving as opposed to teaching Photoshop - a program used to edit photos - while fun, is not so vital to survival.

While sharing my first daily lunch after a 2 week stint in Georgia, Frederick told me that while Gabi was away he took 6 classes worth of notes. Now in a school day down here, there’s 5 periods or classes. That means in 2 weeks or 10 school days, there should be 50 classes worth of notes (not accounting for testing or holidays). So with Frederick’s rough estimate that’s 13% of classes were taught. Apparently the teachers just didn’t find it necessary to work with the boss lady gone. And I’m sure the students didn’t attribute to this “let’s go crazy and do nothing work” environment.There was also an incident where somebody (we suspect a student) rubbed poop all over a chalkboard. It was discovered the morning following a “Movie Night” the seniors sponsored to raise money for their senior shirts. AND a bunch of male students decided to light the material being used to build the new mobile classrooms on fire. Thankfully the material wasn’t particularly flammable. These two incidents really show the value students have for education in that liceo. But that brings me to the good news. The Ministry of Education (formally Secretary of... same good-for-nothings, different name) completed 4 mobile classrooms last week. But, they still haven’t started rebuilding the building the knocked down. Many people assume that now that they’ve done this, they will never rebuild. It will stay the rubbled, war-zone-like mess forever. Ojala que no sea verdad.And for the final kicker. The internet has been down in all the public schools in the province of Puerto Plata. When I called the MEE to see what was up they said it was a problem on their end (no shit) and that god-willing it would be back up by the end of the week. God didn’t will it.I keep hearing echoes of the Milton principal describing the 4 million dollar budget and seeing images of those neatly arranged notebooks with the year’s lesson plans outlined to the hour in the Crabapple Crossing Elementary. And then this pops into my head... a fellow IT-PCV wrote it- “describing the dominican educational system as a “system” or even “educational” may be a misrepresentation.”My concern is that Gabi was presented a beautiful picture, a tour even, of the impossible. Yes, there were strategies and practices that she can bring to the liceo, but they won’t fix a broken system. Thankfully, at our final school visit, the principal of Northwestern Middle School emphasized ways to make impact through small changes. While Gabi hasn’t started back at school, (she starts Nov 1st) she’s got plans. She wants to have students change classrooms and teachers stay so they can own their space more and put up educational material on the walls. And she wants to stagger recess time so the whole student body isn’t out a recess at one time. These are great ways to bring more quality and organization to the school day. We are also excited to start a partnership with Milton and Crabapple. These schools were especially touched to accompany Gabi in her journey to create a better high school. All in all I was proud of America. And I’m not really referring the public school system, but the people. Everywhere we went, whether it was picking apples, church, restaurants, the airport, the Tech game, schools, or neighborhood gatherings, people were welcoming and happy to host a visitor in a strange land even if just for moments.Great thanks to all of you who cooked us a meal, entertained us, drove us around, or drove miles to see us, especially mom and Frank. I think Gabi most misses Floyd. And Frank’s pumpkin seeds are the talk of the neighborhood. One young boy licked the bag it was in. If you made it this far... PLEASE SEND PECANS! They are the most needed, hard to find item on our Thanksgiving shopping list. If you didn’t know, volunteers put on and big Thanksgiving lunch for all 200 volunteers on Thanksgiving Day in the capital.

This educational telenovela I’ve mentioned in passing has gotten big. We’ve recently been awarded 15,000 dollars to cover filming costs. Over the course of a year the project has reminded me of my neighbor escorting his cow from field to field. Sometimes it’s a patient determination, other times a more desperate pleading, often they walk side by side, and occasionally the cow strides willingly and with direction to the greener grass. Prompted by Jean, I’ve found it valuable to look back on how far we’ve come. It’s made me think about the stuff that initiative is made of and how that elusive cultural ingredient is so essential to community. Initiative can be powerful, scary, and satisfying. A big gutsy push. The motive, direction, and outcome could be anything from: “I’m getting out of bed and taking the dog on a walk” TO “I’m professing my love” TO “I’m going to be an advocate for peace in the Middle East”. Aside from the novela, initiative is something I think about a lot as I feel the pressure of the risks I dare to take coupled by what I see as a dominican acceptance of status quo.With 8 months left in these Caribbean foothills, I’ve been trying to shift responsibility, pull initiative out of my counterparts. And the process frustrates me. I give what I think is good communication and proper tools to create new things or just simply take a step forward. The plans sound something like: “When you’ve done this, begin this/call me/...” Then time passes and my compañeros ask me where I’ve been and why I haven’t finished the project. They’ve tossed aside our plan, their part, and refuse to move forward without constant nagging. It’s a skill only the most overprotective of mothers could properly execute. The process makes me crave and disdain that blessed goal of sustainability. It makes me feel inadequate. But here’s the new realization: that’s nothing new. In the Peace Corps, everyday something says, “I dare you”. And I can either shrink away in fear or give everything I’ve got to a certain failure or certain greatness. It’s thrilling and exhausting. And I’m tempted to think that my culture has prepared me for it. That quilted in our culture is the earnest belief and confidence in building “better”. In the US we call senators, start non-profits, write books, march down streets in determined search for better. Could be better medical care for transgender people, better schooling for refugees, or more funding for that cure. We’re all in that search for whole community or as King would say “beloved community”. I too have pieces of that vision and the courage to either fail or succeed. If there is one thing I could give to Imbert it would be that courage. And I honestly believe it takes more here. There are no helpful institutions or extra money in the bank. The gamble is big, the odds suck. But initiative thankfully doesn’t come from reason. It’s time for this pueblo to actively demand more from the patria. And what’s stopping them is not ignorance or laziness. It’s fear. Why are we so crippled by it? And is that fear worth risking greatness, risking “better”?

