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Dear Peace Corps Guatemala,

I sat here in the office for six hours debating the rhetoric that would be best used in my defense. I contacted members of VAC, my parents, my friends and mentors all in search of both advice and support, but alas, through much contemplation, I have concluded that my service has come to an end and I must take this opportunity to formally resign. I can write my response to your “Consideration of Administrative Separation” memo, but I know I cannot add any more facts or figures in my defense; I can continue to scour through the rule book, utilizing my best debate skills, in an attempt to clear my case but I know that I will lose. I cannot present anything new. I may object to some of your claims, but I cannot present anything substantial enough to save my Peace Corps service. Thus, as I am removed from this administration, I would like to tell you the following:

I loved my Peace Corps service. I loved my site and I am proud of my work. From the kitchens I started building this year to the health organization that I was aspiring to start in October along side the contacts I have made in my communities, my work has been substantial and reflected the ideals of Peace Corps style development. Such love drove me to Peace Corps and to volunteer for my site assignment, one which Dr. Sergio Mack needed to ask someone to step up to take due to its rigor in comparison to the remainder of the Healthy Schools sites. Since my arrival and initial sense of being overwhelmed, I have learned the Mayan dialect of Q’eqchi’ and deeply integrated with my neighbors in Cubil as well as with the three other communities I work in: Corozal, Sonte and Samox. It is this passion that has been the catalyst to success within my first six months in site that led me to avoid divulging the entire truth regarding my work at a medical mission in Santo Tomas La Union, Suchitepequez. Having previously had a request to visit another medical mission rejected by the administration, I planned to only call out of site upon my arrival. Around 2/3 of the way between Santo Tomas and Guatemala City I received the text message informing me of a stand-fast. Seeing clear skies and open roads around me, I decided to continue forward with the doctors. Once at the medical clinic, I stayed there and let Sergio and David know my whereabouts as well as contact information. I did not believe that I was in conflict with any of the “non-negotiables” as I understood them.

I admit that I messed up. Had I taken vacation this would have been avoided; but don’t let the fact that I am passionate about health and medicine and willing to travel far to pursue such passions be a reason to condemn me as an individual or label me as deceitful. I hope that you see that I was a good volunteer and an asset to the Peace Corps mission. I will miss this country, and long for what could have been; but I have decided to progress with my life, my ambitions and my goals. I wish you all the best with the oversight of your volunteers and the direction of this great establishment; but I beg you to not forget its mission.

Thanks,

Gracias,

Bantiox,

Brent Denn Nosé

Contemplating my service and the prospects of its imminent end I find myself bouncing from feelings of enthusiasm for the possibility of staying, to lethargy, to anger at the administration, and lastly anger at myself for knowingly bending the rules to pursue my own ambitions. What I am not feeling is self-pity, something I was all too familiar with before coming to Guatemala. My experience as a volunteer has been nothing short of incredible; challenging, yes, but also enlightening, humbling and above all, short. I say with confidence that I maximized my potential for the past nine months here in Guatemala and, given the option, I wouldn’t have done anything differently. So let it be known, I love my Peace Corps service. I love my site and I am proud of my work. From the kitchens I am building this year to the health organization that I am aspiring to start in October along side the contacts I have made in my communities, my work has been substantial and reflected the ideals of Peace Corps style development. Given the possibility of having my status as a volunteer removed at any moment from here on out, I find myself at an even higher level of motivation. I have thusly accumulated my Peace Corps bucket list. Regardless of whether or not I am kicked out, I am on a mission now to accomplish the following as soon as humanly possible: cook for my neighbors at least once a week; finish my three kitchens; have another taller with all of my teachers; and lastly, lay the groundwork for a health focused organization that coordinates communication between the health centers, NGO’s, and schools.

I know that no matter what happens this was not a waist. I came here with a purpose and while all of it may not have been reached yet, I was on the path to far surpass the average Peace Corps volunteer in the amount that I accomplished with respect to development, health and human connections. I admit that I messed up. Had I only been willing to sacrifice vacation days, I would have avoided letting my passions put my communities at risk of losing the service they deserve and deprive them of the progress that we are making. With that in mind, I am not simply acquiescing. I am too proud and too strong at heart to let bureaucracy get in the way of what Peace Corps truly represents, human connections and a passion for serving others now matter what form it may take, place it may take you, or obstacles it may throw in your way. If I am kicked out, it will be a failure for the Peace Corps administration, but I will walk away knowing that, while my opportunity was cut short, I was successful.

If you are on Facebook, please search for the group "KEEP BRENT A PCV"; Join; and send out a few of the e-mails or make a few calls. My status as a volunteer is in question. (Details on Facebook)

Journey – Faithfully

Paul Simon – Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes

Brett Dennen – Ain’t No Reason

Pete Yorn – Lose You

Sting – The Hounds of Winter

Saves The Day – This is Not an Exit

Paul Simon – You Can Call Me Al

The Wallflowers – One Headlight

Placebo – Running Up That Hill

During a meeting with my Program Director, my teachers and members of the community I bounced between Q’eqchi’ and Spanish while addressing them.

I cannot imagine a meal in a restaurant that doesn’t include tortillas.

I am maintaining an otherwise irrational cool while each of my neighbors to the side and behind me has had Dengue Fever.

I can have a 10 minute conversation only using hand gestures.

Similarly, I can talk to a bus or pick-up driver, ask him for a ride, tell him which way I’m going and ask if he’s going the same way without using a single spoken word.

While I know there’s something wrong with it, it does not bother me when the neighbor kids watch me while I move my bowels while seated on a wooden box with cockroaches and toads at my feet.

Rain means it’s acceptable for me to take a bucket bath in the open behind my house (that is instead of in the usual 1 square meter, tarp-enclosed area by my neighbor’s kitchen).

I now know that no matter how hard I may work, siempre primero dios.

After befriending another Peace Corps volunteer who has been here longer than me, I began to wonder a lot about my Peace Corps service and how it is going to be defined. The questions ranged from, “will I define my service by integration or work in a primary project”; to, “when I dedicate myself to work, will it be strictly devoted to my primary project”; and lastly, “Will I let relationships with other volunteers take away from my service?” The questions go on. What I’ve concluded is that, and this is because of my own experience and attempts at a crystalline perspective of Peace Corps, the Peace Corps of the old days where the goal is integration is dead. If Peace Corps is going to act like a development agency with the quantitative emphasis that they’ve been expressing, then that’s how I am going to treat it. The administration has been nailing us with two different messages, one saying we volunteers should stay in site, not travel and make all exhaustible efforts to integrate; the other is telling us to be an effective development worker. I’ve decided to abide by the demands of the latter, to be a “resume whore” and immerse myself in as much health oriented work as possible. This means I’ll continue progress on my primary project which currently occupies on average four four-hour work days a week, but I’m also beginning to coordinate with the health center, who, starting this week, I will be accompanying to health talks in various parts of the department. This does not mean I’m shutting Guatemalans out of my life. I am still going to my neighbor’s soccer games and spending time with the local kids; however, I am not going to exhaust myself into a depression in an attempt to be accepted by Guatemalans. I know that sounds odd, but there is a limit to what I can take, and if I want to work effectively, I need to acknowledge such limits and prioritize accordingly. I am open to making friends, but in the same way that I make friends in the states, through work, normal interaction, not forced assimilation. As it is, it can be difficult to befriend individuals who believe that drinking, dancing, non-Jesus-preaching music, gays, and people from Haiti among other things are all derived from the devil (I speak only for the evangelicals in my community for whom I know this to be true). Lastly, because I am choosing to see this as work and not solely “an experience,” I see no problems with balancing relationships with other volunteers in Peace Corps. This does not mean my time here won’t change, teach or move me, as it is so often advertised as doing; but I’m done trying to be changed, taught, or moved; it will happen organically.

“It is disgusting and appalling that geography is deciding whether people live or die.”

Failing our Cystic Fibrosis Sufferers

Samuel Hamilton

Irish Sunday Mirror

Isn’t this the root of all injustice? Such a sentiment reflects, I believe, the heart of the philanthropist, the social servant, the doctor, the Peace Corps volunteer. This acknowledgment, that geography, the location or condition which one is born into, can determine privilege or there lack of, whether one is persecuted or the persecutor, et cetera, is necessary for anyone to see him/herself as being the same as every other human. So far as I understand, I did nothing to be born into the privilege in which I was raised. Equally, the oppressed, the poor (born poor, not made poor), the sick did nothing to be born into their situations. To me, this is the ultimate injustice, that from the start of the race so many have such burdensome handicaps while others have such a head start.

So what is one to do? If I am one of the privileged, coming out of the gates with a leg up, am I obliged to even the field or do I keep going, unconcerned with the rest of the peloton? This is the question that is the spark to the inferno that is my personal philosophy; it is exactly what I am wrestling with right now and probably for the rest of my life; and while I am in no place to preach, I am not hesitant to share my beliefs.

