Punctuality and Organization

We have a very different idea of punctuality and organization in the States. I have found this to be true in the two countries that I have most recently lived in. You are told to be somewhere at 8:00, but this really means 9:00, or perhaps 10:00 depending on the situation. One can never be sure what time is appropriate, but all the locals seem to know exactly when to show up. This makes it extremely difficult on foreigners and quite awkward when you show up an hour late and they tell you that you are early!

Additionally, coming from a culture where tend to plan things with at least a week's notice, it can be quite frustrating to find out five minutes before your scheduled class that there is a special activity and class will not be held. This has happened numerous times since I've been here. It almost makes me not want to plan anything ahead of time for my classes because more often than not there is a change in schedule. I like to think that as gringos, we are just well organized and efficient as opposed to uptight in this regard.

I've been living in the desert for about a week now. The altitude is extremely high and it took a few days for my ears to pop. It is extremely dry here, and my skin has already started to crack and bleed despite practically bathing myself in lotion twice a day. The city I live in, El Salvador, was created by North Americans in the early 1900's. Later, the mining company was nationalized and the North Americans left. For this reason, many of the street names are in English and the streets are extra wide compared to the typical Chilean streets. The city was set up in the shape of a Roman Helmet. I climbed to the top of a nearby mountain and was able to verify this fact. Most everyone lives here because either they or their family works for the mining company. There is a population of about 6,000. Everyone that works for the mining company, CODELCO, lives in a house owned by the company and they do not pay for the rent, water, electricity, or phone. CODELCO also funds 50% of the school's budget in El Salvador. The copper in El Salvador is starting to run out and there is talk of shutting down the mine by 2011. This will have huge ramifications for the city.

The father in my family works for CODELCO as a chemist. His daughter just finished University and will be joining him at CODELCO. The mother is a baker and makes cakes and pastries all day long. This weekend she is particularly busy because it's Children's Day on Sunday and everyone is asking her to make sweets for their family. Children's Day is widely celebrated here in Chile. Do we have this holiday in the states? There is also a 13 year old boy in the family. He is one of the best students in his class and will be traveling to Antofogasta next week for a public speaking competition in English. I have been helping him practice for this. The final member of the family is a 5 month old poodle named Tatam. He wears an adorable fleece jacket because it's winter here and they don't have indoor heating in any of the buildings. I don't think I could ever get used to this. It's about 58 degrees in the house right now and my hands are freezing as I type this!

My school is incredible. It's 50 years old and was built by the North Americans. They have wi-fi throughout the entire building. Incredible. I came from a school with no running water and intermittent electricity. There are three English teachers at the school who all speak English very well. I will be working with all of their classes (grades 3-8). This week I observed and on Tuesday I will start teaching my own classes.

Diego De Almagro

Tonight I will be leaving on a bus to go to Diego de Almagro, my home for the next four months. It´s a smaller city (pop. 19,000) in the Atacama Region of Chile. The climate will be significantly different from Santiago. Temperatures will be warmer and there will be less vegetation, as it is a desert region. It will be nice to leave behind the smog of Santiago and head to a area that is known for its stargazing. The national park, Pan de Azucar, is only a couple hours away and has desert penguins. It sounds amazing.

Matt and I just figured out skype and were able to talk with webcams today. Technology is unbelievable!

Santiago

Well, I arrived in Santiago safely today. The flight was about 12 hours total, but luckily I slept through most of that. There are about 130 volunteers in all that will be doing the teaching program here in Chile. I met eight of them from the flight to Santiago. We spent the day walking around Santiago and sightseeing. It is pretty cold here. In the morning and evenings it is around 35 degrees Farenheit. It warms up during the day and the sun makes it appear less cold. It should be warmer at my site, as I will be in the northern part of the country. We will be in Santiago for the first week, taking Spanish classes, TEFL classes and taking care of paperwork. Next weekend I will travel to my site (still unknown) and meet my host family.

Ironically, many of the volunteers do not know much Spanish at all, since it technically wasn't required. I think it's pretty brave of them to travel to a country not being able to speak the language. Santiago appears to be a well-kept, developed city. They have an extensive metro system, which we rode today, several parks, universities, numerous shopping areas (including jewelry shops with lapis lazuli, a blue stone that is only found in a handful of countries, including Chile).