Last night I called two of my fellow Peace Corps Volunteers (Jean and Lindsey) in what I can best call a fever of “fed up-ness”. Two nights ago, after a quick conversation with neighbors who were collecting water from the cistern in my front yard, I walked into my candlelit house to find a tarantula crawling across my floor (from the direction of the bed, to the direction of the bathroom). I quickly stepped back outside and yelled “Come here! I think there’s a tarantula in my house!” The youngest son, who’s big and tall, quickly made it to the front door and upon seeing it said, “hand me your flip-flop”. As I handed it to him, I questioned out loud the ability to kill a tarantula with a flip-flop. He walked over, gave it a good whack. It crawled, injured, behind the bathroom door, where he proceeded to whack it a few more times, and then escorted the crumpled up ball of hairy legs, out the front door. His mom, who had been watching from the door the whole time, shoved it even further out into the front yard. She then scolded me for leaving my yard gate open and told me she prayed for my every night, asking God to protect me. I thanked her, saying I’d take all the prayer I could get. They went back to getting water, and I ventured back into the candle light to take a quick shower, and crawl under the safety of my mosquito net.Now for last night. The electricity was out again, and I had been over at a neighbor’s reading. I came home, lit some candles, got in the shower, and noticed OB playing with something. I couldn’t see what. I could just see his butt high in the air with a wagging tail and hear his low playful growl. Worried it was another tarantula that might bite him, I quickly got out of the shower and turned the corner to see a cienpie. Cienpie translates to basically centipede. But these devilish looking creepy, crawly, slithery, creatures are NOT the slow moving centipedes from alla. Imagine the same segmented body, but with short tips coming out its sides and then long antenna/claw things coming from its head, and this guy was a good 8-10 in long. Oh and they bite AND sting. Buh. I had heard myths, stories, of these things. Gabi is deathly afraid of them. While Guillermo likes to talk about their beauty as a creature of God. At that moment, watching it crawl up my bed and into my mosquito net, I wasn’t so focused on its beauty or godliness. I ran out the front door, and headed strait for Morena’s house. She’s two doors down. Her husband Hugo always breaks my locks for me when I lock my keys inside. I yelled from the front gate, “Morena, there’s a cienpie in my bed! Well you help me kill it?!” And by help I meant, I’ll shine the light. I thought she would send Hugo, but she grabbed a long fat stick, and we walked over to my house. The best light I have these days is from a small bulb in the shortwave radio Frank gave me. I hadn’t let it power up lately, but it has an arm you can wind to give it power. So there I was winding and walking around the bed shinning it around, pulling at things. I took a step back, and there it was, scuttling by my foot towards the bathroom. I screamed. Morena swung around and thumped the big stick down and pressed it hard. It squirmed as the pressure slowly cut it in two. I’m still winding. Then she smashed and thumped some more. Imagine a sort of pestle and mortar technique. Again, another dead thing was escorted out the front door. She grabbed the mop and said it was important to clean up the venom. I wound the radio light on the venom as she swopped it up. She then went over the bed looking for more. Upon which I asked if they came out in groups. She said in twos. Not what I wanted to hear. I kept winding. We didn’t find anything. I thanked Morena profusely when she left, but continued the search, and called Lindsey and Jean to share my frustration of two nights of unwanted visitors coupled by no electricity. They heard me winding in the background.

Another “Stuff I do” list:I sweat- the other day I couldn’t stop until I laid on the cool floor with my shirt up I’m working on an evaluation project of the the first 10 years of IT volunteers I sweep (mostly Ob’s hair and dead spiders) I sing. Lots of Boyz II Men and Patty GriffinI changed the words to “Take Me Home, Country Roads” for the Thanksgiving talent showI watch Ob chase bugs aroundI help enter class grades into the new online nationwide databaseI readI’m working with another community lab t with Gabi and the Mayor hat has grown disfunctionalAbout to finish Season 4 of 30 Rock. I get diarrhea every couple of weeks. I hike beaches (okay maybe it was just one)I’m a telenovela script writer and translator (aimed to promote healthy decision making)I put rollers in my hairI cut down plantains in my front yardI team up with Ob to chase donkeys out the front yard (Ob does a lot of chasing)I’ve started playing dominoes again

I’m reading a book right now called, “Why the Cocks fight: Dominicans, Haitians, and the struggle for Hispaniola.” The writer Michele Wucker did extensive research on this island’s troubled past. From what I’ve read, the people’s self proclaimed identity as survivors is spot on. Especially for the eastern side, the “high place”, Haiti. Celebrating my own country’s independence, I began to read about Haiti’s fight for its freedom. And I wonder, blindly, since I don’t know much about Haitian culture, how its beginnings continue to affect its current culture. The Haitian Revolution really began in the mid 1700s as slaves began to fight back against the atrocities of plantation owners who tortured and killed them. And just to get an idea of numbers, in the late 1780’s merchants were selling 40,000 slaves a year to what was then France’s richest colony, which had a high demand for labor to grow coffee, tobacco, and sugar cane. A group of slaves even attempted to sue a plantation owner for beating women to death.Fast forward to the late 80s and early 90s we find the first slave leaders, Mackandal and Boukman. They where revered by the slaves for their skills in the voodoo religion. Dominicans claim these men made packs with the devil. But listen to Boukman’s words as he slaughters a white man’s pig, “Throw away the symbol of the god of the whites who has so often caused us to weep, and listen to the voice of liberty, which speaks in the hearts of us all”. Sounds legitimate to me. Boukman and his followers then began to set fire to plantations, destroying hundreds of coffee and sugar fields and killing thousands of whites. As the slaves began to organize more, Toussaint, who had been educated and freed by his plantation manager, became the general of the slave army. In 1791, when the new French Assembly declared all men were free and equal, the African slaves were listening. In the chaos that ensued as slaves and mullatos united to overthrow the white plantation owners, Britain saw the opportunity to take control over France’s richest colony. And Spain also set it’s eyes on the western side of the island. In hopes to trick the slaves into a false allegiance, the foreign powers promised abolition to Toussaint. And while he fell for it at first, he was quick to call their bluff. He instead allied with the French when the french commander decreed a partial end to slavery. The French and Haitian slave army quickly expelled the British and Spanish Troops. Governor Toussaint then wrote the nation’s first constitution, outlawing slavery and giving his country the ability to make laws without consulting France. Furious with the loss of the colony to former slave, Napoleon dispatched his most able troops. They were to demand allegiance to France and deport the Haitian leaders or kill them. Toussaint, in an effort to hold on to his infant nation burned down a northern port city and the capital city. As the French arrived to reclaim it’s riches, they found only burnt ruins. They exiled Toussaint who died, weak from starvation, of Tuberculosis. But they fought on for 12 straight years. After the loss of 350,000 lives, the Haitians defeated Napoleon. In 1803 the French conceded. The victors ripped the white stripe from the French flag, creating their flag by joining the red and blue. And they named their country after the Taino word for high place or mountains, Haiti. In 1804, former slaves officially proclaimed Haiti’s independence. It was the first free black republic and only the second independent nation in the Americas.The first order of business was to massacre the white plantation owners. While the people were hesitant, fear of Spanish and French coming to reclaim the former colony pushed them to comply. Colonists were made to sing a Kreyol children’s nursery rhyme to prove if they could correctly pronounce the words or duplicate the African cadences. (Trujillo, a dominican dictator would later use this tactic on Haitians living in DR who could pronounce perejil (parsley)). Unfortunately the new nation suffered greatly. Europe would not trade with Haiti, and to appease the south, neither would the US until the end of the Civil War. The Haitian economy would in fact never fully recovery. It’s people would live in restless poverty and the country ruled by a string of assassinated presidents and corrupt dictators. And I am of the opinion that the country would forever be at the whim of the Dominican demand for cheap labor (which in turn relied of the world’s fluctuating demand for sugar) and foreign aid. In what I hope and feel is ignorance, I wonder what chance Haitians had. Were they prepared to rule a nation? Would their experiences of order of law translate to a nation-state? They won freedom by destroying what sustained them: coffee and sugar plantations and port cities. It makes me wonder if that was the beginning of what I observe as a learned behavior that continues today. It is a deforested country with a government that sold its people’s labor to the dominican government only to pocket that money. And I want so badly to see Haiti as more of a victim, and while it is, I am still troubled by its people’s behavior. In Jimani, while I was certainly more appalled by the Dominican government’s actions, the Haitians were at best greedy at times. And I know it came from fear, but it was still abusive. There was a deep sense of entitlement to the aid they received and a demand for more (not by the children). But that could have everything to do with being on the side of the island that still sees them as less than human. And while I speak out to any discrimination I hear, I fear that by assimilation I have put on a racist lens in seeing Haitians. But the other thing I carry with me is a deep desire for this island to prosper. Both cultures and peoples. And what I am beginning to see more clearly is the US’ role in preventing that. God bless Hispaniola.

