Summer's End

The crew with the base of our Eco-Bano

What a week!

Last Sunday was full of laughs as I went to spend Sunday at the beach in Montecristi: about 20 minutes by bus from my house. Normally fairly deserted, Sunday afternoon makes El Morro beach feel super crowded as close to 30 Dominicans descend on the playa to bathe at the beautiful beach. The women, normally minimally dressed en la calle, don full outfits to swim in the ocean. It could have something to do with the fear of the sun and becoming any darker than God intended. The funniest/most disturbing thing happened when an elderly gentlemen went behind a scraggly bush to change into swimming trunks. Unfortunately I think he thought he was hiding, even though he was standing next to a some scrub bush as his cover. We never could figure out if the man was severely intoxicated (likely), mentally disabled or both. He struggled for (I kid you not) close to three minutes with the trunks halfway up his butt, but try as he might, he couldn’t seem to get them up the last, very important, foot, perhaps he was borrowing from a friend or perhaps he had gained some weight. Therefore, he logically proceeded to put on an extra large pair of men’s briefs on over top. This long endeavor was accompanied by an audience of very amused hooting and hollering Dominicans in the ocean. He then, sin verguenza, turned around and got in the ocean, underwear over the top of his half on swim shorts…that definitely made my Sunday.

About two months ago, I had written a card to the governor of Montecristi asking for 20 trash cans (aka old metal barrels that used to hold pesticide) to be donated to our community as there are no trash receptacles in the community. Everyone throws their trash on the ground and then the donas sweep every morning and burn little piles of trash all up and down the street. This is something I will not miss waking up to, the smell of smoldering plastic at 6 am. That being said, the governor was able to gift me 12 of said receptacles. This of course has the added cost of finding someone in my community to come with a large truck and get the trash cans and pay him for his diesel fuel. Luckily, I have some leftover Kids to Kids grant money for just such an endeavor. Upon arriving back in the community people started yelling at me from the street they would pay me $100 pesos each for the trash cans. I said that they aren’t for sale, I will be painting them with the muchachos and they will be put in public places. This elicited a lot of disappointment. People really like to acquire as many barrels at their house as possible to store water when the aqueduct gets turned on a few times a week. So now my backyard is filled with said barrels awaiting paint and a fun art project. The only thing missing is the commitment and cooperation of the local ayuntamiento to come and collect trash from our community, something that has never been done even though it is part of the provincial budget. However, unless the truck gets sent with regularity, my soon to be painted trash cans will be black with smoke from burnt trash…Let’s hope for the best.

I have been aware of my rodent problem for quite some time now. Little things have popped up with holes in them, I noticed lots of turds on my kitchen counter every morning, and about a month ago, there was an actual spotting!! Being a bit of a procrastinator, I did not do anything to confront my rent-free roommate, that is, until I read up on the dangers of lectospirosis. I went to the vet in order to see my options for mouse traps. What I ended up getting was the safest thing that Blue would not eat and poison himself. It is a sticky pad about half the size of piece of paper that the mouse or rat gets stuck to, you then kill the mouse and reuse the sticky pad for up to two more times! I had heard some pretty funny horror stories of other volunteers using this contraption. One being that only the foot of the mouse got caught so the mouse was running all around the house dragging the cardboard behind him. I was terrified of hearing the whimpering cries for help in the night when I captured my furry friend so I decided to lay the trap the night I would be spending in the pueblo. When I got home, the plan was to send in a neighbor to finish the deed. The culprit ended up being a baby, squealing away when I got home the next afternoon. My neighbor, instead of immediately dealing with the task, contemplated the trap and asked me if he could keep the pad to use at his mother’s house. I said fine, but first could he please kill the mouse and get it out of my house. He dragged the trap about five feet from my house and stepped on it, and left it in the middle of the path out to my latrine. He looked at me and said, “Eso me da asco!” That grosses me out! Then he picked up the sticky pad and happily went home to give his mother the trap.

It is so nice having lovely neighbors always willing to help. I could not have been happier, I was finally free of my pest. I sat down at the table to read a book and if a little mouse didn’t scurry right by! I had already given the trap away so I figured I will have to try the natural remedy I have heard also works. You grate the seed of an avocado which contains cyanide and mix it with some peanut butter or cheese. My only worry is the mouse will eat this and then climb under my roof and die thereby smelling up my house. I will keep you all posted on this. My unhealthy and irrational fear of furry rodents (not irrational I suppose because they are dangerous and can pass on lectospirosis) is extremely strong but I am glad this fear does not apply to tarantulas and large spiders which appear all over my house at all times. But don’t worry Brooke, I will kill them all before you come to visit! I really wish Blue got along with cats because having a kitty would be the solution to all my problems. At least Blue will eat the cockroaches sometimes. Good girl!

On Wednesday I went to Santiago with a mason from my community. My mason was going with me to attend a 4 day eco-bano latrine training: he along with five other masons was going to learn how to build the Peace Corps model latrine with ferro-cement technology. I was a little apprehensive because my mason, Rafael, who I have very little previous experience with other than he fixed up my house and put in electricity for me, rarely leaves the community. I would be paying his transport on the bus and covering all expenses until we got to the training center. Rafael participated in a pilot project with World Vision a few years back where he helped build a composting latrine in my community out of cement bloc. Their model of latrine is very expensive, is much larger, and is impressive compared to the size I will be building. The training was being led by my friend Andrea who has had the first large-scale success building this model of latrine. Her mason has built 52 of these latrines and was going to be teaching the masons in attendance all about the measurements and tactics of building this awesome bathroom.
The training was very successful. We built the latrine at a public swimming hole where many Dominicans go to jump off a waterfall. The need for the bathroom was obvious as when we were collecting sand by the river we ran into a few piles of human feces. The training was very successful and very amusing to me as the masons all struggled to work together. Much like any craft, they all seemed to be critiquing each other and holding nothing back about their preferred styles or so and so’s lack of skill at mixing cement or cutting rebar, etc. The most difficult thing for me will be ensuring that Rafael uses the dry cement mixture instead of the more common wet mixture he is used to working with.