Home Free!

Well, she's back in the States. Turnaround time til Latin America trip: Two weeks. Things to do: Get a haircut (1st in 27 months...), take the GRE (Good luck!), find a wardrobe for winter in Chile (currently ongoing... crazy Southern Hemisphere). Probably a half dozen other things besides, plus see friends and family, gorge on American food, etc.

I'm in Georgetown, living out the last two weeks, doing some work and decompressing. In the last two days before he left (unfortunately, right after she left) the Hospital Playground Rejuvenation Project -- a title I just made up on the fly, but which makes it sound was more ambitious and awesome than it really was -- was finally enacted. The welder showed up and repaired the swingset and slide skeletons, I painted the swingset, slide, and merry-go-round with the help of the hospital guards, and local boys showed up with electric planer, sander, and drill to treat the wooden swing and slide board. She and I had been working on rehabilitating this play area for... I dunno, a year or more. So the fact that it was only just completed as we left our site, while ironic, is no surprise and frankly a relief.

So I'll be home in late July, after which time we might even start mentioning our names and general locations. We don't brag about it a lot, but our host country does have a few problems with angry young men, due to the usual reasons: High unemployment and poverty, low education, and a history of not-so-friendly U.S. involvement in their politics. This is why we've been a little, um, discreet (call it "annoyingly vague", "ninja-esque", whatever) with using proper nouns over the last two years. Sorry about that, and the weirdness will end in a couple weeks.

I'll be travelling around the Midwest a bit for a month or so after I get back (August-ish?), seeing family, before settling down a bit and seeing who wants to pay me six figures (that's, um, including the two decimal places) to do something fun and rewarding. Otherwise, there's a cool game on PSP called LocoRoco that I find oddly relaxing.

In the meantime, call, email, and Facebook-wall her to wish her luck on her four months in Chile. After two years in equatorial weather and two years in mid-Florida, she'll get two legitimate winters in the next 6 months. I think she's almost as excited for that as I am. Not to mention the copious amounts of wine available there... can't wait to visit.

The clock is ticking...

One month left for her, plus two weeks in the capitol for him. While she runs around the States, preparing to fly out to Chile and also laying groundwork for grad school to begin in 2010, he’ll be enjoying his last 14 days in-country. No work to do, no pressure to perform; just friends to see and memories to form. Plus massages and other spa treatment at developing-country prices. Who can complain about that?

In the meantime, her libraries are coming along beautifully. More books just came in; more shelves are being built, and the schools are starting to really look at what has been accomplished. The funny thing about some of these projects is that we have a vision of how it will turn out, but it’s a vision that is entirely uncommunicable to locals. We sell them on the idea, or they give us an idea that we run with, and we get support and approval at every stage based chiefly on their faith in us. If you’ve ever only seen two storybooks in your entire life, and a library is a place where old school textbooks go to die, how can you envision thousands upon thousands of books – all ready for you to take home, one per week, for the next twelve years of your school?

The first and second grade students at the school now live in a world that their older siblings and parents can’t even fathom: A world where books have always been taken for granted. A child that is read to regularly when young experiences 32 million words in a period of 5 years. How much richer is that world than one with no words to read; no stories to understand; no characters to empathize with; no triumphs but your own, no failures to survive but those impacting your immediate life? Suffice it to say, the woman I'm with is pretty amazing, notwitstanding her terrible taste in men.

True Story #4: Christmas Eve

The music, as always, slammed across the road like a 20-car pileup. The difference this time was that, with one wall of massive speakers only thirty feet away from the next, which was only thirty feet downwind of the one beyond that, and each and all playing different music, the pileup had no discernible form. Soca, Hindu wedding music, and the latest hip-hop anthems from overseas merged together into a pounding, throbbing presence that would not be ignored. Hours had gone by, and it was still the only thing either of the two could think about. How did the people here listen to this and not go deaf? And how were they talking in such low tones right now?

