For the Women of St. Vincent & Any Volunteer Who Has Served or Will Serve in the Future

Having lived in St. Vincent and the Grenadines for almost two years, I grew to know (and love) the culture. For the most part, the people are loving and giving. They are honest. They are hardworking.

But there is a large part of the culture that is obsessed with sex. From the music to the cat calls, everything is infused with sex. Children are exposed to sex at an early age & that level of exposure doesn't ever seem to stop.

In 2007, the United Nations reported that St. Vincent and the Grenadines had the third highest reported cases of rape in the world. This statistic does not surprise me. The UNHCR reported that a citizen in St. Vincent was 98% more likely to be sexually assaulted than a citizen in America. Again, no shock to me.

So what do we do? (hint: the answer is not blame the behavior of the victim).

I am challenging us as Peace Corps volunteers and staff to start looking at sexual assault against volunteers in a different light. Women and men who have been assaulted or raped in the past, you did nothing wrong. Let me say that again, you did nothing wrong. Preventing rape and sexual assault against predators is nearly impossible. I will say that again too: it is nearly impossible.

Volunteers have been raped while in their homes. They have been sexually assaulted while riding vans. They have been raped at parties, while coming home from clubs. They have been raped by friends and boyfriends. They have been sexually assaulted by strangers.

I challenge us as Peace Corps volunteers and staff to find the constant in these incidences. Because it is not drinking. It is not being out late. It is not the level of our integration or our own personal behaviors. And attempting to blame the situation on any of these reasons is ignorant and purposefully damaging to the victim and the country in which we reside.

Our job as Peace Corps volunteers is to make a difference in our host country and within ourselves during our two year stint. And I can guarantee we are further handicapping our host country and ourselves by blaming the victim.

Now, we must all fear evil men. But there is another kind of evil which we must fear most, and that is the indifference of good men. --Boondock Saints

A while back I wrote about firsts. My first time with real money trouble, my first time being the ethnic part of a photo. Those were all over a year ago and I felt I needed to update my firsts a little bit. So here ya go:

My first non-American boyfriend. When I first came to the Caribbean, I was headstrong in my belief that I would remain single for the duration of my service. But when you are living in a country for as long as I have and in the way that I have, cultural and even personal barriers are tested and eventually eliminated. You see people completely different than you did before; you see yourself completely different than you did before. He and I have been together for over a year and a half now and I can honestly say it's the most healthy and positive relationship I have ever had. There ya go, another first.

My first granola fishing experience. Nothing I do here is high class, so when I say fishing don't think of a large fishing boat equipped with sturdy poles and an abundance of fish. It's just me, a long fishing wire and some sea roaches standing alongside the Atlantic. I have yet to catch any fish.

My first time actually preparing food. Again, remember I'm not high class. My fish come well equipped with bones and guts and my chicken still have feathers on them. I have learned how to clean jack fish, red snapper and barracuda. And I can say without any hesitation that I am a fabulous chicken cleaner. Other preparations that I have mastered are baking break, making homemade pizza and cooking ital (a local Rastafarian dish).

The first time people have ever called me Neely Ann (excluding my mother when she's really mad). While growing up people called me Neely or Neels, but never Neely Ann. But when I came here, for some reason the name Neely Ann just caught on. And I have grown so accustomed to it that I have even changed my name on Facebook. Ha. However, Vincentians put a little flavor to it that no American ever could--it's Neely 'Onn'.

The first time in my life I have been perfectly content with myself.

The first time in my life I have gotten tested for AIDS and been nervous. In America I knew that AIDS existed, I knew that it was a problem, but it was never affecting me. In America, it seemed so distant. But when I came here I felt like it was living right next door. I live and work amongst HIV/AIDS daily. I watch people live and die from it. The percentage of Vincentians living with HIV/AIDS is not much different than than of Americans, but it seems so much more real.

Which is a fallacy we live with in America. Because we don't see it every day, we think it cannot affect us. But we are wrong. We think we just have to be scared when we come to a third world country, but we are wrong. We have to be scared when we're in America. If you have had sex with one person, protected or unprotected, you need to get tested. You are at just a big of a risk as the people I live amongst every day. The difference between you & a Vincentian is that you just don't believe it.

With that being said, get tested people. And when you do, put your 'HIV Negative' results on the refrigerator right next to your students' artwork.

"Having resiliency in life is really having the courage to be. To be the imperfect, always curious, decision making, beautiful human being that all of us are. To stand within our own power to make a difference in this wild world of ours. True resiliency requires us to own our reality, forgive ourselves and move gently forward with compassion for self and others."--Sarah Smithers Smith

A month I wrote a very positive blog post. It was full of high hopes and motivation. It was just a month ago. Now, as I reread the post, I can't help but laugh. I am in a completely different mindset today. Things that I thought were going to work out, haven't. Money that I thought was there, isn't. And support that I once had is gone.

I feel my projects have been abandoned not only by the community, but by Peace Corps as well.

But I think this is a good thing. Plunging forward into things that I consider important only supports my forever growing ego. Instead, I think this is God's, Allah's, Jah's, the Universe's or whatever you want to call it's way of telling me to slow down, look around. Realize that this isn't about me. What works out, will work out. The rest I have no control over.

So here's to drinking a cold beer, enjoying my house on the Atlantic and letting the exterior worries go. Cheers.

Sure, you can come live with me. But I think that where ever you go, you will always miss your mom.--Mitzie Lindsey

I have not written in a long time for many reasons. But mostly because I have been stuck in limbo, not moving forward or backward, but finding myself simultaneously looking both directions wondering what my next move will be.

Home helped to clarify my future a little more. While I was in the States I realized what had been missing from the past year and a half in St. Vincent: my family. One night, in a hotel room in Jackson, Mississippi, my mom, sister and I sat up talking until three o'clock in the morning. I had never felt closer to anyone in my life. And I realized that I didn't want to give that up anymore. Two and a half years was enough time. But when that's finished, I need to come home.

Deciding to complete my service and return home completely changed the way I was viewing my current service in-country. It re focused my goals, which in turn really motivated me. There are several projects that I am really excited about for the upcoming months.

Thankfully, we have solidified enough local sponsors to keep the volleyball program running long after I am gone. So I have been able to create and assist in other programs though out the island.

My neighbor, KC, has been asking me for months to start a beach clean up on the Georgetown beach. But instead of just doing one beach for one month, we decided to do beaches all along the coast. And instead of making it a small project, we decided to make it big. We want dumpsters, trash cans. We want volunteers from all around the island. We want laws against littering on the beaches. We want signs. We, like Barack, want change.

Another project that I am excited about is one that my fellow volunteer, Kellan, initially came up with: the creation of an SVG Peace Corps website. St. Vincent is on the cusp of a technological revolution and it is imperative that Peace Corps moves with this change. Using spoken word and handwritten letters is no longer an effective way of mass communication, and it is necessary to communicate on a larger scale. Volunteer profiles, community programs, upcoming events, blogs, links to other SVG NGO's and organizations will all be hosted on the website. This will allow Vincentians a better opportunity to become more involved with the Peace Corps as well as their own community.

The only hold up right now is funding for the domain. It costs $US15.00 per month. We need foreign donations for the first six months, and then local funding will take over from there. If you are interested in donating (even for just one month), please e-mail me at neelythomson@gmail.com. Your donations will be much appreciated.