I believe that just as one can be born into injustice, a lack of health care, or persecution, one can also be born into obligation. I am obliged and moved not to continue the race with blinders on, but to be aware of the pack and realize that I am part of it; its well-being is my well-being, and having a head start I am more capable of helping the rest. It is thus my obligation to do so, to rectify that initial, most fundamental injustice, that I was born to wealth while, with no more or less merit, any other child or peer was born into a life contaminated with disease or plagued with war, violence, poverty, or any other burden. This obligation is not a curse, it is a blessing, a motive and a raison d’ etre. I believe that many wealthy people can live happy, just lives without doing Peace Corps, being a philanthropist or serving in development. Many self-made men are helping society through their service to humanity in some form; as it is, capitalism, in its most idealistic and utopian form, is a system for society to reward those who serve it best/most. I see nothing wrong or unjust with that; however, I believe I can do more. I can have a more direct impact. That is why I am here. Utilizing the opportunities I am born with, I am capable to work, to devote myself to giving the rest of the pack the same opportunities, health, security, et cetera that I am blessed with.

Geography and the vast array of lives we are born into without any merit will continue to be the heart of this fundamental injustice. I cannot create the utopia (in the More sense) in which everyone is born with a clean bill of health, no threats of war or violence and all with the same opportunities. However, given this state of nature, given the situation I was born into, I believe I can do something.

Lacking new photos from Guatemala and realizing that my blog is now almost exclusively text, I can only offer this photo from Christmas two years ago. It's a good one.

Materialism is a theme that, before the start of my service, I hoped to explore over these two years. Coming from a privileged background, I’ve never been hesitant in buying things I wanted or convinced myself I needed. My sartorial, sunglasses, DVD and watch collections may be humble by the standards of many; however, they are still expenditures that are far from necessary. Upon reading the Prensa Libre “New York Times” segment with an article entitled “Menos cosas, Más felicidad,” I was beckoned to once again address materialism in my own life. This idea of letting go of material goods is far from new and novel, but I always have difficulty in my attempts, which seem to be rekindled bi-annually, to let go. I think a big reason for this is the environment in which I was living. While I do love the Bay Area, it is in no way exempt of the materialistic attitude that consumes and also fuels America and the world in general. I am not necessarily seeking enlightenment, I just want to let go, to re-prioritize. It is here, in my block house in the jungle that I find myself in a renaissance of the desire to let go, but for the first time, in an isolated environment that is conducive to such a shift in my world view. Guatemalans are no less materialistic than Americans; however, in my community at least, people are too poor to act on such cravings. So, lacking in resources, we find other ways to make ourselves happy. According to the “Times” article, experiences and relations actually result in higher levels of happiness than purchases. Upon reading this I realized that my most prized possessions in my house are the photos on my wall: my dad and sister in disco attire; me and Thing 2 making faces at a party; my best guy friends at New Years, et cetera. I find myself realizing that even more than experiences (particularly travels), friends, relationships and times with loved ones easily trump all possible happiness derived from purchased goods and services. I would love to see the world, but not if it’s alone. The question I ask myself now is, when I return to the states, will I have let go? Will I have overcome materialistic desire so that I am well fortified against the advertisements that masterfully turn products into desires? Or will I return only to jump into a credit card contract so that I can further augment my array of Oakleys, Persols and Ray Bans? I do believe one can be materialistic and have a happy, relationship rich life. I am not trying to argue that well dressed and accessorized individuals cannot have substantive relationships. Rather, I believe I want to rid myself of materialism (albeit not entirely) because I want to find meaningful, simple happiness that is free of the stress of debt and bills. I want to sustain that happiness that I knew but overlooked before; the happiness I strive for every day here.

Kings of Leon – Closer

Alexi Murdoch – Orange Sky

Kid Cudi – Up Up And Away

Grace Potter and The Nocturnals – Ah Mary

k-os – I Wish I Knew Natalie Portman

My Morning Jacket – One Big Holiday

The Kooks – She Moves in Her Own Way

Ryan Adams – The Rescue Blues

Doves – Caught By The River

William hanging at my house

Earlier today I experienced the utility of a focus on political philosophy while having a conversation with my neighbors (18 and 16) regarding two topics, Michael Jackson and the end of the world as predicted to be in 2012. I like these neighbors a lot because, in as much as they’re fed what I generally consider manure from their uncle (the town pastor), they still come to me with a sense of curiosity and a desire to learn more perspectives. While listening to Black Eyed Peas and in response to my attempt to dance, Quique asked, “Michael Jackson sold his soul to the devil right? I mean that’s what they say.”

When Quique or William says, “That’s what they say,” it generally means that’s what they just heard in church. So I made an attempt to reason with them.

“Well, if someone sold their soul to the devil, it’s probably between him and the devil; but that’s entirely dependent on whether or not you believe your soul is yours to sell. A lot of people believe their soul belongs to God. I also have no idea how one would go about selling his soul to the devil.”

William then butted in, “But there are people that are good and that are with God, and there are bad people with the devil; and when the judgment day comes, the bad people have worms crawl out of their body and they rot forever even though they never die.”

Wondering how the hell to respond and if I was actually having this very conversation, I continued, “This may be true, but that’s God’s decision, not ours. So we can’t really say whether this person will go to hell or not, we are no one to judge another.” They seemed to agree.

The last few months I have been so overwhelmed by the overbearing presence of the church that I began to almost resent and hate not just the Evangelical church here, but almost all forms of faith. However, after this discussion, I realized that the best way for me to convince them to stop judging, persecuting and hating others is by addressing their faith directly. Beliefs like, “Haiti deserved the earthquake because everyone there is a Satanist,” seem to be eradicated when you just return people’s focus their own relationship with God (yes that was one of the first conversations I had with my neighbors). A boy from Bay Area would never guess that reinforcing a faith would actually be a solution to a problem.

Two geckos are currently running around the walls of my recently reorganized house, chirping at one another. I have convinced myself that the bigger one is a male and the smaller one his female love interest. My only wish is for them to take it outside if they are going to proceed in such reptilian romance. I do not want to be the one responsible for the mess made after the increased cadence in chirps followed by a cold sense of dissatisfaction and lack of desire in the room.

After being in Antigua for the last week, I was surprised at my desire to return to site. I had assumed that Antigua would be a welcome respite from cold bucket baths, hot jungle weather and typical campo life. However, I found myself missing the familiarities of my site and the comforts that come with it. I wound up longing for my bed with a mosquito net instead of sheets, my gas can full of water, and the warmth of my site. The degree to which three months converted my site from a foreign, uncomfortable and lonely place to a home is nothing short of amazing to me. Who would have thought that something so extremely different from everything that I’ve considered to be home before could redefine itself as my latest sanctuary?

I wonder to what I can attribute such a transformation. I have recently learned the importance of “the hangout.” The hangout is a place in site for a volunteer to stay at with host country nationals, to talk, relax and simply pass time. Whether it was Kelsey’s hangout at the store by her house or Evan’s at the comedor next to his, the hangout has proven to be the essential tool for integration. In my case, my house has served as the hangout for me and my neighbors for the past three months. It is a place where they have been welcome to come, play cards, occasionally eat, talk, relax in my hammock, etc. It is with the aid of my neighbors that my three room, block house in a bus stop in the jungle has become a home.

In my return, I feel that my rest has, if anything, created more appreciation for my site and provided me with the perspective necessary to resume work and integration. Having been able to take a step back, I have also been able to re-strategize. In site I hope to move my hangout to somewhere outside of my house, whether it be a comedor, a store, a pick-up truck buying cardamom, wood and corn from camposinos, or merely a front patio I am yet to build. In my schools, I hope to be able to complete my kitchens this year, begin a secondary project, and plan out - along side my teachers and counterpart - how to proceed next academic year. I have faith that this renaissance of my service should make me a better volunteer in all respects (as defined by me, the person that knows my site best, and not necessarily Peace Corps administration); and during all of this I intend to better both my Spanish and Q’eqchi’. I’m around a fourth of the way through my service and I can say with confidence that it is going well.

For someone who used to indulge in extra long showers in the States, being placed in a town with no running water and a house with no storage tank is particularly taxing. Until I save up enough money and set up my rain catchment system, I will continue to be dependent on rain and buckets. However, I have recently found a way to get water when there is no rain and without having to walk to the river… theft. I would argue that, being from California, water theft is only in my blood; it comes naturally. Water around my house is most commonly stored in drums that resemble industrial garbage cans, the types you often see at concerts and public events (clean I’m sure). Lacking one of these, I recently decided to purchase a cheaper, used 50 gallon gas can for water storage (another common choice for many). Hence, a few days ago when it did not rain enough for me to wash my clothes and body, I decided to go to my neighbors in the dead of night and steal water as they went to church. I am yet to determine whether or not this is ethical behavior.

Brett Dennen – When She’s Gone

Eddie Vedder – Hard Sun

Kings of Leon – Be Somebody

Laura Marling – Ghosts

Neil Young – Only Love Can Break Your Heart

Passion Pit – I’ve Got Your Number

Rachael Yamagata – Letter Read

Kid Cudi – Soundtrack 2 My Life

Lady Gaga – Bad Romance

Mary J. Blige – No One Will Do

“This will change your life.” I heard those five words an uncountable number of times after telling people I’m leaving for Peace Corps. My response always was, while not verbalized, “But I don’t want to be changed.” I was very content with the individual I was the year preceding my departure; why would I want to change?

