As life moves us from one act to the next, the scenery can often change very quickly. A few short months ago my life consisted of zipping up and down mountains on the backs of motorcycles, wading rivers, and sharing life with people who have very little material wealth. Now my home is the campus of an elite university that only children of great privilege of have access to. My work used to consist of building things to improve the lives of my neighbors. Now my main concern will be writing papers to meet the demands of people who I imagine will be mostly elderly white males with lots of letters after their names. I've moved from being a Peace Corps volunteer to being a paper writer. From grass roots development worker to graduate student.

This change is not easy. As a PCV I could see the near immediate impact of my work, and it was gratifying. Most of my production now will be in the realm of the abstract. I live in a fascinating city, but I miss the countryside. I miss the kids, the music, and the peace and quiet that comes with a community lacking electricity. I may have left the island, but it definitely left a piece of itself wedged in my heart. When I dream now, I usually find myself in the DR, walking through a coffee farm or hiking my river.

Despite this deep longing to return, I believe I am in the right place for now. I can't forget the kids I left behind and the huge barriers they face in life. They attend crappy schools funded by corrupt politicians, and often return home to a lack of food and clean drinking water. It's just not fair. We've all read the statistics, but these are my friends I am talking about. I think about them every day. I want to spend my life helping them, and others like them. In order to do that, I need to learn a lot more about the way the world works. So here I am, at the University. I have enrolled in a top International Affairs program, ready to take whatever knowledge this place has to offer and learn to apply it effectively.

Our world is in big trouble. Poverty, disease, war, and the continuing collapse of our environment are creating some apparently hopeless situations. I don't know where this is all going. Maybe humanity will just end up destroying itself. What I do know is that I am not going to sit on the bench and watch it happen. I'm going to fight, even if it's a losing battle. I am incredibly blessed to have found a life partner who feels the same way, and I take great comfort knowing that we move forward together. The adventure on the island may be over, but the action is only just starting.

Thanks for reading along for the last two years. I am touched that so many followed my stories through this blog. I do intend to keep blogging, though the material I have to work with may not be quite as exciting. Please stay tuned for when I announce the location of my new blog. Thanks again.

Here is the final list of books I read during my Peace Corps service. I think this covers about the last six months. Enjoy!

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling

An old favorite. It was given new meaning, though, as I was involved in killing snakes with a machete while in the middle of reading it.

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Book 4) by J.K. Rowling

I read it in a day.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (Book 5) by J.K. Rowling

The same as ever. Harry is a crab.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (Book 6) by J.K. Rowling

Sad.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Book 7) by J.K. Rowling

Definitely a favorite. I laugh, I cry, I lose about a day of my life as it is impossible to put down.

A Perfect Spy by John le Carre

Twists and turns abound as the reader travels into the world of cold war-era British espionage.

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

I wish I could write like that.

The Challenge of Jesus: Rediscovering Who Jesus Was and Is by N.T. Wright

A historian's examination on what the teachings of Jesus are all about. Stimulating and challenging.

Kingdom Without Borders: The Untold Story of Global Christianity by Miriam Adeney

The author examines what the church looks like today in many different corners of the world. Very interesting reading.

Tortilla flat by John Steinbeck

Great fun!

The Kennedy Curse : Why Tragedy Has Haunted America's First Family for 150 Years by Edward Klein

It was fun to read, but I felt a little guilty learning about all this family's dirty laundry. JFK certainly had some interesting exploits...

Captured by Grace: No One Is Beyond the Reach of a Loving God by David Jeremiah

This book tells the story of the apostle Paul in parallel with the story of John Newton, the reformed slave trader who wrote the hymn "Amazing Grace." Thanks, Grandma and Grandpa! I really enjoyed it.

Dune Messiah (Dune Chronicles) by Frank Herbert

Very nerdy. I was going to try reading the whole series, but this book made me give up.

Becoming the Answer to Our Prayers: Prayer for Ordinary Radicals by Shane Claiborne

About uniting prayer with social activism. It challenged me to think more about the way I pray.

The Pilgrim's Regress: An Allegorical Apology for Christianity Reason and Romanticism by C.S. Lewis

An interesting telling the author's coming to faith. A little weird, but very Lewis in all ways.

The Known World by Edward P. Jones

A novel about slavery. It dragged out a bit, but the writing was generally quite good.

Promises to Keep: On Life and Politics by Joe Biden

Fascinating. A great read for anyone interested in politics, and the history of American politics over the last 40 years or so.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry into Values (P.S.) by Robert M. Pirsig

Strange. Maybe I needed some '70's era hallucinogens to help me appreciate it more.

The Art of Fiction: Notes on Craft for Young Writers by John Gardner

I never studied creative writing, but I am trying to be a creative writer. This helped.

Guns, Germs, and Steel by Jared Diamond

Not bad. A little dry, but still interesting.

The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman

I was familiar with the concept, but this was the first time I sat down and read the book. Useful for understanding relationships a little bit better.

The 9/11 Commission Report: Final Report of the National Commission on Terrorist Attacks Upon the United States (Official Edition) by U.S. Government

Not as boring as it sounds.

Lake Wobegon Summer 1956 by Garrison Keillor

Takes you inside the head of a semi-fictional teenager in a fictional town.

Pontoon by Garrison Keillor

I really enjoyed this story. It's another Lake Wobegon novel, and Keillor again shows his mastery of culture and language.

Naked by David Sedaris

Hilarious Sedaris stories, climaxing with his account of time spent at a nudist colony.

How to Be a Pirate (Heroic Misadventures of Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III) by Cressida Cowell

This is part two of the "how to train your dragon" series. Good stuff. I will read it to my kids.

unChristian: What a New Generation Really Thinks about Christianity... and Why It Matters by David Kinnaman

This book really has it's finger on the pulse of my generation. Anyone who cares about the relevance of the Kingdom in our time should read this book, and be prepared to examine some hard truths.

Following Jesus Through the Eye of the Needle: Living Fully, Loving Dangerously by Kent Annan

This book is about a guy and his wife who move to Haiti to do rural community development work. I read it around the time that I was dealing with some earthquake stuff, so it sticks out as one of the more significant books I read in Peace Corps.

The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down by Anne Fadiman

A very astute examination of the cultural issues at work as a non-English speaking Hmong family attempts to get answers from the American healthcare system. Eye opening.

Under the Banner of Heaven: A Story of Violent Faith by Jon Krakauer

A well written (yet not unbiased) history of the Mormon faith.

Twilight (The Twilight Saga) by Stephenie Meyer

Ha. I don't know how this book made it to print. The grammar is clumsy. The syntax often stinks. The story telling is downright manipulative. I could write a lot more, but I will stop at saying that this book is simply bad writing used to exploit the desires of emotionally hungry teenage girls, and get them to spend money.

Michelangelo and the Pope's Ceiling by Ross King

A history of the artist's work in the Sistine Chapel. Made me want to visit.

The World is Flat: a Brief History of the Twenty-First Century by Tom Friedman

A must read for anyone interested in where the world is going.

Hot, Flat, and Crowded: Why We Need a Green Revolution--and How It Can Renew America by Tom Friedman

Better than it's predecessor. Friedman looks at what it will really take to dig ourselves out of the hole we are in ecologically.

The Audacity of Hope: Thoughts on Reclaiming the American Dream (Vintage) by Barack Obama

It is good to have a President who knows how to write.

The Cider House Rules by John Irving

Delightful storytelling, despite the strange story.

John Adams by David McCullough

This is one of the best books I have read on the early history of the United States.

Mornings on Horseback by David McCullough

This is the story of Teddy Roosevelt's early life. I enjoyed it.

The Hot Zone: A Terrifying True Story by Richard Preston

Ebola. Lots of ebola. After reading this, I got nervous every time I had an upset stomach. Really gross.

Basic Christianity by John Stott

A classic.

The Pursuit of God by A.W. Tozer

I read my late Grandfather's copy of this, his favorite book. It is good to begin with, but made more interesting by his notes in the margins.

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

Altogether a great piece of fiction. I laughed, I cried, and I finished it with a desire to make a better world. Thanks, Kim, for the recommendation.

It Was On Fire When I Lay Down On It by Robert Fulghum

I read it about three times a year. Enough said.

Jars of Clay: Ordinary Christians on an Extraordinary Mission in Southern Pakistan by Pauline Brown

I have read this piece of family history before, but it became more real this time, as I was reading it in my own rough, rural setting.

The God I Don't Understand: Reflections on Tough Questions of Faith by Christopher J.H. Wright

Thanks, Aus, for the book. Rev. Wright always hits the nail on the head.

The Traveler (Fourth Realm Trilogy, Book 1) by John Twelve Hawks

Silly sci-fi, but still fun.

THE LOST SYMBOL by Dan Brown

Dan Brown keeps trying. This da vinci code sequel is in the same spirit, albeit a bit less controversial.

American Raj: America and the Muslim World by Eric Margolis

Important reading for anyone interested in America's role in the world today. Merciless journalism.

After the beach trip went so well, we decided that it might be fun to take the kids on another day trip before moving away. Their sister had moved in with relatives in the city a few months back, and they hadn't been to visit her yet. We went to pick her up, and then take all three of them out for pizza (which they had never had before).Our assumption was that all kids everywhere love pizza. It certainly holds true in America, and I figured we would be fine because I have never seen these particular kids turn down food. As it happened, they tasted it, picked at it, and moved it around the plate, all with very glum looks on their faces. Having been a picky eater as a child, I had memories of visiting relatives and having to be polite while attempting to eat something that I considered to be inedible. I asked if they liked it. They said "well, yeeees, but....Timo.....when are we going to eat rice???"

I guess pizza is not everyone's favorite after all.

The Dominican Republic is full of beautiful beaches. Due to the small size of the island, it's not really possible to travel anywhere in which you are more than a few hours travel from that glorious Caribbean blue. I only lived about three miles away from the coast, and if you stood up on my roof you would be able to see the ocean. This fortunate geographic set up means that just about everyone in the DR with the means to travel a short distance can enjoy the beach. There are two beaches within half an hour of my community, and they fill up with locals enjoying themselves every Saturday and Sunday. Kim and I would go frequently as well (often when there was no water in the pipes at her house, we would go bathe at a local beach. Life is rough.).