The table in front of them was covered with beer bottles. No room for hands to rest or food to sit; any excited hand gestures would surely cause a cataclysm. The woman was having a good time, talking with the locals around the table who as always were drawn to the two like flies to white rice. The man was alright, although his arm still ached from sawing through the cow leg earlier in the day: Two hours of his life given over to a Sisyphean task. His jaw still ached from trying to chew the cow leg. Also, the men kept shoving bottles of beer at him faster than he could drink them. How did the men here drink so fast and talk so much at the same time? The crowd of glass in front of him included three bottles, still full, condensation flowing freely down the sides in the 80-degree heat.

At least it was a cool night.

Counting the Weeks

Well… a month+ to go. Getting down to the wire. In typical form, He is just starting a project right now, with the remaining time here being measured in minutes, not hours. It keeps life interesting, to say the least. She, also true to form, is wrapping up a beautiful project which was enabled and empowered by support from home (namely, our two mothers – there’s some lesson there, but I’ve already forgotten it): 6000 books across 3 libraries. Books in hands that have never held one before. Kids being read stories by parents, kids reading to parents that can’t read. It’s awesome.

We gave away our animals yesterday. Our two girls, Riesling and Sumatra, have been a huge part of our life here. If we hadn’t set it in stone in our minds almost 2 years ago when we first got Riesling, the dog, that we would leave her here when we left, there would definitely be a plane ticket with her name on it right now. Yes, you have to buy a dog their own seat, at least here. And we would be doing it, if we hadn’t told ourselves (and each other), over and over, “They’re staying in Guyana”. We will definitely never leave a pet again. They do have a good home, though – in fact, a young woman from the same state in the Midwest. She seems great, and we think the girls will be very happy. And in a year, we’ll offer to help subsidize their trip home if she’s thinking about bringing them back, so that she doesn’t have to go through the same thing.

We’re getting quite excited about seeing home again – Home defined as family, good customer service, Chipotle, regular working hours, predictable travel times, water you can drink right out of the ta—well, can’t have everything, I guess. How will we travel to see all our friends and family? Beats me. We’ll figure something out. He’ll be back at the end of July; she’ll return from teaching English afterward (see previous post) in time for the holiday season.


I’ll give you a double-dip of True Caribbean Stories, since I skipped last week.

Tarantino #2: The Tapir (Wikipedia it)

There’s a bar, or perhaps a disco is a more appropriate title. A tapir, up on two legs, is dancing with a man. Both the tapir and the man have alcohol on their breath. The tapir isn’t a half-bad dancer.


Addendum to the story: It may not be in Wikipedia, but a male tapir’s… equipment… is the exact size and dimensions of its legs and feet. It literally looks like a 5th leg, and even appears to provide support and balance, when needed. Freaky.



Tarantino #3: White Man Walking

A white girl (“gyal”, here) looks out her window, for what feels like the thousandth time. This time, she’s rewarded: A car has pulled up, and she sees a white man inside it. Now that he’s here, two hours late, she’s freed from holding vigil for him in the apartment and they can go on to the wedding. She goes out to greet him.

When she goes outside, she realizes unequivocally that they will not be attending any wedding. Not today. Her husband is much whiter than when he left that morning, and is only walking with the aid of men propping him on each side. Although the crutches themselves appear to be quite drunk, the oreo-filling patient seems to be the worst by far. He’s lost control of his neck muscles, head flopping about like an infant. She foresees an afternoon of laughing at him and taking digital photographs while he lays in the hammock, deservedly ill. In between the vomiting, she will show him the pictures.

She thinks: So that’s what a Bharyat is.

The Beginning of the End

Two months left. As some of you know, She’s planning on spending 4 months in South America afterward, teaching English in a Spanish-speaking country; she’ll get back in the States just in time for the holidays. I’ll be coming straight back (to the worst job market in 80 years…) to the Midwest for a bit, with a trip out sometime to visit her – while she enjoys what we hope will be an assignment a bit more relaxing than the one we’ve had here.

In the meantime, I thought I’d give out a few stories via this blog. I’m going to Tarantino them though, so for now you’ll just get the end of the first story. These are all things that have happened to me or another volunteer while I’ve been here, or things we’ve seen directly. I love this country, and will miss a lot of things about it. But some things I might not miss so much…

So, Tarantino #1: The dock.