I started the summer of right with visits from Natalie, and friend from Tech since freshman year, and Fran and Barbara, who should need no introduction!The following pictures are from our trip to Sosua and Cabarete. Some wonderful New Englanders shared their home with us in Sosua and took us horseback riding. We also took a day beach trip to Cabarete, of course the only pictures from that are the ones of us drinking. There’s also some out-of-this-world, mind-blowingly beautiful pictures of us climing the 27 waterfalls. If Natalie (ehem) ever gets around to sending them, I will post them. Then... Frandana and Barbabra arrive!Below we are leading an environmental talk with our translator and school director, Felipe. Our last night in Imbert, dinner with the family.Below is Mrs. Exley, Frederick, Aracelis, Fran, Me, OB, Franceli, and the one and only Lelo. All in all a great time. More pictures in the Album, “Last and Second Summer”

A year in Imbert and reflecting, I think mostly of the people that have surrounded me. My family: Aracelis, Daniel, Frederick, Francelis, and Gelo. 5 people I’ve shared a meal with almost every day for a year. I think Ara is my number one supporter here. She encourages and helps me with my Spanish, signs her kids up for all of my classes, supports me in my projects, and includes me on all of the family trips. Daniel is a Yankees fan, but almost always knows the Braves’ score so he can keep me updated (not that I want to know lately). He comes and fixes my plumbing when the wind blows it over, paints the ceiling, and helps me weed. He puts up with my relentless teasing of his fear of frogs. He recently claimed his fear started when a frog knocked him over. Ara and I laughed so hard we were doubled over, gasping for air, when I tricked him into thinking there was one on the wall behind him. Frederick has been by my side ever since he walked all over town with me in the hot caribbean sun last summer. Now he’s the most diligent and responsible student on the newly formed yearbook staff. Francelis is always good for the best hugs, a good story about who’s been misbehaving in the neighborhood, and beats me every time we play memory. She has recently taken up politics and will most certainly be presidenta of the Republic. And then there’s Gelo, who saved my life for a week when he fixed up the charger to my laptop after a puppy I took in chewed it to bits. But now I live on my own in a new neighborhood. And not entirely on my own since OB’s here. He greets me every time I come home whether it be from school, the market, the capital, or the states. And I swear he smiles. Then he sits as I always make him and lets out these, “Where have you been? It’s so good to see you!” cries. And I reply with a good pet and tell him I’m glad to see him too. I’ve come to depend on him, that precious dog. And almost every afternoon I go to Gabi’s house. We plan projects, talk about culture, nonsense, dream about resorts, sing Amy Grant, and drink home made juice (if it’s lemon or cherry it’s picked in her yard). She’s my friend, my project partner, and a great neighbor. Beyond my blessed Imbertenos there’s the Peace Corps network. Only with them can I speak Dominican Spanglish, celebrate or lament bowel movements, or call just because there’s nothing to do until the electricity comes back. They are the one’s I call when I miss my family, when my job frustrates me, or when I invite myself over because I need to get out of site... We can only call each other when we buy 2 platanos fiao, get mandared to buy cheese, or shart ( I only did one of these).It has been a year. I can confidently say I’ve worked hard and intend to work harder. I’ve learned a lot about myself, my culture, dominican culture, and development. I see the value in good government, good institutions and also see the challenge in incentivizing it. I understand the need for education, but know the difficulty in measuring its benefits. I have seen and felt God in the smiles of Haitian earthquake refugees. And I know fully the importance of claiming people and expecting their best selves, as God has claimed me. One year left, which is quickly becoming eleven months. Don’t forget to book those flights! Not much longer will you have a cousin/friend/daughter/grandaughter/sister/godmother living on a Caribbean island!

This past week I shared a wonderfully fun cultural exchange with some of my Dominican students and 3 classes from New Jersey. We laughed, asked questions, danced, learned, applauded, while accomplishing Peace Corps goals 2 and 3 of increasing cultural understanding home and abroad.I and the Eatontown Memorial High School of Eatontown, New Jersey signed up to participate in the Paul Coverdell (yeah, Georgia!) World Wise program. Rutgers University teamed up to add a new video chat facet to the program. Both the New Jersey and Dominican students thought of questions they had about each other's lives and drew pictures of what they thought their worlds look like. And so we shared.Here was some of the differences based on the kids responses to their questions. Dominicans New JersiansTransportto school on foot parent’s car/ school busdinner plantains, eggs spaghettischooluniforms yes no favoritemusic Reaggeton, Bachata Hip-Hop, Pop, Rock I have four favorite parts. First when the New Jersey kids asked their favorite kind of music and the Dominican kids responded by dancing bachata. Ok well actually it was one Dominican girl and me because none of the boys would dance. I put on this great bachata by Aventura that starts with a phone call conversation- solid! Then the New Jersey group asked what the Dominican parents do for a living. They each went around. We had a candy maker, a farmer, an accountant, a teacher, an ice cream store owner, and a rum warehouse worker.At one point the New Jersey teacher asked his class if they knew the president of the DR, and they didn’t so my students filled them in. A few of them offering up the answer. Then I asked the group if they knew who the president of the US was and the whole lab shouted in unison, Barrack Obama!And finally, in one class we ended with the New Jersey class coming up with all the dominican baseball players they could think of. You could just see the pride in the dominican student’s smiles, that their people were not just known, but celebrated. Next Monday we will video chat again and talk about Earth Day an taking care of the environment.

