“This is a celebration which involves almost the whole population as only the lame, the blind, and the Seventh Day Adventists may remain at home on Carnival days.” -Donald Hill, 1977

A few weeks back, a bunch of us PCVs went out to Carriacou, Grenada’s sister-isle, for Carnival. Carriacou is a quiet place, reminding me of what Grenada was probably like 50 years ago. They hold Carnival at the traditional time, just before Lent, and have some interesting customs that are sadly fading away.While I would have liked to see what else I could find in the countryside, I was determined to see at least two traditional events. The big one that was still on all the Carnival event schedules was Shakespeare Mas (more on that in a minute). The other thing I wanted to witness, however, was Canboulay, the traditional start of Carnival at midnight on Sunday.

As soon as we landed, I started asking about Canboulay. I asked bus drivers and people on the streets of Hillsborough; I asked our neighbors in Lauriston and older people on the bus, but nobody knew a thing about it! Actually, the older folks did know what I was asking about: “Oh yes, that a kinda ole-time ting you talkin, hah ha.” But nobody knew where it might be held. Unfortunately, this timeworn event has changed little since its post-Emancipation origins, whereas Monday Night Mas and Jourve (pron. “joo-vay”) have all changed with the times (under Trinidad’s influence). Those more popular events drive modern Carnival, but I clung to the hope that there was still a rarified opportunity to see what Carnival was like 100 years ago.

Around 10pm on Sunday night, our group headed down into Hillsborough to see what was going on. We knew Calypso Monarch (Dimanche Gras or “Fat Sunday”) and a “wet-fete” were at least happening, but I was determined to catch a bus up-country and go exploring. While my friends all said to forget about Canboulay, I decided I’d rather waste my night seeing for myself that the old Carnival traditions were completely dead than stand around in a loud bar getting sprayed with water. Stephanie and two others came along for the ride. (Unfortunately, a camera did not.)

I looked for an older bus driver headed to Mt. Royal and asked what was going on up there. For the first time, there was a glimmer of hope: “Yes, I tink there some Big Drum an ting underway.” We jumped aboard. On the way up (maybe around Top Hill?), we passed a bar with a bunch of drunk Short-Knee players (an Old Mas band descended from Pierrot masqueraders) and I made a mental note to go there if Mt. Royal was a bust.

Now, according to Allsopp’s Dictionary of Caribbean English, Canboulay actually means cannes broulees, the spectacular burning of cane fields in colonial times, both unintentionally and intentionally. Christine David (2004) seems to suggest a number of possible origins, but an intriguing one is that planters from all over would bring their slaves to help in the emergency of a burning field. Bringing slaves and indentured servants together may have given rise to a big cook, with dancing and drums late into the night (a harvest festival). After Emancipation (August 1st, 1834/8), bottle torches were added and the event was continued at different times of the year such as at Tombstone Feasts, Big Drum ceremonies, and Emancipation Day celebrations, eventually becoming the crux of pre-Jourve festivities. In Trinidad, where it may have originated, it was essentially the Emancipation Day celebration but became part of Carnival when non-whites were banned from participating in the colonial elite’s Carnival. In the countryside, they threw their own Carnival, calling it Canboulay. Here is where existing elements (indigenous as well as African) began to merge with European Carnival traditions and morph into the modern Caribbean version. Even more interestingly, according to Wikipedia, this was the beginning of a number of laws that banned elements of Carnival (stick-fighting, drums, tambou bamboo bands, etc.), that forced revelers to continuously seek out non-banned materials like spoons and metal buckets. Within the course of about fifty years (1880-1930), this innovation evolved into the beautiful Carribean instrument we call steelpan.

The bus whipped around in the darkness and dropped us by a junction lined with old, crumbling rum shops and a small circle of people. The crowd was decidedly older, retired folks: well-dressed and in nostalgic high spirits. At first they were holding a practice Shakespeare Mas session (without costumes). We stood politely in the back, straining to hear what was going on. A nice lady came up and asked if we were hungry. As she ladled complementary cups of fresh pea soup, the endorphins were blasting away in my brain: It’s still going on!

I ducked off into one of the rum shops and bought a “quarter” of rum (about 3 shots) and some popcorn. As I walked out, a few guys were setting up drums. In the circle, two older men danced with sticks held outright, reenacting the kalinda, or stick fighting, of their youth in a friendly, artistic style. Aside from the bottle torches (which perhaps were absorbed by Monday Night Mas?), stick-fighting was a big part of Carriacou’s Canboulay. I asked another onlooker about it, and he said these fellas were too old now, “but back in the day, they would give lash! All kinds of blood and stupidness. No time for dat anymore,” he concluded, an allusion to how violent many of the Carnival events once were.

Another man stepped into the ring and began swinging his orthopedic cane around…. As I was learning, these traditions are upheld by a small group of rapidly aging devotees. Accounts I’ve read talk of a Canboulay in every village. Just forty years later, however, this was all that seemed to be left. Here were the effects of acculturation, experienced first-hand. Tradition Mas is not dead, but it’s certainly in the proverbial parking lot, looking for a place to park.

Then the dancing started: dressed in colorful, West Indian gowns a small group of women fluttered in beautiful, syncopated displays. Men pounded varying rhythms on hide-skin drums while people in the crowd clapped and chanted. This wasn’t a full-blown Big Drum celebration (listen here), but it seemed that they were performing from a similar repertoire. Interestingly, many of these dances have been traced to West-African tribes, most recently the Temne of Sierre Leone.

Because this post is so long already, I won’t talk too much about Shakespeare Mas. But basically, on the morning of Carnival Tuesday, participating Kayaks (the demonym of Carriacou) dress in colorful, masquerade-style costumes and quote lengthy passages from Shakespeare. It seems that, whereas in the past they would quote a wide variety of speeches (initially taken from British Royal Reader textbooks), they now only orate the surrounding passages of the “Friends, Romans, Countrymen” monologue from Julius Caesar. You can watch parts of it here (or, more hilariously, here). (Note that the Short-Knee still perform original speeches, often politically-related.) The Shakespeare players battle one-on-one, and when one messes up, they beat each other with wiry switches (“bulls”), protected by paper-mache capes. Here are some of my pictures from Brunswick and Hillsborough, where the final inter-village showdown took place.

-JH

References:

Allsopp, Jeannette2003 Dictionary of Caribbean English Usage, University of West Indies Press: Kingston, Jamaica.

Ashie-Nikoi, Eswina

2007 Beating the Pen on the Drum: A Socio-Cultural History of Carriacou, Grenada, 1750-1920, PhD Dissertation: NYU

Chase, Thomas, and Zarah Chase

2011 Abridged Handbook of Grenadian Creole English and French Names, ACLAIMS: St. George’s, Grenada.

David, Christine

2004 Folk Traditions of Carriacou & Petite Martinique, Christine David: Belmont, Carriacou.

Hill, Donald R.

1977 “The Impact of Migration on the Metropolitan and Folk Society of Carriacou, Grenada,” Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History, v.54(2):New York, NY

Alright, finally got the link up this week!

As I noted in the YouTube description, this is a documentary made by Peace Corps Volunteers in Grenada, West Indies to celebrate the PC's 50th Anniversary (1961-2011). Grenada has been a host country from 1967-1979, then 1986-present. An estimated 500 Volunteers have served in country since 1967. Video was edited by PCVs Katie Moran and Jon Hanna, EC-81 (2010-2012). It aired on local television stations MTV, CC6, and GBN from 11.28.11 thru 12.7.11. [Run time is 27 minutes]

-JH

Well, we’ve been busier than ever lately, so the blog has taken a back seat. It's been very hard to juggle the stuff I need to do for myself while maintaining various projects. I find myself working harder than I've ever worked in my life! For instance, weeknights are spent planning and getting stuff organized for teaching the next day while Saturday and Sundays are full workdays, researching, and writing things like grant proposals and reports. No time for enjoying this beautiful island I'm on! I’ve also been editing a video for the 50th Anniversary of the Peace Corps. It’s set to air on local television this week, but I’ve had a hell of a time getting it up on YouTube. I’ll post it here once I figure that out.

In terms of time, I can't help but think of the image often presented on blogs and YouTube by PCVs in other parts of the world, that there is tons of down time to figure your life out. This seems very appealing- taking time to help other people and figure out what's important in your life. Well, how can I do that while working 70 hours a week? Often these other Volunteers talk of having tons of free time to read books. I can't tell you how many times I've seen that: "Here's a picture of all the books I read in the Peace Corps." Is that some sick joke? Where did they get the time to read all that?? Well, I have a nice stack of books, too: ones that I plan to read when I'm NOT in the Peace Corps.

Anyway, here’s a promo for the 50th video mentioned above. It’s actually a plug for the local news. The full video is forthcoming.

-JH

I left the States in February 2010, thinking I was done with archaeology. It was my focus in college and a source of income for two years after, but a well-paid job with benefits and a future seemed like a faraway dream. Joining the Peace Corps, I thought, bottled that dream for a much later time. Thus, at my worksites in Grenada, I initially downplayed this background, highlighting instead my volunteering efforts and IT skills. Turns out, I almost missed a huge opportunity.

The idea of an archaeology summer camp had been swimming around my head for some time, but I didn't think it was really possible, logistically. Thus, I surprised myself when I ran into a friend from the Ministry's Heritage Office, Michael Jessamy, and blurted out the idea. He was immediately interested, and it was his enthusiasm- and approval- that encouraged me to start planning a small program.

Three months later, the St. George's Archaeology Camp was a huge success. For four weeks, twelve kids from around St. Georges came every morning to Queenspark to learn about archaeology, scientific method, and the history of Grenada. With the support of some friends back home, we bought a ton of equipment (trowels, tarpolines, screens, etc.), and ran a smooth operation that even attracted some media attention.