I have always believed we need to continue to evolve, mature and learn through life. However, while knowing and understanding a life based on dynamism and progress, I feared Peace Corps would alter some of the fundamentals that make me me. I think I see a thin line between the ability to be dynamic and an all out lack of integrity. How much is too much with respect to the malleability of the mind?

While these questions reflect my inner debate, I now see six months into my Peace Corps service that it is changing me, and, short of terminating my service prematurely, there is nothing I can do about it.

Looking forward to a $1.25 meal at a comedor instead of my usual $0.60 pasta made at home makes it hard for me to consider a return to anything close to fine-dining. Wearing the same grey t-shirts everyday or shopping for $0.50 second-hand replacements makes me shy away from the thought of high end denim. Lastly, sitting five to a row on $1.25 micro-bus rides to and from site have almost erased entirely the recollection of having my own car.

I do not hesitate in saying I used to be an elitist and I will always be a firm meritocrat; however, it is now, and will be more so in the future, very difficult to come to grips with the excess I had in my former life and the need in my current. This does not mean I intend to take a vow of poverty; I still aspire to a certain lifestyle that includes tuitions for my kids, a nice, comfortable house that’s energy efficient of course, a car I enjoy and that gets the job done, and various other luxuries. While I initially aspired to be a Peace Corps volunteer who, upon his return, would be clad in the latest from Barneys, I cannot imagine paying for high fashion. It is this field, fashion, and fine dining that at this juncture just seem almost ridiculous to me. How can people indulge in such luxuries when there is so much need in the world?

Whether these sentiments will withhold the test of time or not, I do not know; I do know that this experience, for better or for worse, is changing me. At least I am staying dynamic.

Favorite of the many neighbor kids

Jerson, Axa and me

Wedding party

The happily wedded couple

Remains of the tree

While rain brings me the water I need to wash my clothes, it also brings flooding and can coincide with strong gusts of wind. All of these occurred last week. Being in dire need of water to wash overly ripe t-shirts and boxers, I considered myself blessed when, mid-week, the afternoon rain was stronger than usual. I ran to place my two buckets out in the open to start my harvest. Within no time I was able to soak, wash and rinse my previously stinky wardrobe. With my laundry finished and two buckets of water remaining, I thought to myself, “That’ll do rain, that’ll do.” However, such a tropic climate is not satisfied with just giving me enough water. Instead the rain picked up more. To be cautious, I put on a bathing suit and unplugged my speakers, knowing the imminent flood risks. Then, like three swift punches, two jabs and an uppercut to be exact, gusts of wind hit my house, entering and exiting through the one foot gaps between the wall and roof, ripping my maps off their mounting nails and shooting debris through every room. Another aftershock hit and I heard the violent crash of palm branches on my roof. I looked outside to see if the neighbor kids were still prancing around in their underwear as is their usual routine in the afternoon rains. Instead of the status-quo, I saw all of my neighbors from the three surrounding houses huddled under the awning of the neighbors behind me. I grabbed my keys and, after shutting the door behind me to prevent further flooding, went out in the rain to see what was happening. When I met with them, joining the shivering, soaking mass of people, I finally noticed the power lines and pole at a forty-five degree angle over my other neighbors’ house and the tree that was resting on both the power lines and the house; a dog-pile of electricity, habitat and nature.

When I hear other volunteers in Guatemala complain about their living conditions, I am forced to wonder what they imagined Peace Corps being. Being thrown into emergency situations and spending a day cleaning up the mess with a machete in flip-flops, board-shorts and a wife-beater is exactly what I was anticipating. While the little work I did that Wednesday afternoon can’t really be called development, I felt part of a community with my neighbors and I felt like, at least for a couple of hours, I was helping.

This, in conjunction with progress in work (planning the construction of two kitchens using bottles filled with inorganic trash) and continued interaction and integration (such as attending my neighbor’s wedding), sculpted the week into the epitome of what I expect out of my Peace Corps service. My toe nails may not be clean for another month, but it was a great week.

Dear readers,

I apologize with the most sincere of emotions. Because I am having a tough time getting to the internet, I have not and will not be able to post anything for possibly the next couple of weeks. As soon as I am able to get back online and upload what I have written, I will call both of you to let you know that there is something new. I wish you the best and all I can report from here is that things (work and social) are going very well.

Peace

PS I have received cards, chess pieces (from the list) and Spam in care packages. Thank you all!

Jenny Lewis - See Fernando

Andrew Bird - Fitz and The Dizzyspells

Arcade Fire - Wake Up

The New Pornographers - Mykrad Harbour

Wolfmother - Vagabond

Carla Bruni - L' Amoureuse

Mason Jennings - Butterfly

My Morning Jacket - Gideon

Rilo Kiley - Wines and Waves

Jenny Lewis - Pretty Bird

Andrew Bird - Tenuousness

Mirah - The Dogs of B.A.

Band of Horses - No One's Gonna Love You

Andrew Bird - Oh No

Iron and Wine - No Moon

Regina Spektor - Dance Anthem of the 80's

Iron and Wine - House by The Sea

I cannot wait for my next meal at McDonald's.I'm starting to appreciate the use of the belt as a disciplinary tool.I find myself missing superficial people only because of their ability to make me feel good about myself.The worst part of my day is when I come to terms with the fact that I have to put on pants.I have no problem with walking five miles through the hot jungle only to discover school's out; although, it makes me question, if not me, then what does the universe revolve around?

My time here has changed my perspective on what is attractive. Here are some examples:

1) I see you there, eying me. I'm sure you'd like to get to know a Gringo like me. Your traje can't hide that thin figure you have; and your beautiful black hair seems to move wtih its own mind. I think you'd best be described as cute; reminiscent of my crushes of older days, you strike a nostalgia for puppy love andd school-boy crushes. Our love would never be accepted by the masses, but I guess 13 is a little young.

2) Sitting in the mall food court with a cheeseburger, I see you waiting in line. I continue eating with my friends and steel glances of your perfectly shaped back. Your spagetti strap white top and blue warm up pants expose enough skin to asure me you mistic tan. You girls in the capital couldn't be more different from the campo. That streak of blond in your black hair makes the perfect accent of sluttiness. Come on and turn around. Let me see the face of Eva Mendez, Penelope Cruz, or some hot Latin star. Here it comes, the hips leading the way, hair swishing aside and... butterface. I'll just finish my burger.

3) Hot campo girl, about my age. Your baby face helps me overcome your gold teeth. Maybe you're not the curvy babe I'm usually partial to, but I find you attractive. Your dimples are cute as you laugh at my attempts to talk to you in Q'eqchi'. Sure you can pet my blond arm hair and talk about how beautiful and rare my otherwise average eyes are. I wonder how this would work. There aren't one night stands in the campo, right? Sure we can keep walking together, I'm assuming your bunglaow is somewhere near. There better at least be food involved. And who are these people? I think that girl is in one of my schools, and the other five children? Oh I see where this is going, on second thought, I'm not that hungry and I have to find a ride back to town. I am at least able to see a breast as I leave, even if your youngest is suckling on it.

4) Young men in the fields of Guatemala have bodies that I covet. While not a romantic crush, I find myself wanting to emulate them. The mix of malnutrition and swinging a machete sculpt them in a way in which every muscle shows, and a right tricept that is unnaturally larger than the left. Their dark bodies glisten in the sun as they work in exposed hillsides of the jungle. I secrently try to shape my body into something as hardy looking as theirs. I too have an unnaturally large right tricept and I guess you could say it's from swinging a machete. What would it be like to lead your life. By 18 you have at least two kids; following this age, the fit teenage body begins to grow a tortilla gut; the wife cooks all day as more kids seem to magically emerge from a clown-car of a uterous. Your crush is the most dangerous. I want to be that hard working camposino with the muscles, callasces and skin cancer to prove a work ethic forged by need and not want; but what a life you lead. I guess I'll stay satisfied wtih a pale chest and a two pack.

I should write something seeing as I haven’t been very informative this month, but I don’t really want to. I guess despite my lethargy I can force a few words out. This month I have started giving charlas which are very informal talks with my teachers about their status in the program and the program in general. They’re going well, but teaching is not necessarily my strength, especially in a second language. I’m realizing that the best way for me to successfully accomplish my primary goals of certifying these schools will be by acting as a peer of each of my three communities. Rather than being a professional from the higher-ups in the Ministery of Education (which is what we were trained to be, and those in Phase II are working as… or so I think) I’d be better off being almost subservient to the teachers and directors. I am still going to dish out information where it’s needed, but ultimately it’s only the community and the school who can actually see these projects through. Fortunately, this week one of my schools got a donation of cinder-blocks and the other fixed their water situation. These two things were accomplished by the teachers without my help. So things, with respect to work at least, are progressing. I’m sorry I’m not being more forthcoming with information right now, but I seem to be stuck with a case of writers block.

I guess my last point would actually be a plea. Seeing as my very generous family and friends are now able to send me things I could really use the following:

Books in Spanish (especially the Harry Potter Series… should probably start with only one though)

Decks of cards

Jenga

Chess Pieces (no board)

Mancala

These are mostly to entertain the kids when they’re in my house in a way that doesn’t involve breaking anything… And the chess pieces are for me.