The volunteers and I kept lamenting that we should do a fun activity at night because we were staying at a dorm-style retreat house and other than watch tv at night, there was nothing to do. Dancing and drinking were out of the question as my mason is Evangelico and therefore does not partake in either vicio (vice). We decided that going to see a movie at the mall would be perfect, as long as the volunteers paid for the taxi and the movie tickets. Even though the movies only cost about 3 dollars, that is still more than they would be able to spend most likely. Because of Rafael’s’ opposition to anything violent, sexual, etc, we picked the Smurfs in 3D. It was so fun! Rafael watched the whole movie without his glasses because he thought the glasses made him dizzy. A few of the masons in attendance were from very rural areas and because the only movie theaters in the country are in the big cities I bet a lot of the masons had never been to see a movie. Watching Colleen’s mason who lives on a small island with no electricity and only 200 people, confront the escalator was certainly amusing. All in all, it was a priceless experience and Rafael definitely loved the Smurfs as much as I did, although his experience was not as animated as my own without the glasses.

I returned back to my site Saturday night. Today I received some sad news. My project partner Digna, in charge of helping me collect the quota for my second round of filters, had all of the money stolen from her house. We were planning on collecting the filters on Tuesday so almost all 60 recipients had paid their 9 dollars. A man from the capital had been staying at her house while he recovered from an operation. Digna, one of my project partners, is the evangelical pastora and everyone assured me that no one would mess with her because the community has great respect and reverence for her. However, the man absconded with a little over 400 dollars. That money was meant for future community projects as well as is necessary to pay for the gas to go get the filters which are several hours away in a factory. I was really impressed when she told me that she would be selling a cow tomorrow in order to make up for the stolen money. We will not be able to recover all of the money, but it will be enough to at least go get the filters. I feel so blessed that she is taking responsibility for this unfortunate incident and all will not be for naught.

In other news, our electricity has been all over the map recently. The electric company decided to cut all power last week (when they cut power here they literally cut the power lines and take them away).

Within two days my neighbors had rigged the electricity back up. Why would we pay they ask me, we never have electricity for more than half the day, that’s not worth paying for. Definitely a cyclical problem as people will never pay for something that doesn’t work and until people pay it will not improve. However, the voltage was extremely strong and my fan blew up as well as all the light bulbs in the house. Luckily I have my mini fridge plugged into a power strip so that is still chugging away.

Thanks so much again to all the friends and family who have donated to my latrine project. Within the week I will have an additional grant online in hopes of raising money to build another 15 latrines. If anyone still wants to donate, that would be great! I wish I could thank everyone personally but I am unaware, unless you tell me, who has donated to my project. Stay tuned as I will need to raise an additional 2500 US dollars. I am so excited to start this project because the latrines are super cool!
There’s never a dull moment here in Judea: el Silvestre Oeste! *the wild west










My Club de Madres at sewing class,
learning to make pants!


At latrine training, coloring to teach illiterate families the different modes of contamination. This educational component will be 90% of my latrine project


Even he was having a great time!


building the compost latrine



Putting in the poop door: where you can take out the compost in a year

What I've been up to...

I have been thinking a lot of late about my life after Peace Corps, aka, transitioning back to America. This makes me compare how life is here vs. life in the states. When I tell my neighbors I want to go to med school when I go back to the states they all respond that I should go to med school in the DR...hrm...the DR is not really known for its high caliber medical programs.

My interactions with professionals has always left me feeling that being a professional in the DR might just be more fun than in the US. For instance, doctors seem to operate on a code of naps, teachers do not protest the shortened school day and increasing recess hours, and government officials are harder to track down than a misplaced pair of keys. My host mother, the assistant director at the Ministry of Education (a seemingly high-end position), did not go to work this past week because she wanted to go shopping for a small fan at the Haitian Market in Dajabon. Shes says it is a legit excuse because her room is not air conditioned. She has also cited getting her hair done as another legitimate excuse for skipping work. This past week a community meeting was held with members from the Public Health Department. I was unable to attend their last meeting but according to community members it was a great success because refreshments were handed out. The doctors spoke about the dangers of cholera (now that there are eleven new confirmed cases in our neighboring community that we share our water with) and how to prevent it.
Although I had given the exact same talk the week before, I think because I overlooked the all important task of bringing “brindis” or soda and snacks, my lecture was deemed inaccurate hooha by the gringa. However, the one time I made banana bread for my women’s group meeting I did not hear one thank you, only violent shoving and name-calling as women clamored for a hunk of something most thought tasted too healthy and “rara” or strange after all their struggling. After that unpleasant incident I vowed I would not use treats to lure grown people to come to my meetings, they should come of their own accord.

However, after a scintillating talk about the dangers of dengue fever and lectospirosis, the doctors and public health officials handed out birthday cake and soda. As aforementioned, this second health charla was deemed a huge success. Perhaps I should change my self-imposed rules and lure people in with brownies and juice.