We had a scavenger hunt at the National Museum, toured archaeological sites around Grenada, and excavated three areas of Queenspark, including a real Arawak site along the St. Johns River. Surprisingly, all these excavations turned up prehistoric artifacts- even the initial "fake" ones I prepared! (So it seems that the entire area was heavily populated by Arawaks from about 0-600AD, based on preliminary analysis.)

Unfortunately, we had some major flooding during the fourth week- just before Carnival. Muddy water covered the whole area, including the school and our beautiful excavations. With little time left, we had to focus on cleaning up rather than completing the site. Thus, we're planning to finish the last excavations at the St. Johns River site sometime in October.

-JH

I’ve been hearing this a lot lately. In the States, commenting on an acquaintance’s weight gain would be considered bad form. Here, not so much. This morning a co-worker greeted me, first thing in the morning, by saying, ¨Look how big yuh thighs gettin’ gyal!¨ How would you react to this? I managed to smile and nod this morning, but it took some effort. In fairness, I have gained weight- or more accurately, gained it back. I lost 10-15 pounds when I was sick a few months ago but they recently found their way back to me.

In Grenada, when someone tells you that you’re getting fat, they generally mean it as a friendly, complimentary observation implying that you’re happy and you’ve been eating well. I know this, but it’s still takes effort for me to react appropriately.

It’s been hard in general to adjust to a culture where basically anything about your appearance is fair game for discussion. In the States, of course you would notice your co-workers grey hairs/buck-tooth/weird birth mark, but you would never mention it to them. Americans are generally happy to pretend they don’t notice the flaws in your appearance in exchange for you extending the same kindness to them. Here, on the other hand, you had better just stay home if you don’t want to talk about these things. At first, this openness just translated as rudeness to me. I’m coming to terms with it as time goes on though. It can be kind of refreshing to just openly discuss a big ugly zit. You can sort of shed self-consciousness about it and move on once your boss points it out and offers to pop it for you.

Grenada is pretty close to the equator, so, the temperature is pretty consistent through the year. But lately, it’s been HOT- drenched in sweat from the effort it takes to chew hot. A local friend of mine summed up the feeling pretty succinctly yesterday when she said, “Ah not sweatin’, ah runnin’ a pipe.”

When we first arrived here I was always hot. It was a pretty major adjustment to leave New Jersey in the midst of a February snow storm and arrive in tropical Grenada. After a little over a year, I’m pretty proud of myself for even being able to feel the difference between a regular hot day and a seriously hot day. I still haven’t learned to convert Celsius to Fahrenheit so the numerical temperature really means nothing to me. Locals are always noting nuances in the weather in small talk, but to me, hot was hot was hot until my body finally acclimatised. I know there have been plenty of miserably hot and humid days in our native NJ lately, but I feel like the sun has a completely different character here. Our Peace Corps medical officer likes to say, “The Caribbean sun don’t play,” and she is not kidding.

Hands Across the Sea is a 501(c)(3) non-profit charitable organization dedicated to raising the literacy levels of Caribbean children by assisting schools and libraries in Caribbean communities.

I heard about Hands through fellow volunteers who had worked with the organization to build their school libraries and start after-school reading programs. Now,this amazing organization is supporting a new special education teacher-training program I am starting by donating supplies. You can help support my program and this great organization by making a donation in my name here, via their PayPal account. You can also send a check with my name in the memo to:

Hands Across the Sea, Inc.411 Walnut StreetPMB 4218Green Cove Springs, FL 32043

You’ll receive an acknowledgment for tax purposes and your donation is tax deductible (their IRS tax ID number is 20-5897380 and they are a Massachusetts Public charity listed on the MA Attorney General's website.)

I am really grateful for Hands support as my community partners and I start this new program. Grenada is instituting mandatory secondary schooling for all students beginning in the fall. Up until now, students who didn't pass secondary school (high school) entrance exams were forced to leave school at 16-years-old. Many of these students have undiagnosed mild to moderate learning disabilities and have not received adequate support in school. Now, these students will have the opportunity to continue their education. Unfortunately, the majority of secondary school teachers have no training in working with students with special needs. With the influx of lower performing students and students with learning disabilities into their classrooms, these teachers need training in inclusion and special ed.strategies and methods in order to meet the needs of these students and keep their classrooms running smoothly. That's where my program comes in :) The overarching goal of the program is to increase secondary school teachers’ confidence and competence in working with students with special needs through training in a variety of inclusion strategies and building basic understanding of learning disabilities in general.I'll post more details and pictures of the program once we get started, but for now please, please support our efforts with a donation. Every little bit counts.

Thank you!

Well, not exactly famous. But- we are on the cover of Verge magazine's Spring/Summer issue. Verge's theme is: Travel with Purpose and this issue has a feature story on the Peace Corps' 50th anniversary. We were not interviewed for the story, but our picture was chosen from the Peace Corps Digital Library database. This shot was taken by a friend on a hike up Mt. St. Catherine- Grenada's tallest mountain.

I became a vegetarian when I was a sophomore in college. I read Peter Singer’s classic Animal Liberation in an honors class and swiftly cut the chicken fingers out of my chicken fingers/cereal/ice-cream dining-hall diet. Eliminating meat from my diet wasn’t difficult for me. I could barely look at it without activating my gag reflex as I read and learned more about animal suffering and the environmental and health catastrophe of industrial factory farming.My family was accommodating despite being a little perplexed and my mom generously started cooking extra veggie side dishes to go along with the traditional Christmas ham and Thanksgiving turkey dinners. My grandfather even found some bible verses that supported my choice (a high vote of support from a strict Roman Catholic.)After graduating I moved to New York City, home of 101 delicious ethnic vegetarian take-out options. When Jon and I started dating he ate meat- mostly pork chops cooked on a hot plate in his hotel room (he was a traveling contractor then.) When he moved in with me he converted. At first by default, I cooked vegetarian, and later by choice. Our biggest dietary conflict was occasionally finding ourselves in a restaurant with a lackluster selection of vegetarian choices. No big deal.Then, we joined the Peace Corps and moved to Grenada. Directly upon arrival we learned that our host mom had stocked her freezer with chicken to feed us. We weren’t ready to give up on our long-standing vegetarianism, which unfortunately caused a lot of tension. However, after a long talk with her we made a compromise and agreed to eat fish. We justified this to ourselves by imagining that eating fish would support the local economy in a place where ‘fisherman’ is still a prevalent job title. Also, how much damage could these guys in their little wooden boats really do? They couldn’t possibly be capable of the mass carnage of bycatch and environmental destruction that makes fish caught by commercial operations so objectionable. So, our new mom gave the chicken to her daughter and replaced it with...many, many cans of tuna- not much better, maybe even worse from an ethical standpoint, but we decided our relationship with “mom” was more important for now. She truly couldn’t imagine a dinner without animal protein in the starring role, so we made a concession and ate fish once, sometimes twice a day for the duration of our seven week stay with her. Unfortunately, we later learned that the local fishing industry is fraught with its own problems. Fisher-folk blatantly disregard game laws aimed at maintaining fragile fish and shellfish populations. Endangered delicacies demand the highest prices providing more than enough incentive for fisherman who are struggling to survive financially to take sea turtles, lambie (conch), lobster and fish without remorse. Compounding the problem, enforcement of game laws is basically non-existent.When we finally moved into our own apartment we swore off fish and ecstatically began cooking for ourselves again. Luckily, there are plenty of locally grown vegetables available here. A drought when we first arrived made this less true and also made what was available more expensive. Even so, we could easily find and afford: eggplant, potatoes, cabbage, onions, garlic, beets; and when it finally started to rain again: pumpkin, lettuce, green (bodi) beans, butternut squash, tomatoes, bok choy, bell peppers, cauliflower, and more. Add rice, beans and pasta and we were all set. We both learned a new set of recipes to go with our new set of ingredients and even attempted veggie versions of some Grenadian classics. Eating at home, we were happily vegetarian again.Many of our new Grenadian friends and co-workers easily accepted our choice. Luckily for us, vegetarianism is far from unheard-of in the Caribbean. Rastafarians, well represented in Grenada paved the way for us. Stricter Rastas are nearly vegan while those who are a little more lax just omit pork. As a result, ‘soya’ products are widely available. Soy milk, tofu, and even dehydrated chunks of soya ‘meat’ can be found in many local supermarkets. The ingredient labels of some of these products are a little suspect but that hasn’t stopped us from occasionally including them in chili, tacos or a stir fry. So, when there are plenty of vegetarian options available and a generally tolerant local population, why have we faltered? Well, despite general acceptance of a vegetarian lifestyle in Grenada, Grenadians by-and-large are a meat-eating people (they have an especially intense love affair going with chicken.) All the traditional dishes include meat in a fundamental, can’t-just pick-it-out kind of way. Food at festivals, parties, events, and cooks is invariably meat-centric. After about 4pm, BBQ chicken is often the only food available without going home to cook or spending a fortune in a restaurant. Please allow me a short tangent here: The chicken issue has been of special interest to Jon whose veggie diet was a popular topic of conversation with his co-workers. When they teased, he countered that chicken three times a day was hardly a better or healthier choice. When he shared some of his reasons for opting not to eat chicken, his co-workers insisted that they were eating local, Grenadian chicken and that none of his concerns applied to their small scale, farm-raised, cruelty-free fowl. Observing the sheer quantity of chicken consumed in Grenada, we had both been more than a little skeptical when people had insisted that all the chicken in Grenada was local, but this exchange with his co-workers spurred Jon to do his research and get to the bottom of the matter. He found that about 92% of the chicken is, in actual fact, imported. Jon’s co-workers were un-moved, but this tidbit did help to continue to steer us away from that late night BBQ when we emerged late at night from a bar with rumbling stomachs. Despite that small victory, I have to admit that I have eaten meat here in Grenada. It has never been easy to turn down a meaty dish offered up by a gracious host. Here, however, it is extremely difficult. It often feels like our vegetarian-ness compounds our already obvious otherness is social situations. It creates another layer of distance between us and the people we are supposed to be integrating with. When I have tried to explain my choice, more often than not my explanations about pollution and antibiotics and cruelty have produced blank stares rather than understanding or sympathy. So, finally, at a Christmas dinner for the teachers at one of my schools, about ten months into our service, tired of saying “no” and very, very hungry, I ate a little ham. It was tough and super salty and made me feel more guilty than satisfied. But, I didn’t have to answer a thousand questions about what was or wasn’t on my plate and I could just be a part of the event. I have had meat on a few occasions since; pelau at a birthday party, oil down at a cook... Each time I feel like I’m compromising an important part of who I am and what I believe in. At the same time, eating like everyone else has allowed me to feel a deeper level of acceptance and has alleviated the social awkwardness that accompanies scanning around for hungry dogs or shadowy corners to hide the meat someone has served me. I’m not proud of myself. In fact I’m a little ashamed that I haven’t lived up to my own ideals. I’m only human though, and more than anything else, this experience is teaching me that the most meaningful thing I can do here is build relationships. If I need to eat a little meat here and there to facilitate that, then I’m willing to make that concession.