And my address is:

PCV Brent Denn Nose

Cuerpo de Paz

Apartado Postal 66

Coban, Alta Verapaz 16001

Guatemala

Central America

3 Hours of sleep

+

Drinks and dancing the night before

+

13 Miles

=

2:07

Death Cab for Cutie – I will Follow You into the Dark

Dave Matthews Band – Stay (Wasting Time)

The Killers – All These Things That I’ve Done

Amos Lee – Keep It Loose, Keep It Tight

Gomez – Mix

Simon & Garfunkel – The Only Living Boy in New York

Mute Math – Typical

Band of Horses – Our Swords

Michael Franti – Oh My God

There is a beauty to the balance in development work. The balance is between doing too much and too little. The goal of building the capacity of the host country nationals is not met if a volunteer does all the work, finds all the funds, builds all the infrastructure. However, if a volunteer does nothing, then there is little purpose to his/her work and presence in the community. This week I gave my first lesson for teachers at my furthest, most rural and most isolated school. Seeing as it was the first one in the multitude to come, I would probably give it a B+. I understand the concerns of the balance of doing too much, but throughout my service, I would rather lean towards this end. As it is, my counterpart has already coordinated the building of our infrastructure projects and these lessons I am giving, as ad hoc (correct usage?) as they my seem, are merely lessons and fall under the capacity building umbrella as far as I am concerned. After two years of service, I would like to feel that my work had some legacy, even if it is constrained by the limits of sustainability, rather than ending and wondering what I actually accomplished with these two years of my life. As we all learn in basic economics, our lives are filled with opportunity costs. Many see Peace Corps as an investment with little initial expense. "What would I be doing otherwise," is what many volunteers seem to say. I do not feel this way. I could be back in California, accomplishing equally or possibly more profound and influential work if I were not here. Therefore, if I am to enter Peace Corps knowing that it has a high opportunity cost, then I better make sure that its returns, or what I accomplish during these two years is more than I would've accomplished in the state-side environment.

Furthermore, while Peace Corps advises little to no work in our first three months, I cannot bear the sense of ennui that would overwhelm me in that period of time. Therefore, again with my counterpart's encouragement and school's desire for progress, I have forged ahead with work, creating my own, rather full, calendar.

Regarding my daily life, too much time with these children is only encouraging my Peter-Pan complex. I have forgone the possibility of a life in camera. However, the constant procession of people through my house at least prevents the loneliness that can bring on sensations of home-sickness and depression. Next week is the half-marathon. More to come.

FYI We got a larger tarp for the shower stall. It now comes up to my chest.

After my house flooded Tuesday night, I dug a drainage ditch and took these photos.

I was standing naked in my three sided bucket bath stall the other night when the grandma that lives next to me came outside. She whistled at a passer by. Not seeing the third person, I grunted a sound to express my confusion that would cross the Spanish - Q'eqchi' language barrier. She then turned and stared at me as I cupped my junk, and belched a grunt of her own. Naked and uncomfortable, I was too proud and vulnerable to let her intimidate me and thus grunted back; to which she responded once again. Fully exposed, with soap in my eyes and shrinkage below, I decided to finally admit defeat, and, with nowhere else to run to, attempetd to hide by ducking below the tarp that makes up the wall that usually comes up to my stomach.

I was standing in my room having been awoken by the pig around five on Saturday morning. After brushing my teeth, putting in my contacts and matting down my bed head with rainwater, I found my shoes and, leaning against the nearest wall, began to put them on. I felt a slight pinching sensation in my left arm, but being a man, blew it off. I then grabbed the open metal door to my right in order to balance myself as I slid my foot into my REI hiking boots. That’s when it hit me. That slight pinch was the flow of electricity from the half-hearted circuitry of my house lighting and as I grabbed the metal door the circuit closed. Since tennis camps and being shocked from the static electricity when touching the ball basket, I have hated electric shocks. However, in experiences like this, like me standing out in the jungle in 100 degree / 100 percent humidity for two hours waiting for a ride; like finding a mouse living in my box frame; like finding cockroaches living in my house; like being lost in Cobán; everything can be rectified when you find the funny.

It is without doubt that this lifestyle and work are both challenging, but with a sense of humor and a sense of realistic optimism, my first month at site has been incredibly enjoyable. Now I’m sure it’s simply the first month at site that’s fueling my naïve sense of optimism and enthusiasm for being here, but I can’t help but hope that my past experiences have provided the gauntlet necessary for me to realize the beauty of this experience instead of letting me dwell on the tiny inconveniences and difficulties. In the classic debate of life being a comedy or a tragedy, one who dwells on the negatives is never going to be able to accomplish what are generally perceived as lofty goals. Therefore, I’m finding the funny, enjoying life, setting high goals and accomplishing them. (Note this as a high in my two years of service. Well, why not start on a high note?)

I will try to take more photos and videos. I greatly regret not filming the teen pageant I attended this week, though I’m sure it would’ve been perceived as a bit odd. It was somewhat like "Little Miss Sunshine", only a little more depressing. I have two years for that.

Ultra Orange – Don’t Kiss Me Goodbye

Ray LaMontagne – Let It Be Me

John Legend / Stephens Family – It Don’t Have to Change

Death Cab for Cutie – We Looked Like Giants

Citizen Cope / Santana – Sideways

Terence Blanchard – Double Happiness

Eloisia – Love Will Tear Us Apart

Phoenix – 1901

Carbon Leaf – Life Less Ordinary

Our form of trash management

Ride to work

Carne asada

Kids at one of my schools

Ceiba (my new favorite tree)

This guy does not let me sleep... I'm going to be eating a lot of bacon soon

View from my back window

The loo

Some of my neighbors

My shower stall

Some of the neighbor kids in our English class

(Some of my bffl's after swear in)

My first night at my new house I was struck with horrible stomach pains. I wanted to wait to get acquainted with my host family’s facilities, but my body would not have it. The toilet sat out in the dark, close enough to a street lamp to have its lamina / sheet metal sides glow a rusted brown. A piece of black tarp covers the side nearest my house and serves as the door, though it may be a bit less humiliating to simply skip any attempt at privacy in the first place. I wound up my hand powered flashlight, grabbed a roll of TP, and ventured out to introduce myself to the one thing that will comfort me when the inevitable stomach flew comes over me. I swung the tarp aside to see a wood box with a whole in the middle and covered in golden brown gems. I knew when I saw them that they were cockroaches, but I tried my hardest to convince myself otherwise. Then they all scurried into the abyss. I made the mistake of shining the flashlight down into the box to see an endless well of human waist and cockroaches, the smallest of which were the size of my thumb. I’ve used my fair share of latrines, as this was by far the worst. I swore to myself I would not actually sit on the box, but then the cramps hit me with a vengeance. I sat there until my host brother swooped aside the tarp to use the toilet, clad only in the smallest briefs I’ve ever seen. As I returned to my new house, I couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear.

This experience and my bucket bath in my new house which resulted in the majority of my family seeing me naked were, in their own ways, awesome. I know my service is going to have its ups and downs, and sure I’m going to crave something porcelain and clean eventually, but there is something wildly humorous and enjoyable about living in these conditions. I have finally reached the lifestyle I expected to have in Peace Corps. What gets me even more stoked on my entire Peace Corps service is the prospect of being able to do really good, beneficial and impressive work in these conditions. These are challenges, yes, but they are also opportunities. I am ambitious, but I think that the goals I am developing for myself are realistic and hopefully rewarding; and if I can do all of this while showering in public and living with some of the biggest bugs I’ve ever seen in the wild, then I will leave Peace Corps with not only an overwhelming sense of accomplishment but also a sense of self confidence in my ability to undertake ambitious goals. I don’t think that it can get much cooler than that.

Other things I did this week:

Carried a table half a mile to a bus and then to my house

Rode on the back of a construction truck to work (wait, that’s my daily trip to my schools)

Moved all of my stuff across town into my new house

Put up my hammock

Paid rent

Got an internet contract

Registered for the Coban half marathon

And lastly, thank you everyone for the responses to my last blog. I ran out of pre-paid minutes for my internet last week, but should be more consistent from here on out.

So here I am in the jungle (I just snapped the photo above… Ansel Adams ain’t got nothin’ on me). I paid for a week of internet (way too much money until I get a contract… but for that I need a water or electricity bill) and am now stuck in the limbo that is moving into a house that does not yet exist. To clarify, what has happened is I found a perfect little house, recently constructed for my use during my time here in Alta Verapaz. The problem is that this little house is still lacking doors, windows and electricity, and yet here I am… in my town (can't say the name for security reasons)… bags in tow… homeless. So what is Brent to do as I am left waiting for the landlord to return from his vacation to who knows where for who knows how long? Well, as you can see, when one is struck with a quagmire such as this, one buys saldo to use the internet for the week; and thus, “Earth to Brint” is getting a refreshing yet unnecessary update as I sit in my room, relieved that the rain has dropped the temperature out of the 90’s for the afternoon.