So for the next nine months I will be pretty busy creating, assisting and finalizing. I have a good feeling about these next nine months. I am ready to finish up my service with a bang.

I want to warn anyone who sees the Peace Corps as an alternative to the draft that life may well be easier at Fort Dix or at apost in Germany than it will be with us. --Sgt. Shriver

For Boom Boom.

Today Boom Boom's mother was sitting on the side of the street crying. It is rare to see a Vincentian cry, so I sat next to her and asked her what was wrong. Her breath was laced with the local rum, her hair was filled with lint. She was bra-less and shoe-less. Her eyes exemplified the only thing I could really relate to: tears.

She told me she was sorry. Sorry for how she had raised Boom Boom, her eight-year-old child that frequently eats dinner with me. She told me she was sorry for her appearance, for her lack of money. But what shocked me was she said she was sorry for her 15-year-old son, Shamal.

I had heard rumors of Shamal throughout the village. They had typically centered around his mother's alcoholism and his inability to walk, speak or comprehend.

She asked me if I wanted to meet Shamal. Of course I said yes.

Nothing in my year here could have prepared me for what I was about to walk in on. As I stepped into their one bedroom house, I immediately smelled the strong scent of stale urine. There was feces lining the walls and cockroaches covering the floors. Boom Boom's recognizable clothes were scattered throughout the tiny house. I just kept staring at his precious little shoes. Imagining him waking up every morning in this house, smelling identical to it, dressing for school that morning, putting on those shoes. I could just imagine him fearful of what the children would say about him today. About how he smelled, about how parts of the mattress always stuck to his hair. I wanted to take the shoes and run.

But the worst part about it was what was lying in the corner of the room. He looked like spider, all curled up after you stepped on them. His bony black legs intertwined while drool lingered on his chin. He was smiling, but not intentionally. Shamal, the 15 year old myth, was was lying naked on the hard wooden floor. He looked up at me with disturbing contentment oozing out his eyes.

In the background, I could hear his mother complaining about government assistance and lack of care for her boys. She had started crying again.

I wanted to hit her and hug her all at the same time. I wanted to scream at her for how bad she had let things get, but I also felt like crying with her.

I had never seen or felt anything like that in my life.

Several times I have gotten into altercations with community members over Boom Boom. They have long given up on him and wonder why I haven't done the same. And sometimes I feel that way myself. Until now.

After seeing what Boom Boom goes home to every night, yet he still wakes up and puts on clothes in the morning. After seeing the intense abuse and neglect that he has to endure every single day, yet he still approaches the outside world with a smile. After seeing what the community believes he is destined to become, I refuse to give up on him. And I am making it my goal to let him know that every single day.

Don't ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive and then go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.--Howard Thurman

My second year begun much like I expected it: busy and chaotic and fun. I feel more like myself in my new village. Maybe it's because I feel safe, maybe it's because the town is a lot bigger, or maybe it's just because it's my second year. Who knows.

My knee problems seem to have subsided for the time being. Because my house is on the beach, I am frequently running alongside the Atlantic in the evenings. For the first time in six years my knee actually feels good when I'm running. And the only time I notice a missing ACL is when I'm coming down a huge mountain, which I try to avoid.

The volleyball program took an exciting turn over the summer. After completing our summer programs, I was introduced to a unique individual who is the President of the National Lottery in St. Vincent. After several meetings and proposal revisions, Mr. Sealley and I came up with a monetary plan that worked for both of us. And the Georgetown Saturday program got funded for an entire year. This means we can provide travel and food for the kids in the area who want to participate on Saturdays. There is still room for expansion in the program, but we took this as a huge step in the right direction. In the meantime, I am still working on writing a grant to expand the program throughout the Windward side of the island.

As for my work in the schools, it is forever challenging. Remedial reading tends to be a very complicated task, as there are many reasons why a child cannot read. Over the summer I spent a lot of time researching different philosophies and techniques and think I made a plan that would fit my students pretty well. Some days my students respond well, and others I'm just not sure what's going through their head. Patience is a virtue. I wrote that on my classroom chalkboard, although I think it was more for me than for them.

I am also picking up small projects here and there. I'm trying to organize a Saturday Beach Clean up for my area; the hurricanes brought all of the trash from the water and organized it not so neatly on our beaches. And there have been many opportunities to tutor kids within my area.

What I am most excited about, however, is my brief return home to the States in December. I am taking a much needed three week break to celebrate Christmas where it should always be celebrated: at home. I am ready to see my family and eat Mexican food. It has been way too long since I've experienced either.

I just hope the States is ready for me.

A happy childhood has spoiled many a promising life--Robertson Davies 'What's Bread in the Bone'

New village, new house, new kids. And here are the pictures...

The kids playing (un)American football with bamboo goal posts

Luda watching my neighbor peel coconuts to sell. (not Gavin)

The view from my back porch.

happiness.

My students at New Grounds Primary.

The sunset one evening over my house.

“Life has no other discipline to impose, if we would but realize it, than to accept life unquestioningly. Everything we shut our eyes to, everything we run away from, everything we deny, denigrate, or despise, serves to defeat us in the end. What seems nasty, painful, evil, can become a source of beauty, joy, and strength, if faced with an open mind. Every moment is a golden one for him who has the vision to recognize it as such.” - Henry Miller

A man from my village named Gavin is a crack addict.

In the mornings before work while I'm drinking my morning coffee on the porch I always see him walking with a big bag of coconuts to go sell, minding his own business. It doesn't take long before I hear my neighbors yelling at him to stop selling coconuts for crack, to get his life together, or to put on some shoes.

When I was coming home from a football game at the village park late one night, I noticed someone walking closely behind me. I started to get nervous, so I stopped walking and turned around. It was Gavin. He had the most beautifully big smile on his face. And I couldn't help but smile back.

Up close he looked so normal. His face was clean shaven, his teeth were perfectly white, something that is very rare here. He looked surprisingly young and I could picture how handsome we could have been, had circumstances been different.

I stuck out my hand and introduced myself.

We walked back from the park together side by side, neither saying a word. When we reached my house, I could hear my neighbor yelling at him to put on some shoes from the next house over. Not seeming to notice, he stuck out his hand and said goodbye.

From then on, every time he passed my house in the morning he would drop a coconut off on the front step of my door. He would never say a thing or ask for anything. He would just go on his way.

One afternoon I asked around to see if any men in the village had any extra shoes. That next morning I put shoes on the doorstep right where I knew the coconut would be later on that morning.

I knew when he picked them up, because I heard my neighbor yell from her window 'You better not sell those, Gavin.' She later told me I was helping out a lost cause. That the shoes would be gone by night time.

Sure enough, he stopped by my house that night not wearing any shoes. I looked at him in disbelief, as he told me he needed to scrub them before he could wear them. In my mind, there was no other explanation, but that he had sold them for crack.

I slammed the door on the same beautiful smile I welcomed earlier that week, feeling defeated and disrespected all at the same time.

But something remarkable happened tonight, which made me reconsider every preconceived notion I have ever had...about anything. Tonight Gavin showed up at my door with two coconuts in his hands and the same dirty shoes I had laid on the doorstep earlier that week, that definitely needed scrubbing. I was wrong and so were my neighbors. This time my smile matched his.

In heaven, all the interesting people are missing--Friedrich Nietzsche

To start off the school year, we are doing a huge push with our volleyball organization, Vertical. With the help of some friends, I have put together a blog that will center around the participants as well as people affected by the programs.