It’s certainly about time I updated my people! (New photo albums too!)March was a busy month! Work, play with volunteers, trainee visits...First, Ara and Gabi and I are working with a group of students to put together a high school Newspaper. Which I suggested yesterday we postpone to next year seeing as there is only a month left of school and do a yearbook instead. The most challenging part of this project will be figuring out how to pay to print it. Also, I’ve been doing a lot of work with our local Artisans. Here in Imbert resides the oldest stone carving artisans association in the DR. They had a Peace Corps Volunteer about 2 years ago that set up a website. Pablo, the artisan president called me one day when the site disappeared. It took about two months to untangle the domain registration and hosting site “re-directing” because nobody had the usernames and passwords. Now I’m uploading new pictures and playing around with the site design. It’s such a basic design interface that I can’t really do much to it. As far as classes. I’m still teaching English until the summer. I can’t just end the English classes, and right now Saturdays are my only day I can teach (ie the only day the lab is available for community courses). It’s not so bad. O have time to plan for this summer’s courses. Plus there is a youth group interested in doing some IT classes. I am excited to work with one of our secretaries at the high school to teach the class. She is a college student and has a good basic knowledge of computers. Plus she’s a girl, so therefore she is more responsible. Yes, I’m sexist. (I’ve had too many teenage boys eager to teach and then back out on me.)Other projects... Still working on the IT Youth Group Manual... wrote one on educational software where they learn about IT as a didactic tool in the classroom. Such as rosetta stone in language classes or even simply typing programs in computer class. Then they work with a teacher and help plan a class using the educational software they pick.I guess I need to write more frequently because I’ve already written a good bit, but have tow more stories to share. First:In the last entry about the batteries I left out a really important piece. The minister of education was leaving Imbert. About to go on his way WITHOUT visiting my high school. And as he was getting in his car, one of the town’s beloved motorcycle drivers, Juan Luis, yelled over to him, “Are you not going to go and see the horrible conditions at the high school!?” And with that the minister decided to come visit our school. If he hadn’t of said something, the minister would not have come. After that I suggested we change the name of the school to Liceo Juan Luis. Well, in an unfortunate series of events, Juan Luis died as a truck, swerving to miss a SUV barreled towards his sleeping body at 4 in the morning. He was crushed by the concrete roof that fell on top of him and died on the way to the hospital. I went to his burial where all of the motorcycle drivers did a solute and parked on either side of the road at the entrance to the cemetery and revved the engines for a good 10 minutes. Quite the experience. Second:Mom sent plastic easter eggs and candy. On Sunday I let my host siblings and their cousins pick out eggs. About a few hours later Franceli went with her cousin and aunt to caravan around town. This is a dominican practice where before elections party supporters gather together and drive around town in a caravan with the party’s colors and loud music and such. This particular party is purple and yellow. Well they arrive in our neighborhood, and I spot the car Franceli’s in with her aunt holding one of mom’s purple Easter eggs out the window in support of the Dominican Liberation Party. The Lord is risen indeed!NOTE!!!: If anyone has the People Magazine’s Haiti Earthquake edition I NEED IT!! I know the people in the top left corner. It’s the translator/pastor and his daughter I met in Jimani! You don’t need to send it to me just save it!

Two days ago the Secretary of Education finished installing our batteries. It only took 8 months of faxes, endless calls, personal visits, and e-mails, and one very important visit from the Secretary of Education himself. I’d like to think I had something to do with it, but truth is two very important things happened: the boss man showed up and the batteries arrived in country. And yes I did shake said boss man’s hand, kiss his cheek (awkwardly), and tell him our need for batteries. And I also called the guy he directed me to as they were pulling away (his mistake for giving me his business card). No matter what, not matter how, we got ‘em. They’re locked up outside our lab, powering our computers. And now it’s time to get to work, train teachers, get computer classes actually in the lab, work with youth groups, and start up community courses again. Yesterday I gave a presentation to the shiny pale faces of the new group o IT Trainees. They were typically eager and information hungry. One of them, Emma, will be coming to visit me today. They haven’t received their cell phones yet, so she either has to find her way to me or I’ll have to go down and wait for her at the gas station for a few hours, Don’t worry, she has a map that I made for Peace Corps of how to get to my house. Just to catch y’all up, I am currently doing English classes on Saturdays which is more enjoyable than I thought it would be. I’m also working with the local artisans on their website. I’ll be sure to post it when we untangle all of the hosting and domain renewal issues. We are working on a youth manual for a new national initiative that will be a service learning- IT youth group. For example the youth learn powerpoint and then do an educational presentation in the community. We are also working on a telenovela to accompany the sex-ed youth group, another national initiative.

My first night in Jimani, a woman died. I kept thinking, there’s a dead woman in OR #3. I knew this because for a week I was in charge of patient data. Everyday I would update a patient census based on the head MD’s notes. Things like who’s spiking a fever, what medication they’re on, the next dressing change, debridements, and potential discharge dates. My second night I formatted and printed the program for the funeral at the request of one of the translators who also served as the “unofficial” pastor. There were 7 other translators, all Haitian, who mostly translated to English, but a few to Spanish. When I arrived, there where 50 patients. A number that had decreased considerably from when there were hundreds of patients and hundreds of surgeries performed daily. And while I wish I could say patients left on their own accord, in good health, ready to live on their own, I cannot. The Dominican government decided they no longer wanted Haitian patients in the country and requested they all be sent back to Haiti. So everyday a government official came to make sure the patient population was diminishing, checking them off as they boarded the bus or ambulance. There were four patients remaining the day I completed my week. I also wish I could say the patients were headed to a hospital equally equipped in personnel and resources to continue providing care, but again, I cannot. They were essentially sent to a shelter.But let me not get caught up in jurisdiction and resource allocation. Because, surprise, surprise, I met some beautiful individuals with big hearts, strong spirits, and the most beautiful smiles you’ll ever see. Patients were mostly housed in large tents, but the children were in an outdoor chapel with two walls and a ceiling built of cinder block. The children were between the ages of 10 and 18 and all accompanied by a family member.I’ll never forget, sitting on one of those cots, looking across the room at cots for pews, an alter as a nursing station. I was at the nightly church service run by the aforementioned translator who’s daughter was also a patient. In that moment, it was clear how spiritual and faithfully driven their recovery was. They sang in their beds, prayed in their beds, took medication in their beds, had wounds redressed in their beds. They weren’t refugees in therapy, but a church in healing. And while I generally only understood a few phrases: “Thank you, Lord” and “Hallelujah”, I was a member. I blessed and was blessed. I sang and hugged and cried with them, for them. They shared their heartbreaking stories, their fear or returning, and an astounding faith.I encourage you all to continue giving what you can. Anyone, especially with medical training and not afraid to rough the elements, is still needed, but now only on the Haitian side. The nurses I worked with were incredible. In a situation that could potentially be completely demoralizing, the never stopped giving the best care they possibly could. Let me know if you need help getting connected. I also charge you all to think about how the American government would react if we were in the same situation, caring for Mexican patients in our border towns. And let us forever carry them in our hearts. Jean’s post: http://highlowin-between.blogspot.com/