It’s about midnight; a man is sitting on a dock. He’s of East Indian descent, his brown toes dangling in the black water of the river. There is an arrow sticking out of his side.

He doesn’t seem to be in much pain; of course, the air around him reeks of alcohol, so he may feel it more in a little while when he sobers up. His eyes scan the river, looking hopefully for the light of a boat, one that might take him a few hours downstream to the local hospital. Nothing's coming. From the village behind him, the music and carousing at the disco roar unapologetically.

The Beginning of the End

Two months left. As some of you know, She’s planning on spending 4 months in South America afterward, teaching English in a Spanish-speaking country; she’ll get back in the States just in time for the holidays. I’ll be coming straight back (to the worst job market in 80 years…) to the Midwest for a bit, with a trip out sometime to visit her – while she enjoys what we hope will be an assignment a bit more relaxing than the one we’ve had here.

In the meantime, I thought I’d give out a few stories via this blog. I’m going to Tarantino them though, so for now you’ll just get the end of the first story. These are all things that have happened to me or another volunteer while I’ve been here, or things we’ve seen directly. I love this country, and will miss a lot of things about it. But some things I might not miss so much…

So, Tarantino #1: The Dock.

It’s about midnight; a man is sitting on a dock. He’s of East Indian descent, his brown toes dangling in the black water of the river. There is an arrow sticking out of his side.

He doesn’t seem to be in much pain. Of course, the air around him reeks of alcohol, so he may feel it more in a little while when he sobers up. His eyes scan the river, looking hopefully for the light of a boat, one that might take him a few hours downstream to the local hospital. Nothing's coming. From the village behind him, the music and carousing at the disco roar unapologetically.

Sustainability -- From Him

So -- it's been a while since I've written any posts. We're in the home stretch now; the last 6 months seem to be going quickly, a sprint. The previous 3 have been a whirlwind, and the next 3 seem on track to continue in the same fashion. March was a month for visitors -- other volunteers using their stored-up vacation days, trainees from the new group visiting sites to see volunteer life, etc. Right now we're travelling down to the remote interior for an Amerindian Rodeo. Yes, to steal a book title: The Cowboys are Indians. Then we'll have a end-of-service week in May; the last group stayed at the best hotel in the country, ate ridiculous meals, and had full massages. That was before the economic collapse. We're getting hammocks in bungalows, no guarantee of AC, a campfire (with smores! the admins say), and karaoke. But hey, we're going back to the States just now, as the locals say, so who really cares? In the meantime, my dreams at night have involved Chipotle, Greek food, and consumer electronics.

So, our organization has an understandable focus on sustainability. Train local partners, create income-generating projects that fund themselves after the grants run out, that sort of thing. The attitude of the locals has, to date, been: Sustainawho? We'll just get another volunteer after you leave. I patiently (and with secret pleasure) promised, over and over, that this would not happen. Now that we're three months from leaving, I think things have sunk in. And in the last two-week period, suddenly 1) a nearby university branch has helped them work out having a teacher for computer classes, and 2) a grant funding infrastructure improvement is tied to HIV/AIDS, which is requiring that my work in teaching coping and life skills is continued, so now I have coteachers sitting in for all my classes (as of the new term starting after Easter). Amazing what some properly-applied pressure can accomplish.

And then, out of nowhere, 3) a Ministry group shows up to start addictions counseling, and now I'm assisting with setting up a community-based counseling center. And all this time I thought my debt-laden graduate degree would be safely set aside for 2 years. Funny how things come together all of a sudden. Also funny how the next (and final) three months became really intense and busy.

In the meantime, we're looking for a new home for our girls, Sumatra and Riesling. With luck, a shiny brand-new volunteer will take them both, so they'll have stability and a continued partnership for a solid 2 more years. We really don't want them to be split up, since they play together so well, and nothing is more sad than a lonely dejected puppy. Wish us luck!

As a final note, it looks like She may be headed to a Spanish-speaking South American country after we finish here, and be finished there in December. I, meanwhile, will be perfecting my Wii bowling and DS BrainAge skills. I've missed out on a lot in the last two years.