So check it out if you feel so inclined http://jumpvertically.wordpress.com/The first entry is, of course, my man Gus Gus.

We also have a new fundraising website http://www.crowdrise.com/verticallyjumpSo, check that out too if you're bored.

I would also like to take this opportunity to thank all those who helped get us through the last year, and those who have catapulted us into the next. A million thank yous.

One of my largest struggles within St. Vincent over the past year has been the Christianity-infused culture. My first three months here I attended many church services and just could never seem to buy into it. I looked around me and saw so many children without fathers, so many women with unnecessary bruises and so many men with alcohol permanently staining their breath.

I heard countless anti-gay comments naming God as their source. The same men I saw ostracizing other men they considered feminine in the name of their God, were with a different woman every weekend while their wife stayed at home with the kids. I have always believed in God, but I couldn't seem to find God here.

The hypocrisy of the whole ordeal created such a disdain in my heart that I couldn't see passed my own judgement to understand their's.

It wasn't until I woke up to the screeching tires of a vehicle crashing into my house that I realized where I was wrong about religion. At least religion here.

I woke up at 6:45 in the morning to a van wrapped around the pole in my yard. The village was silent except for the eerie moans of the van driver, who was the only one left in the van. When I stepped outside my house to see if I could help, I was directed to a man who had been hit on the road. His legs were mangled and he was propped up on the wall next to my house. His body had gone into shock and all he could feel were the ants biting his feet. As I sat next to him, wiping off the dozens of ants that just kept reappearing, all I could do was pray. I didn't ask God what to do. I didn't ask God to change things. I just asked God to help me and those around me get through this.

Maybe Vincentians have got it right all along. Intrinsically, we as people know the difference from right and wrong. We don't need the Ten Commandments for that. And religion cannot change what happened or what will happen. But religion can get you through things. And although I will probably never attend any more church services here, it is comforting to know that each night me and thousands of other Vincentians ask God to help us get through the next day together. And maybe that's all religion needs to be.

'I don't even know what I was running for - I guess I just felt like it'--Holden Claufield, Catcher in the Rye

I really appreciate all of the nice things people have been sending me. Unfortunately, most have not gotten to me and probably never will. And when they do get to me, they have been opened or damaged through the postal service here.

So, in the future, if you could please send it to the address below and my mom will just send it through FedEx.

Neely Thomson122 Interlochen DrivePeachtree City, GA 30269

I'm officially one year older and one year in. And as I sit on my porch overlooking the Atlantic, it's hard to put a finger on exactly what I've learned and how far I have come. Most of what has changed within me is slight shifts in values or perceptions of things, probably only noticeable to myself. However, there is one thing I think is very important for Americans to know through my own experience. And, this might be the only thing I know for sure anymore...

Roosters don't just sit on the roof of a red barn on a cute little farm, waiting for the sun to come up so they can crow and wake up their owners. They are not used as organic alarm clocks the way they are depicted in American storybooks and TV shows. No, they actually crow at all times of day, including when I'm trying to get in a nap. They crow at three o'clock in the morning, they crow at three o'clock in the afternoon. They are persistently loud and obnoxious.

I initially sat down to write this blog in a list form. It was going to be a solidified list of everything I had learned in the year I have been here. But when I started writing, the only thing I could think of was the roosters. And just how wrong my initial American perspective of them was. How the storybooks were that off about these insanely annoying animals I'll never know. But when I hit the enter key and typed the number '2', I realized there was nothing else I could write down. I literally knew nothing else. And that's when I knew I had changed.

If there's one thing I've learned this passed year, it's that you (and me..) know absolutely nothing. We are often comforted by our college degrees and worldly experience, but that tends to only give us a false sense of security. There is still so much out there to learn about people, about places. About reasons why people are the way they are. And when you think you've learned all you need to learn, you find something or someone else that surprises you.

I have learned that there is no fact, there is no reality. There are only assumptions and perspectives. After all, it was a fact once that the world was flat, wasn't it? And we all thought Y2K was the reality of the situation, didn't we?

So instead of making a list of everything I want to accomplish this next year and make all these lofty promises, I'm just going to make a vow to not see things at face value. To question and then re question. To remember that as loud as I may talk, I still don't know much. And to never assume I know what someone has gone through. Because, really, you never do.

As much as a boast and brag about making it a year, it is an even bigger accomplishment that my parents have made it through 25. Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad.

Hippie Hop

I have no program for

saving this world or scuttling

the next: I know no political,

sexual, racial cures: I make

analogies, my bucketful of

flowers: I give flowers to people

of all policies, sexes, and races

including the vicious, the

uncertain, and the white.

A.R. Ammons

1970

The past few weeks since my last entry have probably been the most interesting couple of weeks in my life. That's one thing about being a Peace Corps Volunteer in Vincy, there's always something to do, something to see or something to drink. All three make for a very interesting day.

Regular classes have ended and my summer classes have started. For the beginning of the summer I am taking it slow with two classes of remedial reading a week. As the summer progresses I will begin my volleyball classes and camps. I have been very fortunate to receive some donations from local sponsors and a very generous donation of balls from my old high school coach, Joe Camp. Funding continues to be a problem, but honestly, when isn't it? I don't think I've spent a day in St. Vincent without worrying about money. This better pay off, either in a life lesson or some good karma.

Problems with my knee still seem to surface every once in a while, but as my beach partner kept reiterating, it could be worse. That seems to be a reoccurring theme for my Peace Corps experience...'it could be worse.'

Carnival provided a breath of fresh air as I danced behind trucks blasting Soca music. Vincy's say nothing is wrong during Carnival and this proved to be true. Nothing mattered. Financial problems, work problems, your home life. Carnival is a time to let loose and forget about this year's problems. And I did.

The day after Carnival my house was broken into again while I was sleeping. They didn't take anything, but my vulnerability scared me. The Peace Corps is in the process of replacing my door and making my house safer. Gut checks for me used to be when you're serving the ball during the opposing team's game point. This is a gut check on a completely different level. But, it could be worse.

It has almost been a year since I left the states. And I'm almost 24. Sometimes it shocks me how much I've changed. And other times it shocks me how much I haven't. Lines have been clearly drawn, then blurred. Friends have let me down and picked me up. I've wanted to quit and live here forever all in the same day. But one thing that has remained stagnent is the importance of the family we were born with and the family we choose. I have built a beautiful family here, but desperately miss my family back home. And depend on both.

'Freedom is the equal opportunity to succeed. But it is also the equal opportunity to fail.'

When I tell people I just recently tore my ACL for the fourth time, they have a pretty predictable reaction. Probably pretty similar to the one you're having if you're reading this for the first time. I've had people call me crazy, stubborn, passionate. Resilient, dedicated, stupid. Although my heart can't seem to settle on one of their assumptions. Questions about my intentions and the source of my motivation always leave me wondering myself.

And for a long time I had no answer for their questions, or my own. Maybe I did it because it was how I was raised, it was all I knew. I'm a Thomson and we don't give up. I can tell you stories that parallel mine about almost every member of my family. From Winston Churchill quotes to scenes from Rudy, my life has been immersed in the notion that to quit is to fail.

I could recite hundreds of cliches to explain my actions, but none seem to fit with me or my situation.

But only now do I see the whole picture; only now do I fully understand what is behind my desire to keep going, to never give up. And it has nothing to do with a quote. In fact it is quite simple: it's worth it.