Tomorrow morning I will leave on a five and half hour bus ride to Jimani. I will get out in a town that has been the base camp of Dominican aid and relief, the refugee camp across the border.Peace Corps Volunteers have been serving as the administrative arm of one of many refugee camps. Our Safety and Security Officer sends five volunteers at a time to translate, provide food, coordinate drivers, serve as IT consultants, etc. While I am excited for this opportunity, I was just starting to gain speed again in town. English classes (just until I get batteries), a video of the condition of our school to send to the Secretary of Education, helping a youth group integrate IT, picking up the Literary Magazine project, and starting a NGO with my project partner. It’s possible that the secretary of education himself may be stopping by. But we know how good the SEE is at empty promises. But for now it’s Jimani. I spoke today with a volunteer who served a few weeks ago and she said “get ready to be moved.” And another volunteer said today it was a “shit show.” I expect to understand both statements by the end of my week,

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the culture of development here, and how frustrating it can be. A lot of these things I honestly haven’t shared simply because I wanted to protect my community. I want y’all to see them as hardworking individuals who care about improving their community. And while I would describe them as such, I want to explain the reality of my work. The reality as opposed to the beautifully elusive quest we’re on. There are a multitude of needs in my community that I am aware of everyday. Running water, electricity without outages, birth certificates for Haitians, more paved roads, well equipped schools, access to healthcare, etc. These things are most certainly valued and wanted by the thousands that live here. More specifically, at the top of my school’s needs is a building that was torn down this past fall that had 5 desperately needed classrooms. Gaby went to the PTA last week for their help and cooperation. You would think their children’s education would be a top priority, and if you ask them they say that it is. But what was their response? They told her because of what is going on in Haiti, they didn’t think it appropriate to do anything about it. They are currently doing nothing for Haiti, and worse, nothing for their own children’s education. Lets talk about the aqueduct, for another example. It’s not that Imbert doesn’t know what it’s like to have running water. They did have it. In the early 90s water ran through pipes and out of faucets. But reparations that were never finished due to a change in political parties has left this town relying on water trucks delivering water. They see the problem. The see the value of fixing it, but they don’t. If by chance the town gets a fire lit under them, they strike. From my experience the strikes accomplish nothing. I want you to imagine government as a selfish father figure who feeds and clothes himself before his children, but loves to sit his children upon his lap and give them a lollipop. The childlike dominicans out of blind loyalty, patriotism, complacency, and love for lollipops accept the status quo. And by the way, these father figures only hand out said lollipops before elections. The people that want a better life go to the US. The handful of people that want to do community work don’t have the resources.With that said...It makes me question my work. Do these people really want batteries for their lab? Will they value them? If it was a priority for them would they already have them? Am I working towards somethings sustainable amidst this culture of development? I have two responses that keep me going:First, if developing countries knew what they needed, had the resources and will to make it happen, they would be developed. But there exists an overwhelming amount of obstacles, mostly as pervasive as the cultural complacency (in developed and developing countries) I described. So while my town, my project partners, teachers, and students love the idea of “bridging the digital divide,” they don’t really understand what that means, and they certainly aren’t going to put it on the top of their list (nor should they). But I am educated with theory as well as perspective that tells me this is worth making happen. I know that an important factor in development is human capital. The DR needs a skilled labor population. I know that access to information lowers the cost of things like health care and doing businesses. Those are my incentives that build my priorities. And I have the luxury of making this priority my top priority. The goal is that once they are trained, especially the teachers, they will then understand the value of IT in education and it will be a part of their routine. Second, it is absolutely possible that in 5 years the batteries are again damaged and my school is again at square one. And if it happens, all there will be to show for this work is the training given to students, teachers, and the community during that time period. But that’s enough for me.

I had a beautiful experience on Friday. I went to visit a friend who lives in a border town. She has connected with a catholic school for haitian children, and for the second time went to give the school a talk on personal hygiene, and I went with her. The town is poorer than your typical dominican town. Houses are made of wood, and the terrain is certainly not ideal, as it is hilly and the roads are dusty and jagged.So we walked up carrying 30 little pieces of soap, 30 toothbrushes, about 20 little tubes of toothpaste, some glitter, and a translator named Maximo. We were told we would give a general talk to about 30 students and then a more intimate talk to adolescent girls. We walked into a building full of school children. There were about 100. We quickly decided the soap, brushes, and toothpaste would be used to reward participants. Maximo is from Port-au-Prince but has not lived there for years. He speaks creole of course as well as english, french, and some arabic and spanish. We actually spoke to him in English. The chosen topics were washing hands, teeth, bathing, how to care for the environment, and being proud of your community. We had them count to 20 for how long to wash your hands and 120 for brushing your teeth. I bet you’re wondering about the glitter I mentioned earlier. We used it to demonstrate how germs pass. So kids would start with one color glitter on their right hand, go around and shake hands, and then end up with all three. I learned this activity from Fran’s aunt while at Clemson’s graduation. They loved it. It was astounding the difference of the behavior of the haitian kids in comparison to dominicans. Dominicans are generally hard to control and mildly interested. But the Haitians were respectful and very participative. After the talk we took a tour of a small hospital built by World Vision. It had one doctor, 2 nurses, and lab technician, upwards of 50 in the waiting room, 4 people in beds, and one woman giving birth. They asked us for medicine and ID cards for the doctor’s and nurses to wear. We then returned to the school, but not to the expected adolescent girls, but to about 20 women of the community and a few men. Our plan had been to do some self-esteem exercises that involved writing, but this was scraped as Maximo informed us they probably couldn’t write. So we asked them to think about and share their priorities and explained some important methods in food preparation, ways to make water safe for drinking, and more personal hygiene. Don’t think we didn’t put glitter on all of their hands too. They loved it. They didn’t actually get up and shake each other’s hands, but once I had walked around, greeting them with my best, “Bonjour”, they saw my hand covered in blue, green, and red they oooed and awed. Brittany and I then had the idea of taking interest for a woman’s club as some participants demonstrated great leadership skills during the talk. Almost everyone signed the paper to be a part of it. I’m trying to think how I can support them from Imbert. On my way back to Imbert, Brittany and I stopped at another volunteer’s site. Roberto is nearby and had just spent a week in Jimani. Although seemingly reluctant, he shared some of his experiences with us. I can’t get them out of my mind. His first night there he spent in the ICU. ICU is no easy place in a regular hospital, so imagine how emotionally exhausting this was. His first story was of a young guy about his age who was paralyzed from the waste down. Roberto remarked how high spirited he was, and how much that impressed him. Another younger guy he spent time with is now a quadriplegic. He helped him eat and talked with him. The clinic was also full of newly orphaned or displaced children. Beyond these stories he said there were things he never thought he would witness in his life. I wasn’t even there, and I find myself carrying these stories around. I tell anyone who will listen. I also find myself singing, humming, praying “Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world, have mercy on us... Grant us your peace.”