"In the 1980s, U.S. cable television became available from Haiti to Trinidad. Antigua went in a matter of months from having two local, government-controlled stations, both of which specialized in U.S. programming, to twelve U.S. stations and the two local stations with U.S .programming. Cable News Network [CNN] from Atlanta, Georgia became the dominant news source throughout the region… Caribbeans began eagerly telling Americans the weather in places that neither had ever been. 'Yeah, mon, it hot hot in Phoenix today.'" -Mark Kurlansky, A Continent of Islands

Towards the beginning Pre-Service Training (PST) in the Peace Corps, the teacher for our Grenadian Culture course, Michael Jessamy, posed a question: “What is the biggest export of the United States?” Everyone scratched their heads and scrambled for answers. "Corn?""Junk food?""Financial Services?""PhDs?"Michael smiled, "Really and truly," he said, "it's culture.” The room went quiet. “Everywhere you go in the world, you find people saturated in American music, television, movies, internet sites, etc. It’s everywhere.” Jessamy’s class was supposed to be on Grenadian culture, but he knew that we had to begin with a crucial point in anthropology (and the humanities in general): know thyself first. That is, know your own culture before trying to interpret another’s- otherwise you'll get them confused.

This point has been put to me in so many ways over the years that it’s hard to choose which examples to bring up. One example is from the great Margaret Mead. While working at the American Museum of Natural History (AMNH) in New York, I would walk past an old video of Margaret several times a day. My office was right next to her Hall of Pacific Peoples on the 3rd floor, so all of us simply absorbed the whole thing by osmosis. In one poignant scene, the archaeologist Dave Thomas- who succeeded Dr. Mead as head curator- relates some advice she once gave him, in typical Margaret fashion: “What we don’t need is for you to go out into some viable culture and plug it up with your own cultural hang-ups!”

So the struggle, I imagined, was in my own brain- in the cultural constructs, beliefs, and behaviors I learned as an American. Little did I know, however, that in order to catch even of glimpse of another cultural perspective, I’d also have to wade through layer after layer of my own culture’s influences on that perspective. See, since America’s business is broadcast the world over, people are influenced by the good, the bad, and the ugly- our dirty laundry is on full display. Because of this, all kinds of misunderstandings arise. Some things (rap music, ipods, clothing styles, pizza) become acculturated into the local culture. Other things, however, are shunned. People see Jersey Shore and Dr. Phil and think that’s what Americans are actually like! They see violence and drugs on CNN and they think the US is an evil, wicked country (“the devil’s playground”). They see critiques of our educational system and they think schools in the US are terrible. People have actually told me, “Of course your children are so bad, you don’t beat them enough in school!”

It’s quite an education to experience all of this. I hadn't realized just how egotistical Americans might appear to some people. In fact, a very real perception seems to be that Americans think they know everything, yet know nothing at all. I mean, here we are, coming to Grenada and trying to promote positive change, yet from their viewpoint our own house is clearly not in order. It is, of course, debatable whether this varied image of the US can or should be corrected, but Peace Corps Volunteers are doing our best.-JH

Well we’ve been on hiatus for the last few months, but it’s time to get back to the blog-writing groove. Hopefully you can stay with me on this somewhat technical venture. Back in February, I started a journal entry about the geology of Grenada that I intended to turn into a blog post. A few days later, however, I was out collecting laundry in the rain and slipped. With one hand holding the laundry, my free hand reached back just in time to slam into the hill. I didn’t hear the crack, but my wrist screamed in pain and a rushing, cold sweat sent my body in shock. I rolled over and laid there for a minute- My God, I must be getting old?! Slowly I picked myself up, cursed the hill, and hobbled back up to the house, muddy laundry in my good hand.

Luckily, it was just a hairline fracture. The day I got the cast off, Stephanie and I took a vacation up to Carriacou, and caught a boat up through the southern Grenadines for a day. On the boat, backdropped by the dramatic Caribbean landscape, I thought again about that journal entry on geology. It dawned on me that, while my broken wrist may have been a freak accident, the fact that it happened on a hill certainly was not. Grenada is all hills. In fact, all these islands (except Barbados) are incredibly hilly. But, as it turns out, they aren’t just hills, they’re volcanoes (or, at least, remnants of volcanoes).

And so here goes my amateur understanding of Caribbean geologic history. If you need a picture for this, here’s a zip of some maps to follow. Beginning around 160 million years ago (late Jurassic), a series of synchronized, volcanic hotspots around the borders of the North and South American Plates hemorrhaged into a new, Caribbean Plate. The predominant theory holds that this actually happened in the Pacific. By about 110 mya, the plate began slipping between the continents, gliding over the widening Atlantic (the Panama isthmus, interestingly, didn’t form until much later). This movement caused a string of rifts to erupt laterally, close to the northern boundary, into what became the Greater Antilles (e.g. Puerto Rico, Hispaniola, Cuba, etc.), and also longitudinally, along a mostly submerged ridge to the south called the Aves. Then, around 60 million years ago (during the Paleocene- the epoch spurred by volcanic activity from the Chicxulub Meteor), another, more volatile ridge opened up further to the east of the Aves Ridge, giving rise to Grenada and most of the Lesser Antilles. Thus, for those trying to wrap your heads around this, these islands are really young- you won't find any dinosaurs here. And, of course, there are still many active volcanoes along the island arc: Kick ‘em Jenny, the only remaining submerged and active volcano, lies just to the north, between Grenada and Carriacou.

As these pyroclastic islands cooled, they became rich in life-sustaining nutrients. Soon the familiar landscape of sun-drench, palm-lined beaches and lush green mountains began to form. Life literally swept in on hurricanes, trade winds, and outwash from the Rio Orinoco (which carried the Arawaks about 4000 years ago; trade winds carried Columbus in 1498). Luckily, island life isn’t nearly as competitive as places like Central America, so jaguars, poisonous snakes, and other threats don’t exist here. Just big, slippery hills. And if you’re careful enough, you can learn to live on them quite well. Apparently, though, I’m still adjusting.-JH

Works Cited:Most of my references are linked, but one that formed the foundation for my understanding is P. Bouysse's piece in Biju-Duval and Moore's Initial Reports (#78-A) of the Deep Sea Drilling Project, a pre-drilling, NSF and JOI geophysical survey

Fleas dream of buying themselves a dog, and nobodies dream

of escaping poverty: that one magical day good luck will

suddenly rain down on them- will rain down in buckets. But

good luck doesn't even fall in a fine drizzle, no matter

how hard the nobodies summon it, even if their left hand is

tickling, or if they begin the new day with their right foot, or

start the new year with a change of brooms.

The nobodies: nobody's children, owners of nothing. The

nobodies: the no ones, the nobodied, running like rabbits,

dying through life, screwed every which way.

Who don't speak languages, but dialects.

Who don't have religions, but superstitions.

Who don't create art, but handicrafts.

Who don't have culture, but folklore.

Who are not human beings, but human resources.

Who do not have names, but numbers.

Who do not appear in the history of the world, but in the

police blotter of the local paper.

The nobodies, who are not worth the bullet that kills them -Eduardo Galeano, “The Nobodies”

It’s Christmas time, but because I grew up in a temperate zone, I associate this holiday with things like the scratchiness of sweaters, the quiet of snow, the smell of far-away chimneys, and the heaviness of blankets. In the tropics, however, it’s still 80 degrees and sunny, so Christmas has very different characteristics. As Stephanie has already mentioned some of these (namely, Sorrel and Parang), and because it generally doesn’t feel like Christmas for me, I’m thinking about something else associated with this time of the year down here: tourists. Christmas season coincides with tourist season, and there’s no mistaking it.

Another volunteer recently took this photo (above) of four cruise ships in St. George’s harbor. That’s the maximum capacity for Grenada, and, as you may be able to tell, they are a lot to handle. In fact, they’re the tallest things around when they dock at an island like this. Each ship is a giant city on water, moving from port to port in the Caribbean, inundating the towns and cities with mostly funny-dressed white people for a few hours before cruising back out. Of course, I understand the lure of an all-inclusive cruise: a vacation with parties, adventure, and relaxation, with the ability to see a big region in a short span of time. Frankly, a cruise sounds lovely upon first inspection. But there are many problems with cruises (pollution, harbor dredging, victimization, disappearances), and now after seeing it from the perspective of the destination, I don’t think I would ever take one myself.