The pain, the rehab, the crutches all pale in comparison to the experience the sport has given me. Without volleyball, I would have never been to Europe or California. I would have never won a National Championship. I would have never gone to the University of Tampa or represented my country in a National Competition. I would have never met the people I consider family. And I probably would have never joined the Peace Corps.

So I return a dropped jaw with a smile, because I know. I know the benefits I have reaped through this long process. And I know that if I was given a chance to play again, I would take it without question.

For my sister:

I know you’ve been to Africa before, but this time will be different. You’re staying for three months. This isn’t a vacation and you will not be a tourist. Things will change, you will change.

But don’t be scared of the changes. Your core will still be there in the end.

The American ideals and values you have been instilled with will be challenged daily. Lose some of them. They’re shit anyways.

Don’t be afraid to cry. Just don’t cry in front of any of the locals. No matter how much you explain to them, they will never understand.

Don’t worry if you lose your faith. It will come back again.

Try to see the beauty in everything. It may be impossible, but trying is the most important part.

Nurture your relationships with your fellow missionaries. They will be the only ones who understand what you went through.

You will see and experience things that no one back home can understand. Don’t fault them for this.

Wear bug spray.

Work as much as you can with children. They are the most impressionable and your impact on them is far greater than you think.

Don’t compromise who you are just to fit in. Ever.

Find a beach when there‘s a full moon.

Video tape everything.

Don’t drink the local rum..every day. It’s homemade and ridiculously strong.

Take diarrhea medicine as soon as your stomach starts to feel even a little weird. If there‘s one thing Americans need, it is a broader sense of right and wrong. Just because they do something different, doesn’t make them wrong. Keep this in mind when you’re trying to convert witch doctors :)

Take a piece of home with you. Whether it be a picture, a stuffed animal or a song. You’ll want to feel home from time to time. Your weight will fluctuate from week to week. Don't stress about it, because it will be the least of your worries.

Hug people a lot this last week you’re home. You have no idea how much you will miss getting a real hug from people that love you.

Take a journal.

And always, always remember how much you are loved and missed.

Because of recent donations, we were able to add two more programs in the areas of Sandy Bay and North Union. Your donations are greatly appreciated and put to good use :) If you are interested in donating, you can email me at neelythomson@gmail.com or send checks to:Neely ThomsonUS Peace CorpsCyrus StreetNew MontroseSt. Vincent, WI 'We need more people speaking out. This country is not overrun with rebels and free thinkers. It's overrun with sheep and conformists.' --Bill Maher

It's the rainy season. Never before has rain meant so much. It means I will get free tomatoes from my neighbors. It means cockroaches will be forever present in my kitchen. It means lettuce will be cheaper. It means I won't have to go to school some days. But, most importantly it means that my garden will start to grow.

Thanks to some very nice friends of my mom, I was able to plant broccoli, cabbage, marigolds, tomatoes and cilantro in my yard...all with the help of a local of course. I mean, come on, me instinctively knowing how to plant a garden, not gonna happen. But it's day 4 and nothing has died yet. Nothing has actually grown either, but that's a glass half empty way to look at it.

This morning it started to pour during break time, so I had a couple minutes to myself before students would rush into my classroom. And I got to thinking about all the various and controversial teaching methods I use. Most, of which, would disappoint anyone with a teaching degree and probably most without one.

How I became in charge of the whole remedial reading department at my primary school is beyond me. My classroom management skills are sub par and my knowledge of teaching strategies is even worse.

Case in point: I spit gum at a student once because she wouldn't stop talking.

I also give my students a 10 second countdown to return from using the restroom. This strategy prevents any hand washing or toilet paper use. But, hey, I get on with my lesson. This is probably the reason I get a virus every other Tuesday.

When a kid starts to complain about homework or my strict 10 second rule, I start fake crying. The crying gets louder until the kid stops complaining.

If someone tattles, I mock them.

We have dance offs and hand slapping competitions. Farting contests and animal noise impressions. And I have yet to end a class without playing hangman, where, of course, I always win.

And every once in a while I'll catch myself in the middle of one of these and wonder what the American Board of Education would have to say about this. And then I realize that thankfully they will never have to know.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I love you and miss you everyday.

Now, we must all fear evil men. But there is another kind of evil which we must fear most, and that is the indifference of good men.--Boondock Saints

This term is off to a great start. I have finally caught up financially and have even managed to save a little. While visiting my parents in St. Lucia, I was able to really take some time to reevaluate my prorities and purpose here and have come up with a pretty solid work plan. I always like to write down what I 'plan' to do and see how much of it gets altered or changed by the time everything works its way out. However, despite my faith in an evolving work plan, I am very excited about my current outline.

One of my main focuses is the organization I started about two months ago, Vertical. The central idea behind Vertical is to fund and sustain volleyball programs and teams within the rural areas of St. Vincent. So far, we have started 4 programs in the areas of New Grounds, Langley Park, Georgetown and Dickson. We have helped fund a men's volleyball team out of Dickson. And hold a Saturday volleyball camp for primary school students every week.

When this all began, I only wanted to rely on local sponsors. But as things progress, I am now realizing how unrealistic that is. One thing I admire about Americans is our sense of volunteerism and charity. Whether the incentive is a good feeling in our chest or a tax break, we give. And somewhere in the last 20 years, this concept has been lost on Vincentians. I am very thankful to the scattered donations we have been recieving from local sponsors, they have kept us afloat thus far. But extra funds are necessary.

Funds are needed for transportation, food, volleyball shoes (you will notice in the pictures below how many children play barefoot), volleyball tournament fees, volleyball uniforms (jersey, tights and socks), volleyball net, volleyball ball basket and volleyballs.

If you are interested in donating, you can email me at neelythomson@gmail.com or send checks to :Neely Thomson, US Peace CorpsCyrus Street, New MontroseKingstown, Saint Vincent W.I. Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has. --Margaret Mead

I have had a little bit of an identity crisis lately. Using the word crisis is a little over dramatic. What I really mean is I just cried to my mom for an hour.. some crisis.

My mother always said, 'you are who you hang out with.' And for the past seven months I have been on the financial level of my friends, eaten their food, danced with them, worked with them, lived with them, loved them. But I could never shake the color of my skin. I tanned until I burned, used black people hair dye, talked like them, lived like them. But I could never get rid of the person I was and the evidence lay plastered on my skin. I was different and always would be.

This past week my friends from the States came to visit and I was placed in a completely different world. White people, money, sail boats, American music, American dancing. And as much as I wanted to fit in, I just couldn't shake the person I had become. My clothes didn't match up, I wasn't as affluent and whenever they would ask where I was from, I proudly exclaimed 'I'm not a tourist. I live here.' I was different from them and always would be.

So, as I lay in my bed completely defeated, feeling as if I didn't belong in either world, I realized that maybe we're not who we hang out with. Maybe sometimes we just are who we are.

There is more simplicity in the man who eats caviar on impulse than in the man who eats Grape Nuts on principle. --G.K. Chesterton

Gus Gus is a member of my running group. He was about 50 pounds overweight when we started running about two months ago. Since then he never lets me off the hook. Whether it's raining, 'cold' outside or getting dark, he's always calling at my gate asking to go running. He doesn't care if I'm hungover or tired or just don't feel like running. And since I met Gus Gus, I don't either.