My town is a muddy, dirty little town, reminiscent of Lindsay Lohan… hot, and clearly disease ridden. The coughing, spitting, public defecation and urination followed by drunken men sleeping and rolling around in the same mud piles is generally indicative of high rates of gastro-intestinal and infectious diseases and an all around low level of personal hygiene; and that’s why I’m here. Peace Corps always wants us to put a positive / a-political / delicate spin on things when we tell home about where we are living… but I would argue that I am attacking my description with a keen sense of realism. If this was a nice place, my director would not have called it a difficult site; if levels of personal hygiene were on par with the United States, my job would be futile; and if I actually enjoyed living in these conditions, Peace Corps would not be the challenge that it is.

To be honest, being homeless and in a third world country has me in a rather strange place (note to Peace Corps proof readers: I am staying in the past volunteer’s hellishly hot office turned apartment, so do not sweat, I am not actually homeless); not only physically, but also emotionally. It took me two cups of coffee, a coke and a $1.25 meal today to snap out of the funk I was in all morning. As I sat in the comedor, looking out at the street and admiring the simple sense of humor of the drunk sitting beside me as he yelled in both Q’ eqchi’ and Spanish to the busses of commuters passing by, I did realize that this is not that bad. Being hot isn’t that bad; not having water, isn’t that bad; feeling like I need a shower every time I step outside but again, I don’t have water, isn’t that bad. I think that it takes a sense of maturity to overcome the little inconveniences in the world. It can always be worse, right? Now at the same time, it can always be better (oh crap, sounding like Vees). Point being, in my own personal life, the hardships that I may encounter are always going to be, in some way or another, surmountable; what can always be better is the way society functions and the conditions in which people live. It is the later perspective that guides my personal ambitions and the former that guides my personal attitudes. There will always be room for improvement, but nothing that burdens me is cause for alarm or distress.

All those pretty little words of motivation aside, I do realize that living here is going to be emotionally taxing. It is going to be hard feeling the isolation, the culture shock and the general sense of longing to be home, with friends, or in some place that is comfortable. As my friend Javi and I have discussed, you never get over the fact that you’re in the prime of your life and isolated from any female you’d like to be with (I think that the boys understand this sentiment). Oddly enough, and I do not want anyone to take offense by this, I find myself missing my fellow trainees now more than I missed my family and friends when I first left. The reason why, I hypothesize, is that these 44 other people were my real lifeline for the past 3 months. I know that I – and I’d think that the feeling is mutual – grew dependent on these people for support, for comfort and for a sense of belonging. They were something familiar to me in the most foreign experience of my life. My contribution to our communal commitment to service (a circular discussion in which those who wanted to share something before we swore in were invited to) was an anecdote about my skydiving experience. I told our training class (of which the 45 that started all swore in, solid-arity!) that I hope they will continue to be my big German skydiver, buckled to my harness, and telling me when to pull the cord. Singing songs as we spin through the air, free-falling in an environment that I’ve never experienced before, with them strapped to my back I know that we’ll land safely.

The title of this post reflects what I feel like I will be doing during times like this for the next two years. When there is no work to be done (oh yea there is no school right now because of Semana Santa, and almost all of my town is vacant because people went to the beaches, lakes or rivers for the week) and few people to socialize with, I will most likely be walking around by myself in much needed mud boots; in my room or the river naked; or on g-chat… possibly naked (note: the nudity is a joke about me going native in the jungle, I do wear a bathing suit in the river… not 100% for g-chat though). For now, I’m not too sure what I’m going to do this week. If I were to write out a to-do list, it would look something like this:

1) Stop missing your friends from training, you’re going to be here two years you wimp 2) Find your landlord 3) Make the aforementioned landlord finish the house 4) Move into the aforementioned house 5) Prepare to work out of the aforementioned house that is now moved into

In conclusion (and no, I would never use that in an academic essay), I’m both excited and frightened by this experience. I can assure anyone that so long as I feel my work is both substantial and effective, I will persevere through the day to day difficulties of living here. I have already made some friends thanks to help from Dave. My buddy Milton took me to the river yesterday and I was able to swim and wash off; another friend I made in Coban is my new hookup for any tourism activity or hotel I may need; and other dude is the temporary bouncer at a club in Coban which only opens four times a year but is worth knowing. I’m still missing everyone at home and my newfound friends here (shout out to Parramos and San Luisito). If you wish to talk to me soon, do so this week while I have internet. I am going to be on g-chat as much as humanly possible and frequenting the “send/receive” button on Outlook.

Lastly, Kelly I am incredibly proud of you. You’ve accomplished something awesome and I know that at eighteen I definitely lacked the dedication and work ethic you’ve shown throughout your whole life. Go Hoyas (that’s their mascot right!? Not sure what a Hoya is... whatever)!!!

PS: Dad I did not proof read this entry, please post any comments and corrections in the comment section below. They will be noted and addressed by the author as soon as possible. Thank you. (joke)

I found myself riding in the back of a rusted out pick up truck, sitting on a bench made of a piece of wood resting on top of the two extra tires. It was around nine at night even though we had planned on getting into Cobán to eat an hour earlier. Dave was treating a few of his guy friends from the aldea to a Cuban dinner in the city as a little despedida. It was surreal for me to be there, embarking on my service as he completes his. While the other two in the bed of the truck were shielding themselves from the wind, I felt surprisingly comfortable in my t-shirt with the fresh air in my face. It had been raining off and on for my site-visit, but the sky had cleared up this night. I tilted my head back as we zipped around turns and over hills through the jungle on the only paved road in the region. As I looked up I could see the stars as I had never seen them before. I couldn’t stop Coldplay’s song “Yellow” from echoing in my head as I would occasionally check the temperature or how high into the cloud forests we were going on my watch (John, consider that a shout out). I opened my eyes as wide as I could, waiting for the moment when we would be in a clearing of trees and my entire vision would only be composed of the infinite sky. The moon was a slight sliver and the Milky Way looked almost just like a cloud, the only one painted across this incredible view of space. When a bright shooting star crossed my vision, I began to wonder if it was real; how could such natural perfection exist?

What I started thinking on this 45 minute, 60mph ride was that my life is incredible! Not only that, but I realized the amount of privileges in my life are not necessarily privileges of things, but of freedoms. While these two may coincide at times, what the American dream really represents is not just the pursuit of material goods, but of freedoms and opportunities. In this way, my great-grandparents’ American Dream has been achieved. I have had the opportunity to be on a crew team with Olympians; I have had the opportunity to study what I want, not what I need; I have had the opportunity to explore my interests and find my passions; and I have had the opportunity to pursue such passions. How many people can say that? My time sitting in the back of that truck was so cool that I couldn’t help but feel as Frost’s character did in his poem, stopping in those beautiful woods, wanting to stay but realizing I have miles to go before I can sleep.

My site is essentially a truck stop on Pandora. Because it’s composed of a couple dozen houses, stores and comedores on each side of the one main road through Alta Verapaz, it is pretty dirty. On top of the garbage that covers the ground, it is also incredibly muddy and hot. My house is still missing electricity, windows and a door, but I’ve been assured it’ll be ready for when I want to move in (we’ll see). As dirty as the town itself is, as soon as you head down one of the dirt roads that run perpendicular to the highway, you find yourself lost in palm plants, ceiba trees, banana trees and the jungle just as you’d imagine it. Accompanying friends of Dave’s to go buy cotamum from farmers out in the field, (bought at 9Q a pound, sold at 9.50Q a pound) we wandered out down yet another dirt road that we found and wound up in a little village nestled into the jungle. We continued on to come across leaf-cutting ants and some sort of small, stingless wasps that looked like nothing short of a bunch of sci-fi characters hovering at the foot of a giant ceiba tree. It was like every minute I was being surprised with not only the natural beauty around me but how truly foreign the area was. I couldn’t help but waver between being awe-struck and overwhelmed by this new experience.

I spent four days out visiting my site, seeing where I’m going to live and the schools (also out in the jungle) that I will be working at. Yes, this is going to be a hard site. People there do not speak that much Spanish, especially the children. The deeper into the jungle you go the less Spanish you hear and the more Q’eqchi’. Dave, best described as “a boss” from Long Island, has paved the way for me both living in the town and working in the schools; however, there is still plenty for me to do and I do have my work cut out for me (3 kitchens, one rain-catchment and 1 hand washing station needed). This is the challenge I wanted and I am eager to dive into it… but first a week of swearing in, possibly – er, probably – drinking and a day at the beach. I’m sure this week will serve as a muse for some lighter writing; until then, I can only wish you’d be able to see what I saw over the past four days.

Kings of Convenience – Misread

Joe Strummer & The Mescaleros – Ramshackle Day Parade

Brett Dennen – San Francisco

Gomez – Little Pieces

Death Cab for Cutie – Someday You Will Be Loved

Jamie Cullum – These Are the Days

John Mayer – Heartbreak Warfare

Radiohead – No Surprises

Dave Matthews Band – #34

I think from the title, you can guess where my site is. Alone, no running water, a river close by, mud, heat and a Mayan language; I could not be more excited for this experience. My family can begin to anticipate messages on the answering machine of me whispering, “I watched a snail crawl along the edge of a straight razor. That's my dream; that's my nightmare. Crawling, slithering, along the edge of a straight razor... and surviving.”