There’s a big misunderstanding between the locals and the tourists. The locals don’t understand that each person coming off the ship (of the thousands unloading) is an individual person with a different interest and situation. Some may have barely afforded the cost of the boat and have little money to buy spice necklaces or trinkets. Others have a little money, but are annoyed at the feverish selling techniques of the local peddlers. The tourist may come off brusque and negative because they are so fed up and overwhelmed by the attention. Only a few of them (those more culturally conscious) may understand the unique phenomenon their floating city poses to a poor island nation- or at least that the locals aren’t wearing any shorts or sun hats. “Was that woman wearing jeans!?” I recently overheard a sweaty tourist (wearing shorts and a Hawaiian shirt) ask his friend. The average tourist, one might presume, isn’t interested in learning much about the destination or its culture. This bemusement at the local wearing jeans seems to be the extent of their inquiry. Tourists want to see a few trademark sites before re-embarking: waterfalls, forts, beaches. For lack of time, they probably won’t notice the huge disruption they cause. St. George’s population almost certainly doubles during the few hours each ship is docked. A country whose demographic is 99% black is flooded with (predominantly) white gawkers with funny accents, taking pictures, dressing inappropriately, and generally not interested in conversation; let alone buying anything. The circumstances are stark for misunderstanding.

Yet something like 90% of Grenada’s income is based on tourism. One need only look at the case of Natalee Halloway in Aruba to see how fragile such investments are. All it takes is one drunk tourist to wander off with some predatory locals for the whole economy to take a monstrous hit. If the Halloway incident had happened in Grenada, where its former colonial metropole no longer provides huge subsidies (c.f. the Dutch), people would starve in the wake. And then there’s the paradox that the more “touristy” a place gets, the less attractive it is for tourists. Cancun comes to mind.

For its part, Grenada is undergoing a resurgence of investment in agriculture. After Hurricane Ivan, the country’s nutmeg industry- once 2nd in the world- was decimated. Only recently has the government stepped up incentives for replanting (nutmeg takes about 20 years to reach full production). They’re also investing in increased cocoa production, a crop that grows all over the island due to its colonial predominance but for which low market prices (driven by child labor in West Africa) have inhibited harvesting. The government, of course, benefits the most from tourism, due to the docking fees it collects from each ship. During peak season, Grenada gets about two ships a day. Recently, the government has negotiated a shocking duty-free zone, complete with massive harbor dredging, on perhaps the most culturally-preserved island in the Caribbean: Carriacou. I hope Grenada moves toward more domestic and subsistence-oriented investments like agriculture and small-business development. Tourism income is really what the cruise ships make, not the island destinations. What revenue that trickles down to local economies doesn't reach enough people. Thus, tourism can only be a small part of the answer.-JH

I mentioned sorrel in my last post and I'm following up with some pictures of my latest attempt at making this traditional Grenadian holiday drink. Sorrel reminds me a little of apple cider; it's spicy, you can drink it hot or cold and it smells amazing.

Here is a close up shot of the flowers. I bought these in the market for about $5 EC or about $2 US.

To make sorrel:

Put the sorrel and any spices you want to use (I used bay leaves, cloves, cinnamon and fresh ginger) in a pot. Cover with two few inches of water. Bring to a boil, then cover and simmer for 15-20 minutes. Add brown sugar to taste and let the flowers and spices continue to steep overnight (if you can wait.)

Strain the juice and enjoy. You can also add some rum to make it extra festive :)

The spices I added to my sorrel (cinnamon, bay leaves, cloves and ginger.)

Simmering away.

I'm trying my hardest to get into the Christmas spirit. It's hard to believe we're getting so close to the holidays when all of the usual signs are missing. No cold weather, no shopping, no family parties. I made this little sea glass Christmas tree over the weekend to make our apartment a little more festive and I thought I'd share some purely Caribbean Christmas traditions that I'm learning to love.

Sorrel. I'm planning to make a batch of this traditional holiday juice this week. I'll take pictures of the process to share. Sorrel flowers are a deep, dark red. The juice is made by boiling the petals in water with cinnamon, cloves and fresh ginger, sweetening it up with some brown sugar and then letting it steep over night. It is so fragrant and delicious.

A LONG school holiday. In New York, we worked up to the 23rd and returned to school on the day after New Years. In Grenada, the school term ends next Friday and we will return on January 4th. I cannot wait for the break. I have a lot of hikes and beach time to catch up on.

Parang. Parang is Christmas-themed Soca. The songs are mostly about having a good time over the holiday season whether that means drinking some rum and sorrel or wining (grinding) with Santa. My favorite Parang song is 'Santa Lookin for a Wife.' I wonder what happened to Mrs. Claus in this song...

Violence against women is a serious problem in Grenada. As the 16 Days of Activism approaches, GNOW (Grenada National Organisation of Women), has been busy planning a campaign to address the issue. We found an amazing project and decided to copy it on a smaller scale (see a video here.)

The main goal of the project is to get Grenadians talking about domestic violence. Currently, talking about violence against women is taboo. People generally believe that violence that happens at home is the business of the family and no one else should interfere. These attitudes contribute to the perpetuation of violence against women and foster a culture that blames the victims. The first step towards change has to be bringing the issue out of the closet.

Our version of the South Africa 'Changing Faces of Domestic Violence' project involves a media campaign to encourage public discourse on the issue accompanied by the display of our changing faces on Grenada's two large digital billboards. We had a photo shoot on Friday to make the images and I did our model's make up.

Here are the results:

After some careful consideration of my interests, the current job market, talking it over with Stephanie, and reading some books, I decided recently to apply for the US Foreign Service. The first step is to take an extensive 2.5 hour exam that covers everything from world history to management theory to Standard English. Basically, it’s miles wide but inches deep. Here’s an example of two questions off the Registration Guide (answers at the end of the blog):

1. The Council of Economic Advisers advises which of the following on monetary and fiscal policy? A. The Federal Reserve Bank B. The Joint Economic Committee of Congress C. The President of the United States D. The Senate Budget Committee 2. All of the following are examples of United States products that would typically fail to be produced to optimal output without government intervention EXCEPT: A. national defense products. B. light provided by lighthouses. C. new automobiles. D. new highways.

Fun right? Seriously. The topics are pretty interesting, so my comprehensive study plan took on a sort-of self-improvement course that consumed every free moment of my life for the past 6 months. (For anyone interested in my plan, I’ll post it to the FSOT Yahoo Group when I get my scores back). The test is notoriously hard, though- so much so that I’ve heard people have taken it just to see if they could pass. Here’s a funny parody I found online (click on the image to see the large version): So after all this studying, I finally flew out to the embassy in Barbados two weeks ago and took the test. While I’m bound by a Non-Disclosure Agreement not to relay any of the actual material covered, I must say that it was not nearly as hard as the reputation makes out. Suspiciously, the test was revamped and computerized in 2007, and rumors have spread ever since that it isn’t as hard as it was previously. Perhaps it was actually my intensive study regime, but I’m not so sure. In a week or so, I’ll find out my scores. From there, I move on to some essay questions, then a full review of my scores, essays, and application, and then, if I match the person they’re looking for, I move on to an Oral Exam and interview in Washington DC (probably sometime in February 2011). If I pass that, I’ll be put on a register and hopefully receive a job offer within 18 months. This whole process is eloquently illustrated in the following diagram (click to see the large version; FYI, A-100 is the class for new hirers at State):As you can see, I’m still a long way from becoming a diplomat. But for now, this is the plan.

For anyone interested in more info on being an FSO or studying for FSOT, there are numerous sites online. However, I’d be happy to direct you to some of the ones I found most helpful (that Yahoo Group is a good start)- just emailme. Oh, and the answers to those two questions: C. for both.

-JH

I started making my own personal care products a few years ago. I took an Herbal Medicine Basics workshop and began experimenting as soon as I got home. Trying new recipes for things like cough syrup and lip balm became one of my favorite weekend hobbies. Living in NYC, I was spoiled with access to myriad health food stores and local herb farms where I could find virtually any natural additive I needed. When we moved to Grenada, I thought I would have to put my hobby on hold. Where would I find the exotic oils, clays and herbs that had become my staple ingredients (and how would I afford them anyway)? I went back to using store-bought shampoo, deodorant and face wash, but couldn’t quite make peace with the ingredient labels. Through some online research and a very informative video, I learned that many of the chemicals listed on the labels of my products are known neuro and reproductive toxins, many have been linked to cancer, learning disabilities, asthma and other health problems. Despite the scientific research espousing the dangers of these chemicals, the FDA currently doesn’t assess the safety of personal care products, and there are no laws banning the use of toxic chemicals. Many companies oppose banning these dangerous toxins because, they argue, the doses in their products are too insignificant to pose a health threat. However, most people use a combination of many different products every day. For instance, women use an average of twelve different products daily, each of these produces has an average of twelve chemicals. Inevitably, all of those tiny doses of ‘safe’ products accumulate in our bodies to form a dangerous toxic stew.In place of government regulation, the industry has been entrusted with forming its own committee for policing the safety of its products. We all know how effective self-regulatory committees are when big business is concerned (i.e. the recent BP oil spill catastrophe and factory-farm product recalls), so it comes as no surprise that the recommendations of this committee, as industry-friendly as they are, are optional.After making these disturbing discoveries, I had a renewed sense of distrust of commercial products and decided to make my own Peace-Corps-budget friendly products using only the resources available in the local market and grocery stores. Another round of online research, followed by lots of trial-and-error (think bad hair days), have finally resulted in a handful of cheap, safe, and effective recipes featuring...baking soda!As it turns out, baking soda is a miracle product. In addition to its ability to smother fires, cause dough to rise, soothe heartburn, clean tarnished silver, and relieve itchy rashes (including poison ivy and bug bites), it’s also super effective as the main ingredient in my homemade shampoo, deodorant, toothpaste, and multi-purpose cleaner recipes. For about $5EC (~$2US), I can purchase a box of baking soda in any local supermarket and turn it into a month’s supply of cleaning products. Even better than the savings, I don’t have to worry about the health concerns caused by commercial products, or feel guilty about polluting this beautiful island as I watch our grey water flowing into the ravine next to our house.

*This is my favorite of my new recipes. I think it’s more effective than any of the commercial deodorants that I’ve ever tried. That’s saying a lot considering that we live in the tropics and very little activity can cause a whole lot of sweating.