He and I have been running six days a week (I give him Sunday off so he can go to church) for the past two months and he is the only student that hasn't missed a day. Most kids show up for 2 or 3 running sessions a week, but not Gus Gus.

We look ridiculous running together down the main highway in St. Vincent, but he doesn't seem to notice. He's short and noticeably overweight. I am tall and noticeably white. People yell and laugh at us. They shout 'fat man' and 'whitey' around every corner we turn. And finally one day I asked Gus Gus if it hurt his feelings when people called him 'fat man'. And, to my surprise, he said it did. He said it 'made his heart hurt', which in turn hurt mine. So whenever people shout 'run fat man run' at him, I have started saying 'shut up! he's not fat!' Every time I said this, Gus Gus would get the biggest smile on his face. And now, every time someone shouts 'run white girl run' he says 'shut up! she's not white!' We both run with big smiles on our faces now.

I have been wanting to write about Gus Gus for a while now. There's always that one thing that gets you up in the morning, the one thing that makes you keep going. Gus Gus is my thing. And today, I have never been happier or more willing to get out of bed. It was our two month mark. Two months ago I bought a scale and weighed Gus Gus and me. Two months ago Gus Gus was 200 pounds. Today Gus Gus is 182. Today Gus Gus tried on an old pair of jeans and they fit. Today Gus Gus walked taller than I have ever seen him. Today was a great day.

'The world is a fine place and worth fighting for'--Ernest Hemingway

As I read through my blog posts, I realized I haven't really written much about my job or what I'm actually doing in St. Vincent. So, I will try and describe it the best way I can. Here it goes...

My job is amazingly challenging and funny and forever changing. My main assignment is remedial reading, which I do from 8-12 everyday. I teach 2nd, 3rd and 4th graders phonics and 5th graders comprehension. Then in the afternoons I teach volleyball and in two weeks I will also be teaching a film class. In the evenings I have a running group. I also do work for the AIDS Secretariat and Marion House in town.

However, I have to say that my favorite part of my job is working with my kids. They have become such a big part of my life it is almost embarrassing and I'm well aware that it is a little pathetic. One afternoon after I took my kids running, two of the boys came into my house for a drink of water. Before we started drinking, one of the boys said we had to cheers. The other boy shouted 'Yes! Let's cheers to being best friends!' And without hesitation, I held my water up in the air and clinked my glass against theirs while shouting 'Best friends forever!' with them. It wasn't until after they left that an embarrassing truth came to my attention: I am best friends with 8 year old boys. I looked around the room and saw their artwork covering every inch of white space on my walls. They fill up every weekend and spare minute I have. I talk to them on the phone more than I do people my own age. If my nose starts to look concave and I start referring to St. Vincent as NeverLand..please send someone to come get me.

Twice a week I have fifth graders for comprehension lessons. I handmade them journals (and by handmade I mean I stapled copy paper together..very creative) and have them write in them daily. One of the assignments was to write what you would do if you were Prime Minister. Here is exactly what one kid wrote:

If I was Prime Minister I will help pure people and sent money to Haiti. I will bult house for pure people. And send the People to America to get jop. And bult a library for People ho is interested. And I will bult a house for Neely.

I'm pretty sure building a house for me wouldn't be on any of my friends' agendas if they became President. I guess being best friends with eight year olds isn't so bad after all...

'I'm really going to miss you when you go back in 2012'- Gus Gus

I made it. I made it through the hardest month of my life. I made it through a $17.00 bank statement, ice for dinner, no toilet paper and some very tough nights. I made it through rice for breakfast, skipping lunches and a broken foot. I made it. However, I would not have made it had it not been for certain people. And though they may never read this, I wanted to put it out there anyways.

Thank you..

to my mom. Thank you for your phone calls and text messages. Thank you for listening to me cry. Thank you for making me stop.

to my dad. Thank you for your wisdom and understanding. You forever increase my standards of what a man and father should be.

to my sister. Thank you for your faith. As much hell as I give you, your unwavering trust in the Lord makes me believe--even if it's just a little.

to Cassius. Thank you for the food, your support, finding money when there was none, your family, cleaning my house when I refused to get out of bed, making me get out of bed, laughing at my hysteria, hugging me when I cried. Thank you for everything.

to Sarah. Thank you for the money, the phone calls, the beach trips. Thank you for always listening and making me feel normal. But mostly, thank you for the tequila shots.

to Aunt Lori. Thank you for the package. It had impeccable timing and really made the last few weeks of the month tolerable.

to the Wittenbergs. Thank you for every package, nice facebook message and wall posts. You have no idea what they mean to me.

to Jessica. Thank you for never letting me forget how much I am loved.

to Dh. Thank you for never letting me forget what Jesus said. And of course, making fun of how gay this blog is. I laugh the loudest when I'm with you.

to the Lincolns. Thank you for an amazing Mexican feast and an even more amazing conversation afterwards. My perception of you is forever changed :)

to Sheena & Toussaint. Thank you for your generous portions of food. You constantly remind me of how bad of a cook I actually am.

to every Peace Corps volunteer. Thank you for the beers, laughter and understanding.

'Wake up naked, drinking coffee. Making plans to change the world, while the world is changing us. It was good, good love." DMB

This Christmas will undoubtedly go down as one of the most eventful Christmas's ever. I pulled all nighters, drank local rum, witnessed my dinner being killed, played Santa Clause, danced with strangers and celebrated with friends.

I was lucky enough to have a family take me in for the duration of the Christmas holiday, so I was really able to experience a full Vincy Christmas. And I'm proud to say I survived. It's safe to say that I love to party, especially for an occasion like Christmas. But the locals here even put my partying spirit to the test. They begin celebrating 9 mornings before Christmas, and by celebrating I mean they wake up at 3am and party through the night. I was able to attend three of these celebrations and that was plenty for me.

The day after Christmas is called Boxing Day. And a village just north of mine called Georgetown is well-known for it's unique fair. It is VERY important to dress in a brand new outfit--tags must be left on. So when I opened my mother's package for Christmas and saw new clothes, I was relieved. I would be a Vincy, if only for the day. So I arrived, tags and all, ready to dance. However, I'm me. And stories just don't end like that. While whining with some of my primary school kids (all with Guiness's in their hands), they started screaming and kicking this massive toad. I see the locals mistreating, or what I consider mistreating, animals all the time, so I wasn't shocked, but I wasn't just going to let this toad die on my watch. So I pick it up. HUGE MISTAKE. My kids faces turn white, then their mouths drop open. Some start crying, some start screaming. The music stops. And 2,000 people stop dancing to stare at me holding a toad. Then I hear my friend yelling from across the fair, pushing people out of the way. When he finally makes it to where I'm standing, he takes the toad and throws it over the fence. There seemed to be a sigh that resonated throughout the crowd. After my friend saw my confused face, he went on to explain that it was a 'jumbie,' which means ghost, and if I hold it long enough I will turn into a toad. Really? I asked (and still ask..). Yes, he replied. Apparently I was very lucky. I think the Peace Corps would definitely administratively separate me if I turned into a toad.

I have had a string of bad 'luck' lately. I put quotations around luck because I don't really believe in luck. I believe that things happen with a purpose, not randomly, and certainly not by luck. But the word just seems to fit in the sentence. A friend of the Peace Corps, and someone whom I trusted, broke into my house on Christmas Eve. He didn't steal anything valuable, but he mashed up my door and stole all my food and money--specifically my apples. You have no idea how expensive they are here. However, he did feed my dog. I love thoughtful criminals.