But in all honesty, I think that from my past entries you can see that I am excited for this personal challenge. My director and trainer both told me that they think that I will do very well at this site given all of its difficulties. I can’t help but wonder how they perceive me / what they see in me, but I guess I’ll just trust their judgment. “Sergio knows what you want better than you do,” is what prior volunteers say. I’m not too confident on the accuracy of that statement, but I’ll go with it. I think that, as with most Peace Corps experiences, you learn to adapt to your new position and you grow to appreciate it, regardless of what it is.

My one complaint: Working in three schools doesn’t look as good on a resume as working with the Ministry of Education. This is the same reason many volunteers viciously attacked the four available positions in Phase III. However, I didn’t join the Peace Corps to boost my resume (see “about me”). When I worry about the breadth of service in contrast to the depth of service, I remind myself that I have plenty of opportunities for secondary projects; and my intention is to pursue those opportunities and make an extra effort to not only meet the needs of my job but also do something that impacts the Healthy School program as a whole. I don’t think I’m dreaming too big when I say that.

Finally, some last few perks about Alta Verapaz: It wasn’t conquered by the Spanish; It is the region with Coban and thus the Coban half-marathon; It has the nick-name of Frat-A-Verapaz because the Peace Corps population there is predominantly male; It is where the Quetzales live; It is supposedly very beautiful; When people visit me there they’ll be able to see something real (in contrast to people just visiting me in a city); It has cloud forests.

Here we go… a post to be proud of:

Wednesday (3/3) started with anxiety over traveling by myself across the country for the first time. Two camionetas later, I arrived in the beautiful (insert sarcasm here) city of Quiche whose current campaign season has spurred infrastructure projects by the incumbent political party; hence, half of the city’s roads when I arrived were demolished. After waiting in the park for a while and watching the shoe-shine-boys work their corners like an episode of The Wire, I finally met Travis, the volunteer I was visiting.

For the next two days Travis showed me the life of a Phase I volunteer living in a rather isolated municipality. He had a respectable mastery of Quiche (the language) which only made me covet a site that didn’t speak Spanish. The work he’s done in his schools in the past year alone (and granted we only saw 2 out of the 3 schools) was nothing short of impressive. Equally as important as seeing his work was seeing how he was living. To be honest, (and Travis if you’re reading this don’t take offense) the cockroach problem really is a problem. Aside from that, the way he works a toaster and electric cook top is incredible. After hour long walks down dirt roads to get to his schools, various talks, lessons, meetings and Rincónes de Salud, I left his site with a bolstered sense of confidence in my decision to do Peace Corps. (oh and he’s involved in running here, so I got a bunch of race info)

On our return to Quiche, the one microbus (smaller than a camioneta / similar to a van) was too full; however, in Guatemala if you are willing to pay and are motivated to get a ride now instead of waiting another half-hour-plus, you can sit on the roof. Apparently this was a first for Travis, but when he asked me if I would like to ride back on the roof my expression was reminiscent of my youth riding on a beach-chair placed on a skateboard and pulled by a go-ped (in this context youth ≈ 22). Anyway, in as much as the ride was bumpy, the roof rack gave us that extra sense of security and we did survive.

Far less comfortable than riding on the roof was my three hour return trip to San Luisito in the most awkward camioneta seat ever built. Now that could be because American school buses aren’t designed around the physical proportions of burly adult males such as myself; but I got home with the sorest butt ever (insert “that’s what she said” here). Returning home, I was energetically greeted by dogs, children and a baby (the four month old baby of the owner of the meat shop in front of our house has dribbled snot and saliva on my shirt more times than I would like to address). Kenny came over Sunday and we were able to play until I had to leave for Antigua to celebrate my friend Javi’s birthday. I don’t think he was too worried about me leaving seeing as he was busy with a lady (he doesn’t like being called her boyfriend – she’s 3, he’s 5 go-getta).

Aside from these things, I have kept myself occupied hunting brown recluse spiders in my room, practicing a rap I gave Tuesday (3/2) about volunteer safety, and enjoying rather regular bowel movement (yes John, Boston is worse than Guatemala in our case study so far).

I went to a paca (thrift store to the n-th power) on Monday (3/8) and epically failed. I discovered that the families in the US that send down their finds at Good Will to be sold by the rest of their family here target Men’s larges and up. I do not fit that category. However, I did find in an actual store a few awesome t-shirts that I can wear when I’m off duty. I also received a free hat for helping give an AIDS lesson at a high school. The white, flat brim piece of sartorial beauty with its red ribbon painted on the front yells, “respect me” as I sport it around town.

On another note, my family’s dogs have taken notice of the fact that I do not beat them. Therefore, all three of them are now my best friends (pretty cheap love). The problem: they all have flees and a myriad of other veterinary diseases that I can only hope cannot jump species. So while I do not have lice, I am now as flee-bitten as they are.

There will be another post this week when I find out my site and partner / if I have one. What we have here is a meandering compilation of things I felt I had to share before I forget. I hope you enjoyed.

Peace

Note (new word): pusillanimous: (adj.) cowardly; unmanly

I’m hoping that over these two years I can be not only challenged in terms of living and working, but also intellectually. I know that with a couple of my friends here, that shouldn’t be an issue. As a wise man that, had difficulty getting accepted into medical school, and although he is middle-aged, has premature grey hair (insert parenthetical citation here) says, you can learn just as much if not more from your peers as you can your professors. Abra agrees “anonymous”; and thanks for the info on fevers; I still need (from anyone who may see this or possibly a sibling that has access to his school’s internet library/articles/jstore “ahem” Andrew) info on the correlation between pediatric nutrition and neurological development.

New post will be up soon. Actually, depending on who I’m paired with tomorrow, my next post may be up very quickly and read something like, “screw it, I’m home by Thursday.” (Joke) Needless to say, there’s a lot of anxiety and stress among us Healthy Schools volunteers.

A quick comment in response to the Wall Street Journal article, How to Spend $10 Billion for Charity.

I know I was not going to talk much about politics or economics or anything too complex... but staying on a personal level, my true ambition and drive is to be one of these people; one of these philathrocapitalists; one of the privileged who can not only talk about solving the world's problems but also do something to implement such grandiose ideas and philosophies. The article introduces them as:

"variously called philanthrocapitalists, impact investors or social entrepreneurs—who argue the best way to solve the enormous problems the world faces is to harness not just business practices but also market forces."

Say what you will about each hypothesis - and I realize that philanthropy with good intentions but poor implementation can at times be detrimental - but if you were to ask me where I'm going in life, it would be to the point where these individuals are; that is, someone whose personal success coincides with a philosophy that revolves around reinvestment into humanity.

Oh and I'd also like to eventually be on TED... or at least invited.

With my new modem and a top speed of 50kbps, I have begun looking at the blogs of some of the other volunteers and my friends. I do not want to make a comparison to their fine pieces of web literature, but I feel that after seeing the variety of formats and writing styles, I should address what and why I am writing. (Note: This may get boring so I’ll keep it short)

It may have already occurred to you that my blog does not discuss health or education very much, the two sectors in which I’m actually working. Rather, what I’ve been focusing on are my own personal experiences and interactions here in Guatemala. I’ve also avoided politics and sounding too preachy due to requests from my parents. The experiences that are more on a personal level, to me, are the most important and interesting aspects of my life here. The work is and will continue to be great, but I don’t think there’s much fun in talking shop 24/7. Similarly, if you want political commentary you can look for an op-ed in the paper and get something a million times better than anything I could write (as it is, I’m two paragraphs in and have probably already lost your attention). You should know that I am working with the Healthy Schools project and thinking about politics, etc… but what is documented here are the things I find most interesting personally.

So to switch topics, what have the experiences been this week? Well there was an odd moment in which confusion over the local meaning of the word “chingar” had me thinking that my host sister was being a lot more forward than I had ever imagined. Three days later, she physically proved that she was, in fact, being that forward by making an attempt to take off my shirt to “see my muscles” (we all know how buff I am). In as much as I love this host family, it is a good thing that I will be moving out in a month and spending two of those weeks out of the house anyway.

I am now “Option C” with respect to the site in Alta Verapaz (the one where you bathe in a river). I remain flexible and figure that if I get that position it will be riddled with its own challenges; in contrast, if I am posted in Phase II or III, I will be able to create my own challenges and pursue my own ambitions on a larger public health scale. Either way, I’m still stoked.

A big concern of mine since arriving here is that I’m losing too much weight. Within my first two weeks of being here I had a dream in which our director told me that I was losing so much weight that I only had a week left to live (that was the same day I started my anti-malarial medicine; doctor, please note the correlation). In as much as I realize I’m not dying – I don’t think – I have probably lost at least 5 pounds over the past two months. What’s worse is that I lost another 5-10 before coming here due to running. So in all, I’ve probably lost 7-8% of my total weight over the past 6 months. Now I know what Beth and Jackie are thinking right now and no, I will not cry you a river… but seriously, I should not be this skinny. Three months from now I may look like I’ve been on a hunger strike. Maybe I’m being paranoid… but does anybody know a simple, natural weight gainer? (Something that you don’t have to go to GNC to buy) I have already resorted to eating a lot more beans and corn tortillas despite their tendency of being quite bland and monotonous.