Because I have not written in quite some time let me try and touch on the most interesting things I have been up to of late:

The half marathon! Although I was not looking to break any speed records, I would be lying if I said I was not worried about the prospect of running 13.1 miles at 5 in the afternoon in the middle of June in the Caribbean heat and not being in shape to boot. However, it ended up being a really great time and probably one of my fondest memories in Peace Corps this year. About 18 Peace Corps volunteers ran the race and one volunteer even raised money to have 15 kids from her campo come to the capital and participate. We definitely have some athletes in the group: a male and female volunteer who both ran Division 1 long-distance…I decided I would not be attempting to keep up with their blazing pace. It was also quite a treat to see so many fit Dominicans (most upper class capital dwellers) because exercise and working out are not the norm where I live. The funniest part about the race was that every 2 kilometers there were water stations; however, Dominicans are very fond of the plastic bag with water inside, but try running while tearing open a plastic water balloon and drinking. I definitely got more on my body and my fellow runners than in my mouth but it was necessary to keep my face from overheating. I ended up running the first 11 miles with a former Peace Corps volunteer who served in the South Pacific that was down visiting. We quickly realized we were the same pace and chatted most of the run (I guess I wasn’t pushing it that hard if I was able to keep up a conversation, but it certainly made the time pass nicely). The last two miles I put on some bachata hits and some Shakira and saw what my legs had left. Dominicans are really enthusiastic and loud in all areas of life so it was great to sprint across the finish line being sprayed and cheered on by my Dominican fans. I obviously still had some energy left at the end but not wanting to die midrace I decided to make sure I didn’t have to walk. Success! Climbing and descending stairs the next day was a bit difficult but nothing a swim in the Embassy pool couldn’t fix.

I think the best part of the race was knowing so many people that were participating. The last 7 miles was a loop so you could shout out to your fellow running buds as they went by. I am not in the shape I was in the states before I left, but at least I know I will be able to get back there someday when my diet improves and the heat abates.

July fourth: I celebrated America’s birthday with eight of my closest Peace Corps friends in the mountains of Constanza. Constanza is the highest town on the island and the climate and landscape is another world compared to where I live. Constanza sits in a valley surrounded by lush green mountains and it is the agricultural mecca of the DR. Fruits such as apples and strawberries which cannot grow anywhere else on the island, are cultivated there. Receiving frequent frosts and downright pleasant temperatures, one forgets that you are in the Caribbean. While most Peace Corps volunteers took off for the Peninsula of Samana to spend the fourth on a beach, I could not have been happier escaping the heat for a weekend in the mountains. We met up and spent the night at a ranger station that is the starting point for many hikes to Pico Duarte: the tallest peak in the Caribbean. We decided we would hike to Constanza. No locals could tell us for sure how long that would take as there is a series of connecting fireroads and we received estimates between 30 and 60 kilometers. All Dominicans warned against such a stupid idea as hiking. We figured that if we brought enough snacks and because vegetable trucks often pass through, if it was getting late we could always hitch our way to the end. Setting off at 6 AM we were blissfully unaware of the distance. We hiked until 4, probably covering close to 15 miles and decided to take the last bit in the back of a Dihatsu truck. The flat bed happened to be full of lumber and 10 Haitian laborers. We piled on up. Driving into the beautiful valley of Constanza while the Haitians sang and played a bucket like a drum. It was a perfect end to a great hike. We spent the next day cooking and relaxing at a beautiful bed and breakfast type inn.

Medical Mission: I participated in my second medical mission for eleven days at the end of July. It was a great contrast to the surgical med mission I had worked on in February. The mission was comprised of a group of nursing students, nurse practitioners, athletic training students, and one sole physician and about 15 interpreters (Peace Corps volunteers and other bilingual volunteers from the states) from the University of Southern Maine. This group travels to the mountainous villages around Santiago every six months, in January and July and keeps records of all of their patients in order to ensure consistent follow-up care. For many of the patients in the rural villages, the nurses from the Univ. of Southern Maine are the only medical personnel they see because their communities are far from any clinic or hospital. For me, it was a great opportunity to see rural medicine in action. We traveled by foot or by pick-up truck to a different village each day. Most of the patients suffered from hypertension or diabetes. The program is able to function so well because it functions in conjunction with local health promoters in each village that keep the University aware of any sudden changes in the patients as well as informing the nurses of which patients need to be seen in their homes because they are shut-ins. We would set up clinic in the local school or church and were able to see many patients each day. I especially enjoyed the mission because I was among students and therefore felt very comfortable asking fundamental questions about medicine and procedure whereas the last mission I did involved surgery and was not as conducive to teaching me the ins and outs of rudimentary healthcare. I left the second medical mission even more sure of my decision to pursue a future in healthcare. Not to mention, I realized how much my Spanish skills have improved. I tend to doubt whether or not I have learned any Spanish in country because my Dominican neighbors and friends are constantly telling me I don’t speak Spanish, they don’t understand me, etc. and yet when I was around Americans that truly do not speak Spanish, I realized I at least know more than some people. Ha

Transitioning back to the syrupy slow pace of life in my campo was especially difficult after being so occupied and needed for two weeks, not to mention I had been hanging out with Americans which I still find to be more comfortable than hanging out with Dominicans, at least more predictable.

Youth Conference: I took two adolescent girls from my community to a health conference called Escojo mi Vida (I choose my life). Escojo is a Peace Corps initiative for youth under the health sector that trains youth in subjects ranging from HIV and AIDs prevention, proper self-esteem, healthy relationships, and overall sexual health. The idea is that after youth are trained and attend all 12 sessions and pass a test, they will continue the class with other Dominican and Haitian youth, but as teachers. The group has been highly successful throughout the island and numerous local youth now have their own groups. I brought two youth in the hopes that they would be inspired by the conference and will help me start up this initiative in my community. We have our first planning meeting this afternoon to see which youth we are going to invite. Picking the right group members is always fairly tricky because there is always initial enthusiasm and then numbers inevitably dwindle once the kids realize they will not be given more than a new way of viewing the world if they come to my classes, they are usually disappointed by my lack of giving away soft drinks and lack of English knowledge imparted by my presence.