This being said, not everyone is able to enjoy the beauty of the Caribbean. Poor people, especially women and kids, often never have enough spare money to travel the short distance to the coast. This concept came home for me when I found out that my two best friends, Ales (8) and his sister Maroli (5) had never even seen the ocean despite having lived their whole lives within three miles of it. I told Kim about this, and she said "well, we should take them to the beach!" So we did.When I first told the kids I would be taking them on a field trip out of the community, they didn't believe me. They thought it was some kind of joke. But then as the day got closer and I didn't change my story, they started to get excited. They picked out their best clothes, and even cajoled their dad into buying them new flip flops. This little day trip was becoming a very big deal to them.

We left early in the morning and caught a motorcycle. These two kids are normally very energetic and not at all shy, but the idea of taking a motorcycle farther than they had ever gone before made them a little nervous. Maroli cried, and Ales became very quiet. She calmed down when I gave her a cookie, and he cheered up at the idea of riding in front of the driver on the motorcycle.

We got to Kim's house, ate lunch, and went to the beach. We had a great time. The kids loved splashing in the water in the inner tubes we rented for them. We drank pop, ate empanadas, and had an amazing time. Ales tried his hand at sweet talking all the girls about his age, and Maroli couldn't stop staring at the ocean and asking how big it was. When we got back home, the kids couldn't stop talking about everything they had seen and done. Their joy was so pure and honest.

This may not strike you as a very remarkable story, but it felt to me like one of the best days of my Peace Corps service. These kids have given me so much over these two years. They've been my Spanish teachers, domino opponents, errand runners, gossip sources, hiking buddies, and constant companions in times of loneliness. They were the only people who were ALWAYS there and who NEVER got frustrated with me. I've tried to do a lot of projects that are supposed to help give these kids a better life, and I don't know if any of them will work out. What I do know is that for one day I was able to give them something they had never had. It felt really good.

One of the most mysterious and most often discussed (by foreigners) aspects of life on Hispaniola is the practice of voodoo and other forms of spiritualism not commonly seen in Wisconsin. I have made no formal study of these beliefs, but I have heard plenty of stories and made some observations. First of all, it doesn't seem to be a formal religion in the same sense as the Catholicism or Pentecostalism that I see every day in my community. It's more like a set of folk beliefs that get kind of mixed in with the christianity. The beliefs touch many parts of life, and while some are clearly silly stories told to children, others are taken very seriously. Here is a scattering of examples... I am told that one can sell their soul to the devil in exchange for wealth and prosperity. When you make this deal, the devil sends a spirit called a “baca” to watch over your property. There is a landowner in my site whom it is said has made such a deal. Children are told that if they steal fruit from his orchards, the “baca” will eat them. I never tried stealing his fruit, so I can't speak to the truthfulness of this one. Kids are also told stories about witches who fly and can take the shape of animals. One of my friends swears to me that he once saw, late at night, a creature that had the head and torso of a woman, but the body of a donkey. Apparently witches like to eat little children (there is a theme here). There are other kinds of witchcraft, though, that are taken more seriously by local adults. I know a teenager whose dad had a disagreement with a local practitioner of “brujaria” (witchcraft). This person did something to give the kid a terrible stomach ache that would not go away. The family ended up having to pay this “witch doctor” a large amount of money in order for him to remove whatever was causing the pain. They say it worked. The most common practice of folk beliefs, though, seems to be in the brewing of herbal cocktails to cure any number of ailments. This is something I never figured out completely, because some brews seem to be considered just medicinal and others are considered magical. I never tried anything magical, but my host mother would make me medicinal teas whenever I had anything from the sniffles to diarrhea. The teas would be made with an assortment of local fruits, spices, leaves, and flowers. The ingredients and boiling procedure are always very specific, and the results are both delicious and satisfying. Magical brews, I am told, move beyond treating simple diseases into things like inducing euphoria, causing one to fall in love, or enslaving the drinker's will to that of the brewer. I have never seen these in action. The consequences of misusing one of these drinks, though, can be dangerous. A few times when neighbors have had unexplained illnesses, I am told that it's because they chose to drink a magical brew that was made incorrectly. It would be easy to scoff at these things, and say that they are just stories made up by uneducated people to explain the world. Perhaps it is all nonsense. Or maybe the world is a more mysterious, multidimensional place than cynical American suburbanites choose to believe. I hesitate to automatically dismiss a lot of these stories. My neighbors may lack formal education, but experience has taught them an awful lot about agriculture, engineering, and even medicine (those herbal teas really DO work). A man was once dying of prostate cancer, totally unable to urinate. He took a mixture of honey and some local tree root, and immediately felt better. Ten years later he is still alive and completely cured. Maybe education isn't everything. I leave you to draw your own conclusions.

I have finished my work with the Peace Corps, and returned to the States with Kim. The last several months were packed with activity as I tried to complete projects and begin the transition from life in a poor Dominican farming community back to the American rat race. Life has been so busy that I have neglected my blog, but fear not, faithful readers. The adventure may be over, but the story telling continues for now. I've saved some of the best stuff for last. Look for me to post stories one at a time over the next several weeks. As mentioned previously, I will be settling in Milwaukee come August, and in the mean time Kim and I will be bouncing between Michigan and Wisconsin. Let me know if you'd like to get together. I have a new cell phone, so get in touch if you'd like the number.

Thanks so much to those of you who have been following my journey from start to finish. It's been a life changing experience. I hope you enjoy these last few chapters.

I have two big things to announce regarding my life.

1) Kim and I have set a date for our wedding! We will hold it on June 25, 2011. NOT 2010. 2011. The exact location is still TBA.

2) I know where I am going to grad school, and therefore, where I am moving! The winner is Marquette University in downtown Milwaukee, WI. I have received a very generous fellowship that will cover all my costs and give a nice stipend too. It is very exciting.

Kim is currently looking for teaching jobs in the Milwaukee area, so if anyone has contacts in the area, we would be grateful.

We'll be back in the States on May 11, and we look forward to reconnecting with as many of you as we can!

I know that many of my readers were generous enough to make donations to my community library fund, so I thought I would give a brief update to let you know how it's progressing.

The room in my house that we are converting into the library space is almost prepared. We've plastered the walls, carved out a door, and will probably paint it this week. I am going to try my hand at painting a world map mural, so that should be interesting.

We already have hundreds of books, thanks both to the financial donations and to the many people who have contributed books directly. In about a week we are taking a pickup truck to a book fair in the capital that we will fill up with books using all the extra money that we have.

My service ends in about a month, so we are kind of coming down to the wire. But sometimes that's the way it goes. The books that are here are already being loved, and the people in the community are so excited that they are going to have their very own room filled up with books for them to read. It's an opportunity that none of them have ever had, so thanks to all of you for helping to make it happen! I will post some photos sooner or later.

Most who know me well know that I love MSU basketball, and that March Madness is a season of spiritual importance surpassed only by Easter and Christmas. My Spartans have now gone to the final four two years in a row, and despite my remote location, I have been able to find my way to a television in the capital to watch.

When it comes to watching sports, there is really only one place in Santo Domingo to go. It is called, appropriately, "The American Sports Bar," though it is not owned or operated by Americans. In fact the only thing "American" about the place is the hamburgers.

I actually think the Sports Bar may be a Mafia bar. When you approach the front door, the gun toting guard swipes you with a medical detector before you step inside. He also asks you to remove your hat. You step into a dimly lit, wood paneled room with television sets covering most of the walls, displaying just about every sporting event taking place in the world at that moment. There is a betting window in the back corner, in case you feel lucky.

All of the wait staff are young women, and every single customer is a man (except for the occasional female peace corps volunteer). They watch the various games in stoney faced silences, moving only to munch their food or sip their drinks. They don't even cheer for their favorite teams!

Last night, my friends and I learned that cheering is actually frowned upon at this establishment. We were watching the championship game, and some of the members of our entourage were very much hoping for a Butler victory (I remain neutral on this point. I had trouble choosing between the team I hate with fervor normally reserved for Yankees, and the team that beat my own team one game early, but this is a topic for discussion elsewhere.). Anyway, as the game reached it's final moments with the score remaining close, our little group of Americans began to make some noise. It was nothing too obnoxious. Just some moans when Duke did well, and some shouts of joy when Butler had something happen. But the bouncer (the guy with the metal detector) was not happy. He came and spoke to us three times about our noise level, and on the third time threatened to have us removed from the premises. Yikes.

I've been in this country for more than two years, and there are some things that still don't make sense to me. When on an airplane, Dominicans will whoop, holler, and cheer like it's new years when the plane lands successfully. Every time. Yet in a SPORTS BAR, cheering is forbidden? I guess I still have a few things to learn.

It gives me great joy to announce my engagement to Kimberly Dykwell, my girlfriend of the past year. I proposed to her yesterday evening, at the restaurant in Santo Domingo where we had our first date, and I was very pleased that she said yes. I can't wait to begin our life together! Knowing and loving her has been the most exciting and wonderful experience of my life, and I am so thankful to God for all that He has done to bring us together. I am very blessed.

Kim, like me, is a Peace Corps volunteer here in the Dominican Republic. We met a few months after I arrived, and began our relationship in December 2008. She lived about seven hours away from me at the time, so we were only able to see each other a few times a month. She extended her service, though, and was able to move to a town about 30 minutes away from my community, where she has been living for the past four months. It has been so neat to share the Peace Corps experience with her. We have shared so many memorable experiences, like walks on gorgeous beaches, funny cross cultural experiences, killing tarantulas with machetes, and so much more.

I've known that I wanted to spend my life with her since pretty much the second date, but getting a proposal arranged was logistically complicated. I had to arrange for the purchase of a ring in America, get it safely shipped here, think of a creative way to propose, all while concealing it from the person who I spend a large amount of my time with. Not easy, but it all worked out. I prepared a photo album for Kim, which contained a poem about the story of our relationship and relevant photos. I carved a hole in the final page, where I stuck the ring. She read the book, turned the page, saw the ring, and exclaimed "WHAT??". I got down on one knee, told her how much I loved her, and asked if she would like to spend her life with me. She said yes!