Manic Depressive Work

I recently had a grant approved to work on building three libraries. The money finally came through and we have begun working on the project. However, as with most projects here, you hit many road blocks along the way. Sometimes, you want to just quit the project entirely. If it weren’t for the kids and their interest in the books, then I am sure I would have abandoned the project long ago. For example, we had some wood delivered to make bookshelves, tables, and benches. We have money to hire one carpenter, but we are looking for volunteers in the community to help with the construction of the furniture. I thought that surely we would have some parents that would want to help with something that will directly benefit their children. Twice we tried to schedule a meeting with the parents and nobody showed up. The second road block came when the carpenter was scheduled to arrive on a Monday to begin working on the bookshelves. He showed up late in the day, completely drunk. He said he would be there Tuesday. He never showed up Tuesday. So I decided to go to the local government building and ask for their assistance. They agreed to find some workers to send over to the school the next day. Well, it’s now four days later. They keep telling me they will be there, but each morning something else comes up and they are unable to come.

On a more positive note, one of the schools called and informed me that they had cleaned out the room for the library and eliminated the bat problem. They did this all on their own, without me standing there and telling them what to do. That phone call was such a blessing after having so many failed attempts with the bookshelves.

In the next couple weeks we will be traveling to the capital city in a hired bus to purchase approximately 2,000 books. We will have a total of 4,000 books when combined with the books that were donated and shipped here from various individuals in the states.

Spaying a Cat

We recently took our cat Sumatra to the vet to have her spayed. We weren't really sure what to expect from a vet in a developing country. First, we had to travel to another city, which took about two hours. Meanwhile, the cat was in a cardboard box with holes in it and she quickly made those holes big enough to stick her entire head out. That was possibly the longest two hours of our lives. We arrived at the local rotary club, where the procedure would be performed. It was a big empty building with a wooden table and a freestanding chalkboard. I was thinking that there must be a hidden operating room that we don’t know about with all the sterile medical equipment. The vet arrived with his assistant and they moved the chalkboard so that the wooden table was hidden for a little privacy. Apparently this would be the table where he would slice open our little cat (Let me emphasize the word little. She’s full grown and is less than six pounds.). The whole procedure was done right on top of that wooden table. No latex gloves were used. Maybe that’s normal? My partner watched some of the surgery, but I just couldn't manage to look at a big gaping hole in her stomach and her uterus just lying on the table. The surgery went fairly well. She had an allergic reaction to the anesthesia, but otherwise Sumatra was doing alright. I’ve read online that typically you let the cat stay overnight at the vet’s to recover from the surgery. In doing so, you miss out on the entire period during which the cat is still anesthetized and acting like a drunk. Her head was wobbling around like a bobble-head cat, and she would try to walk, but then would promptly fall down. We were worried about her trying to bite out the sutures, but they don’t have those convenient plastic cones that are used back home. So we made our own little cone using poster board and taped it around her neck. It was rather entertaining watching her stumble around the house, bumping into everything with the cone, and barely able to keep her head up with the added weight of the cone. Our amusement ended fairly quickly when we woke up the next morning and found that all but two of her stitches were gone. She now had a wide open incision on her stomach, about an inch long. The vet was not worried about it and we would have to wait two more days to get her stitched up again. I was told to meet the vet at one of the gas stations out on the main road. So I loaded up Sumatra in the cardboard box again. This time she didn’t attempt to break out of the box. She was shaking and probably had a fever. The vet arrived at the gas station. He opened up the back of his station wagon, put down a piece of cardboard and voila….a new operating table. He was on his way to an important government meeting, so he quickly stitched up Sumatra. Everything was great for four days, until the stitches came out yet again. I’ve never had a cat spayed back home, but I have to imagine it goes a little smoother than what we’ve been experiencing. It doesn’t help that most people here do not have pet cats and of those individuals that have pet cats, the percentage of them that get their cats spayed is very small. We eventually got her stitched back up a third time and cut a hole in a piece of cardboard to stick around her neck. The vet that stitched her up this time had never worked on a cat before. She told me that our pets are spoiled. I said, yes, that is usually what happens with pets in the states. (She didn’t even react to the cat sleeping adorably in her own little hammock!) Now on to the de-clawing….