I was able to play soccer this week with some other volunteers. That was probably the closest thing to a runner’s high that I’ve had since getting here. I think that, in comparison to me picking at worms by the goal when I was five, I really am not that bad at soccer. Granted, my coordination and agility is probably on par with that of a 300 pound Russian male, but all in all, I’m not that bad.

I am also getting to know the people who work in the stores close to my house a bit better. In addition to them, I feel like I’m getting to know the community, and the community here in San Luis Pueblo Nuevo is getting to know me. I think they’re finally seeing us trainees as permanent figures (well somewhat permanent) here. A tourism group that is associated with a foundation for rural Central American schools comes to our town weekly and the gringos are able to have a “typical” meal with one of the families in the community (poverty tourism – but I’m not going to judge… It’s better to be exposed in this way than blind in any other). This week they were at my house and I spent my lunch talking with them and translating. Speaking the local language really does do something for your superiority complex.

My last notes are that my camera no longer takes color photos. I mean it does, but each photo looks like it’s trying to express an acid trip in late sixties cinema (see “Easy Rider”). Aside from photos I get from other volunteers, you’re going to be seeing a lot of black and white on this blog.

We had a great time celebrating my training-town mate’s birthday. Thanks to Lauren, we were able to get probably more than 20 trainees together at a bar and cut lose. I may have cut a bit too lose, but regardless, the dancing, reggae and company were all worth it; and we all made it home safely before dark (Peace Corps I know you’re monitoring this). All of the photos posted here are from the birthday party.

Finally, even though I’m outside of the country, I am not entirely cut off from the news. Hearing about the earthquake in Chile was a big cause of concern and I’m still waiting to hear back from Santi and Julio. From what I hear, Santiago wasn’t hit too hard, but I still worry. I think that Peace Corps used to, and still does in some areas, represent two years of isolation. However, I can’t help but feel that I am just as connected to my friends and family now as I was when I was back home. Yes there are some differences, but just note that (“fijante que”), for better or for worse, Brent has not fallen off the face of the earth.

So again, I realize that my blog has failed to entertain. Maybe it’s me, but so far only one of my posts has been very stimulating. I may resort to sniffing glue before I write; I hear that works for some (joke). If not that, then my next post will simply be all in third person… we’ll see how that goes.

Peace

PS Comments are much appreciated if you’re able to post them. My mom realizes this and is kind enough to share the wealth with my other friends. But seriously, if you’re reading and you find something interesting, go ahead and comment… I know it’s lame to ask for them… but I’m not above that.

“You can look me up on myspace, I have over a thousand friends but I could always use more.” Ja’ Mie

Wilco – A Shot in the Arm

Stereophonics – Maybe Tomorrow

The Velvet Underground – Pale Blue Eyes

Ray LaMontagne – Hold You in My Arms

Neil Young/Stray Gators – Heart of Gold

Nada Surf – Legs Grow

Kings of Leon – I Want You

Jamie Cullum – Twentysomething

The Damnwells – Golden Days

So George Will’s opinion piece “Demon Denim” is incredibly entertaining Dad, but in as much as I try to mimic his writing style, I’m unable to succeed. That being said, here’s my newest post:

This week, I took a very nice trip back to America (no, not literally). The one thing I always experience when traveling abroad is the fact that as long as Americans are around, you never really leave America. Our field based training started with our departure on Sunday and a return to reality on Saturday. We visited volunteers in both Totonicapan (4 hours away from Antigua) and Tecpan (only an hour away from Antigua). More than any formal training, our group of 27 volunteers seemed to have simply been dunked in the sauce that is a volunteer’s daily life. Our directors and trainers left us in the mix for a week until we were fully marinated and then pulled us out with the intention of properly cooking us over the next month (at least I hope they’ll cook us properly). The training experience, for me, has been a shock simply due to its informality and emphasis on the facade of “professionalism” instead of efficiency, intelligence, knowledge, or the actual ability to do work. I know that Peace Corps finds and uses our blogs as a tool for the recruitment of future volunteers. Being such a tool, I’m simply going to let anyone who’s considering joining the Peace Corps know that the majority of your training is not, in any way, a teaching period; rather, it’s three months set aside for acclimation.

Returning to the “trip to America,” being trucked around with 20+ other Americans makes me realize that traveling with Americans is no way to see a country or experience a culture. Instead of learning more about the sites we were at, our focus shifted from the time Ellen was on the Oprah show, rum and cokes, games of “never have I ever,” and the dance to “Single Ladies”. We also discussed how lucky a current volunteer is because she’s missed the entire “John and Kate + 8” phenomenon. All of this was very fun, but a big difference from the day to day conversations I have been having with my host family for the past month.

That being said, it was very interesting to see the work of volunteers in Phase I, II and III (Phase I is a volunteer working in 3 schools; Phase II is a pair of volunteers working in a school district, 20 schools; and Phase III is a pair of volunteers working on the state education level). We had the opportunity to visit at least three schools, all in different stages of the Healthy Schools program. I think that I, and others, felt a little more motivated or enthusiastic about our work after seeing schools who have been certified “healthy” (so they have had 2 generations of Phase I volunteers, totaling 4 years in the program).

Now that I have finally had some time to get to know the other volunteers well, I’m realizing that we have a pretty cool group. Obviously, because we are so numerous, there are many clicks. There are also only 8 men and 19 girls (or something like that). The numbers work for me, and the majority of the guys are very cool. However, I know that if I were paired to work with another guy we would probably accomplish nothing over the duration of these two years.

Speaking of logistics, there is a chance that I may be switched out of Phase II/III and into Phase I to be the last volunteer at a site in Alta Verapaz. I don’t know if I’ve described how the program works, but with Phase I a school can be certified after having a volunteer work there for a total of four years (two volunteers, each working two years). My training group has the last four volunteers to finish up the last two years in four different sites because Phase I is being phased out (each site has around three schools; the goal is to certify each one as a Healthy School). The site in Alta Verapaz can only have a male volunteer due to security. It also lacks running water and is apparently located at a truck stop on the way to Coban. Oh, and the volunteer that is currently there says he can’t go into his house some days until after 11pm because it is simply too hot. This is the Peace Corps I thought I was going to have to do. In contrast to this, Phase II and Phase III workers usually live in conditions similar to what I’m living in now. They almost all have showers, running water, electricity and internet. Alta Verapaz is also one of the few hot, jungle regions of the country; and because it was not conquered by Spaniards, they heavily rely on indigenous languages. Until this week, I was under the impression that I would only be doing Phase II or III. However, because the male volunteer in our training group that was going to do Phase I wants to learn Spanish and not be in the jungle, I said that I would gladly trade spots with him. Naïve? Am I biting off more than I can chew? Eh, probably yes, but I’m now waiting to see if our switch happens. Our director says that me moving to Alta Verapaz is only a “Plan B,” although it looks quite likely. The two different jobs present their own challenges; but I can’t help but feel that bathing in a river for the next two years and having to learn a new language is more on par with the challenge I was hoping to confront in my Peace Corps service.

I’m still missing people from home, but I’ve been able to work around that. An interesting psychological “thing” (I’m sure there’s a better word than that) that happens with volunteers is that we begin to perceive time differently. We see these two years as isolated from the world and it is easily forgotten that the lives of others back home and around the world continue moving forward. I’ve expressed my feelings about this before, but I hope that my friends and family will progress, but not let me remain an isolated figure over these two years (even if I’m out in the jungle, I should have internet and cell connection – so call and e-mail me!). I also know that my perspective of time and waves of anxiety will definitely change once I am in site.

(Change of pace) Now that I’ve successfully bored you with that, I can share the fact that I haven’t showered in five days now. I guess it’s a good thing I’m not trying to impress anyone here. The best part is, I haven’t had a single pimple, nor do I smell. I’m going to assume it’s the climate that keeps my complexion so fine and I that I naturally smell like roses (I guess I shouldn’t be one to judge my own odor though).

My family here is still doing well. They said they missed me over this past week. When my sister started tickling me last Saturday, I decided it’s time for me to get out of the house. I like them very much, but am afraid that at least one of the three sisters (so not including the aunts and nieces) are trying to seduce me. The fact that they’ve started calling me “green card” instead of Brent doesn’t seem to help (joke). To give you a sense of our awesome family dynamic, here’s a typical conversation:

(Helen gets home)

Me to Ninet: Shit, Helen’s home.

Ninet laughs

Helen: I’m right here Brent

Me: Ohhh, hi Helen

Ninet still laughing

Helen (running to her mom): Brent and Ninet were talking about me.

Me from across the house: Love you Helen!

Clidia comes home: Hi Brent

Helen: Geeze, listen to how she changes her voice to sound pretty when she talks to Brent.

The little boy, Kenny, who was my companion for the month of January, has been forbidden by his father from coming back to our house. He claims that we were treating Kenny like a dog. I would like to know where he has been this past month and why Kenny was living here in the first place before I accept “Father of the Year’s” judgments. Needless to say, this is a dramatic point of contention within the family right now. I do miss the little toothless guy.