We are so excited about this time in our lives. We finish our Peace Corps service in about two months, and will be returning to the US. We will announce an official date for the wedding as soon as we get home, if not earlier. We are so happy that during our trip in June Kim was able to meet so many of my friends and family, and that I was able to meet hers. We look forward to seeing many of you this summer, and sharing our joy with you! Thanks for the love and support.

I left the hospital this morning, and I am on my way home. The past week feels like it has lasted a year. I suppose it's the combination of long hours and high amounts of sensory and emotional in-put. I have learned a lot, and I doubt I will be able to unpack it all for a while.

I have a lot of seemingly contradictory emotions. I feel joy for things like Haitians escaping from rubble, American doctors giving up time and resources to help people they have never met, and people working together for a common goal despite linguistic and cultural differences. I also feel discouragement about the sheer size of the crisis, and the number of obstacles that are preventing real solutions from emerging. Selfishness, incompetence, corruption, despair, and racism remain strong.

It is saddening to hear the pain in one individual person's story, and then to multiply that pain by the number that have been killed or displaced. It is a little overwhelming.

But as my new friends like to sing: Haiti is Alive! I hope I get a chance to continue being connected with relief efforts. I definitely want to keep doing this stuff in my career.

Thanks for following my story. I am going to bed now.

It is my last night here at the hospital. My shift is over, and another volunteer has come to relieve me of my duty with the translators. It is hard to believe it's only been a week. I feel very close to the people I have spent time with, and it feels like a year.

Despite the sadness of the situation we are responding to, there are things happening that give me a continuing faith in the capability of people to cultivate good in the midst of evil. This evening I walked around the camp for my last night time round. I visited with some patients, and went to a neighborhood store with some American doctors, chatting about life and enjoying the cool evening breezes. Then I made my way to the front porch, where I spent some time joking around with some of the Haitian workers and learning new words in Kreyol. I went into the hospital and took a look at a baby who was born here in the hospital just a few days ago. Then I went upstairs where the Spanish team of medics insisted on hanging out with me on my last night, and we ended up staying awake until 1 AM, eating, drinking and laughing.

In a time of despair, people still laugh. In the midst of brokenness, people from different nations come together to find community. People may die, but new life is still beginning. Everywhere I look I see signs of hope. The Haitian people have dealt with so much difficulty for so long, and this earthquake was a real sucker punch. But the Haitian people are strong, and I believe that with a little support from the rest of the world they can rebuild their world out of the ashes.

It's been a good week.

Not all wounds are physical. This is another thing I have learned during my time here at the refugee hospital. The people with bandages are not the only ones who have been seriously hurt by the earthquake.

I have gotten to know my team of translators pretty well during the long hours we have spent together, helping patients, moving boxes, doing odd jobs, or just sitting in the shade. They represent many different parts of Haitian society. Some of them were college students before their university collapsed into rubble. One guy is a lawyer who travels all over the world. There are also some of them who were manual laborers or unemployed before all this happened. Some have come to the hospital because a family member is a patient. Others just showed up because they wanted to help. But some of them are here because they have nowhere left to go. One of my friends escaped unharmed from a collapsed house where ten people in his family were killed. Another guy lost his wife and daughter in the quake, but still carried his injured sister across Haiti to get her to our hospital. The doctors were unable to help her, and he lost her too.

Lots of the guys I've gotten to know have stories like this. I can't even begin to comprehend the depth of the sorrow they must feel. There are a few psychologists working here, and they have been seeing people day and night. I think that even when the cuts heal and the bones mend there will still be a lot of pain. How could there not be? Every family has been touched by death.

It is easy to get down, but I am so amazed by the resiliency of the Haitian people. Their sense of humor and optimism is irrepressible. Even in the sick wards there is the sound of laughter, and smiles everywhere. And every night there is singing.

I have watched a lot of disasters on CNN, including this one in the early stages. This is so different. Pain becomes much more real when you know the name and shake the hand of the person who is going through it. It makes complacency difficult.

One more funny note today...

The translators have started calling me "Barack Obama." It may have to do with the authoritative speaking voice I use while conducting meetings. When I remind them of my skin tone, they laugh and say that I am actually Bill Clinton.

It is important to smile.

The days are busy. Apart from managing the translators, I seem to have ended up with the semi-official job of "cultural liaison with the Dominicans." I suppose having a handle on how to speak hill billy Dominican Spanish makes me a good fit for this job. It basically means that I am the one to handle the relationships with many of the Dominicans whose cooperation we need to keep things running here. I talk with a lot of truck drivers, janitors, public health representatives, and people like that. In the last few days, though, I have started dealing with the military.

It all started when I greeted a group of officers who had a lot of medals on their chests. It turned out that they were a General and a Colonel who are responsible for the security of our neighborhood, and particularly our facility. Military presence is very concentrated here at the border. So I greeted these guys, and was giving the standard talk about how they can feel free to ask me any questions, share concerns, etc. Then the general took a look at my name tag, and noticed my last name. He slapped my back and told me that his last name was also "Brown" and he pulled out his name tag to prove it. Apparently he had a British grandfather. The officers roared with laughther. Now every time I see the guy he makes a joke about how we are long lost brothers. This morning he gave me a tshirt with the logo of his unit on the front. This afternoon he wanted his picture taken with me. I guess I have made an impression.

I am hoping that it is a relationship that works out to the advantage of the effort here. There is a lot of racial animosity between Dominicans and Haitians. I think the military is nervous about potential threats to our operation. I am thankful that they are being cooperative, and are very concerned about our security. It is easy to worry about all the things that go wrong every day, but it I've learned that is also important to appreciate the things that work out to the advantage of everyone. I think our security situation is very good. I will try to post my group picture with the General when I get a chance.

My recent entries may give the impression that all is gloom and depression here at the hospital on the border. While the greater situation is very sad, and challenging things happen every day, there is still a lot to laugh and smile about. How could things NOT be entertaining when you have groups of Haitians, Americans, Dominicans and Spaniards all operating on very little sleep?

Sleep has created an amusing set of circumstances for me. For some reason I do not rank high enough on the totem pole to have a bed reserved for me. I have to sleep where I find space. On the first night I found a bed, and appreciated it. On the second night I was on a very comfortable leather couch in the waiting area of the hospital. Last night a group of volunteers arrived very late, so the waiting area was far too loud to sleep in. I had to be creative. A nurse saw me roaming around like a zombie, exhausted after 18 hours on my feet, and advised that I take a look at the operating room. Sure enough, it was quiet, dark, air conditioned, and empty apart from all the surgical equipment. So I pulled in a cot and bedded down right next to the operating table. I slept very well. I wonder where I will be tonight...

(I am on the Haitian border, aiding with the earthquake relief effort. These are my stories)

Today was tough. Due to pressure from the local government, we are having to reduce the number of people within the hospital compound. This meant that today we had to make sure that each patient only had one family member staying at the hospital with them. Most families have had two or three people staying and caring for the patient. We had to go from family to family, explaining that they had to decide which of them was going to get on the bus that was going back to Haiti.

This is one of the most difficult things I have ever done. The Haitian people are extremely family oriented. These patients have lost their homes, and in many cases their limbs as well. Now we had to go around and tell them that we were splitting up their families for the time being. There was a lot of heavy emotion. Some patients refused to be separated, and tried to get on the bus wearing huge casts and with pins sticking out of their open wounds. Family means that much.

I feel stuck between the logical understanding of the practicalities involved with this operation, and a deep compassion for the people and a desire to do anything, no matter how unreasonable, to keep their lives from getting even crappier. It is not fun.

(I am currently at a hospital on the Haitian border, aiding the earthquake relief effort for about a week. These are my stories.)

What a day. I experienced a lot. I carried stretchers to operating rooms. I watched a medical helicopter take off. I had to scrounge to find food so that hungry people could have at least one meal today. I heard poor, homeless, injured refugees singing praise to Jesus at the top of their lungs. It was a full day, and I feel tired, frustrated, encouraged, satisfied, pessimistic and also excited about the world. Let's just say that I am learning a lot.

It all started when I got up at about 6 AM, to get ready for the early morning meeting with the team of translators. We assigned them to specific shifts in designated parts of the hospital. Apparently a lot of these guys have been working 24 hour shifts, following doctors around to translate their conversations with the patients. Not easy work. The translators are physically exhausted, emotionally drained, and are getting absolutely no compensation for doing a pretty important job. We have started making sure they get extra food at meal times to try to keep them happy. This meeting is the last specific event I remember from today. I am tired, but things also operate in such a whirl wind of activity that all that manages to stay in my head is a series of pictures, impressions, ideas and feelings.

The patients are mostly here with limb injuries. Almost everyone has either had an amputation, or is in traction. It is not easy to see, especially the little kids. It seems that most of them were just in their houses or at school when the quake hit, and the walls came down. It is encouraging to see them getting very good care, though. We have operating rooms, physical therapists, psychiatrists, 24 hour nursing attention and lots of other medical amenities that would not otherwise be available to these folks.

That being said, it is certainly NOT the mayo clinic. The patients are in crowded, dusty tents on thin worn out mattresses. They get fed twice a day with food donated by the local government. Lunch is a pile of greasy rice, and dinner is about half a cup of very liquidy oatmeal. Not exactly the kind of food that is ideal for someone recovering from a traumatic injury. There is no TV, AC, yummy hospital food, or caring relatives coming to visit. Each patient is allowed to have one or two family members staying with them. They have no connection with the people back in Haiti.

My job, besides coordinating the translators, is to do whatever I can to help out with the logistics of running this place. We volunteers do a lot of the dealing with local Dominicans. We are responsible for getting the food delivered and served every day. We serve as the cultural go betweens. It is not easy at all. American doctors like things the way they like them. In a situation like this, though, you have to work with what you have. Dominicans can be equally stubborn. I am learning a lot about international disaster relief strategies, but I won't bore you with that talk today.

We operate one day at a time, doing what we can to help the people in front of us. Right now it is unclear whether this place will turn into a long term care center. No one knows. We all work hard, and sleep is hard to come by. I am pooped. I will turn in soon, and try to write something more story-like tomorrow. I appreciate the prayers.

(I am currently at a hospital on the Haitian border, aiding the earthquake relief effort for about a week. These are my stories.)