Baking Soda Deodorant:

Mix 1/4 cup baking soda and 1/4 cup cornstarch in a bowl. Add 15-30 drops of lavender essential oil (lavender has anti-microbial qualities to help fight the stink bacteria). Slowly add olive or coconut oil and mix until the consistency becomes spreadable (4-6 tbsp.)

Store in a small Tupperware container.

Spread a pea-size amount under arms to keep smelling fresh.

I spent a little time this weekend turning some of the things I've been collecting around the island into jewelry.

I picked these shells up on the beach in Carriacou.

Spices are one of the only things that are cheaper here than in the US. A packet of cloves costs about $2.50 EC ($~.90US). I got the idea for these spicy necklaces online- jewelry and perfume in one!

Sea glass is pretty abundant at the local beaches. Locals fault the 'yachties' for throwing beer bottles from their boats close to shore. The glass bottles break and the pieces are smoothed and polished by the rolling around in the sea and sand. I've been collecting it for a while and finally got around to making these earrings and necklaces when I found an alternative to drilling holes in the glass by making clips out of copper wire.

These 'river beads' come from a stalk-like plant that grows in- you guessed it- rivers. They have a pretty bluish tint and I think they look like oddly-shaped pearls.

I'm planning to make these with my Girl Guides group in the near future. I made a circle template on styrofoam (egg cartons) with straight pins and then wound string around to make the pattern. Next, I painted the string with watercolors. When the string died, I coated it in a layer of Elmer's glue to make it hold the shape. When the glue dried, I removed the pins . Voila! String art earrings!

Classic paper bead necklace. We made these at camp over the summer and my Girl Guides are making them next week. This one is made out of colorful Grenada tourism ads :)

It’s a beautiful Saturday morning in Belair, Carriacou. The wind is blowing softly though the trees that line Heritage Park- the main venue for the annual Big Drum festival. Because it’s a steady wind, we slip a foam sock over the microphone. Our interviewee speaks slowly, naturally giving weight to certain words in unbroken rhythm. “It is in the sound of the drum that you can feel the common vein within all the world’s religions… it is the voice of God.”

Mr. Fleary is a local oral historian. “When I was growing up,” he said, “I learned these things from older people- people who were 80, 90 years old. The oldest, I believe, was born in the 1880s, and they learned these things from people who were then 80, 90 years old themselves. So some of those people were former slaves! And so you have this continuity; generation after generation, my family’s story has been preserved.”

The recounting of oral history is a lost art of the ancients that probably suffered greatly from the invention of writing. Think of the epic tales of Homer, for instance. Before they were written down, performers delivered thousands of lines of this poetry from memory. Such mnemonic powers seem superhuman in a world of Wikipedia and iPhone apps. It took me two, agonizing weeks to memorize the Gettysburg Address in High School, a famously terse rite of passage that no longer seems relevant to a society glued to computers.

And yet, Mr. Fleary was full of verse, peppering his conversation with poems, quotes, and sayings from all over the world. Caribbean, English, and American poets all flowed, unabridged from his lips- including, at one point, the lyrics of “If I had a Hammer” by Pete Seeger (a once frequent visitor to Carriacou). He spoke of slavery, the history of Carriacou, and the importance of his beloved Big Drum Nation. He knew the specific areas of Benin and Guinea his ancestors had come from. There was even a story of being drugged and sold into slavery, waking up in the unforgiving bowels of a ship sailing towards the Caribbean.

There was a connection between Mr. Fleary and I that I hadn’t anticipated. I wasn’t sure how he would feel about this white Peace Corps Volunteer/anthropologist videotaping him, but there was clearly an understanding between us- an appreciation for the things he was saying and the thing I was doing. This man was keenly interested in preserving his culture, declaring (to my relief) that, “the future lies with the anthropologists, and the oral historians, and those who truly understand people.” For six days, a number of other PCVs and I helped an NGO on Carriacou called PIA, doing all types of work. But it was this interview that stands out the most for me. Mr. Fleary is at the crux of his culture- a custodian of an important history that faces extinction with a young, apathetic population.

After the interview, we checked the video to see how it turned out. No one thought to change the tape. The next day the camera was used to film an annual boat regatta, and my entire interview with Mr. Fleary was overwritten. As upset as I am, I think it was a sign: Stephanie and I need to go back to do another, more extensive interview with this new friend of mine- the native anthropologist.-JH

So we just returned from a 6 day trip to Grenada’s sister-island, Carriacou. However, before I talk about that (in the next blog), I have to say something about Carnival, despite it having been 3 weeks ago. Carnival is essentially a 4-5 day cultural exposition of music, dance, costumes, and drunken madness (see Stephanie’s previous post on the main events). It’s traditionally held just before Ash Wednesday all over the world (though the only remnants in America would be the New Orleans Mardi Gras festival). A few Caribbean nations, however, Grenada one of them, moved their Carnival celebration to six months later, in the week following Emancipation Day (emancipation in the British Empire, 1834). While I think part of the reason for the change was tourism, the relationship to Emancipation Day cannot be overlooked since poignant references to slavery are interspersed throughout the celebration (see Stephanie’s post on Jab Jab, the Devil’s devil, a few months ago). There are big parades on Carnival Monday and Tuesday (August 9th and 10th this year), comprised of paint throwing, drunkenness, glow-in-the-dark swords, and fancy consumes (for which Stephanie revealed her Vegas showgirl side). On Pantastic Saturday, just before Carnival Monday, an annual steel-pan competition is held, where pop and soca songs are covered by huge, 30-80 piece steel-pan bands. Before Carnival, this was what I most looked forward to, but it’s actually one of the least attended events! Only white people and older Grenadians filled the seats at the stadium- creating a sedate, tranquil event that, unfortunately, left many of us a bit sleepy. The real event was the night before: the SocaMonarch competition. As became clearer after that night, SocaMonarch is essential to enjoying and appreciating the rest of Carnival. The songs that are sung will be played incessantly- particularly the winning soca song- throughout the rest of the week. On this night, the stadium was brimming was young people, crowding the stage and forming mash-pits on the grass. I’ll have to say that at some point during Mr. Killa’s song, I had a realization. Honestly, some of the songs were a bit menacing when I first heard them the weeks leading up to Carnival. But Killa’s Tim-Burtinesque stage skeletons drove home the cynicism hidden in the death-references, blackened Jab-Jabs, and other dark Carnival traditions. His once scary song about death and revenge now seemed a pointed, yet subtle, response to blackness as the color of sin (vis-à-vis whiteness as purity). Carnival is an annual catharsis- the one time of the year that these sentiments are shouted in the streets (despite the vigorous religious community). This was a powerful insight that instilled in me a deeper appreciation for Carnival, and a better understanding of what it is to be black in a bleached world- something, of course, I will never fully understand. -JH

Check out the pictures I posted on Picasa. They tell the story much better than I could ever hope to write it.

Soca Monarch

Ah jammin’ every man dat I meet on de road...

Get in a circle and form a tornado...

The words of these songs are burned into my brain.

We danced up a storm, literally.

J’Ouvert

The night before J’Ouvert felt like Christmas Eve. Jon and I were tossing and turning in anticipation until our alarm went off at 2:30am. Everything after that is a paint-smeared blur.

My neon green fingerprints are stained into the clothes of a hundred strangers.

Fancy Mas/Pageant

Our feather head-pieces and sequined bras speak for themselves.

Monday Night Mas

Street rave! We paraded down the street (again) in our sparkly, light-up, glow in the dark gear dancing to Soca and filling our ridiculously huge cups with Caribs at the drink truck.

For those of you wondering about how we’ve come to see the events in 1983, here is some food for thought. To begin, let me just say that most of the people we’ve talked to here see the US intervention favorably (note the picture)- which I found surprising based on what I had read before our arrival. It’s also interesting to note that most people here could be divided into two groups: those who call it the “US Intervention,” as I’ve come to see it, and those who call it the “US Invasion,” as it’s listed on Wikipedia. Not surprisingly, the choice can be loosely correlated to the person’s fondness of Eric Gairy or Maurice Bishop, respectively. (Of course, there are many people who blur the spectrum.) In 1983, President Ronald Reagan said the main reason for the US invasion of Grenada was the safe evacuation of American medical students. While reports show that the students were not in any danger, the point is largely moot. Everybody assumes that Reagan really acted on the perceived threat of communism, a Caribbean domino-theory with Cuba leading the infection. Articles at the time cited the building of an international airport by the Cuban government as a causal factor for US involvement. However, the fact is that from the moment Maurice Bishop gained power in 1979, he realigned the country with Cuba and the USSR and began instituting an anti-US, pro-communist agenda. This was no secret- he had been proclaiming this very agenda for years on the stump, and had engendered an enormous following along the way. So when Bishop spearheaded a successful communist revolution in 1979, why didn’t the US act then? Perhaps the Carter presidency didn't see the threat of communism as a good reason to invade another country? (This is something the Right still refuses to admit.) But we didn’t invade in 1979. Instead we watched Grenada become a militarized, communist state with heavy political oppression, driven by a cult of personality around Bishop. (It’s interesting to note that we’d allowed this before- USSR, Cuba, North Korea. If it had been democratic socialism like in Nicaragua, Chile, Guatemala, Dominican Republic, etc. then we would have immediately invaded.) Fast forward four years to October 1983, when in-fighting within Bishop’s government lead to a violent split, quickly resulting in his brutal execution along with a dozen supporters. This was the moment when the island was truly thrown into a chaotic purgatory. People stayed in their houses, afraid to go out in the streets where armed soldiers stood on every corner. Those that lived through it told me this was one of the scariest moments of their lives- right up there with Hurricane Ivan. No one knew what was going to happen, and it seemed clear that there was a need for intervention by larger powers. Now that’s not to say that President Reagan’s explanation was justified (or, as an aside, that there was not a shocking number of medals given out after the intervention). As it turns out, though, the US involvement was, in fact, justified, just not for any of the reasons officially provided. It was justified on moral grounds- the same way that an invasion of Darfur or Somalia or Nigeria or any modern failed state would be justified. The sad part is that America will never invade such places without strategic necessity. (It’s debatable, then, what the strategic necessity was for Grenada: fear of Soviet involvement? A need to show America’s strength in the wake of the Beirut bombings?) What’s most interesting to me, though, is that the American Left generally condemns the invasion, whereas the Right generally agrees. But, in reality, neither side seems to have gotten it right. Our intentions were duplicitous and vague, but the need was clear. In other words, we got it all wrong, but we still got lucky. This wasn’t Nicaragua or Vietnam or Iraq- Grenadians actually wanted us here. Thus, it seems that propaganda comes in subtle forms. The condemnation by left-oriented sources, who I would normally agree with, appears to be as equally shallow as the rationalization from the Right. I guess propaganda is propaganda, no matter which side you’re on. However, sometimes you just get lucky. And the Truth can be a powerful ally by any measure. -JH

This seems to be a topic that a lot of people are curious about so I wrote up a food journal of the past few days to give everyone a look at what we typically eat.