Club de Madres: My women’s group continues to be both a frustration, a pain, and a weekly occurrence with occasional breakthroughs. We are currently planning the village-wide “semana cultural” (cultural week). Near as I can ascertain from conjecture (Dominicans do not like providing me with concrete details) this is going to entail renting booths to sell copious amounts of beer, soda, fried chicken, lots of loud music, dominos tournaments, and baseball and softball games. People where I live really enjoy over imbibing so I can only imagine what will happen when the whole week is geared towards this goal. The women’s group is adamant that I should man one of the two booths selling beer because more men will want to buy from me. They also confiar en mis abilidades matematicas (believe in my math skills). Every suggestion I offer to change the cultural week to include more culture is shot down with the statement, no we don’t do that at culture week. I have suggested a youth dance competition, a yucca cook-off: think iron chef, ingredient: starchy tuber, poetry readings, drama…but apparently we should not change what has always worked so well.

ECO-Banos: Thanks to everyone’s very generous donations at home, I have almost reached my goal for my latrine money!!! A small piece of bad news however: I wrote two grants to fund this latrine project. One is the grant that so many people at home have contributed to: A PCPP or Peace Corps Partnership Program. The grant I wrote for the remaining funds was a Community Challenge grant funded by returned Peace Corps volunteers. Unfortunately, I was recently informed that this grant ran out of money for the fiscal year and will therefore be unable to fund the remaining $2000. Because applying for grants is such a lengthy project I figure it might be easier to put up another PCPP grant for an additional $2000 in the hopes that people I know are still willing to give to my project. I cannot help but think how great it would be if I had just one really rich friend… haha. But hopefully I will be reaching out to new communities such as my family’s Church and former high school classmates in order to fund what remains. Thank you to all of my family and friends that have already donated to my ECO-Bano project! I cannot wait to send home videos and pictures of this project actually in action!

On Wednesday I will be taking a mason from my community to a four day training workshop outside of Santiago so he can learn how to build this type of bathroom. We are using ferro-cement technology which is much more cost effective. It is thin layers of concrete bolstered by chicken wire and rebarb and then covered in a non-porous coating to cut down on leaching of waste into groundwater. Because the mason in my community built an eco-bano with another NGO about 5 years ago everyone in the community keeps telling me that he doesn’t need the training because he already knows how. I keep insisting that Peace Corps uses a different technology and that he does not know how to build our prototype…

On Monday I am calling the first meeting of my health promoters to begin training them how to conduct the interviews and how to make the 9 home visits that will be required of each promoter and beneficent family. This is going to be retraining these women with proper methods because the NGO that has worked in my community only requires the health promoters to make 2 home visits whether or not the entire family is present at that time. These women don’t even know what they are getting themselves into working with me… They better get ready to work!

Water filters: trying to pass on the responsibility of this project to members of my community has been a nightmare. Of the four people I sent to the training, one boy moved to another city to find work, one is helping me, and the other two refuse to do any community work without pay. In other words, instead of watching the project organically work without my input, I am instead accosted daily with why the community has still not received the second round of filters. Once again, I will be forced to play hardball because many community members have decided they will not pay until the filters get here even though I have been very clear that I will not be going to get any filters until everyone has paid. Therefore, I will be making an announcement today that people have a week to pay and if they don't they will be scratched off the list. Why cant people in my community act like adults? Why do they insist on raising my blood pressure everyday with their mind games?

I have caved in and decided to spend a good portion of my monthly budget on internet in my house. Since I came into the country 16 months ago, this option was not readily available. Not many volunteers other than technology volunteers, whose projects are based around computers and generally live in the pueblos or in cities had internet in their homes. Also, because the internet only works where there is cell phone service, this was not an option my first 8 months in the country because my first community did not have cell signal. I therefore got used to going to the pueblo every time I wanted to use internet. However, now that I am applying to grad school programs I noticed that I was spending a frustrating amount of time at a little cafe in Montecristi using their spotty Wi-Fi and was leaving my community every other day. Therefore, I decided to buy internet for my house yesterday. It is a little flash drive that I plug into my computer and pay for monthly. It is not unlimited so Ill have to see if I use it up quickly or not. I cannot help but feel guilty as the image in my head of Peace Corps life comes into sharp contrast with my actual life here in the DR. In addition, being on facebook and having such a strong connection to the US also makes me feel that much more isolated here in my little part of the island. However, I think it will be a great help to be able to work on my applications in the relative comfort of my shack. No running water, electricity 10 hours a day, no plumbing... but I have internet! I guess this is the fate of modern development work. That being said, I cannot wait to Skype with lots of people at home!



Cooking Espaggheti! church cook out! Dominican version of pancake breakfast, i cant even tell you how many pounds of pasta were cooked.


Birthday party with a super cute neighbor


My girls and I at the Escojo Conference


Reading club at my house: the book about Prairie dogs is a big hit!


Birthday party: I look like a giant!



Lovely neighbor friends!



the birthday kids putting cake on each other


Devils food cake I made in my Dutch oven. All my baked goods come out in doughnut shape

Sweaty Sunny Days and Dark Sweaty Nights

Ah summer in the campo…Mothers bring their undisciplined children to stay with Grandma , children are finally liberated from their strenuous three and half hour school day, the sun kills any lingering ambition to motivate host country nationals to do something outside of their plastic chair, and the mosquitoes morph into giant specimens overnight, it truly is a special time of the year. The moments in my day where I turn around in circles in the oven that is my bungalow and struggle what to do with myself in the heat are increasing, those hours have turned into the hours between 10 AM and 6 PM. The heat makes me sluggish, irritable, and very very sweaty. It also makes me extremely sensitive to Dominicans very loud way of talking, aka yelling and screaming to each other from their respective porches.