I arrived here at the hospital around midday, and it has been a very busy experience so far. We are a few miles from the border. There are about 150 patients here, and about the same number of family members. Patients are layed out in tents, as most of them are still frightened to sleep inside a building, after having their homes collapse on them. There are a lot of sad stories here. People have lost friends, family members, and everything they have.

The doctors are mostly American and Spanish, here for shifts of a couple weeks. Peace Corps volunteers have taken over the administration of the facility. We distribute food, manage the translators, keep the books, and do all kinds of things to keep the trains running in week long shifts.

I will be in charge of coordinating the translator team. It is a group of about 20 young Haitian men, most of whom are relatives of patients. They were recruited for their ability to speak some combination of English/Spanish/Creole. They are not being paid. My job is to keep them happy, and make sure they are where they need to be to help the doctors. I start tomorrow morning. Look for stories tomorrow.

I know there is a lot of interest among socially concious people back home in what is being done to help Haiti. A lot of the relief effort has been concentrated here in the DR since we have more functional airports than Haiti does right now. The embassy is very involved, and all of us know aid workers or missionaries who have headed into Haiti to take a more active part in the effort.

They haven't let us Peace Corps volunteers go into Haiti yet, but there is a hospital set up on the border that has been helping a lot of refugees. We volunteers are going over their in shifts to help keep things running. The hospital is equipped to serve a few hundred patients, and during the first week after the quake they were seeing that many show up daily. It was a big mess. Kim went out there last week to be a runner and do whatever she could to support the doctors. As with most disaster relief efforts, things are very unorganized and high stress.

I am heading out there on Saturday. Things may have calmed down now, but I am sure there will still be plenty to do. I am not sure what to expect, but I am glad to be able to help directly in some way. I will write updates as I can reporting on what I see and learn. Thanks for the prayers!

Part of life in the Peace Corps is that you get diarrhea a lot. Usually a few times a month. Sometimes it is predictable, and sometimes it is a big surprise. Here is a case in point...

I spent the last few weeks doing a bunch of travelling. I was in Kim's old site, teaching them how to build a new model of stove. We were in the deep country side for about five days, and there was no sanitized water around. Oh well. I had to drink what was there, so I drank the well water expecting something bad to happen, but nothing did.

A few days later I returned home. I had to spend a day tromping around the very high hills way far away from my community where there are no amenities of any kind. Usually on day trips like this I bring my water bottle along, but I forgot. Uh oh. I was hiking hills, and I had to stay hydrated. I drank the river water, expecting to be up in the middle of the night running for the bathroom. But nothing happened.

A few days later I went to a Peace Corps conference at a luxury hotel next to the airport. We had three whole days of swimming pool, AC, cable, wireless, and best of all, an all you could eat buffet with the most amazing food I have seen in the last two years. I was stoked! But what happened? You guessed it. Two days into the conference I was curled up in the fetal position with crippling stomach cramps, nausea, and diarrhea. Four or five of my friends had it too. Apparently some of that good food was not very good.

So what is the lesson? I guess it's that no matter how long you spend in country you never know when the stomach monster will strike. Stuff just happens.

As Peace Corps volunteers, we are encouraged to have folks from the States come visit for short periods of time, to experience a new culture and see life as we see it down here. I was recently privileged enough to have three of my oldest and greatest friends from home come spend a week and a half with Kim and I. It was an epic experience. There was comedy, tragedy, action and adventure. It's a shame we did not have a film crew with us. Here are some of the highlights:

-The Car: Getting around where I live is not easy due to what can charitably described as ''rough'' roads. I encouraged my friends to rent a vehicle with four wheel drive, which they did their best to do. We picked the SUV up at the airport, and drove it across the country thinking everything was fine. As soon as we tried to cross the first river, though, we discovered that the vehicle was NOT 4wd. We got stuck many times, and probably did significant damage to the undercarriage of the SUV that wasn't really an SUV. Fortunately we bought the insurance, and it gave us many laughs as we got pushed, pulled, and rescued multiple times by more capable vehicles.

-Chickens: My host mother asked us to bring home some chickens to cook up for my friends. This was my first time buying chicken, since I usually let the host fam do it. So buy them we did, alive, because it is cheaper. We had to carry them up the hill, so we lashed these live birds to the front bumper of our incapable SUV. My friend David later had the honor of killing one of these chickens before eating it. My neighbors are still making fun of his poor knife technique. There are photos on facebook.

-Rats: My home has rats. Quite a few of them that like to come out at night to play. Kim and I have gotten used to this. We tuck in our mosquito nets, hide the food, and think nothing else of it. We didn't realize that most Americans are not so content to live with creatures of the night. My friends were disturbed. Deeply. We gave them pills to help them sleep, and fortunately I was able to kill one rat by doing a flying leap with machete in hand to bring it off the wall. I was proud, they were amused, but I think happy to leave my house for the pest free beach hotels.

-European style beaches: We went to a beach town that is largely inhabited by Europeans. The Dominican vendors were constantly trying to speak Italian to us, much to our amusement. The dress code on the beach was also considerably more R rated than anything you see in the great lakes. It was a cross cultural experience.

I think the most interesting part for me, though, was seeing my friends enjoying and experiencing the things that have become normal to me. Bathing in rivers, going to beaches, eating beans and rice, speaking Spanish, dealing with street punks, and dealing with the unpredictability of life in a developing country are all things that I have stopped noticing. I do it every day, so it's not that weird. But having friends here, and coaching them through all of it reminded me that I am living a rather bizarre and wonderful experience that few people get a chance to. It made me thankful.

I am so glad my friends came. It was a great adventure and I will never forget it.

There was a terrible earthquake in Haiti yesterday. I am sure most of the world knows about it by now. Tremors were felt in my community, which is really not that far from the border. I am in the capital right now, but from what I can gather all of my friends and neigbors are fine. I appreciate the concern that has been shown.

We are still waiting to see if Peace Corps will be asked to play a role in responding to the disaster. I know that I, and other volunteers I've talked to, would be more than willing to roll up our sleeves and help. Many of us work with people who have emigrated from Haiti, so the pictures on the news are hitting pretty close to home.

If you are interested in helping out, I hear that the Red Cross is taking donations.

But please pray. There are a lot of people going to bed without roofs over their heads tonight.

Part of living in the countryside is that there is a lot of "life" around. There are trees and plants of all kinds. The landscapes are made more pleasant by the bounty of birds and butterflies. There always seems to be a friendly dog around to keep me company. Living close to nature is normally a very pleasant thing. The problems arise when certain unwelcome life forms decide to move in-doors with me. That's been happening a little bit lately. I again have rats.

My relations with the rodent population have historically been pretty routine. A rat would decide to move in, and I would hear it moving around at night. I would borrow a trap from a neigbor, and presto: after a day or two the rat was gone. I would be free for a few weeks, until another one showed up. It was very easy to handle. This new group is different, though. There appears to be an entire family that has set up shop somewhere high up in the walls of my house. I will hear two or three of them running around, and jump up with my flash light and machete to give chase. They always go back to a specific hide out.

I have been in the process of covering holes and weeding out every possible place these guys could be hiding, but still they elude me. They do not enter the trap. They eat poison and do not die. They are too quick for my machete to make a mark (although I got one this way recently. It was awesome!). There is a particularly large individual I have caught a glimpse of a few times, who I think must be the chief. I call him Osama. My dream, before ending my service in May, is to place his head on a stake in my front yard.

I apologize if this entry is disturbing. I have become a little bit obsessed.

My lovely girlfriend, Kimberly, also has a blog. It is very good, and she has just updated it for the first time in a long time.

Please read, and enjoy.

It can be found here.

Hello, faithful readers! Sorry about the long silence. Life has been quite busy lately. Highlights include the following:

The completion of 26 stoves (24 to go).

The complete funding of my library project. Thanks so much to all who donated!

The moving of my girlfriend to a site only half an hour away from me.

Travel, busyness, and many other things as well!

The following are three blog entries on amusing/educational experiences I've had lately. Enjoy!

This is one of those countries where the expression “it’s not what you know, it’s who you know” rings true. In order to get things done efficiently, you just have to have the right relationships set up. Just last week I was in a situation in which this “network” of people ended up being extremely helpful.

It was Wednesday morning, and we were leaving Kim’s community. We had a mountain of luggage, and the plan was to take a pick up truck to the big town near her, and then buy as many seats as necessary to fit her stuff on the bus that would get us to the Capital. We would arrive around midday. I was scheduled to take to the GRE the next day, so we had planned enough time into the schedule to be able to relax in the 24 hours before I took the test.

Everything went much more smoothly than expected. The pick up truck arrived on time, the bus driver was friendly and cooperative, and we got into the Peace Corps office feeling pretty good about life. I logged into my email to double check everything I needed for the test the next day. Everything seemed to be in order...except for one little thing. There was a tiny note at the bottom of the page saying that people taking the test outside their country of origin ABSOLUTELY MUST present an original copy of their passport in order to take it. My passport was sitting in my house, a couple hundred miles away.

At first I thought it was no big deal. I’ve gotten used to living in a place where just about everything can be negotiated. I had three forms of photo ID with me, plus a photo copy of my passport. I called up the 800 number to make sure I would be alright without the passport. They informed me in the cold, semi-polite way of American customer service that no, there was absolutely no way that I would be able to take the test without my passport. And no, I could not postpone my appointment in the last 24 hours. I asked if there was anything at all that anyone could do for me. They said no. We argued for half an hour, then I hung up.

Now I was worried. The money I paid to be able to take this test is roughly equivalent to what I make in a month here. What was I going to do? There was only one thing I could do. I ran for the bus, hoping to get the passport and be back before the test started. Then I got on the phone. This is the part where the “network” kicks in.

First I called my project partner at his office, in the town down the mountain from my house. I explained the situation to him, and he said he would send someone up to my house to get the passport, to save me time. “DON’T WORRY!” he yelled. “We will take care of you.”

Then I called my host mother, to tell her that some random guy would be showing up asking to get into my house to look for my passport, and also to tell her that this was okay. Fortunately she had cell phone signal. We had to shout a little bit to hear each other, but the basic gist of the message got across. Before I hung up she said “I don’t exactly understand what is going on, but I can tell from your voice, Timo, that this is important. So I will do everything I can to make it happen.”