Friday

Breakfast:

Cereal with soymilk and raisins, and papaya from our tree. I drink tea, Jon has coffee.

Nothing about this is typical for Grenadians- except the papaya. Mysteriously, most of the grocery stores carry Costco brand soymilk. I don’t question this because it makes me happy. Grenadians don’t drink coffee. Jon wants to talk some farmers into growing it so he can start a coffee revolution. Until then, Nescafe will continue to rule.

Lunch:

Leftover callalou rice with pigeon peas (from Thursday’s dinner)

Calalou is a leafy green sort of similar to spinach, except it’s famous for growing in ditches here. The root of the plant, dasheen, is also edible- it’s like a purpley potato. Our land loard picked some calalou from the backyard garden and gave it to us so I used it to copy a dish we had in a local lunch shop. Calalou basically has to be cooked into a mushy consistency to be safe to eat. Eating it raw, or even undercooked can make your throat get really scratchy and swell up. We learned this the hard way. So, to make calalou rice, you basically cook the calalou into oblivion and mix it into the rice to turn it green. It’s actually pretty tasy with some onions and garlic thrown in. Pigeon peas are abundant and cheap here as well so I threw those in for some protein.

I try to make big dinners so that we can have leftovers for lunch the next day. This is a money and time-saving strategy that is working out pretty well for us.

Dinner:

Spicy eggplant and vegetable fried rice at a Chinese restaurant, Flag.

HUGE splurge! We don’t eat out often because we’re on a pretty tight budget with our Peace Corps budget so this was a big treat.

Saturday

Breakfast:

Tea, yogurt and papaya

The yogurt is another big splurge from the fancy IGA supermarket.

Lunch:

Cold avocado and citrus soup with bread and butter.

My co-worker gave me four great big avocados, or pears in the local parlance, the other day. He has a tree in his yard and they are just coming into season here. So, I had two overripe avocados and found this recipe in an awesome middle eastern cookbook I borrowed from the PC office library. All the bread here comes from local bakeries so it’s always fresh and delicious.

Dinner:

Bar-b-que tofu, macaronic and cheese and calalou.

The bar-b-que sauce was way cheap at the closest grocery store- probably because it’s past it’s ‘expiry date’ but still delicious on the braised tofu. The stores stock tofu for the vegetarian Rastafarians, but the vegetarian PC volunteers buy it up too :) I made the mac and cheese from scratch with THE cheese we can get here. There’s no time wasted debating which type of cheese- or type of anything- to buy in the grocery store.

Sunday

Breakfast:

Tea, mangoes and cereal with soymilk again.

We get mangoes from our neighbor who has one of the best trees around.

Lunch:

Leftover mac and cheese.

Dinner:

Eggplant and tomato paella.

I make this using a recipe from my favorite cookbook- Mark Bitman’s How to Cook Everything Vegetarian. This particular recipe is even on his website:

http://www.howtocookeverything.tv/recipe.php%3Fnid=26.html

Eggplant is always available here but I have to substitute canned tomatoes for fresh. The recipe also calls for safron which is so much better and cheaper here than at home. Food, on the whole, is WAY more expensive here than in the US. Spices are the only real exception to that rule. We spend the majority of our living allowance on food.

Snack:

Kettle corn

Popcorn is our go-to snack here. It’s cheap and after burning a few batches, we have both perfected our technique. Kettle corn is pretty simple but there is one tricky moment when you have to take the lid off the pot to add the sugar.

Try it at your own risk: http://www.instructables.com/id/How-to-Make-Kettle-Corn/

*btw- this is one of my favorite websites ever.

Teaching kids with special needs can be overwhelming, emotionally exhausting and incredibly frustrating for people with years of experience and specialized degrees. Without any training, teachers can feel utterly hopeless. At least, that’s how I felt on many, many days of my first year teaching. I had a degree in art and went through a summer long crash course before taking on a third/fourth grade self-contained special ed. class. I can empathize with the special ed teachers here in Grenada who jump head-first into this work with little or no training to guide them. Even so, I was lucky enough to have the support of other teachers going through the same thing and to be teaching in a place where special education has been legitimized by the law, learning disabilities are largely recognized as real, and resources for professional development and classroom use were easy to come by. I thought my first few years were rough but compared to what special education teachers here go through, I had it easy.

Teacher training in general here is insufficient. Some people take a two-week crash course before starting to teach, a few have associates degrees from the community college, a small minority have bachelor’s degrees. The majority of teachers who have been working for twenty years or more started fresh our of secondary school (at 16 years old!)

Special education teacher training is almost non-existent. Unfortunately, there is only one course in special education offered locally. It covers every possible ‘exceptionality’ over the course of a few weeks. Otherwise, the brave special ed teachers of Grenada rely on the monthly workshops held by the Ministry of Education to get ideas about working effectively with their students. Although these monthly meetings are helpful, more training is needed.

In my opinion, becoming a successful teacher comes mainly through experience, trial and error, creative problem solving, resourcefulness, tireless work ethic... and a genuine love of the kids. Many of the teachers I have observed and worked with here possess all of these traits, however, they need more training to reach their full potential. I think a basic understanding of disabilities and instruction on effective teaching methods and strategies are essential for special ed. teachers.

One of the goals of my assignment here is the advancement of teacher training. I’ve been working with special ed teachers at two schools, but from the beginning, I’ve been concerned about the limited impact I would have by only working with a few teachers. So, I recently wrote a proposal for a new, larger-scale special ed teacher-training program. I’m excited to say that the special education chair at the Ministry of Education likes the idea and we are in the planning stage to get ready for implementation in the 'fall.'

My idea for the program came from a course I took at Hunter College while I was working on my masters in special ed. The course, called the Learning Lab, meets twice a week for one academic year.

In the first session, each of the teachers is matched with a student with learning disabilities who they will work with for the entire year. The first half of each bi-weekly session is dedicated to one-on-one tutoring. All of the teachers in the program work with their students in the same large room, enabling the instructors to walk around, observe, give guidance, model teaching strategies, and answer questions. After an hour and fifteen minutes of tutoring, the students are dismissed and the teachers reconvene in small groups with their instructors for another hour and a half. During this time, the instructors ask the teachers to reflect on their tutoring session, give feedback about their observations, teach a new skill or strategy for subsequent sessions, and review lesson plans.

I found this program to be more helpful than any other course or workshop I was required to take. The Learning Lab model pushes teachers to try new strategies, reflect on their teaching and build new skills. The experiential nature of the program makes learning more meaningful by giving participants a chance to experiment with the strategies they have been taught under the supervision of an experienced and knowledgeable instructor. This practice builds confidence and increases the chances that teachers will transfer their new skills to their full-time teaching positions. The opportunity to work alongside and talk with other special educators also provides valuable opportunities for knowledge sharing and collaborative problem solving.

The modified version of the Learning Lab that I am planning for the teachers here will reach many more teachers than I can work with one-on-one, and hopefully, all of the participants will take away some ideas that will make their teaching more effective and their jobs a little less stressful and a lot more enjoyable.

It’s late afternoon, but the sun is still blasting down. The ground is soaked from a weekend of torrential rain, and some of the pallbearers have thick cakes of mud on their shoes. I wonder how many verses there are in “When the Roll is Called up Yonder," as the small church choir, accompanied by an accordion, serenades Mrs. Leah Andall’s descent into her final resting place. Born in 1910, she was 99 years old- just 6 months shy of 100. I was stunned by the realization that someone who remembered the end of WWI, the slow, painful acquisition of civil rights, the rocket ascension of Eric Gairy (and his equally explosive fall: Maurice Bishop’s Revolution), the US Intervention, Hurricane Janet (1955), and Hurricane Ivan (2004), etc. was still alive and walking this earth! In this moment, I think of something my neighbor told me recently: “Even like 15 years ago, Grenada was all darkness and bush, man! Then, it seems like all at once, we got electricity, paved roads, street lights, running water, and cable television.” He might have been exaggerating a bit (after all, it was his political party that ruled for the last 15 years), but these things are all very new to Grenada. I mean, the grandparents of this woman in the coffin may very well have been slaves- slaves! - and her parents were probably not much better off. What an amazing time to live! The changes she witnessed and experienced first-hand are some of the most dramatic in human history. Standing there, sweating, I think of my own grandparents and feel a bit more appreciation for their history, which I’ve often considered, and try to see them in this same viewpoint- as a stranger. A lot can change in 100 years, man, that’s for damn sure.

This was my first Grenadian funeral. Interestingly, everything had seemed pretty ordinary up until now: the congregation at the church, the sermon and eulogy, the long procession walking behind the hearse, etc. But after the final few words in the cemetery, I noticed that the singing kept on going. Does “When We All Get to Heaven” really have this many verses? I think to myself. And I swear we sang “Swing Low Sweet Chariot” more than once now! I walk around the back of the crowd to get a better view. I’m somewhat embarrassed by the circles of sweat seeping through my shirt- until catch a glimpse of the grave scene. A few men from the funeral are shoveling wet, heavy mud, assisted by some Rastafari gravediggers from the cemetery- all bathed in sweat. It’s then that I realize we’re supposed to wait until the grave is entirely filled before we can leave! The men have mud all over them, too, and look to be struggling to finish. I walk back and wonder why all the cemeteries I’ve seen seem to employ Rastafarians- or why Rastas tend to be cemetery workers? It’s interesting because most of the people being laid to rest are devout Christians, but their last arrangements are then attended to by people of a totally different faith.