So what I originally sat down to write was effectively a detailed timeline. Meeting was called on this day, then second planning meeting, blah, blah. But then I realized I could do a much better job if I introduced you to some people and organizations. As I walked up to the park Sunday morning to begin a long day of telemarathoning, I first met up with Andrea, a nearby environment volunteer I drafted to do inventory on my laptop as donations came in. (just one small way to integrate IT into life here). In the park was a youth group (white shirts) and the Civil Defense (orange shirts). Their jobs were to go in groups out into neighborhoods to collect donations and then bring it back to the park. People could also come individually and bring their donations. As they came, they had the option to be interviewed on television by our hosts. Below is one of my favorite interviews, mostly because this dona from one of our nearby rural communities showed up in her rollers.The man in the blue shirt and the man in the red hat are the current hosts. There were at least 15 other people who took up the mic. Imbertenos came consistently from around 10:00 AM to 6:00 PM. Occasionally the Civil Defense would drive up with a truck load full of donations and plastic bags full of money. Let me tell you about two of my favorite donors. We ended the day with 2,915 bottles of water and 61 large packs of little bags of water. This one little boy in particular looked like he might topple over with his large pack of water.Later on, one of Imberts most well known and well loved citizens, Masaki, came by. He works washing windshields at the gas station in town and has down syndrome. He donated 17 pesos of his hard earned money and walked away to the park chanting his name.I was lucky enough to have a front row seat to everything, sitting at the collection table counting money with Gabi. Imbert raised 67,815 pesos which is around 1,937 dollars.Here are some more numbers of what was raised: 1,405 cans of sardines, 314 packs of powdered milk, 20 20lbs bags of rice, 87 cans of beans, 72 cans of corn, 189 rolls of toilet paper, 160 packs of gauze, and 71 packs of rehydration salts. That’s just to name a few. The committee decided to use the money to buy more food: sardines, tuna, sausages, beans, and powdered milk to be exact. Below is a picture of Gabi in the grocery store in Puerto Plata with the boxes behind her. The grocery store had marked down almost everything that was on lists of requested donations. Three in the morning on Tuesday, Andrea and I set off with the mayor, 2 more local politicians, a retired teacher who is also the director of cultural affairs in Imbert, and the producer/host of Imbert’s most popular nightly television program. In 7 hours we were in Jimani, the base camp for aid in the Dominican Republic. Any donations going to Port-A-Prince go through Jimani. The local clinic is also hosting a large amount of Haitian patients. 300 was the number I heard. It was a buzz of international organizations, governments, and volunteers. To name a few I saw representatives from USAID, Firemen and women from Spain, UN, EU, Red Cross, Compassionate International, World Vision, as well as local and international press. Helicopters were constantly landing and taking off. There were trucks loaded full of donations, and a street full of the dominican government mobil kitchens. All of these pictures are in an album.We drove up to what must be a dominican military post of sorts who directed us to a nearby building to unload the truck. The building was actually a small music school that had been converted to a storage space. Filled with small rooms, it was not the most conducive space, but you work with what you got. There, a group of Civil Defense threw (yes, threw) our donations off the truck into the rooms. They were very grateful that I had brought a list of everything. They had me copy it over onto white sheets of paper with some sort of government header on the top. It was a messy operation, but there was some method involved. Somehow they had also recruited a Russian and another gringo looking young adult to help unload. Our mayor got involved and looked like he was having the time of his life tossing donations. We drove over to the immigration area and past a Haitian market. Then we headed out, back to Imbert, arrived around 8:30 at night. The unsettling part about it all is the disconnectedness. I don’t know how else to describe it. I’ve never been a part of a service project where I felt so disconnected from the need, the purpose. Part of it has to do with the ever present discrimination. They give and at the same time speak of the reasons why they don’t deserve it, saying they will just sell it for 15 dollars. We are neither devils nor divines. I know and we all know that service, in the end, is just as much for the giver as it is for the receiver. An unexpected externality that transforms us, redeems us. We become more fully connected, and feel in communion. We see that as the other benefits, I do to. And while Imbert gave with open hearts, those hearts were ultimately left unchanged, unempowered. and I am sad for that missed opportunity. All a lot of us can do is write a check, donate online, or e-mail a senator. We are limitedly connected. But I challenge us to find ways to internalize more greatly what we are a part of, what we give ourselves to.

It’s strange to be on one side of an island experiencing so much loss and devastation, and be so disconnected. Which I think is a reflection of the dominican experience. People know what happened. We felt it. I actually first thought it was OB shaking the bed, but it was so sustained that when I looked away from my work, I realized it was the earth and not the dog. Like most dominicans, I don’t have television (this island is not flat), so today, for the first time, I watched the news at my host family’s house before lunch. And today, for the first time, I was able to get on the internet, and see the most expressibly human and tragic, as well as read a timeline of what has happened. It’s just a profoundly different experience from when I was glued to CNN, blogs, local news sites, and facebook updates, during Hurricane Katrina. But again, y’all know what that’s like, so let me tell you how my pueblo is responding. First, let me remind you of the blatant racism towards Haitians. Sitting at the lunch table yesterday, my host brother begins to explain why the earthquake happened. He says, “Because the Haitians are bad people. They don’t have religion. For this reason, it happened to them.” I told him what you are saying, what you just said, that is called ignorance, speaking what is not based on truth. I know there are people the world over who claim the wrath of God after natural disaster, but I won’t let my host brother, someone intelligent, someone I care about, speak so maliciously. Other statements I hear often are that the quake destroyed so much due to deforestation and that Haitians don’t know how to build well, which all may be true, but it is said with a pointed finger, again trying to place blame.As for the Peace Corps response, it is of now a grassroots, volunteer led effort in the form of a food and water drive. My small apartment is currently a collection center for the north of the country. Our volunteers on the border are organizing this and will use their connections across the border to get what we have to who needs it. Many of us have expressed to our Country Director a desire to more actively and directly channel our servant energy.As for Imbert, we too are mobilizing. I just attended a meeting where we decided to do a marathon on the local cable station on Sunday. The owner of the cable and the regularly scheduled programs have agreed to the activity. Along with a handful of people, Gabi and I were named to the commission to organize. She and I and the mayor will go tonight to promote the activity on a late night show, and the group meets tomorrow at 5 for further planning. In the planning session one man spoke of the Marshall Plan, that this was the time to do a plan like that for Haiti. He said this with great conviction that something had been revealed and that there is now an opportunity. Echoes ominously of what was said of New Orleans and poverty in America. As for me, I’m frustrated. To be so close and not be communicating and planning how we can go and serve, is to say the least, discomforting. One thing I have committed to doing is when people say “poor Haiti,” I encourage them to say “poor us”. This is now our disaster, our fight.Another PCV reaction: http://dominicanmully.wordpress.com/2010/01/14/haiti-10-mo-10-days/