One blaring difference I have noticed between the Dominican Republic and the States are the parenting styles. As Americans we prefer free-range poultry while here, my island friends and neighbors raise nothing but free-range children. Children as young as three wander the streets from sun-up until long after sun-down only stopping at home when hunger compels them to visit the rice pot. Some of the older children organize baseball games but for the most part, there is a lot of idleness, littering, and throwing rocks at chickens and dogs. Unfortunately, as one of the only adults in town that engages the children with eye contact and questions in a non-aggressive tone of voice, I have hordes of children at my house all day every day. There is one little terror in particular that I have had to bar from entering the house. Oliver is staying with grandma for the summer, he has a very prominent stutter and has not learned how to talk yet without yelling (which, judging by the society, he might never learn). He also continually asks me why I talk strange, look strange, and if my dog will bite him. I am almost positive I am the first gringa he has come into contact with in his four years of life. I now say that yes, my dog loves the taste of little boys named Oliver, but this has not deterred him from stamping out my flowers and throwing candy wrappers in my water tank. It is going to be a long summer for sure.

My last week was spent trying to get some Dominican friends excited about starting a youth group but everyone keeps saying it is far too hot to do anything but sip sugary-sweet coffee and talk about how hot it is. Therefore, I took advantage of the free time (of which I am never short on) to do some baking and plant a garden. The baking has been a big success as it gets me a little “street credit” with the doñas. So the Americana does know how to do some things they say. Banana bread and oatmeal raisin cookies have been big hits, although everyone is confused why the treats are not more sweet, think: so sugary that the granules cannot incorporate. I dovetail this complaint with the conjecture of why so many Dominicans have developed Type II diabetes: I believe that is what we call a teaching moment.

Since I started baking and because I walk my dog daily, I am seen as the epitome of good health here in Judea Nueva, a bit like the island version of Richard Simmons. Although I still get called fat each and every day I have to remind myself that that is a compliment in this society, sometimes. Hopefully my women’s group will enjoy a cooking/nutrition class this summer. Dominicans do take a lot of pride in their cuisine. To my outsider’s opinion, it is bland, overly salty, and overly greasy. That sounds harsh and that does not mean I have not had delicious Dominican food and I definitely crave my MSG filled beans and rice every day. However, a scary number of Dominicans are developing high blood pressure and diabetes and it is a direct result from their horrendous dietary habits. For me, the most tragic part of this whole scenario is the abundance of delicious fruits, vegetables, and tropical delights that thrive on this diverse island. The island supports strawberries, mangos, avocados, bananas, tamarind, papaya, pineapple, legumes, cocao, coffee, spinach, beets, peppers, tomatoes, coconuts…and the delicious list goes on. However, most of the national dishes do not revolve around fruits and vegetables; rather, the national dishes all seems to be descendents of slave food brought over from Africa. Lots of stews with starchy tubers, rice and beans, boiled platano with fried cheese, etc. The average Dominican is not friends with spice; rather, they prefer los amigos MSG, sugar, and soybean oil to flavor their food. Perhaps this diet worked fine fifty years ago; however, like we have seen in the states, the culture is increasingly sedentary and people can no longer get away with this horrible nutrition. Hardly anyone walks. If one is going five minutes away, they will take their motorcycle; walking is deemed below them. Haitians walk and Dominicans ride their motos…

In other news, my women’s group (who so endearingly named the club after me: Santa Clara) has signed up for a domestic sewing class. The course is provided free of charge by a Dominican technical institute; it is scheduled to take place over the course of three months and at the end of the course we will each know how to make a pair of pants, a dress, skirt, and blouse! Personally I was pretty excited for our group to take the baking and pastry class but the women wanted to take this course instead. That being said, so far, our first weekend of meetings was fraught with problems. The instructor, a short, white-haired man who lives in Montecristi and devoted much of his life to working in a sweat shop, will be teaching the course. Because our women’s group is banned from using the multi-purpose room at the grammar school because of certain unsavory outbursts that happened in the presence of the children and teachers at one of our raucous meetings a few months ago, we have been relegated to meeting in a very inadequate one room tin roofed pre-school. There are only about 15 seats and they are all seats with attached desks built for children under the age of 7. The class is supposed to take place from 2-6 every Saturday and Sunday. I will say it is nice not being the one in charge of running the meeting; rather, I get to sit back and watch the women not listen and be rude to someone other than me.

It is eye-opening to witness the lack of book education of many of these women even though all of them have at least an eighth grade education. We spent one hour of the first class having the women practice filling in on the attendance sheet their name in small boxes. The instructor explained that the important thing is to sign your name the same way every time. The box to sign is extremely small so it was recommended to everyone to just sign their first name. However, like most Latinos, Dominicans are very attached to all four of their names and it was painful to watch woman after woman fail at the simple task of picking just one name to sign; rather, they tried and failed to squeeze in at least 2 of their names. The funniest thing about all this is that most women do not even know the real names of people they have grown up next to for fifty-plus years. Almost every Dominican I know has an “apodo” or nickname that everyone knows them by: Coca, Blanca, Morena, Ola…to name a few. Combine the formality of having a multi-part name just right with the fact that no one actually knows each other’s real name, and you run into some big problems. For instance, the other day I was sitting out on the sidewalk with a neighbor “cogiendo fresco” (getting cool) beneath a shade tree, a popular way to spend the hot hours outside of the house so as to not slowly roast one’s self under a tin roof, when a man came by on a motorcycle with a letter. He was looking for the address of the recipient. The three neighbors I was sitting with began asking everyone within earshot who this person was, they all surmised that this might be the correct name of Pipa who lives on the corner, or perhaps it was Lula. Mind you, all these women have lived on the same street with the same neighbors for their entire lives, yet none of them had any clue who their good friend and neighbor was (or what her birth name is), nor did anyone know their actually house number. I was just happy to not be the man on the motorcycle looking for the woman as he was sent from house to house inquiring after a phantom. I ate the rest of my tamarind ice pop and smiled to myself at the funny problems created by this society: which is an amalgam of formal rules and informal realities.