One of my co-workers, Kerry, comes and sits down on a gravestone next to me. His black dress shoes are caked in mud from a failed attempt at shoveling. He puts them in a bag and walks around the rest of the night in his socks. He’s a funny kid: didn’t know this lady in the least, but somehow he was able to jump in as a pallbearer and now as a gravedigger- as if he’s one of the family! “He did that last time, too,” one of my female coworkers explains, laughing. “He should be a politician- he’s so ambitious!” And then there’s the crowd. It’s enormous- stretching outside of the church and probably numbering over 100 people. Most of them are friends of the family rather than people who knew the deceased. (As it goes, everyone is basically invited to these things.) The Prime Minister, however, was in the front row at the church, ostensibly because he actually knew Mrs. Andall. She was the grandmother of my boss at the Ministry, so I spontaneously jumped at the chance to attend when I heard about it earlier in the day. Our department actually had a bus pick everyone up and drive us to the northern end of the island (in Sauteurs). You would think the north end wouldn’t be too far since Grenada is only like 20 miles long, but it takes about an hour on the main road. (And it’s a rather sickening, bumpy hour with constant turns and sways.) Finally the singing finishes and we walk back to the car. Next stop is “Happy Hour”- which I think in the US we simply call a “reception.” I have a beer and some food and sit awkwardly in the corner, trying to understand what my co-workers are saying to each other. (There is a definite language barrier here that I’ll have to talk about some other time.) We stay for about an hour and then head back to the southern end of the island in the bus. Later that week, I actually ran into the pastor who officiated the funeral. He remembered me well (not only was I the only white face in the crowd, but I was also under-dressed in khakis and blue dress shirt.) He tells me that it was a particularly lengthy service at the cemetery because the ground was so wet. “We normally don’t have to sing so many songs,” he joked. Then we both shared our wonder at the amazing century Mrs. Andall had witnessed. “I can’t even imagine what sort of conditions she was born into,” he admitted. “100 years. 100 years!! What a life!"

-JH

Imagine a scantily-clad man covered in motor oil from head to toe so that his entire body is pitch black and glistening. He wears long twisted horns on his heads and chains around his neck. His mouth is blood red, a cow tongue dangles from his clenched teeth. In one hand he carries a slaughtered pig's head, in the other a weapon. These are Jab Jabs, a Carnival mainstay representing the devil.

I saw my first Jab Jabs yesterday, at the Carnival 2010 launch held at the national stadium, and I truly couldn't take my eyes off of them. Scary and irreverent at the same time, these devils alternated between desecrating their pig head, refreshing their body oil, drinking rum, chanting and wining (dancing in an overtly sexual way.) I was curious about the symbolism behind their various props and accessories, but found that no one around us understood anything deeper about the display either. The customs have been passed down along with all the other Carnival traditions and their original meaning seems to have been largely lost to the general public along the way.

By searching online, I was able to turn up a few interesting bits of information on the tradition.The term Jab Jab comes from the patois of diable, French for Devil. The call-and-response chanting has traditionally focused on social criticism, class opression and parodies of the colonial education system. The chains Jab Jabs wear around their necks have replaced snakes which represent African fertility gods (hence the wining.) Use of live snakes dropped off in Grenada in the 1950's after Hurricane Janet wiped out the indiginous population.

The Jab Jabs I saw yesterday also carried faux machine guns and a briefcase. Possibly commentary on modern-day evils?

On Friday afternoon, another volunteer and I pounded the pavement soliciting signatures for GNOW's (Grenada National Organization for Women) petition to stiffen penalties for sexual offenders. In Grenada, the current maximum sentence for any sexual offense is three years. This number is criminally low. Even so, many offenders, if they are convicted and sentenced at all (very rare) are likely to be back on the streets in a matter of months. Girls in Grenada have the lowest average age in the Caribbean for their first sexual experience, well before they reach the age of consent. 75% of crimes reported to the authorities are sexual offenses but only a very small percentage of these lead to arrests and convictions. These statistics, alarming as they are, are heavily skewed by under-reporting. The true picture is scary beyond words.

The petition calls on the authorities to make the necessary changes to allow the following:

1. Stiffer penalties for those persons who steal the innocence of young boys and girls and prey upon women- old and young.

2. Pass a law to establish a sexual offenders' register to disclose identities of sexual predators and to make this information public knowledge.

3. Adopting and implementing a protocol dealing with sexual offenses.

To my thinking, there is nothing in the petition that a reasonable person could possibly oppose. However, we faced a fair amount of opposition during our morning of petitioning. The majority of people we talked to were glad to sign. A small group of others made me realize how much progress there is to be made in protecting women's safety and increasing respect for women's rights, sexual and otherwise, in Grenadian society. It was hard for me to accept that I would even need to debate this issue, let alone walk away politely when people flat-out refused to sign. I'm glad for the signatures we collected, but the experience definitely strengthened my commitment to working to making Grenada a safer place for girls, and boys, to grow up.

While you don’t have to go far to hear an American artist on the radio here (media culture is by far our biggest export), the music scene in the Caribbean is thriving on its own. Most of the pop stuff is dominated by Jamaicans, but there is also a vibrant calypso and soca scene. In the market downtown, DJs mix cds of different pop songs (sometimes before they’re officially released), and sell their remixes to the bus drivers. Thus, my rides are dominated by these local cuts, and a few get stuck in my head all the time. Here’s a couple of them (notice the dialect difference, too.)

Top Picks (on the bus) -All of these are Jamaicans, except for Sparrow:

1. Romain Virgo: “Live mi Life” (personal favorite) (see also, “Who feels it knows it”)

2. Gyptian: “Hold Yuh” (I hear this 2-3x daily, but usually as a cover or weird remix)

3. Junior X: “Gangsta Life” (also, “Plead My Cause”)

4. Vybz Kartel: “Spend Time” (also: “Street Vybz Rum”)

5. And just for kicks, here’s an oldie calypso I’ve heard recited probably too many times: Mighty Sparrow: “Sal’ fish”

Bonus: Nekoyan Bain (one of my friends at the Ministry), is a rising star in Grenada, "For Sure"

More to follow, just now.-JH

Calling something 'nice' is one of the highest compliments here in Grenada. Food doesn't taste delicious, it tastes nice. Hanging out at the beach isn't relaxing, it's nice. On the flip side, to say something 'is not nice' is a pretty low blow.

Here is a scale to clarify:

Really Nice= Amazing

"That oil down was really nice, it was the best I've ever had!"

Nice= Good

"The movie was nice but I liked the book better."

Not Nice= Bad to terrible based on intonation and facial expression

"That bus driver is not nice, he bounced a kid last week!"

At first I felt like Grenadians were missing out on using a whole range of descriptive words, now, I kind of think their usage of nice is, well...nice :)

I'm walking down River Road, just past my school attachment, as the sun is setting. People are outside, enjoying the cool of the afternoon, and kids are running in the streets, playing with old, broken toys you'd think belong in the garbage. This is a pretty impoverished, working-class neighborhood whose rum-shop patrons and vagrants appear intimidating at first glance. Second glance, too, actually. I say "Good afternoon" anyway, a sign of good will, and smile at the children. As I'm walking, though, a soft, child's voice sings in my ears from behind: "Compuuuuter man! Mr. Compuuuuter man!" I look back and it's one of my little 3rd grade students from the Methodist school. I didn't recognize her without the green and yellow uniform. I smile warmly and we talk for a minute before I continue on my way. A few minutes later, I hear another child's voice from across the street yell, "Mr. Jon!" I smile and wave. By the time I reach the end of the road, I've had so many shout-outs, there are tears in my eyes.

My program at the Methodist school has taken on a life of its own. As I just alluded to, computer class is super popular. Kids fight just to get a chance to come in during lunch, and I've had to try different strategies to pacify the situation. With my counterparts (the principal and her assistant), we've hashed out a schedule for me to come in twice a week, teaching three classes a day. The curriculum has largely been left up to me to develop, so I've included lessons on typing, Microsoft Word (we don't have the internet yet), and give ample time for the kids to simply explore. Since I'm only there twice a week, I let the kids come back during lunch- my only break. Aside from the stress of dealing with a mob of kids attacking my door (which, as I said, I'm slowly solving), the lunch period gives me a chance to really see what the kids want to do on the computers. While some do play games, there's always a few that load up the typing program and redo a lesson we had in class. I laugh to myself when I see them honing their typing skills during free time- there are plenty of other programs for them to choose from. But it seems like they're actually enjoying my class, and that I really am doing something positive.

-JH

A Grenadian IEP is one page, front and back. After a few years of wading through 9+ page New York IEPs, I find the simplicity of the Grenadian version refreshing. There are certainly important elements missing, however, the document has been thoughtfully designed to make the most of what the Grenadian public education system is able to provide for students with special needs. There are a few special schools for students with more profound disabilities and some elementary schools are lucky enough to have special education needs teachers (who may or may not have training) on staff. Overall, the resources- human and monetary- are grossly inadequate to provide an appropriate education for many of the public school students with special needs.

But, back to IEPs...