Some of my welcome backs:first and second and third night without electricity (that’s every night so far)hugscold, i repeat, cold showersmy sweet baby dog, OB, got me all dirty when I arrived. We’ve gone for walks and played with his new toys. He loves his meat flavored vitamin chews from Carol.Rice (didn’t have a single grain while I was in the US- my host dad said he would have died)It’s chilly here! I promise. Glad I brought down some pajama pants. No more sleeping half nakedA motorcycle driver told me today he was going to buy a helmet just for me because he “wanted me always by his side with my beautiful smile, and well beautiful everything”.starsI really knew I was back when I smashed a spider on my face. I wish those of you who sent presents down with me- Fran, Mom, and Nana- could have been there to see them opened. Billy and Elimel ate every single one of their lifesavers in maybe 30 minutes. Ara absolutely adores the necklace Nana sent her. My favorite though was Lelo (of course). I gave him his 100 piece puzzle from mom. We told him what it was and he immediately left. He came back about 2 minutes later and declared, “Mira lo que me salio! Una rompacabeza!” = “Look what I got! A puzzle!” Then I just hated I left my camera at home because Lelo, Frederick, Ara, and I huddled over the present on the floor and put it together. Lelo mostly talked and supervised, but he put the last piece in. I have to admit it was strange coming back. I was asking myself, what life have i walked back into? My project partner told me she basically wants to open an orphanage, start a music school, and a foundation (she told me she wants to name it after my dad, which is sweet but weird). So she has these big visions that do excite me, but I’ve still got to finish my basic course and do a graduation for the three courses. After completing our quarterly volunteer report form describing the past few months I feel a bit more planted, which is a good feeling.The electricity just came and went within a 30 second interval. And I got all excited that I could take a shower with a light. I should know better than to get too excited. Well, love to all. P.S.- I wrote this last night and am just now getting the chance to post it... update: it’s hot here.

So here’s my final entry before entry into the blessed US of A. I’ve been trying to do some reflection on these past 4 months in which I started work on our first annual plan. So the plan was to do 3 classes, a literary magazine, train IT workers, and get batteries. Then it turned into just 4 classes. This quickly became 3 classes due to lack of interest in one class. I’ve worked with three different IT workers. I feel that overall the three classes went moderately well. Let’s say it was a dress rehearsal, and then let’s say the actors aren’t ready.I think I realized that part of my job here is to be frustrated and keep shaping my work until it fits the community. I’ll probably be doing this all 2 years. The idea is that when I leave they have a model that is frustration free that they can keep up. On top of all this there is of course the elusive batteries. I went to the Secretary of Education with another volunteer the day after Thanksgiving. Just showed up at my two favorite Engineers’ desks. (engineer is their work title). We chatted and they told me I was “tough”. I replied saying that they would be too if they had 600 high school students and 3 computer classes that couldn’t use their computer lab. They promised (as they love to do) that they would bring the batteries before Christmas break. They have 1 week.In addition we’ve been doing some behind the scenes work on the ICT sector. Talking about how our goals could be better. This has led us to start moving towards a national youth initiative. This would allow any volunteer with access to IT resources to start an IT youth group. The idea is that the groups will learn some skills and in the end choose a project for their community. This project could be a newspaper or magazine or maybe a website for the high school or community.All in all I have learned a lot about how to work with my team of people and how dominican students learn best. There are a lot of changes I need to make personally. I’m glad I’ll have a chance to go home and come back refreshed ready to change and implement change.Oh man, my electricity in the lab just went in and out.... my students were in the middle of their final exam. Because I use a program that doesn’t save changes to the C drive unless you tell it to when you turn off the computer in the administrator account, On 2 computers I’m having to re-install the new version of Dreamweaver I just installed this morning. And some of them lost all their work. (even though I told them to work in the D drive).... not doing any more classes until the energy situation is under control.

Sorry I’m loading two blogs on to y’all, but read, enjoy...The week after Fran left, last week, was the our IT Youth Conference. It’s called “Encargados del Futuro”. Encargado is the word for someone in charge and more specifically the title given to a manager of a computer lab, Futuro is as you could have guess, Future. It was an exhausting blast, completely volunteer run (headed by me and two other volunteers). There were 46 youth from all over the country mostly 15 or 16 years old. We did talks on Linux, Robotics, Blogging, Leadership, Professional Development, and more. My jovenes ( the 3 boys I took) won a move making competition where they had to make a 3 minute movie with the theme of “A Day in the Life of...” And just to brag... I got a lot of complements on those boys. One of the volunteers who has a lot of experience putting on conferences commented that at the end of a conference everyone’s typically glad they attended, but tired and ready to go home - NOT these youth. We put on a small awards ceremony at the end and the youth took the stage and started giving out awards to the volunteers. It was a fulfilling experience to share such a successful event, but more importantly give these youth an opportunity to leave there communities, learn, and be told: now go and do great things. Oh and you should have heard the cheers when they found out they were getting 2 GB Memory Sticks. They started chanting the Volunteer’s name who announced it! Many volunteers asked if I would take the lead next year.... with great pleasure. On another note, I have a battery update, which continues to be a cluster show (a word Lindsey and I made up- combination of cluster fuck and shit show). I was told today that the Secretary of Education requested 4,000 batteries and in fact received those 4,000 batteries but of the wrong brand. So there’s an issue with what’s in the books and what’s in the warehouse - i.e. there must be a price difference. The is when I would like good old corruption to step in a fudge the numbers in the books, send me my damn batteries. So they’re trying to resolve this issue within the week. Meanwhile, we are fixing our generator which seems to break every week. I’m looking into grants to potentially buy the batteries and inverter and forget the Secretary of Education. One grant allows me to raise money in the US, so stand fast. I’ll need $1,777 for 16 batteries and need to look into the cost of an inverter. Coming into the 4 week stretch until Uncle Julio’s, Chai Tea Lattes, and seeing all those people I love and miss.Happy Thanksgiving and To Hell with georgia! Oh and there’s new photos up.

Fran came. She was here for a week. I went and got her in the capital, and a rush of emotion came over when I saw her and we hugged. It left as quickly as it came - replaced with contentedness and bliss. She was immediately introduced to dominican heat and public transportation. Ripped that jacket right off. We did the typical Capital diligences - Music Festival in the Colonial Zone and lunch the next day at the embassy. Then we made our way up north, to Imbert. There we did the obligatory introductions to Host Family, Project Partner, OB, high school, and other community members.One day we took a the bus up to Puerto Plata and saw the fortaleza, had a Coca-Cola Light, talked baseball with an off duty taxi driver, and went grocery shopping. Back in Imbert, we saw the artisans and Fran bought a sweet pair of earrings at Peace Corps Volunteer price (there was a business volunteer there a few years ago). Which reminds me, while we were in the capital our Country Director introduced himself to her and asked if she wanted to join the PC. She graciously declined. At the end of the week another volunteer, Jean, brought her parents up so we could all go the charcos. We went again to the artisans and had pizza (Tonni’s (two n’s)( I’ll take you there when you come)). That night was... special. We had to take the bed to a neighbors to blow it up since the electricity wouldn’t come. Then there was some pretty intense snoring. Jean slept in the kitchen to avoid it and woke up with some intense bug bites. Then fran vomited after breakfast. So we’re all a mess, tired, bug-bitten, vomiting, upset that we won’t be going to the charcos.To make a long story short and a whole lot better we did make it to the charcos and had an AMAZING time - laughing climbing, jumping waterfalls. I regret I didn’t do more with Fran - take her to some other beautiful sites, but it was wonderful to have her here. She weathered the heat, flushed the toilet, ate a lot of rice, occasionally did my dishes, put up with disease carrying mosquitos, kneeled on the bathroom floor over the shower just to wash her face ( a daily routine), and most importantly she shared with me. Shared my life here and all that I’ve been missing back home. And, Fran, if you come back, I promise to take you to the other side ;).