Another example of this is the formality and informality of dress and comportment. For instance, men and women in their homes will often lift their shirts up after eating, walk around barefoot, and wear ridiculous clothes in the house but if they go into town they will suddenly pull out very nice clothes, make sure their hair is just so, and put on very nice shoes. I on the other hand live and work in clothing that can go from beach to meeting, always trying to look less sweaty than the person next to me. In the same vein, when you go to the beach most Dominicans will bathe with all of their clothes on, even though they are wearing a bathing suit; however, in the street they walk around with bare-assed booty shorts and extremely low-cut leaving-nothing-to –the-imagination shirts: and I’m the one who gets weird looks at the beach for swimming in a bikini. The frustrations are endless and hilarious.

I am happy to say that we are expanding the Bio-Sand water filter project to two neighboring communities as well as doing a second round in my community. With two new helpers that went to the training workshop I am trying to pass off a lot of the responsibility to my counterparts, a 17 year old and 21 year old Dominican men/boys. Unfortunately, I still find myself planning the meetings and at our first meeting yesterday we waited twenty minutes for the boys to show up and then one of them was too embarrassed to say anything. That being said, the 21 year old, Edward, is extremely dynamic (he proselytizes at the Evangelical Church in town) and doing a charla with him was fun. It is always helpful to use local counterparts to do the teaching and I think usually more successful. I tend to worry about “dumbing down” the information too much, but when a Dominican gives the charla they always state very obvious things that nonetheless need to be said. Not to mention, people tend to love meetings where they are not learning new information but simply confirming things they already know. For me, the success will be seen with the change of habit: every kid and adult in town can tell me when they should be washing their hands; however, spending lots of time at people’s homes has enlightened me to the reality of the extreme disconnect between knowledge and practice. I do acknowledge that change will not happen overnight, but is a long and tedious process.

We will be doing four lectures or charlas for each community. The charlas focus on improving hygiene and general health practices in the home, how to maintain and care for the filter, etc. Yesterday, my group of about 50 women and children in attendance had a great time with our educational game: spider web of contamination. We had signs with words like poop, fly, hands, water, mouth, etc. and we had volunteers come up and hold the signs and then attach strings to see the chain of events that lead to people becoming sick with GI issues; this knowledge is very important right now as the cholera outbreak is spreading on the island and we have also just entered el tiempo de moscas! (time of the flies)..

In other news, I am heading to the capital tomorrow for a doctor’s appointment, an English Teacher’s Conference and the annual Lowenbrau Half-Marathon! I am a little concerned about my level of fitness going into this physical challenge (especially because doing anything other than sipping a beer poolside in June Caribbean heat is next to impossible), but I think it will be a fun event and I am just hoping to finish and do not mind if I have to walk. I have needed a reason to start moving again. Training for the race this past month has involved getting up at 5 am (before the sun is too hot) and running out into the rice fields. It has been beautiful to watch the sunrise as I am greeted by countless Haitian men giving me the fist pump of encouragement as they meander to their work in the rice and banana fields.

I mentioned to one of my neighbors that I will be participating in the competition in the capital because people started questioning me as to the purpose of my early morning sweat routine. He was so excited about me entering in this race and was convinced that I would not only be on television but that I would win the race. He went on to tell me that he learned some fool-proof method for winning from a movie (I think it was one of the Rocky movies: big hits among Dominicans along with anything by Jackie Chan)…start out slow and then when all my competitors collapse to the ground I will burn by them…he acted this all out while about 10 people waited to buy things from him at his convenience store. I mentioned that I doubt all of the competitors will collapse from the race, but he is convinced I will be on television Sunday night and I am supposed to give a shout-out to all my friends in Judea Nueva. Besides, they say, How could an Americana lose?



The Christmas pig in my backyard



Banana Bread in my new Dutch Oven! Let the baking begin...


Happy Baker


Planting and Preparing the soil with my one and only tool: Machete


The Garden being protected from chickens with banana fronds


My twin and I on Peace Corps Prom night (Dominicans and Americans alike can not tell us apart)


Blue with her foot bandaged after self-inflicted cuts from biting her rash


My neighbor burning her trash in front of my letrine despite my daily reminders that this is bad for the environment and for our health


Summer Baseball Tournament in Judea Nueva: I was asked to throw the first pitch to kick off the community tournament.



My host mother (on left) and the principal saying prayers for a safe and friendly competition

Ma y Pa en La Republica Dominicana!

Mom and Dad stylin in the capital!

It was surreal to be standing amongst Dominicans watching the arrival gate in anticipation for two familiar faces. A little over a year ago I was walking out those same doors scared out of my mind for what lay ahead of me. My fears back then were rather different. Was I supposed to be speaking Spanish with everyone, did my fellow volunteers like me, were we going to have to do more skits at the airport like we did in Washington DC, did I pack enough tank tops, were my feet always going to be this swollen for the next two years? Waiting for my parents to come out of the gate I reflected on how much my fears and anxieties have changed with the past year, they have not diminished, I’m still working on that, but they have certainly shifted. Now I was thinking, am I still motivated enough, do I spend too much time alone in my house watching Glee and Modern Family, do I eat enough Dominican food, are my projects going to be sustainable, what grad school should I apply to, am I enjoying every moment as much as I should be…I no longer worry about my Spanish or my clothes or my friendships with volunteers, I worry about the bigger picture and whether or not I will be proud of my service or if I’ve given up a lot of my drive and chosen to spend countless hours in my house sweating, reading for pleasure, and cooking.