Now I hide my passport very well so that any potential burglar would not be able to find it and make a pretty penny selling it on the black market. It took my host mother an hour of meticulously sorting through my things to find it, but find it she did. She handed it to the motorcycle driver, and he took off for the bus station (an hour away).

They had told me that the guy would be waiting for me at the bus, so that I could just turn around and ride back that same night. I had my doubts, but hoped for the best. Yet when my bus pulled in, after the three hour ride, there the guy was. He handed me the passport, and I gave him a big hug (even though I’d never met him before). Then I bought another ticket, and got back on the bus for another three hour ride back to Santo Domingo. It was a long day and I was very tired at the end of it. Fortunately I got plenty of sleep and did alright on the test. But none of it would have happened had it not been for my Dominican friends and family who were perfectly willing to drop what they were doing and help me out. Some Americans say that this country is inefficient, because not everything has American quality standards of service. I don’t know about that. I dealt with both “American customer service” and the Dominican system on that day, and the Dominicans were the ones who helped me. It’s probably because they know me, and care about me. That’s why they were willing to make sacrifices. The lady I talked to for half an hour on the 800 number didn’t care two hoots about what happened to me, because she didn’t know me. I was just another caller. Which system is better?

A frequent frustration for Peace Corps volunteers here on the island is that Dominicans are usually not raised to say “thank you” in the same way that Americans are. We are taught from birth to say it on every imaginable occasion to everyone who does anything for us. This kind of persistent gratitude strikes a lot of Dominicans as very formal and overly polite. Especially in our rural communities, working with people who are not at all formal about anything, we don’t hear the word “gracias” (thank you) very often at all. This gets frustrating because we often exert considerable effort building stoves, starting libraries, teaching classes or whatever. We start to wonder if we are appreciated at all, because all we get in return is a grunt of approval, or more often a question as to why we didn’t do whatever we’ve just done in a slightly different way. This brings us to sometimes question why we are doing what we are doing, and sometimes even to become bitter. I have just recently learned, though, that Dominicans have their own way of saying thanks.

Kim finished her two years in her community last week (and has now moved to a site much closer to me). She’s spent the last 24 months shedding blood, sweat and tears to do all kinds of amazing things for this community. She’s taught health classes to women and children. She started gardens. She built stoves. She started the most beautiful community library I’ve ever seen. She worked extremely hard, often with little help, and seldom complained about anything (except for lamenting the fact that she couldn’t do more!).

We figured the community would have some kind of goodbye party for her, since we know that Dominicans of all ages love a good party. About a month ahead of time I was contacted by one of the youth she has worked a lot with, who told me that some of them were planning a surprise party for her. They wanted me to know so that I could help them cover it up. I did my best, but Kim ended up figuring it out because Dominicans are not very good at pretending nothing is up when something is up. The cover was that the youth wanted to have a meeting, to discuss the future of the work Kim had done. She got wise when all kinds of people (who had never been interested in meetings before) started asking her if she was going to the meeting, and then giggling like hyenas when she said yes.

So we knew there would be a party, but we figured it would just be a get together with maybe a dozen people, some cookies to eat, and some music to dance to. Boy, were we wrong. We showed up at the appointed time to find at least 60 adults and probably twice as many kids, all yelling “SORPRESA!!” and waiting to hug Kim to death. They had made banners, and covered the house with streamers. Kim and I were seated at a table in front of everyone, with a massive cake in front of us. Then the program started. Speeches were made, praising Kim for all of the work she had done. The kid who had told me about the party sang a song about friendship. The women from her class sung a song they had WRITTEN themselves all about her work. There was even a verse about stoves! Then some teenagers performed a choreographed dance that was pretty cool. In fact, the audience loved it so much that they made them perform it twice! And then (since we are still in the DR after all) the electricity went off so the party was plunged into darkness. Fortunately I (since I am still a PCV, after all) had a flashlight in my pocket. So the remaining speeches were made with me shining my flashlight on the speaker, so everyone could see. Then we ate delicious food, and danced and laughed the night away. It is tradition at these things that the cake is not eaten. It is given to the person who is being celebrated (Kim) to take home, and share with who she likes. So I ended up walking home in the moonlight, carrying a giant chocolate cake. We had it for breakfast the next morning, and dinner that night, and several meals over the next few days. We also shared it with all the last minute visitors who were dropping by.

I don’t think Kim’s eyes were dry from the moment we heard the shout of “SORPRESA!!” I think she realized that despite all the stress, doubt and frustration she had felt over the last two years that these folks really did love and appreciate her deeply. They just saved up the gratitude to pour it out all at once. Leaving was very hard, but we can’t wait to see what kind of party they put on when we come back to visit!

Disclaimer: Some may find this story gross. But when one spends so much time hanging out where not much happens, sometimes they have to stretch to get a good story.

It was a quiet afternoon in Kim’s community and we were just lounging around her house and doing a little bit of packing. A cool, soft breeze was wafting across the pineapple fields and through the window. Normally a breeze provides a pleasant respite from the hot, beating sun. Not this one, though. It brought with it the strong, unmistakable smell of something that belongs in the bathroom. Now, in the Peace Corps there are many common situations that cause such a smell. It could be a nearby pig or cow. Perhaps a chicken wandered into the house and left a present. Maybe you yourself carelessly stepped in something on your way back from bathing in the river. We began to investigate each of these options in turn, hoping to be rid of the suffocating odor. There were no pigs. We couldn’t see any chicken poop. The bottoms of our shoes were all clean. We went so far as to accuse one another of having eaten too many beans for lunch and not keeping it to ourselves.

Then I peeked out the window and found the culprit. There, right outside the window was a paint can full of fecal matter. It looked like it had been produced by a human. We quickly removed it, laughing at the sheer randomness of such an occurrence. Who produced it and why they put it behind Kim’s house we never discovered. It just goes to show that you never know what you’ll encounter in this line of work.

My community is trying to form a library. We have virtually no books for people to read. The schools are not very good. This library would make a huge difference toward the opportunities that my friends have to expand their horizons and live better lives.

Please help us out by donating some money.

Even a dollar or two would help.

Information here.

Thanks for reading!

A few weeks ago I woke up with what looked like mosquito bites on my arms and knees. I didn't think much of this, and just assumed I had been lax in my application of bug spray on the previous day. We have a lot of mosquitoes. But they weren't mosquito bites. The spots multiplied, turned bright red and started itching like nothing else.

My plan was to just see how things unfolded, since seeking medical attention means at its easiest climbing a high hill and scrambling to get cell phone signal, and at its most difficult travelling all the way to the capital to see the doctor. So I just kept doing what I was doing. I've never really liked going to the doctor anyway.

At some point during all this I inadvertently scratched a little too hard at the spots on my knees, and some local bacteria decided to take up residence in the nice little wound and start having children. So on top itchy red spots I now had knees that were starting to spout yellow pus. It was at the point that I developed fever and nausea that I finally listened to my increasingly irritated girlfriend, and agreed to call the doctor.

The doctor wasn't happy with me. She made me come to the capital, loaded me up on antibiotics for the infection, and sent me to a dermatologist for the rash. Diagnosis: Poison Ivy. I couldn't believe it. All this trouble for a little bit of poison ivy (which I didn't even know they had in this country!).

I was struck again by how fortunate I am to have the safety nets that I do. It wasn't that rare a medical problem. Anyone could brush up against poison ivy or get an infected cut. But none of my neighbors have access to the healthcare that I do. There are people in the world dying every day from simple infections or diarrhea or other easily preventable or treatable conditions. It's not right.

On Sundays I like to go down to the cock fighting ring to see what's going on. Men come from miles around to fight their respective roosters against each other, so it is a good way to get news from outlying communities without having to walk too far. The fights can also be entertaining. Not so much the birds themselves. A couple roosters slashing at each other with plastic claws is a little bit disturbing. No, the entertaining part is the people. The scene is one of men of all ages (sometimes a woman or two) crowded around a pair of chickens, jumping up and down, yelling vulgarities at the top of your lungs. I am told that the louder you yell, the better it is for your birds chances of winning. I have not tested this hypothesis.

So last week I was down there, and my friend was eating his lunch. Dominicans are very sharing people, and often get offended if you don't consent to taking a few bites off of their plate if you don't happen to be eating at the time. It is a nice custom. On this day, my friend was eating something I did not recognize. I could tell it was part of a pig. I hesitated, due to my preference for the meaty parts of the animal that are NOT usually used in the making of sausage. He told me it was really good and had a lot of vitamins. So I took a bite.

I can unequivocally say that it was the most disgusting thing I have ever put in my mouth. After biting through the outer membrane, I came to a mass that was neither liquid nor solid, and completely black. It tasted like poop. I stifled my gag reflex, and asked my friend what it was. He laughed and told me it was the pig intestine filled with blood and then boiled. Disgusting. I thought I would throw up, so I grabbed his drink to wash the taste out.

I thought I was grabbing a glass of orange juice. One gulp, however, made me feel like I was levitating. My friend laughed even louder, almost falling out of his chair. He could tell from my wide eyes that I had not expected the orange juice to be quite so strongly "flavored." I asked him what was in the glass. "Claren!" he laughed "Haitian Moonshine!"

Lesson of the day: No matter how long you have been in a given country, find out what you are eating (or drinking) before digging in.

A friend of mine is running to be mayor of the big town in my area. My sources tell me that he might have a shot. We are still in primary season, so the individual parties are working on picking the candidates they will back in the coming year. Painted signs and bright colored posters have sprouted along side the highway like dandelions during the last month. This seems to be the main way of carrying out political dialog around here. A sign will say something like "Vote for Juan! He is YOUR Mayor!!" There is not much talk about issues.

I was getting a ride on the back of my friend the candidate's motorcycle last week, and he asked if I wanted to go with him to an important event for his campaign. He said they were putting up their first road sign (incidentally, this is the same guy with whom I killed chickens a few blog entries back). I said sure. We zipped up the highway, and stopped where a crowd of men were waiting by a pick up truck. They cheered when the candidate came into sight.

They started digging a whole in the pavement with a pick axe, to mount the sign. I asked the digger if they had had to ask the city for permission to post a their sign board there. He gave me a funny look, as if to ask why on earth they would need permission. I should know better by now. Why would a country where the post office is almost never opened have laws about what to put by the roadside?