First of all, let me say. GO JACKETS! The only game I’ve gotten to watch was the Miami game, and we all know how that went, so maybe I’ll refrain from watching. I make no promises. One more week of October. Unfortunately there’s no weather to prove it. Thankfully the alternate light and dark that is day and night convinces me that time has passed. That I’m not in some continuos perpetual state of hot dominicaness. That December will come and sooner rather than later. Maybe I should have just said- I’m looking forward to seeing you all in December. Anyways, moving on, I finally have a week of classes under my belt. And by week I really mean day. I teach three classes all on Saturday. The Dreamweaver or How to make a Website class is 9-12. Then I have two basic computer classes from 2-4 and then 4-6. While I find lesson planning a grueling task of mind eating boredom (sorry, I’m in a strange mood), I do enjoy class time. This afternoon I went to make a cake plan. Thursday is my host mom, Ara, birthday. Ara also teaches in the afternoon and has a class full of absolutely wild kids, and while “wild kid” generally connotes some notion of cuteness or entertainment, these kids can be just horrid. So to give her a break I agreed to take the kids to the lab. I said, sure, I’ll teach them something. Of course there is actually a paid person who is in charge of the lab, but God forbid he ever teach the students. He in fact did just sit there in front of a computer and only helped when I was pulling two kids apart who were hitting and kicking each other practically on top of him. In my bitterness for his lack of usefulness, I didn’t thank him. So I introduced them to the mouse and had them practice writing their names in this cool program called Tux Paint that’s like Paint on steroids. One kid didn’t know how to spell his name, so we wrote it down for him and I spelled it out to him. He is 12 years old. Most of the kids (and dominicans in general) call me Samantha. Which I enjoy, as it reminds me of the Worthingtons, (Mr. Worthington and his dad always called me Samantha). So I ran from computer to computer making sure sharing was going on, showing how to hold a mouse and point, click, drag, and closing out windows. One boy had somehow started to compress files. Then at the end a kid went around turning off the computers. Unsolicited. Sweet you might think, but he was using the power button. Which is certainly not preferable. Another girl was very upset when he turned hers off, as she had wanted to do this herself. This is when they start kicking and hitting each other. I was more upset at how they were turning the computers off then the fact that they were fighting. My focus was, pull them a part and tell them never to do it again. It being turn the computer off. Now I’m realizing this was probably the wrong focus to have. Anyways, I survived and left huyendo = fleeing. It certainly wasn’t boring. Better than lesson planning.

There is certainly a noticeable difference BM (before Mom) and AM (after mom)The house seemed a bit empty. Which it literally is with one less queen size blow up bed on the floor. I drink cold water now. This pleases all the dominicans immensely. My host brother and father just came over (I’ll finish that story below) and promised to come over tomorrow to drink agua fria = cold water. I see better in the dark. Mom left behind an LED flashlight. I also have the one Carol sent me down with, but this one’s a bit more pocket size. I do have to say I think my nocturnal vision had really improved. I have places to put things. There are organization solutions galore: in the bathroom, the kitchen, and my room (that pretty much covers the whole house). Me and all the little girls in the neighborhood have been llevando yerba = weeding away with the gardening gloves. Despite comments on what should be a man’s job, we will not be dissuaded. On that note I also discovered my first lentils ready to de-pod and cook. I’ll be accepting lentil recipes. Another reason I enjoyed having mom here is seeing her experience this life for this first time and remembering that I was like that at one time too. For example, mom hollered at the cold water all through her showers. I remember holding my breath when I lived in the capital so I wouldn’t scream and wake up my host siblings sleeping in the room over. Now I can’t wait to get in a nice cold shower and clean the sweat and dirt off. I’m even annoyed when the water’s a bit warm from the sun heating it (as you’ll remember from mom’s last post, I bathe with the water that sits in the big fiber glass tank on the the roof).It was great having her down, and even a week later people are asking where she is or if she made it home safe and telling me how young she looked. Quick story: I had just gotten home about an hour ago at 8:30 and tore off my clothes to get in the shower... I was hot and smelly... and the phone rings, so I answer it. It’s my friend Lindsey, and I continue to talk to her with my flip flops and underwear on. I even decide I’ll stand in the doorway to feel the breeze since there’s no electricity and no one can see me. Then I see the light of a motorcycle coming. So I get behind the door. It passes and then comes back. I’m thinking, who is this! Then I hear the voices of my host brother and dad. Lindsey meanwhile is getting the whole play by play and cracking up. I race across the doorway to grab a towel, yelling “Voy! = I’m coming!” I get out the door in the towel just as they walk up. They’ve brought me some nuts and fried yuca balls that Daniel had made. I explain a few times that I was just about to get in the shower. They said they’d be back tomorrow to drink some cold water with me in the afternoon. We wished each other a good night. I called Lindsey to report back on who it was and finally got in the shower. I have clothes on now.

It takes water from three sources to live in most of the homes here.There is a tinanco on top of the house - a large bin that a truck fills with water. Being on the roof gives it pressure coming down - no pumps, no regular electricity. This water comes out one spout in Amanda’s house - the shower - and that’s via faucet mounted at shower head height. That water is good for bathing and cooking, but not drinking. Showering is a chilly experience even in the heat. You turn the water on and get a little wet or get your washcloth lathered up and then turn it off while you clean, then turn it on to rinse. This won’t be new to many of you seasoned campers or mission trip folks.There’s a well in the front yard. amanda takes a large bucket out to retrieve the water a couple of times a day and we use that to flush with. There is a toilet (no paper products please) and we pour a good amount of water into the toilet to “move things along”. I don’t exactly know where they go, but they go away. That water cannot be used for bathing or drinking. Yes, technically you could use the tinaco water for flushing but that would be expensive and require it to be refilled often - not much happens on a schedule here.There’s water that we buy in a large bottle (or small) that is okay for drinking and cooking if it’s not boiled. Amanda puts a tomato or lettuce in tinanco water with a small amount of bleach and then she washes it in drinking water to get the bleach out.So you just have to get the right water for the task - assuming that water is available.As Amanda is posting this, we’re in the capital. Santa Domingo, overnight and in a hotel with a what looks like a real shower and a toilet that flushes. Yeah for flushing!!!!!!