But as my parents adorably came through the doors with their functional and compact CamelBak backpacks I snapped out of my spacey day dream and couldn’t help but smile noticing that they were flanked by high maintenance Dominicans, dressed to the nines with three inch stilettos and outfits that are normally reserved for prostitutes. Welcome to paradise Mom and Dad. We hopped in our zippy Chevy Aveo and took on Santo Domingo. Owing to my Dad’s prowess as a NYC cab driver, he already had the requisite skills to survive the lawless streets of the DR, I just had to teach him a few things about the frequent use of the horn. Whether you are saying whats-up to a friend, warning a motorcycle you are running him into a ditch, or letting someone know you are passing, you honk; the horn is utilized in any and all driving situations, it is used liberally and without hesitation. I would say the most difficult thing about driving in the DR is the motorcycles. They have no concern for bodily injury and pull in front of you without looking. The idea is that it is the cars and trucks obligation to avoid crushing the motorcycle and this could be why I know a fair number of people without the use of both legs. But we survived without killing anyone and without being killed! Go gringos!

We spent the first night in Santo Domingo at a lovely artsy bed and breakfast owned by a couple from Switzerland. I could not believe I was in Santo Domingo as we sipped Presidente cerveza bien-fria (super cold) on the rooftop. For me, Santo Domingo is loud, abrasive, fun, and generally uncomfortable. All that changes when you are not sleeping in a five dollar a night pension. The next morning we set off on our grand adventure to visit Judea, the wonderful border town that I call home. We arrived around 3 pm and set out to visit a few neighbors and friends of mine. Everyone was extremely excited to meet my parents and sit with us. Most of the time at each house was spent discussing how we should stay longer because no matter how long you stay, it is never enough. My friends in town have already started worrying about the fact that I will be leaving in a year and I how I should marry a local so I don’t ever have to leave. ..umm, something tells me I’ll be ready to go home in a year or so, not that I don’t love the people and the culture, but I would probably go crazy living in the campo for eternity. I was hesitant about whether or not I should give my parents the real campo experience and have them stay at my house, as there are plenty of hotels in the nearby town. However, they said they were game and I thought it would be fun. So we made scrambled eggs, drank wine we had bought in the city, and sat around by candle light. They also had the added treat to see what my community looks like when it rains…it becomes pretty much impassable on foot as the streets turn into one giant mud puddle. Luckily we did not stick around and wait for the mosquitoes to breed. We took the opportunity the next morning to visit my original community located about an hour to the south. Although it is very close geographically, my original community of Tres Palmas could not look more different. Located in the foothills of the mountains, it is green, lush and quiet. It is rural, remote, and overflowing with citrus, mango and avocado trees. Sounds a bit like paradise right? We went back and paid fairly quick visits to all of my old favorite families. Of course, it being mango season, each family made sure we left their house with about 20 mangos. By the time we got to my friend Lucia’s house, we had accrued close to 100 mangos, a pineapple, three cucumbers, and a bunch of bananas. People’s generosity in that part of the country will stay with me for my lifetime. Even though I only spent five months in Tres Palmas, I will always think of that community as my home. Although there was not much room for projects because most families were elderly grandparents raising their grandchildren, I always felt very welcome and well-loved in that community. Going back there makes me feel as though it was my home, something I still do not feel in Judea, probably owing to the fact that it is a very different community, more urban, much larger, and faster paced. People in Judea are not as willing to love me simply because I exist, they are a little more skeptical of my motives and also seem a little more concerned with what they are going to get from me. As cynical as that might sound, I have found that people are less likely to work with me just because, they would like to see how they will benefit first. I am sure this attitude existed in Tres Palmas as well, but it was harder to feel because people had a lot less going on in their lives and with only 40 families, people were much more closely tied, not to mention we never had a project going on in Tres Palmas.

We had a special lunch that my best friend Lucia and her mother prepared. Despite being one of the only families with a dirt floor in the community, Lucia has always gone to great efforts to invite me to her home and make me feel comfortable. Her family has never seemed ashamed of their obvious poverty, maybe because there is nothing to hide. With seven children, no father, and Maria without work, the family survives by growing all of their food and accepting food stamps from the government once a month. And yet, of all the families I knew in Tres Palmas, Lucia, her brothers, and her mother always seemed the most carefree and content. Lucia, one of the brightest people I have met in the country, has been unable to finish high school for the past 3 years because of a mistake in her papers. She was born in Haiti and some of her documents have misspelled her name and therefore, in the middle of her junior year of high school, she was forced to drop out until the government can fix the error. To me, it is such a shame that someone so bright, with such drive and lofty aspirations, should be kept at home cooking for her younger brothers simply because she was born across the border and a spelling error was made. Regardless, it was lovely to see my friend and have my parents see where I spent my happiest moments in Tres Palmas. Melting into a plastic chair in Lucia’s back patio while the family made me exceedingly sweet fresh juices and we chatted about anything and everything under the sun, that is what I miss most about Tres Palmas. I feel blessed to have met Lucia. It is extremely hard to find a young woman on this island who I can relate to. Most girls my age have at least two kids and spend most of their time inquiring as to why I am not married or why I don’t have children. Looking pretty and having kids are pretty much on the minds of these women all the time, and I struggle to relate.