My attitude was grim. This was the second time my house had been broken into and I felt vulnerable and violated. I'm the only Peace Corps to get Dengue Fever in thirteen years, my house was continuously being broken into and money was being taken from me. I let a negative feeling swell up inside me about my community, myself and my purpose here. How was I going to make it financially this month? How can I stay somewhere that I don't feel is safe? What if I'm the problem..not the people who keep breaking in?

Then I saw the worst thing I've ever seen in my life. Me and some friends planned to spend New Years in Bequia, and I was supposed to catch a van at 8:30 New Years Eve morning. However, I was running late and as I was running down the gap to catch 'Big One', shouting at him to wait for me, I remembered that I didn't lock the gate. I told him to go ahead, that I would catch the next one. I caught the next van and headed into town. 'Big One' was just ahead of us the whole time and when we rounded the corner, I saw the tire blow. The van flipped several times throwing people out of the window. I heard screams and saw more blood than I had ever seen in my life. As we passed the van, there were dead bodies all along the road, a lot of them children, people screaming, and others seriously wounded. The van I was in went into hysteria. On a small island like this, it is very likely that they knew those people. On a small island like this, everyone is affected.

After the shock wore off and I made many phone calls, I learned that I knew no one in the van. There were no Peace Corps, no New Grounds community members, no New Grounds students. It seemed that my luck was changing.

Until I woke up New Years morning and saw that my overnight bag had been stolen. My life was in that bag--all of my money for the month, wallet, food, clothes, camera, phone...the list keeps going.

However, this time my reaction was much different. I won't be able to pay my rent this month. I won't have a phone until next month and my internet will be cut off soon. I won't have a camera or an excess of food. But I am healthy and alive. And the people I love are just a phone call away. Nothing else matters.

'Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it because a butterfly'-Leah Thomson

Here is a video I did for the National AIDS Secretariat here in St. Vincent.

I have struggled with many things lately. Some were just ideas, some were problems, some were things I had done and some were things I wished I had done. When you’re in a country that is essentially unfamiliar, you are inevitably put in unfamiliar situations as well.

Some of the answers came to me quickly like, ‘Should I starve my dog so she will eat all the cockroaches in my house?’ I decided that was morally wrong, although you wouldn’t believe the internal battle I had with that one.

Some answers came to me within days, like ‘Should I go home?’ During my two week stint with Dengue Fever, I questioned my ability to actually survive here, emotionally and physically. I asked one of my local friends here what he thought and his answer was ‘This is your home.’ That still makes me smile.

Some answers came to me without me even realizing it, like ’How do I say no?’ We are brought into a third world country with the notion that we are needed. That we have resources that they themselves cannot get and because we are American, we can. Neither is true. For my first three months here I felt guilty for being brought up with so much and knowing I had so much to go back to. So I gave everything I had. If someone needed money I gave it to them. If my kids wanted a party, I threw one. If a parent wanted a night alone, I kept their kids. I am currently in the thick of month four broke, tired and frustrated. The kids want parties every weekend, the same people I gave money to last month are back for more and I have 14 year old boys sleeping in the other room (weird and inappropriate--I’m aware). For the last two weeks, I have been struggling with the thought that if I didn’t extend favors I am greedy, but when I do extend favors they become greedy. And it wasn’t until Shafeeka (my 12 year old who lives down the street) came up to me with three dollars she had saved, because I just didn’t have three dollars on me last week, that I realized my favors were doing them no good. If anything, my favors were handicapping them. I was doing them a disservice by not believing they could do it on their own. By saying no to Shafeeka, she learned how to save three dollars to go into town, and she was proud of it. So that’s what I’m working on--balancing out my no’s and yes’s.

However, some answers have yet to come, like ‘How integrated do I want to be?’ The main focal point of my Peace Corps training was integration. It’s an essential part of your Peace Corps experience; however, it is equally as tricky. I have set aside personal barriers and nuances in the effort to better integrate myself. I let sweaty people press tightly on me in vans. I hold back my tears when people hit dogs. I don’t stare at women openly breastfeeding. I walk slower and dance faster. But where do you draw the line? In order to be fully integrated, should I also hit kids in school? Allow men to disrespect me? Hate gay people? Sleep with multiple partners?* The Peace Corps talks so much about how we’re supposed to be like the locals. But what part of me do I keep? This question, I fear, will be haunting me my whole two years.

If I don’t blog before then, I hope everyone has a great holiday. And to my family--I will really miss you this Christmas.

Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself--Leo Tolstoy

*Mom and Dad--I’m not seriously considering sleeping with multiple partners.

Yonic at Scabby Dam.

Kamal at Scabby Dam.

Some of the kids in my neighborhood at Scabby Dam. Luda is in the picture too.

Luda and I at Brighton Beach. She's much bigger now.

If you can keep your head when all about youAre losing theirs and blaming it on you,If you can trust yourself when all men doubt youBut make allowance for their doubting too,If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream–and not make dreams your master,If you can think–and not make thoughts your aim;If you can meet with Triumph and DisasterAnd treat those two impostors just the same;If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spokenTwisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winningsAnd risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,And lose, and start again at your beginningsAnd never breath a word about your loss;If you can force your heart and nerve and sinewTo serve your turn long after they are gone,And so hold on when there is nothing in youExcept the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,Or walk with kings–nor lose the common touch,If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;If all men count with you, but none too much,If you can fill the unforgiving minuteWith sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,And–which is more–you’ll be a Man, my son!

–Rudyard Kipling

The absence of blog entries has not been due to a lack of motivation or activities, but rather the lack of Internet access. If there's one thing I've learned in the last three months, it is that things are MUCH slower. So, you just breathe, take it all in, and realize that things will come, but in their own time. So, four weeks since I turned in my Internet application, I am breathing and trying to take it all in. It will come. I will skype soon (let's hope..)

These past couple of weeks have been full of firsts. My first trip to Bequia (the neighboring Grenadine island) for nation's Independence Day celebration. My first lesson in whining (the type of dancing they do here). My first scorpion sting. And my first volleyball match since my last knee surgery.

Then there were more meaningful firsts...

My first house. I don't share it with anyone and my parents aren't putting money into my account to pay for it. This is finally MY house. After three days of cleaning out the spider webs (many have reappeared), bleaching the floors and purchasing a much needed fan, I can finally call it home. It's pretty big--two feasible bedrooms, one bath--but the one aspect worth noting is the porch. The front porch looks out onto the beach and the back porch looks out onto the mountains. There is a huge garden with mango trees, plantain trees, avocado, peas, sugar apple and corn. I am also trying to grow several things myself, but I highly doubt these will sustain.

My first dog. I have had plenty of dogs running around my house growing up, but raising a puppy that has been weened from its mother too young, that's a whole different story. She poops where she shouldn't, cries uncontrollably, chews up the one pair of sandals I actually brought here and has worms. Yes, people, she has worms. Worms that land on my kitchen floor while she's pooping where she shouldn't be. I haven't been able to eat ramon noodles since. Oh, and I named her Luda after Ludacris. Gotta rep the A.