Every drop of the axe was accompanied by a cheer. We got the sign up, to more cheering. The candidate gave an impromptu speech, which got a cheer. Someone pulled out a two liter bottle of orange soda and a bunch of glasses. That really got a cheer. Ten minutes after it started the event was over, and my curiosity was piqued as to how these local elections work.

That afternoon I asked my neighbor who he would be voting for. He said something to the effect of "I will be voting for candidate A. He's a real (expletive), but I have to vote for him." I asked why he would choose to vote for someone to whom he had assigned the colorful term that I have omitted. "Because he gave me money once. So I HAVE to vote for him." Turns out this a pretty common occurrence. Candidates for public office will go around to poor families, giving them cash handouts. The family then feels obligated to vote for the guy, whether or not he agrees with him on any issues or think he's a qualified leader.

It's one more way that the poor are stuck. Poverty is not just about not having much money in your pocket. It is about all of your choices being limited. In this case, the political power of rural farmers is limited by the fact that they are made dependent on political machines to help pay the bills. Their lack of education doesn't help them engage in the process either.

It is a very political time in America, with the health care debate getting very hot. Everyone has their opinions. Many of us like to accuse the other side of the worst sort of lying, corruption and unpleasantness. Before we get too hot and bothered, we should reflect on how fortunate we are to be part of a system that supports dialog and allows for civil disagreement. There are places where politics really IS exclusively about lying and corruption. So let's be nice to each other.

Most of my days are spent in the pleasant pursuit of leisure. I get up around 9 AM, cook a nice breakfast, read for a bit, make some phone calls, swim in the river, eat a tasty lunch, munch on some fruit, and maybe spend some time writing. I do occasionally work, but in recent months I have been between projects, without much to occupy my time. My project partner and I have been working for a while to get funding that will allow us to build some improved wood burning cook stoves, but we have been playing the waiting game for a while.

That all changed on Friday. A motorcyclist arrived at my house bearing a note written in all capital letters. It said: "TIMO. COME TO TOWN IMMEDIATELY. WE HAVE TO BUY MATERIALS FOR STOVES!" This was the first I had heard about buying materials (I thought we were still waiting for approval), but I got on the motorcycle, and went to town.

I found my project partner waiting for me in a state of panic. He told me that we had received approval, but that the project expired TODAY, so TODAY was the very last day that we could buy materials for our stoves. Tomorrow the money would be gone. He was pretty worked up about it.

So, we pulled out a piece of paper and did some calculations. We had about $3000 to buy materials, and figured we could build about fifty stoves with that. We ordered the materials we needed, payed the man, and were all set. Not quite.

The money may be spent, but now we have the job of choosing the fifty families and building the darn things. It will not be easy. Every one wants a stove, so picking the fifty people that will get them could become very political. Also, a lot of these houses are at the end of tiny little mountain paths, not very close to the highway. We will have to figure out ways to haul the 41 cinder blocks, half meter of sand, and two sacks of cement that are necessary for the construction.

In conclusion, my leisure time will be significantly less for the next few months. I am glad of this. I am ready to spend some time working hard. But hopefully I will finish soon enough to get a bit of beach time before I finish. Only eight months to go!

Things happen differently around here than they do back home. Take the example of a late afternoon a few weeks ago. I was sitting on my porch, thinking about what to cook for dinner. A friend of mine pulled up to the house on a motorcycle, and asked if I would be interested in traveling waaaaay up the mountain to a community I'd never visited to meet a group of American volunteers who were there for the week. I told him sure, and asked when we would be going (figuring it would be tomorrow). He said "right now."

So I went and threw an extra tshirt, a sweatshirt, a blanket, pocket knife, and flashlight into a bag and hopped on the motorcycle. I called the peace corps and my girlfriend, to let them know where I was disappearing to, then off we went.

About half a mile up the road my friend turned back to me and asked if the chickens were still there. I wasn't sure what chickens he meant, but I quickly figured out why there was a cardboard box hanging off the back bumper. I peaked inside and reported that yes, there were three live chickens in the box. He brought the bike to a quick stop, telling me that there were supposed to be four. We had lost one.

I got off, and waited by the road for him to go back and find our lost friend. He returned after about fifteen minutes with the chicken, and a sack to stow them in (since the cardboard was at the point of falling apart). It is also important to mention that night is starting to fall, and we have another hour to go on this motorcycle trip.

We took to the road again, with the chickens tightly bound in the sack. Just as we were getting to the steepest part of the road, the chickens decided they were not going to take any more. They started squawking and flapping violently, almost dislodging the sack from the back of the motorcycle. My friend stopped the bike, swore a couple times, and wondered out loud how on earth we were going to to finish the journey with these chickens. I suggested, part jokingly, that I did have my pocket knife with me, and that we could use it to shut the chickens up permanently. He said that was as good an idea as he could think of.

So there, on the side of the road in the middle of the woods, we quickly slaughtered four chickens with a pocket knife and shoved them back in their sack. Now all we had to worry about was blood dripping, which is actually a much less annoying problem than flapping and squawking. We figured the chickens only had a couple hours of life left anyway before they hit the frying pan, so what´s the big deal?

We had to travel the last several miles in the dark, which was a shame given how neat the view is up there. We arrived at the camp, and I gave this group of Americans the surprise of their life. They had been on this mountain top for three days, building a school. Only one out of the twelve spoke Spanish. I think the last thing they expected to see emerging from the darkened wood was a tall white man in an MSU tshirt, speaking with a Dominican accent, all splattered with chicken blood. But all told, I had a very pleasant visit with them.

I am supposed to be an environment volunteer, which means that the focus of my projects is supposed to be on protecting the little piece of the planet that I've been assigned to. For better or worse I have gotten myself into the middle of helping with lots of grand and complicated projects, some of which are environmental in nature, and some of which aren't. Sometimes, though, I find it refreshing to do something very basic with my community that helps them think about earth stewardship.

Last week we decided to do a trash clean up. I live in a small neigborhood of about thirty houses, and we have no public trash removal system. Some people carry their garbage down to the city. Some people burn it. But an awful lot of people just dump their trash into the woods, or on the street. My friends and I are trying to do something about this. I acquired a few hundred big black bags, and went around inviting people to join me on the next Monday at 9 AM to do some cleaning.

9 AM came and went. The only people who showed up were a group of about eight kids between the ages of 4 and 11. I was disappointed at the lack of strong arms (a little kid can't very well lift up a bag completely full of garbage) but forward we went. The nine of us worked for about three hours, and filled somewhere in the neigborhood of twenty five bags. It was a big success.

Now the kids are going around the neigborhood asking the adults why they don't care enough about the community to help pick up trash. I have had some adults promise to join me next time we do a pick up! It is exciting, and I am hoping we can make a weekly thing out of it. Maybe we can even install some barrels and work out a permanent removal system. That would be awesome. But in the mean time, my friends and I will be scooping trash every Monday. Feel free to come join in!

Life is slow right now. I realize that my blog hasn't been up to it's usual high standard of frequent updates, but quite honestly, there hasn't been much to report. I have been doing a lot of waiting for some potentially big projects to be ready to go. But they are not ready yet, so we continue waiting.

I've been doing a lot of reading. My last entry should inform you as to what my literary diet has consisted of. There have also been a lot of kids books folded in there, as one of my main project activitities seems to have become reading out loud.

The rainy season is upon us, which means the river is once again high, and every storm means I might be stuck in my community for a few days. I crossed the other day for the first time since it has become muddy this year. Muddy = more dangerous because one cannot see how deep the water is where one is about to step. It is always an excercise in faith. I suppose life would be easier if I had faith that were strong enough to allow me to walk on water, but I am not there yet.

I have also been catching up on listening to podcasts. While I was in the State's i downloaded the last several months worth of many of my favorite NPR radio shows. Afternoons in the country side are much less boring when I have my friends from "wait, wait don't tell me," "Car Talk," "This American Life," and a few others. It is almost like I have an NPR station out in the Dominican jungle. Alas, I do not. Maybe that could be a project idea. Do you think public radio would give me a grant to start an NPR franchise down here? I guess they wouldn't get much listenership.

Anyway, before I next leave my countryside, I will think of something witty and amusing to write about. Thanks for reading.

It has been a while since I posted what I've been reading. And I've been reading a lot. As usual, you will find a brief review after the title.

Life with Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse

Wodehouse is the greatest master of the english language that I have ever encountered. His stories about bumbling Bertie Wooster and his man-servant Jeeves are such fun. J and W have become two of my best literary friends.

The Feast of the Goat by Mario Vargas Llosa

Historical fiction, describing the events leading up to the assassination of Dominican dictator Trujillo. A good choice for history buffs.

Promises to Keep by Joe Biden

Biden is a good story teller and he's lived an interesting life. Not a long or challenging read. I recommend it.

Holes by Louis Sachar

A kid's story that I read in an afternoon. Not bad at all.

The Redsox Reader by Dan Riley

An anthology of writing from the entire history of the Redsox franchise. Stephen King, John Updike, Doris Kearns-Goodwin and many more famous fans make appearances. A required book for every true fan's library. I recommend it specifically to my New England relatives who I know to be readers.

The Red Tent by Anita Diamant

The fictionalized story of Dina, daughter of Jacob. It is interesting to see some of the favorite Bible stories from the perspectives of the women involved. The writer took some liberties with scripture, but it is still an interesting read.

When you are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris

If you like "this American life" on NPR, check out this book.

Dress your family in cordury and denim by David Sedaris

ditto to the last one.

The Shack by William P. Young

Not sure what the big deal is. I found it neither life changing, nor particularly troublesome. It is an interesting take on the trinity and what it means to have a relationship with God. I found it encouraging.

Wicked by Gregory Maguire

The inspiration for the famous musical. It was weird. It is a political drama set in the land of Oz where I think the wicked witch is supposed to be a Marxist. Weird.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling

An old favorite. I re-read it to examine how a book like this is put together.

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling

Still the best one in the series.

The Farming of the Bones by Edwin Danticat

A heart breaking account of the genocide committed against Haitians here in 1937. I cried, but I am glad I read it. We can't forget pieces of history like this.

Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder

The story of Dr. Paul Farmer's fascinating career spent curing disease all over the world. In the same category as "three cups of tea", but a MUCH MUCH better book.

The Defining Moment by Jonathan Alter

The story of FDR's first 100 days in office, and how he battled the great depression. Particularly relevant at our point in history.

Dune by Frank Herbert

Apparently a staple of the sci-fi/fantasy fan's book shelf. Not bad, but a little nerdy. It's like a medieval epic set in space. I thought it was a rip off of starwars, but then I realized it came out a decade BEFORE starwars did. I guess George Lucas is the plagiarist...

War without bloodshed by Eleanor Clift

Profiles of Washington players in the mid nineties. The drama centers on the Clinton health care battles. The writer shows you what the fight looks like from the perspective of a senator, house rep, lobbyist, pollster, etc. Interesting, and a bit depressing.

Watchmen by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons

A graphic novel. FANTASTIC. I mean really good. Sort of a different, darker spin on the super hero mythology.

Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen

One of the best bits of fiction I´ve read since moving here. It is about life in a travelling circus during the great depression. Great characters, story, romance. Read it. Whoever you are.

Executive Orders by Tom Clancy You know that feeling you have after you´ve just eaten a whole bag of doritos? That was how I felt after finishing this. It was kind of fun to do, but dang.

Brisingr by Daniel Paolini

Just one thing to say about this fantasy story: if this guy can get published, I can get published. I hope.

Liberty by Garrison Keillor

A novel about everyone's favorite town in Minnesota, Lake Wobegon. Good fun. I love Keillor.

I have found that in living outside of America, I have gained a little bit of outside perspective that causes me to notice things I might not have before. Some things appear funnier, sadder, or more confusing than they would have before. I saw something in the airport the other day that was a little funny, and a little sad.

I was waiting on a lay over in Washington DC, and wandering around the terminal a little bit. I couldn't believe how much food was available there! Burgers, burritos, pizza, sandwiches, icecream and all sorts of other greasy calorie filled products were available for my consumption.

Then I walked around around a corner, and noticed something on the wall next to the fire extinguisher. It was a small door, with a sign on it that read "Defibrilator." Apparently they have defibrilators available in American airports now! This is comforting, because when I have a heart attack from all the terrible food I just ate, I won't have to go very far to find help. This thing was literally on the wall RIGHT NEXT TO the burger stand. I thought it was funny.

I am currently in Massachusetts. Yesterday I was in Vermont. Tomorrow I will be in New Hampshire. I landed in Michigan about ten days ago, and since then I have...

-Experienced an interrogation regarding swine flu

-Been in nine states

-Delivered my photo slide show three times

-Educated many Americans as to where their coffee comes from

-Met dozens of Kim's relatives

-Prepared fried plantains for said relatives

-Reunited with many of my own relatives

-Witnessed the marriage of my cousin

-Sampled dozens of beverages that I have missed

-Eaten many kinds of food that I have missed

-Gained about four pounds

Longer stories to come. I am short on sleep and time. Perhaps tomorrow.

In 24 hours I will be on an airplane bound for the land of the free and the home of the brave. I will be visiting the USA for three weeks, and will be appearing in several venues across the country.

I am not sure the reality that I am about to leave the DR and be in America for a little while has completely hit me yet. I am sure I have changed in ways that will not become apparent until I get into English speaking company on American soil. Hopefully I haven't become too much of a savage.

I will try to do some blogging during the trip, as I am sure I will have some interesting reflections on the contrasts I am encountering.

Right now I am just excited to go. I get to eat taco bell. See my friends and family. Meet my girlfriend's family, and have her meet mine. Drink good beer. I think it will be a good trip.

Stay tuned.

I just finished my "One Year In Service Training" conference. I got together for a few days with all of the volunteers who came into the country with me who are working in the same sector. There are twenty of us, and we spent the first three months in country training together. This group is more or less the closest thing I have to a big family here in the Peace Corps. Since arriving in country we have not had a single person have to drop out. We are proud of that.

We live all over the country, and each of us does some kind of work related to the environment. We do trash pickups, reforestation, construction projects to conserve natural resources, education, responsible farming, and even some health extension work Some of us are in cities, and many live in the country side. We work with youth, farmers, politicians, or some mix of all of them. We build stoves, latrines, tree nurseries, and lots of other things. Our list of potential job activities is really long. Most of us have chosen our own strategy based on our individual skills and community, but there is a lot of commonality. That's why we have conferences like this. To swap stories, and sort of discuss where we are going as a sector.

It was a really neat couple of days. I got to hear about all the amazing work that my colleagues are doing. Amy and Taylor (a married couple) were struck by all of the health problems in their community related to chemical pesticide use, and have recently succeeded in convincing ALL of their community members to stop using that pesticide. My buddy Chris has gotten himself teaching regular science classes at his local high school, in the middle of dirty urban slum (where education is needed more than almost anywhere). Joel, Anne, and Tim are experimenting with ways to build clean air stoves that will be more affordable to poor families than the current model we use. Destin has started an eco-tourism cooperative that had 400 people show up to their first meeting. This is to say nothing of all the trees that have been planted, garbage cans that have been installed, stoves that have been built, classes that have been taught, and all the other things done by this neat group of people in the past year. I am very proud of them. I'm excited to see how much we do as a group before we finish in a year!

Part of life in the Peace Corps is adjusting to the dramatic things that can happen to our tummies. Occasionally we volunteers get knocked flat by mysterious stomach bugs that seemingly come from nowhere. We might spend three days running back and forth from the toilet, and have no idea whether it came from the river water we brushed our teeth with, or possibly the fried chicken feet from lunch last weekend. It is a part of life, and you either get used to it and keep yourself hydrated, or you go home.

The most amusing part of these troubles is the way that they sometimes arrive very, very suddenly and under comical circumstances. For example...last week. I was doing a little bit of shopping to replace a defunct pair of flip-flops. Suddenly my gut was churning, and I knew that I could not wait very long at all. The situation was urgent. I sheepishly asked an employee of the store I was in if it would be possible to use their employee bathroom. She giggled, possibly at the way my face was turning purple as I strained to postpone what was about to happen. Her coworkers and the other customers in the store also looked very amused at this tall white man who was clearly suffering. I was led into the back of the store where I found the bathroom.

I did my business quickly, and immediately felt much better. As I pulled my pants up, however, I noticed that floor of the bathroom was covered in about an inch of standing water. I had not noticed this when I dropped my pants in the first place. Now the crotch region of my pants was completely soaked. It looked as though I had peed my pants. Wonderful.

The full gravity of the situation didn't hit me until a second later. There was a crowd of people outside the bathroom who knew I had been in a rush to use it. Now I had a big wet stain in front of my pants. It was going to look like I had not made it to the toilet in time, and had wet myself. I could now either hide in the bathroom to avoid embarassment, or walk out and let them think what they want. And a bathroom is not a pleasant place to hide. Out I went, and made as quick an exit as I could from the store. The employees definitely laughed as I walked by. At least my pants dried out pretty fast in the Caribbean sun.

I guess when one is a celebrity they are able to do things that aren't considered normal for your average run of the mill citizen. I definitely have celebrity status in my little part of the country, being one of fewer than ten white people living in the area. I have gotten used to people I've never met knowing my name. I have grown accustomed to receiving special treatment when I role into the local shops, or while visiting people. It comes with the territory. I've never, though, felt comfortable using my celebrity to get things that I want. Well, that might have changed.

Last Sunday was Mother's Day, and I consider myself a good son. Right now, however, this good son cannot afford roses, chocolates, cards, or any of the normal things we get our moms in America. I figured the least I could do was call her. So I made my way down the hill, only to find upon arriving in the place where there is cell phone signal that my cell phone was out of battery power. This is normally not a problem, because I can just plug into any outlet to charge it. On this particular day, however, the power was out. And no one could tell me when it would be back.

I started wandering through town looking for anyone who might be running a generator. I tried a few shops without luck. I went to the local catholic priests house, but he was unable to help me. I asked a few kind looking strangers sitting on their porches. No one had any juice to run my cell phone. Finally I rolled into the local fire station, and saw that they had power. I explained the situation to them (that I needed to call my mother) and they replied that they would be honored to have a distinguished person like me, who is doing so much for their community, use their electricity. So it all worked out. I called my mother from a room full of Dominican fire fighters (who wouldn't stop staring at me). I will have to see what other uses I can put my fame to.

I logged onto the web today to check email, and I was bombarded with messages from friends and family asking me about this swine flu that seems to be all the rage in America right now.  I promise, my health is fine.  I have no pig related illnesses. 

I deal with pigs all the time.  I chased one out of my yard this morning.  I've never gotten sick from them, although I see how one could.  If I spent my time handling pigs at close quarters (which many of my neighbors do) and neglected to wash my hands (which is common around here) I would expect an illness much worse than a little bit of flu.  Pigs are dirty and rude.  Any illiterate Dominican peasant could tell you that.  They are not at all like the fluffed up little things you see in movies like "Babe".  America seems shocked that these animals could be carrying disease.  

We shouldn't be surprised when we consider the fact that we make these animals live packed together in cement boxes, wallowing in their own feces and eating food that they were never meant to eat.  And when they get sick, we pump them full of antibiotics, killing weak viruses but possibly allowing stronger ones to thrive.  I am no scientist, but this sounds like an ideal situation for the evolution of new forms of disease.

I guess I don't see what the big deal is with the pig fever.  This thing is all over the news, but fewer than 500 people have gotten sick.  I think only one person has died.  When was the last time you read a news story (or a twitter post, for that matter) about the 15 million children who died of hunger last year?  Maybe we should talk about that instead.  Or maybe it would just make us feel bad about ourselves.  It's not quite as exciting as sick pigs.

Regardless of how uncomfortable we may be in talking about it, world wide deaths from AIDS, tuberculosis, malaria, and good old starvation are many.  Let's tone down the talk about the pig flu and start solving the real problems.

My girlfriend, Kim, is thinking about extending her Peace Corps service. She found a website about a small school run by an American group that offers classes to poor Haitian students who the government refuses to educate (Haitians get a really bum deal in this country. They come to the DR looking for opportunity and a generally better life, but they end up getting treated like second class citizens. They do all the dirty low paying jobs that no one else wants, and they deal with all kinds of discrimination. They don't receive services from the government, and they are often made to live in slum/ghettoes that are called "bateys". It is a very sad situation.).