I’m buying a 3G modem very soon. So far, my Guatemalan purchases with my Obamallowance have been a pair of “Major Tool” sunglasses, a wallet, a cell phone, my little Buddha, and plenty of pizza and fried chicken. I feel that I am even more liberal with the government’s money than I was with my parent’s. I’m sure that will change when I’m scrambling for enough to buy my own meals, but so far I’ve been more than eager to spot my friends in times of need (at the McDonalds in Antigua).

Please continue posting comments… I am trying to upload some more videos. I know my writing is not always clear, so if there are questions, you can post them as comments and I’ll respond.

Peace

PS I highly recommend the movie “Sin Nombre” (we watched it in my Spanish class). Oh, and waking up to the roar of a volcanic eruption is quite the experience.

Frou Frou – Let Go

Wilco – Jesus Etc.

The Temper Trap – Sweet Disposition

Ray LaMontagne – You are the Best Thing

John Mayer – Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

Jamie Cullum – All at Sea

Death Cab for Cutie – Cath…

Regina Spektor – Us

Colin Hay – Waiting for My Real Life to Begin

Food poisoning really isn’t that much worse than a horrible hang over.

Check out my Vimeo account, I will try to keep it fresh: www.vimeo.com/bdnose

Chicken busses let you touch people in ways never thought legal in the United States.

PETA would not survive in the third world.

I need to check with the nurses to see if I have lice.

Guatemalan kids consider what ever is yours to be theirs as well. (Private property by association)

I think my host sister has a crush on me. She’s 13. Ladies at home be warned.

Peace Corps volunteers are not allowed to own a bike; however, they are permitted to have a horse. Ellen, expect a call.

My host mom was talking at dinner about the poor people I’ll be working with in the next two years. By most American standards, when you’re living under a sheet metal roof, you are poor; so, when I heard her saying this I was a little shocked. I think that towards the beginning of this week I was disillusioned into thinking that I am living poor now, and I was filled with a sense of pride when I began to feel comfortable with my life here. However, I’ve come to realize that my level of comfort is largely in part of two things: 1) I have already had exposure to Latin American culture and customs and 2) I haven’t really begun to touch, what I would consider, true poverty, tragedy or hardship.

In terms of logistics, I’m doing training for the next two and a half months, focusing on language and technical skills (public health / education). Five of the twenty-seven volunteers in my program will be working alone while the other twenty-two are going to be paired. The Healthy Schools program has been in action for more than a decade and it’s currently transitioning up the hierarchy, meaning my generation of volunteers will be one of the first working more with the ministry of health or municipalities instead of just being placed in one school. This means we will most likely be overseeing 20-30 or, for four volunteers, 200-300 schools. I will find out around March 11th where I will be placed and if I am with a partner. I do know that all of our assignments are in the Western Highlands due to demographics and needs. All of that being accounted for, I am incredibly stoked for this service.

This week I began using the chicken buses (public transit composed of old, overcrowded American school buses); I’ve had the opportunity to get to know my host family better; I am getting daily showers/bucket-baths; and I have had food-poisoning type symptoms twice this week. While I am missing home, family and friends, my experience so far has been great and I am incredibly excited to get to my actual site and begin finding a rhythm/routine (I would say that I work best when I have a routine).

I can only hope that while I am enjoying myself here, everyone back home is having equally rewarding experiences but not doing anything that I would hate to miss (all weddings better be off for the next two years… cool?). I highly encourage family and friends to consider making vacation plans to here (July 2010 – February 2012). I am realizing that because of the topography of Guatemala - and the Peace Corps regulations on regions I can enter - it will be nearly impossible to run ocean to ocean here… however, there are plenty of marathons in Central America that I’m looking into. In terms of finding something as challenging as a 300 mile run, I’m keeping my eyes and options open. Much like my actual service, the technicalities are not what matter, what matters is the larger perspective of challenge and accomplishment. As the Haitian proverb goes, “beyond mountains there are mountains.” (Yea… I just finished that book) Lastly, can you get crabs from dirty bed sheets?

If one were to imagine the film “I Am Sam” but set in a poor Central American village and a little Hispanic child replacing the young white girl, you would in fact be seeing my first few days here in the hillside town of San Luis Pueblo Nuevo. I do in fact feel like a mentally challenged individual trying to understand how all of the “normal” people are able to get through their days. In as much as I know that I am not actually retarded, it is a hard sensation to escape. I rely on the grandson of my host mother to answer all of my stupid questions. I secretly had him tell me all of the names of the people in the family (there’s more than 12 in this household) as I wrote them down. I’m still getting used to the currency here so when the five year old (Kenny is his name) took me to buy some clean water I brought the equivalent of a dollar. I was ready to buy three bottles but was five cents short. I succeeded in the second round.

Aside from acclimating to these tiny technicalities, I am in a household with one eldest woman (maybe in her 50’s although it’s hard to tell ages), a man who may or may not be her husband, a couple of her children and Kenny who always seems to be around. I have no idea who his mother is. I have taken on the duty, at least in these first few days, of being the live-in nanny. While it is nice at times, at others it’s flat out exhausting, especially in a second language. (Note, the power just went out) He’s gone through my luggage already and by the time he got to my laptop I just let him play with it so that I could get some work done.

I guess that’s how I’ll wrap up this update. I’m in a hillside village overlooking three giant volcanoes that protrude above the clouds. It gets pretty cold on some days, just enough to be uncomfortable. There’s no internet, so I’m writing my e-mails and blog entries a day before and bringing them with me to the Peace Corps headquarters on Tuesdays (it’s about an hour away). I’ll be here for another three months (until the end of March) when I’ll be sworn in and moved to my actual location for service.

It's good to know I have one person reading my blog. Anyway, here's to you mother. I've been here a few days now and to be honest I'm trying to avoid internet and phone contact just so that I can acclimate a bit better. However, I can share with you all that I have met some cool people in the first few days. I leave tomorrow for my training site where I will be for the next 11 weeks. I'm truly looking forward to the training and finally breaking away from the large group. Not to sound misanthropic, but I do want this experience to be "my own" which is what our director is emphasizing as well. I have already gotten back into the swing of bucket baths and I'm waiting for my first spell of intense diarrhea. I've also been bitten by a dog but he didn't break the skin so I think I'm cool. He just ripped a little bit of my pants. Aside from that, I'm getting back into Spanish and may take some classes on indigenous languages when the time permits. I know it depends on my placement, but I have a feeling these two years are going to go by quickly (that tone may change later).

Peace

As I depart for Peace Corps I can't help but question why. I guess that's only natural. I have, since the application process, questioned my decision to leave the country for two years. I guess my greatest fear has been the thought that I am simply running away from my troubles at home. That isn't to imply that I have troubles at home, rather pangs of dissatisfaction with my life. Am I simply running away because I have no one to keep me in America? Am I simply running away because I can't get a fulfilling job in America? Am I simply running away because I cannot find success in America?

I spent the last five months working on a cancer center. It was an interesting experience. The center is hoping to break ground in a month or two and a lot of their management/philosophy has come from what I provided (i.e. I wrote their mission statement and strategy for patient services). I'm not trying to brag; however, that job and the fact that my boss said that I'm always welcome to return, reassured me that I am not running away from America due to a lack of success.

Similarly, my farewell party on the 2nd of January showed that I have plenty people to keep me in America. I'm going to assume that my one reader was there (thanks John for making my blog worth while). Anyway, I do think that the friends and family who were there really do make my life worth cherishing and worth staying in America for.

So I guess, to conclude this post, I would just say that I am leaving for good reasons. Yes, I will miss people in the US, but I'm hoping that they'll visit me and if not, I'll see them in a couple of years anyway. Once you're past 20, time does fly by. I hope that that, at the very least, will make missing some people a little more tolerable.

So to my readers, and myself, I am leaving for good reasons and despite the bitter taste of saying goodbye to some great people, I couldn't be happier.

Adios for now

I feel that the start of a blog is going to be weak no matter what you do. Blogs of this sort are supposed to reflect an ongoing introspection into ones own life and that cannot be communicated in the initial entry; rather, I hope any of my readers come to appreciate me and my writing over time. So where is a 23 year old blogger to start? Do I introduce myself? Do I describe who I am, where I've been and what I've done? I think that that would be too plain. Much like I dislike books and movies that are excessively simple with their message, I too dislike people who try to describe themselves. Instead, I hope that my character can be revealed through thoughtful writing and valuable reflection. I depart for Peace Corps in Guatemala on January 5th and from then on I should be full of stories and anecdotes that will fill the posts of this blog. For now, I will simply write two lists. One is what I want to do before I leave and the other is what I want to do when I am there.

Before I depart, I want to:

Go to the Monterey Bay Aquarium.

Eat at a "Crab Bucket" place.

Go Go-karting.

See all of my close friends and family.

Gain five pounds.

When I am there, I want to:

Create the sustainable infrastructure for a healthier school system in the area to which I am assigned.

Learn to work and time manage in order to live independently and enjoy myself.

Understand the structural and cultural difference between developed world and undeveloped world (and find an answer for why 3rd world countries are listed as such).

Understand how health wellness can be maximized in the most efficient ways possible.

Run the width of Guatemala (coast to coast).