My first photo shoot. When one of my friends said he needed a white girl for his AIDS awareness campaign, I hopped right on board. I had no idea it was an actual advertised campaign for the AIDS Secretariat here in St. Vincent. I thought I was just going to get to dress up in heavy makeup and have someone straighten my hair. So, if you can imagine me, a 6'0" 155 lb white girl, standing next to 5'10" 110 lb beautiful black models, I looked a tad out of place. And 175 shots later..I still looked out of place. I begged the director to take me out of the shot, but he kept saying I added 'ethnic flair.' That's another first--never before have I added ethnic flair.

My first teaching job. As an advertising and graphic design major, you'd think I would have been aware of my lack in teaching skills. But instead, I plunged head first into a classroom full of misbehaving, ill-mannered and completely uncontrollable third, forth and fifth graders...all without a lesson plan or classroom management skills. But that was two weeks ago and I am starting to get the hang of it. The kids still say 'hey whitey', but that's better then 'hey sexy biatch.' Next week I'm aiming for 'hey miss'. Baby steps.

So far things have been good. My emotions are about as predictable as the public transportation system here--but me and Deepak are working on that (my emotions, that is). I have 'I can't believe I'm here' moments and 'I wish I was there' moments as well. But I guess it all comes with the territory. So for now I'm just breathing and taking it all in.

And even though I'm not in America and still had to go to work today, I want to thank our veterans, especially my family members and friends.

The price of greatness is responsibility--Winston Churchill

An Independent’s View

I have to say that I was a bit shocked when they awarded the Nobel Peace Prize to Obama. He tends to fall far too left for me to ever give him my full support, but I do think he is a good man. A good man with lofty promises. That, too me, is not what the Nobel Peace Prize stands for.

We are too great of a nation and too big of a world to measure someone on their promises. Just eleven days after Obama was inaugurated, the nominations for the Nobel Peace Prize were closed. Just eleven days. Then, and even now, most of what we have is his intentions. He promises to end the war in Iraq; however, if you live close to Ft. Benning, Ga, you know more troops are sent there every three months. He promises to shut down Guantanamo Bay, but continues to reassign more people. He promises to give the nation healthcare, but politics and hidden agendas have tied him up in Congress.

None of the above mentioned should be accomplished already in terms of a President who has been in office for such a short time. But for a Nobel Peace winner, I think at least one should have happened before an award was even discussed on his behalf.

Roosevelt was honored with the award for brokering an agreement between Russia and Japan. Woodrow Wilson took the award for his role in ending WWI and creating the League of Nations. Obama won the award for promising the world a better America.

Lofty promises lead to disappointment. Lofty promises carrying this much clout---lead to disaster.

Any society that would give up a little liberty to gain a little security will deserve neither and lose both. -Benjamin Franklin

This might come as a shock to those reading this---but I am quite dramatic. So, when I was hovering over the toilet at 3am as the water in my house simultaneously stopped dripping out of the faucet three days ago, let's just say, the next day I made sure everyone knew what kind of disastrous condition I was in.

Also another very astute observation--I think I'm a badass. (Sorry for the language, Mom, but it was the only word that was appropriate). This, in itself, landed me in the mess I was in at 3 am. It all started last Saturday, when a volunteer asked me to go hiking in the Vermont Nature Trails with her. These are trails maintained by the Ministry of Forestry within St. Vincent's rainforest. While we were hiking, dismissing the previous water safety training administered to us two weeks ago, I decided to fill my water bottle with river water coming down the mountain. Did anyone else in my group think this was a good idea? No. But my underlying desire to prove that rules (and common water safety knowledge) do not apply to me took over and I filled my big jug of water up...twice.

It only took 17 hours for whatever was in that water to make it through my system. And little did I know it would stay there for the next three days. The pains were so bad, it caused me to leave a beer unfinished and a political rally mid-scream. This was getting serious.

Finally, I had made it home without any embarrassing mishaps. I dove into my bed, thinking the worst was over.

Three o'clock in the morning rolls around and my jaw starts to quiver. Saliva collects in the mouth and I know exactly what is about to happen. Those two beers and macaroni salad were coming back to haunt me. I bury my head in the toilet for the next twenty minutes (sorry for the graphics, Mom). As I reach up to flush the toilet, I realize the bathroom is missing something. The familiar drip from the faucet was replaced with an eerie silence. I pushed hard on the handle. Nothing. I turned the knob on the shower. Nothing. I run out to the kitchen to try the sink. Nothing. In normal stateside circumstances, I would have called my father, screaming at what a horrible circumstance I had gotten myself into and begging him to do whatever was in his power to circumvent it (ie my infamous tire fiasco of 2008). No such reaction would do this time.

In a very non Neely-esque way, I turned off the light in the bathroom and went to sleep. The water would surely be back on by morning.

If I had to predict what hell would be like, it would involve being sick with a water borne illness in a foreign country with no running water. Waking up to sweat-soaked sheets, chewing your advil because there's nothing to swallow it with, 3-day old sweat gluing your clothes to your skin, eating bread with dirty fingernails, waking up at 2 am and running out to the yard to use the restroom, waking up your neighbors because you're throwing up in the lawn so loudly, giving a presentation that determines whether you are sworn in as a volunteer or not with nappy, greasy hair, and of course, the over-dramatic email to home explaining how you're probably dying. Yes, this is definitely my hell.

But, I survived. I'm at the end of day three, fully bathed, drinking cold water and swating misquitoes away from my computer screen. I'd say things were back to normal. But, a cockroach just landed in my drink, so I'm going to go take care of that. This time I won't drink the water.

And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so? I did. And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth. " — Raymond Carver

One of my assignments while I'm here--clean up the beaches.

Cows on the beach. I prefer them on a bun--but this'll do.

I joined in a little later. Wasn't pretty.

The only reason why I haven't ET'ed. Just kidding, Mom.

Sarah and I at Villa Beach in St. Vincent.

Sunset in St. Vincent. So perfect.

"Kanye West is a jackass"-Barack Obama

(I paraphrased for emphasis)

I am officially a month into my service here in St. Vincent--or Vincy. My lifestyle has dramatically changed in some ways and remained completely stagnant in others; however if you had asked me to predict the outcome of either, I would have been way off. My reliance on pop culture is waining, whereas my interest in politics is continuing to increase. I have learned to fully depend on people for certain things, such as a ride into town or food on the table, but have become self sufficient in other areas, such as braiding my hair (if you've ever lived with me..you know what a big deal this is.) Finding time to myself has become a constant, yet important, struggle; whereas I am finding it easier and easier to develop fascinating and forever evolving relationships. I have learned how to bite my tongue at differences but speak louder when boundaries are crossed. I've learned that just glancing at the ocean or a worn out note from an old friend can change the outcome of a day. And I've learned that there's something to be said about taking it slow--whether it be a relationship, a friendship, a job or just an unfamiliar situation.

I have been playing volleyball pretty regularly with some of the locals. They play shoeless on some of the hardest concrete I have ever stepped on. The experience has far exceeded the daily workout I anticipated. One of the other volunteers gave me a book about a volunteer in Africa and he explained my situation so brilliantly that I had never looked at it this way until I read it right off the pages. You come into the Peace Corps with the intention of learning how to live off of minimum wage, how to modestly conduct yourself for the next two years--only focusing on what you don't have. When, in actuality, the antithesis comes up and slaps you in the face when you're least expecting it. I never realized the men I played next to each night had no other choice--I thought they were just opting out of shoes. When I asked one of them why they didn't wear shoes, he looked at the ground, ashamed, and said 'I don't have any, miss.' In my mind, I couldn't fathom someone not having tennis shoes. And then it hit me. This isn't just about learning how to live without things--it's also about realizing just how much I do have. I might play volleyball on an uneven concrete court with only three balls for the next two years, but I will go home. I will go home to air conditioned gyms with brand new balls and perfect lighting. I will go home to a country where the majority of people have a job and a health care plan. I will go home to diversity and a melting pot of religions, ethnicity and backgrounds. But they will still be playing on that concrete court without any shoes.