Like a New York IEP, a Grenadian IEP contains brief summaries of a student's health and educational history as well as goals and objectives set out as instructional priorities. In my opinion, the beauty of a Grenadian IEP lies in the fact that its most prominent sections are dedicated to descriptions of a student's strengths and weaknesses and the academic and social goals which have been developed for him. Practically speaking, these sections are the most important because they serve as guidelines for instruction. Personally, I don't miss some of the elements I am used to seeing on New York IEPs but which are missing in Grenada. Two of these missing components, standardized assessment results and their by-product, the classification category, are missing by default. There are no school psychologists to administer assessments here, so students go without a 'diagnosis' unless their parents go in search of one in another country. In my opinion, remaining un-labeled can be more of an asset than a hinderance to some students with learning disabilities. In my experience, I often found the psychologist's choice of 'classification category' mystifying after getting to know a child. Without the ability to label kids, special educators in Grenada are forced to take a more personal approach in assessing a student's needs. A system that focuses on specific strengths and weaknesses that have been demonstrated in the past gives richer information. For example, at best, reading that a student is 'speech and language impaired' on his IEP can give a teacher a basic idea about the nature of the student's struggles. At worst, that label can trigger preconceived ideas and judgements that may not apply to the student at all. Truly relevant information about the student's needs must be discovered through personal contact, assessment data and work samples collected by the child's teacher. I don't want to imply that students with special needs should never be officially diagnosed. I am suggesting that for those students whose learning disabilities are less severe, developing an IEP based on close, personal observation can be more effective than relying too heavily on labels for information.

Sing a song of Soursop,

Sweeter than it sounds.

Smooth, creamy, milky white,

And spiky all around.

Soursop is my new favorite tropical fruit. A soursop smoothie from Andall's is like heaven.

Now that we are official volunteers and have started

working, people from home have been asking me, "So, what do you actually do?" I haven't been very thorough in answering this question because, even now, just starting out, my brain gets overheated thinking about all of the different jobs, activities, and responsibilities that my assignment entails. Saying that I am a special education volunteer doesn't seem like an adequate response.

On Mondays and Wednesdays, I am working with a Special Education Needs Teacher (SENT) at a local primary school. I have helped her to administer the Grenada Reading Screening (GRS) assessment to identify students with special needs and I am working with her to add guided and shared reading activities to her reading instruction. During the last two weeks I have also been working on teaching her and her students how to use PowerPoint to make their own books. On Wednesdays after school, I help run the school's Girl Guides group (like Girl Scouts).

I also work at a secondary school, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, where my focus is on math. I sit in on math classes and assist the struggling students during their independent work time. I also have one-on-one math tutoring sessions throughout the day with students in a small office I share with another special education teacher. On Tuesday afternoons, I help another volunteer out with a remedial after-school math program she runs.

On Fridays, I volunteer with Grenada's National Organization for Women (GNOW). GNOW runs a variety of programs aimed at promoting gender equality on the island. Right now, I'm working with another volunteer to design a workshop for primary school kids on domestic violence.

That more or less sums up my work week :)

Just wrote this long response to a couple from NYC interested in applying. Since I spent so much time on it (they had a lot of questions), I figured I'd post it here:

--------------------

Hey, sorry for the delay- we've been crazy busy (things started picking up after swearing-in). Anyway, I'm glad to see someone read my stuff! Ok, so let me try to answer some of these questions.

Marriage:

-You're supposed to be married for a year before you can leave. We actually applied before we were married and they were happy to get the process moving. What happened, though, is that they waited until we were actually married to have the Interview, which was about a month after our wedding.

-We actually had a cheap but fantastic, small wedding in Central Park (reception in Mid-Town) with about 80 people, which was well worth it. The problem with having a wedding versus going to the courthouse, though, is that we had to wait almost 2 months before receiving the marriage certificate from the City Clerk. I think if you do it at the city chapel, you get the marriage certificate right away?? Peace Corps held our nomination until they had a copy of the actual certificate. (In the end, however, this didn't matter because it still took about 8 months for us to be nominated). Regarding newlyweds, there are tons of newlyweds joining the PeaceCorps all the time, so I don't think they cared much- at least not on an official level.

One other issue regarding marriage that we didn't think about was our surnames. Stephanie kept her last name, and so Peace Corps has repeatedly thought we were two separate people. When we arrived at Orientation, they had us in separate rooms! Our APCD, too, had us in separate home-stays, apartments, etc. Ridiculous right?? That's the PC, though. I obviously wouldn't make the decision based on this, but just be prepared for confusion.

Process:

We didn't really attend any informational meetings, but we did read a couple books: Nine Hills to Nambonkawa, So You Want to Join the PC? (highly recommended), as well as literature from the PC office, online, and blogs. We did attend a couple events in the NYC area that were held by RPCVs. I remember one that was about writing in the Peace Corps that made us aware of some of the sites out there and the rules for blogging. (btw, check out http://www.peacecorpswiki.com, if you haven't already, and PeaceCorps2 is a great Yahoo group).

Timeline:

We thought we would leave within a year, but the process for couples is a bit longer. (However, most of the other volunteers here in Grenada took over a year.) It especially felt long during the 8 month period before we were nominated because we heard almost nothing about it. Every month or so, I'd email the recruiter (who wasn't very helpful) and would get short responses back, seemingly bothered by our persistence. Don't worry about that, though, because if you don't bother them you may never hear anything, ever.

Also regarding the timeline, don't tell ANYONE you applied until you get nominated. Ok, maybe your parents. But seriously, it only added to our anxiety when everyone was- naturally- asking for updates once a week. You won't know anything for quite some time, so there's nothing to tell your friends, co-workers, and relatives anyway. After nomination, too, you'll be around for another 7 months or so to answer questions.

Training:

Training was tremendously different than what I imagined. I expected that we might be split up since we have different jobs, and I imagined us living far from where our assignments would be (ie. in the capital). That may be so in Africa and such, but in the Eastern Caribbean, the countries are super tiny. Ideally we were supposed to be living with a host family in the actual community we were assigned for 2 years. (We weren't, but many of the others were.) Hence, you get to know people in the community before anything even starts. During training, too, (and I believe this is worldwide) once a week you: work in a school, shadow someone in your field of work (to learn the general work culture), and (at least in the EC) go to your assigned work site. So training was only 2 or 3 days a week, for 7 weeks. We were even encouraged to start projects if they presented themselves.

In general, too, training was incredibly boring and, at times, painful to get through. From the PC stance, there may be people with only a high-school diploma (though rare), so they have to include very basic stuff just in case. For instance, Stephanie has a Master's degree in Special-Ed and 4 years teaching experience, but she still had to sit through sessions on managing classrooms and making lesson plans. Same thing with a guy on St. Kitts who had a PhD in psychology and 20 years experience in domestic violence counseling. They simply don't tailor the curriculum to anyone's qualifications.

Placement:

We didn't even realize the Peace Corps was in the EC (though they have since 1961). The thing about this region- and Grenada in particular- is that it's pretty well developed. There are plenty of issues (domestic violence, poor educational system, etc.), but they're way beyond basic need fulfillment. Our house is very nice, and totally different than the yurt in Mongolia we originally imagined. That said, you may very well end up in such a place. This was just our experience and everyone's is different.

Also, there's a rumor that if you request a place (for instance, Latin America), you would be purposefully sent somewhere else. Not sure how it works, but you're supposed to be willing to go anywhere. And for couples, I think it's just wherever they can find a community requesting your two different skills and backgrounds (which can be very hard to do).

So, the bottom line is that you should apply right away, since it takes so long for couples, but don't tell anyone you applied until you get nominated. And keep reading and asking questions, but know that the experience is different for everyone.

Hope all this helped, and feel free to ask me anything else. I'm sure you'll be great assets to the PC, and I wish you the best of luck! You won't regret the decision, I promise.

-JH

I’m sweating in a black suit, on stage with my seven other PCT friends in front of a small group of about 30 people (host families, co-workers, Peace Corps trainers, etc.). Two air-conditioners are on but they don’t seem to be making much of a difference. Interestingly, rather than growing accustomed to the heat, I’ve simply grown accustomed to sweating all the time. Seriously, I’m a gross, sweaty mess wherever I go. I can only hope people understand what's going on when they always see me soaked to the bone. I think it takes years- maybe even generations?- for your body to truly acclimatize to a new environment. And being from the Northeast, I’m built more to retain heat than to lose it. This is a battle I'm simply not going to win.

Anyway, none of the people I invited have shown up- not even our host-mom. To be fair, I did talk it down a bit with everyone, replying to questions of how “big” the ceremony would be with, “I don’t think there’s going to be much to eat.” Of course, I was spot-on, but the truth did nothing to entice people to come. In this moment, I think of the time my mom drove three hours on a weeknight to attend an awards ceremony for my Anthropology Honor Society in college. We both felt embarrassed, I think, because it turned out to be a really tiny ceremony. But it really didn’t matter how big it was, ya know- it was her thoughtfulness that was so important. (Of course, that was my real mom and she’s supposed to have those moments.) A sobering wave of homesickness barrels over me.

The swearing-in ceremony starts to drag a bit after about 45 minutes, but I appreciate the formality. This is, after all, a big moment in our lives. We’re taking an oath of office and beginning our official careers as Youth Developers in the US Peace Corps. During the past seven weeks of Pre-Service Training, my niche has become computer literacy. This is simply the need that has presented itself in my work and school attachments, so I’m running with it. I’m now involved in two different programs: one at an elementary school and another with a government-run program for at-risk youth. It’s quite a process because every step of the way you have to think about inclusion (of all people involved), facilitation (rather than just teaching), and sustainability (I won’t be here forever!). Building capacity so that the program continues once your gone is incredibly important. There’s so much I could accomplish on my own, but the programs that come from the community- the ones they feel are their own- are the ones that prove sustainable. Listening, observing, and learning from the locals were major points to our training, and many of the RPCVs I’ve met also stressed the importance of stepping back for a while and seeing what the people themselves want changed.

The American charge d’affairs to Grenada asks us to raise our right hands and repeat the official oath everyone must take in order to work for the US government. It’s quite an honor to be given this opportunity- to represent America in such a constructive way- and I’m ready to go prove myself in the field. I look around at the seven others on stage with me. The clock is ticking now- we have two years from this moment; how far will we go?

-JH