The school that Kim discovered claimed to be located in a sub neigborhood of Barahona (big city near me) that I always thought to be pretty wealthy. Sure enough, as we zipped through town on our motorcycle taxis I was looking at massive, pillared houses that put my mountain hovel to shame. But then we turned off the main road, and the picture changed drastically.

We found ourselves bumping along roads that clearly hadn't seen any kind of maintenance for the last ten years. All dirt and rocks. The houses were packed together like sardines, and seemed to be made of whatever was laying around. Some dwellings were cement, but others were nothing more than piles of zinc or sticks that might fall down with the next stiff breeze. There were kids everywhere in the streets, and a lot of teenagers hanging around looking bored. These are the marks of an underprivileged community here. The kids don't go to school, and the young people have no work opportunities.

The streets wound this way and that, and we wandered in circles for a while before figuring out where we were going. Eventually we found the school building, which was bigger than the website made it seem, but empty. We tracked down a care taker, and later one of the teachers, who told us that the school is currently closed due to lack of funding. They hope to re-open in the fall.

They've been operating for about five years, bringing education to those who probably would not have it otherwise. They started in a backyard shack, but the deluge of students meant they had to expand. They now have over a hundred students sitting at home, waiting to go back to school. It is a sad story, but hopefully things will get better, and hopefully Kim can play a part. If anyone is interested in learning more, or possibly contributing to help get this school on it's feet again, their website is here.

I have been in the Dominican Republic for 14 months. In a few weeks I will celebrate an entire year of service in my community. Anniversaries like this bring about reflection. I remain fundamentally the same person I was a year ago, but some things have changed. Here is a list of observations, written in a hurry with no particular pattern or end in mind.

-I am more patient. Meetings starting hours late, and pointless hikes over hill and dale have taught me that life does not always work out according to my agenda. I have come to realize that that's okay. I can be flexible, and the sun will continue to rise if certain goals and deadlines are not met.

-I am skinnier by twenty pounds. Hiking and eating healthy country food are pretty good for the belly, it turns out. The occasional stomach problems have contributed as well...

-I am thinking like a farmer. My day starts by looking at the sky and figuring out what the weather will be like. The annual calendar is determined not by months and dates, but by whatever we are planting or harvesting. Quite a change from the microsoft outlook controlled life of professional America.

-My idealism has matured. I remain strong in the belief that addressing issues of poverty and injustice is a moral imperative. I understand now, though, that solving these problems is neither simple nor fast.

-I know how to use a machete and ride a horse.

-My hair is longer.

-I have learned to get by with very, very little electricity. I use my cell phone and iPod daily (which I charge whenever I am in town), and my battery operated head lamp to get around at night. That's all the juice I consume. I really don't feel that I am living a lower quality of life, either. I wonder if such low levels of consumption are possible in the States. Anyone care to try?

There are many ways I have not changed at all. I still love a good hamburger, MSU basketball, the movies, good books, and long conversations. Still the same Tim, just a little modified.

If you would like to investigate the changes for yourself, I am currently planning a tour of America that will take place this summer. Tour dates are as follows:

June 10-14: Grand Rapids, MI.

June 14-18: Madison, WI.

June 18-24: Select locations in New England.

June 24-28: Nashville, TN.

June 29-July 1: Washington, DC.

Contact my booking agents if you are interested in hosting a showing. PCV's don't make a lot of cash, so I will happily sing for my supper.

Peace Corps is obviously a part of the US Government, which has its ups and downs. The negative aspects have to do with bureaucracy and silly rules that are very inflexible. For example, right now we are not allowed to open any of our mail inside the office, because someone might be sending us anthrax. Why anyone would try to anthrax a Peace Corps volunteer is beyond me, but uncle Sam knows best.

Yes, there are downs, but there are lots and lots of ups. Like how we get to use the embassy pool and restaurant when we are in the capital. Very nice. But the best thing of all is the health care we get as volunteers. It is free, and covers everything. We have two doctors in the office who we can talk to whenever we come in, and call at any hour of the day or night. They have an entire closet full of drugs to give us, and if they don't have what we need they send out for it.

I have been in country for a year now, which means I have go through a routine medical exam to make sure I am still fit to serve my country. I got to go see a doctor for a full check up, and a dentist for cleaning and cavity check. All of my parts are in good working order, and despite the countless cups of sugar saturated coffee I've had over the last year, I have not a single cavity.

The government pays for us to see the best of the best private doctors. All the waiting rooms I sat in were airconditioned, with marble floors and expensive paintings on the wall. The other people waiting were wearing designer jeans and talking on iPhones. Rich people. And I was there with them. It reminded me that despite the fact that I live in a small house without electricity, I am still one of the privileged in this country. I have access to resources that my neighbors could never even dream about.

A few weeks ago a team of doctors came to my community to do general check ups. The crowd formed hours before the doctors even arrived. People hiked miles and miles out of the hills to see them, some carrying their sick family members. There were regular non-serious illnesses, like colds and aching backs. But there were also cuts that had not been cleaned, and become infected to the point that the limb might be lost. There were little kids with serious parasites. I saw a few people who complained of vision problems, and the doctors told them that they were in the early stages of blindness.

The team stayed until after dark. Fortunately they were able to see just about everyone who came. But we don't know when they will come back. There is no hospital. Most of these people cannot afford to travel to the city, let alone pay for treatment. They are illiterate, and have never been taught anything as simple as how to clean out a wound, or make sure the drinking water is clean.

We complain about lack of health care in America, and there are certainly real problems that need to be addressed (I don't know what I will do when I'm no longer under the government's umbrella!). But before we wallow in too much self pity for having to pay what we do for pills or surgeries, remember that at least we have stores that sell the pills. And we have doctors who know how to help us. It would do us some good to remember those who lack what we have been given.

I recommend the book Mountains Beyond Mountains. It is about a doctor who's been doing public health work in Haiti for a long time. Fascinating and convicting stuff.

Every six months my partner organization gets evaluated to see if they are spending their grant money well. This consists of an inspector coming to visit, and interviewing everyone involved with the project (directors, peace corps volunteers, engineers, farmers, community leaders, you name it). My community is (relatively) close to the highway, so we have often been the host of these meetings in the past. This time, though, the inspector decided that she wanted to visit a community a little farther off the beaten track, so as to hear the stories of the people who aren't represented at these meetings very often. A noble goal, to be sure.

The logistics involved were kinda complicated, though. We had to figure out how to transport about 35 people (5 reps from each community involved in the project) to this small town that is really no more than a school house that is miles away from anything else and on top of a mountain. And the roads that go there should not be described as roads. They are steep dirt tracks that are covered with rocks.

We had two pickup trucks that were supposed to haul all of us, so we piled in when they arrived at eight in the morning and got ready for the bumpy and uncomfortable ride up the hill. We were all dressed in our Sunday best. Men, women, even a few kids. Now riding up a steep dirt road in the bed of a pickup truck is bumpy and uncomfortable under most circumstances, but it is made more so when that pickup bed is overflowing with people. I mean, we had people hanging off the back bumpers, off of both sides, and piled on top of each other in the middle. Very tight.

We did alright until we hit the steep part of the hill. The truck overheated, and was unable to go any farther due to the smoke pouring out from under the hood. We were still two miles down the mountain from our destination, and a mile past the closest town. So what did we do? We started to walk, Sunday clothes and all. The whole two miles to our destination.

We arrived sweaty and an hour later than we were supposed to. But this being the Dominican Republic, we were actually a few hours early. The people from the organization weren't there yet. The only person around was an eighty five year old man who looked like a raisin with eyes. He was running around looking for cinder blocks that we could use as seats because we quickly filled up all the chairs.

Eventually the inspector did show up. She was a little old lady who was very smart and tough as nails. Her audience were a group of crusty old farmers who aren't used to being contradicted (especially by a woman). We had a very amusing meeting, and some difficult questions were asked about the project. This makes me happy, since I've been kind of worried about the sustainability of this project for a while. I also got to talk the ladies ear off for a few minutes.

All in all it was a very "Peace Corps" kind of day. We were dressed in style and late, things broke down, there was a lot of sweat involved, we were sitting on cinder blocks, but at the end of the day everything worked out. Somehow it always does.

This entry is a sequel to the last one, regarding the significant injury I sustained to my fanny whilst trying to celebrate carnival.

I returned to my community still black and blue, and walking a little bit crooked. I would have liked to go for a ride on my horse, but that idea was laughable given my inability to sit down on a regular chair without wincing (let alone a saddle).

My neigbors were sympathetic to my pain, apologizing for the bizarre behavior of their fellow countrymen. Sitting at my house on the evening of my return, I described the bruise to one of my buddies. He asked to see it. I was in the privacy of my own home, so I saw no problem with pulling down my pants and letting him take a look. I did, and he let out a yell of surprise upon viewing the thing. He yelled out the door to a few other guys hanging out next door "Hey, come check this bruise out!" So then I had about six Dominicans ogling my bottom.

It was no big deal in and of itself. But I had no idea what kind of a can of worms I had opened. Over the next few days, as I visited the various families in communities, people frequently asked to see my injury. Gossip spreads fast around here, and I guess everyone had heard that I had quite a shiner to display. So everyone wanted to see it, and not knowing what else to do, I obliged him. So now half the community has seen my butt. The response is always amusing. Lots of yelling and sympathy. But I am not sure if they are more amused by the site of my pale heiny, or by the massive bruise. Who can tell.

-------

On a related note, my girlfriend Kim was sustained similar injuries during our carnival (mis)adventure. She returned to her site, and her neigbor offered her a medicine that was guaranteed to cure the bruise quickly. It was a mixture of aloe and snake guts, topped off with a chicken feather.

Kim told me about this on the phone, and I thought it was bizarre. I went and told my host family about it, expecting them to agree that it was a very strange remedy. Instead, my host mother looked at me with a straight face and said "Yes, that is a very good remedy. Would you like me to make you some? I don't have any snake right now, but I am sure we could find some!" I declined, and left the conversation wondering why after a year in country these things still shock me.