Better to die standing, than to live on your knees--Ernesto 'Che' Guevara

It has been over a week since I have started training in St. Vincent--two weeks since I started the Peace Corps. Everything is going relatively well..nothing too horrifying has happened yet. I have to travel pretty far for Internet access, which is why my contact with anyone in the states has been scarce.

My host family experience so far has been amazing. My host mom is the principal at a local school and an excellent cook. My favorites so far have been the fresh banana bread and cod fish (separately..of course). Most of what she cooks is extremely fresh and locally grown. I've heard she also makes delicious cakes--I'm looking forward to devouring those. I have also formed a good relationship with her niece. She is 17 and goes to one of the community colleges on the island. The first night in my homestay while sitting down to eat dinner with the rest of the family, I asked her what type of music she liked. When she responded 'Lil' Wayne' I immediately shouted 'SCHWING', while shooting my hand in the air for a high five. Everyone just stared at me, but she started laughing. We've been friends ever since.

I went to my worksite last week and have been in contact with the principal since then. I will be mainly focusing on remedial reading, but they also want me to start some after school sports teams, which I am so pumped about. However, there are many resource challenges that come with the project. They have a VERY limited supply of sporting equipment and hardly no areas to compete. And until I can figure out a way to combat these complications, I will just have to make due.

I have enjoyed my time with the other Peace Corps volunteers. This weekend I was able to visit 3 different beaches with various volunteers. I was also able to see the house I will be living in for the duration of my 2 years. It is absolutely beautiful! I cannot wait to have visitors :)

Church on Sunday went well. It is an integrated part of society and it was a good experience to see how they conduct their worship services. For some reason Sunday made me the most homesick. Once Church was over, all I wanted to do was eat one of my Dad's elaborate Sunday breakfasts and watch golf. Although neither was possible, it was still good to be able to relax at my homestay.

Yesterday a man came up to me and asked me if misquitoes had bitten my face. I guess I need to get some acne medication.

On that note, I'm going to head back to my village. I'll let you know how the acne thing works out.

Food at the local market. Everything is locally grown..(my dad would be pleased)

A little girl at the market, getting scolded by her mom. I think her expression is priceless.

Famous St. Lucian statue.

Catholic church in Castilles. The vibrant colors they use in the murals and stained glass make the church very unique.

Today was definitely the best day so far. For the first time all week, we were let out of the retreat and were sent out on a scavenger hunt through the city of Castries, St. Lucia. Not quite as aesthetically pleasing as the villages of St. Lucia but the richness of the culture easily made up for it.

The Caribbean people as a whole are some of the nicest and most modest people I have ever met. The lifestyle which they have acquired over hundreds of years has an interesting blend of casual seriousness, if that makes sense. They are typically easy going, readily available for assistance, but take their culture, family and pride very seriously. I can't think of anything more perfect. The Peace Corps warned us about the constant 'cat calls' from men. But to tell you the truth, I kind of like it, haha. Never before has a man hissed at me (because that's literally what they do) while I'm looking as desheveled as I do when I'm walking the streets of St. Lucia. I've given plenty of descriptions of my current appearance in previous blogs. [insert here].

One local beer down..many to go. This beer is locally brewed in St. Lucia, but can be found on many of the surrounding islands. It was gooood.

I bragged to the other volunteers about how I never get burned. WRONG. I only laid in the sun for about 2 hours today and am already burned. I'm definitely going to have to be careful while I'm down here.

Monday we leave for our site and I can't wait! I will be living with a host family for 7 weeks and then on to independent housing. It'll be nice to finally unpack my bags. I am extremely excited to start working within my community for the next two years. I have spoken with some volunteers already there and they said I am pretty close to the beach and other PCV's.

Time to go play some cards. I will post sometime next week.

'Be the change you wish to see in the world'--Gandhi via Lauren Hershey

I have a crust of sweat encompassing my whole body. This is honestly the dirtiest I've been in a really long time. My body oozes sweat from 7:00 in the morning until 8:00 at night (which is when I go to bed). DH and my sister would be having laughing if they saw how I looked right now. Glasses, frizzy hair, no makeup, a grey sweaty dress...and a headband. Duh. But not to worry, one of the girls took a picture as I'm standing on a huge rock (for height emphasis) and I'm making my typical 'i hate taking pictures, but secretly love it' face. I'll make sure and tag ya'll in it.

Some of the other girls and I are waking up at 6:45 tomorrow to go for a long walk. I need it. The food here is amazingly fresh but disappointingly fattening. And when am I going to get a chance to eat real Caribbean food again? Oh, that's right--for the next two years. I need to slow my roll or else they're going to require that I purchase two tickets home.

Here is the view from my balcony. I know, I know..I have a really hard life. It's weird having so many amenities right in your backyard and not being able to participate in any of them. Monetary control is going to be the toughest part for me. The PC specifically gives you just enough money to survive on. For the first time in my life I will be a lower class citizen. Government-supplied health care isn't sounding so bad right about now. (Please don't forward this to my dad...) I'm excited to move onto the next stage of training on Monday. Right now we are definitely getting a lot of work done, but it will be nice to finally be in my village. We recieved our assignments today and I will be working at the New Grounds Primary School in New Grounds, St. Vincent. It isn't too far from the other volunteers, so that will be nice. I'm exhausted and getting ready for bed. I will try and post again soon. "Everything is changeable, everything appears and disappears; there is no blissful peace until one passes beyond the agony of life and death" -- The Buddha

Exhaustion has finally set in--permanently. It will take me weeks to recover from the activities of the past couple of days. However, I’m not sure if the excitement of my arrival in Saint Lucia or the Dunkin Donuts coffee I just chugged is the reason for my current rush in energy. Hence this blog.

I’m not confident that I packed an appropriate amount of clothing. I get an awful feeling that I am missing something--besides my make up. I almost feel bad for the other volunteers. For the next 27 months I will be battling a caffeine addiction sans make up.

The diversity within my training class has given my projected experience an interesting twist. My impression of the Peace Corps was altruistic, single 20-somethings, fresh out of college. However, most of the volunteers have been out of college for a couple of years. And, about 20% of the group is over 50. Two retired married couples, one celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary, are here as well. They are probably two of the happiest couples I’ve ever met and definitely the most interesting. I think this would be an awesome experience to share with someone you love. I’ll save that for when I’m 60.

A volunteer and I were talking yesterday about all of the things we wanted to do while living in the Caribbean, so I have put it in writing. Now I actually have to complete it…

Learn how to grow avocados

Have dreads (for a little bit at least)

Try the local beer in each of the islands

Learn to surf

Learn to read Creole (the native language in St. Vincent)

Get a dog

Travel to a different country every month

Take a ‘vacation’ to Haiti

Find the best SCUBA spot

Build a boat (..not sure if I am joking yet or not)

Learn to play the guitar

Live alone--and be ok with that.

Catch a fish and actually cook it

Ok, coffee has worn off. I will try and post again after I get some more training out of the way.

“Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek”--President Obama