We made a quick stop in Dajabon, the border town with Haiti, to look at Immigration and the border crossing. My Mom insisted that she did not want to spend another night in my campo, she claims it was because I had slept on the floor but something tells me it also had something to do with my less-than-pristine latrine out past the scary mangy dog. I did not protest, a cockroach had crawled on my face the night I slept on the floor and I vowed that from now on I will either sleep in my hammock or under my mosquito net but never again on the floor. So we drove to MonteCristi, the unique dusty town that feels a bit like a scene out of the Wild West, if you let the Wild West have hundreds of noisy motorcycles and scooters. We had dinner at my newly discovered favorite pizza garden. A local dentist proceeded to buy us several beers and we closed down the restaurant having drank our water weight in courtesy beers (I think the locals were blown away by the fact that gringos had found this hidden gem and wanted to welcome us).

The next morning we enjoyed the beautiful beach of El Morro and par usual, we were its only visitors. The waves were mellow and revealed about a mile of pristine sand. We walked to the top of El Morro and enjoyed beautiful vistas of the sea. That afternoon we set off for Punta Rucia, a sleepy beach town I had been told to visit but had never been to. The only thing I knew was that it was difficult to get to and there was one small hostel that everyone told me I had to stay at. We called the hostel and found out it was booked for the night; I was hesitant to head all the way out to a place I had never been to, especially if there weren’t any other places to stay. But it isn’t an adventure if you don’t think there could be some problems along the way.

The trusty Aveo delivered us to the sleepy little Dominican town where the cows grazing in the dry-thorn forest looked like they hadn’t had a good meal in months. We found a gorgeous hotel to stay in with beach views and spent the afternoon on a drizzly beach. Dinner was a great example of how things work sometimes in this country. We were told to go to this one restaurant. After some pre-dinner cocktails, we set off with quite an appetite. When we arrived around 7 pm the man at the place told us to come back in an hour. When we returned at eight, he looked a little nervous and said the woman was in a meeting and should be back shortly. When she finally arrived she seemed very embarrassed to have kept us waiting. It turns out she was the host mother for the last Peace Corps volunteer that lived in that town a few years ago. She made us fried fish and fried plantains and we went to bed full and content. The next morning we decided to take a local fisherman who had become our confidant and tour guide of the town, up on his offer to visit an island off the coast for snorkeling and a morning excursion. So we boarded the boat and were whisked away to a miniscule island several miles offshore. Once out there we were given several pieces of bread and went snorkeling over the coral reef. In my past year in the DR I have never seen so many tropical fish. We were literally swimming through schools of fish. If you didn’t let go of the bread they would gnaw at your finger. After several hours on the islita, we ended the trip by doing a high speed trip through the mangrove forest. I could not help but think that the mangroves would be a perfect filming spot for a James Bond movie, especially with our zippy driver. It was super fun and probably something I would not have done on my Peace Corps budget so thanks Mom and Dad!

Next, we packed up and set off for our final destination: the peninsula of Samana. I was a little nervous because we were at least four to five hours away, if we didn’t get lost, and it was already 1:30. After a very long day of driving through rainstorms and avoiding hordes of motorcyclists with death wishes, we arrived at the peninsula in the town of Las Terrenas around 8:30 pm. Yes we got a little lost several times and yes the rain slowed us down. We spent three nights and two and a half days in the Italian and French ex-pat vacation spot. The beaches are gorgeous and with the amount of rainfall the peninsula receives, it has a rainforest micro-climate. On our second day we hiked to El Limon waterfall. I am happy to say we were the only gringos that didn’t ride the horses; rather, we walked. And I apologize Mom, the last time I did the hike I came from a different direction and it really was relatively flat, I was not trying to lie to you. But we made it to the gorgeous waterfall! The following day we traveled back to sticky, muggy Santo Domingo. We attempted to tour the colonial zone but it was far too hot and uncomfortable. We had a lovely dinner in the colonial zone and the next morning I accompanied my folks back to the airport. We had seen a great deal of the island in a little over a week.

I could not help laughing at the fact that as soon as I kissed Mom and Dad goodbye and sat outside waiting for the bus back into the city, I was surrounded by four different airport workers asking me who I was, how long I’d been in the country, if I was married, and if my husband lived in the country…etc. I quickly snapped out of my blissful tourist high and gave them a piece of my mind. No I was not born yesterday, I have been in the country over a year, and could they please find out when the next bus would be coming.

Thanks for the great visit Mom and Dad! Love you!


The beautiful El Limon waterfall


Mom and Dad surrounded by stray dogs



On the boat heading to the island, early morning


Dad and I at the top of El Morro, MonteCristi


Dad shaving outside at my house,campo style


Lucia and I reunited



Host brother eating a mango



Mom and I with my Dominican mother


with neighbors in Tres Palmas



Buying a Pina


Back in Judea Nueva



With my host family and all the local kids eating mangos


After the rain in Judea Nueva


El Morro, beach by my house


My friends in Judea


Back of my house


Why did the Guinea hen cross the road?


Mom and I in Santo Domingo

Trash in the Streets, Water Filters in the Homes, and Plenty of Patience

Trying the water from my filter project so people trust it!

The month of May held lots of new and exciting experience for me and a very extended amount of time outside of my community. In the first week of May I hosted a Dominican visitor who is the project manager for the Dominican branch of the Rotary Club. My filter project was completely funded by Club Rotaria and therefore, in order for me to continue requesting filters for my community they wanted to see how my pilot project of forty filters turned out. It was a joy to host Rossi. She has a graduate degree in architecture, is unmarried, and in her forties; she is not the type of Dominican woman I am used to mingling with. It was very refreshing to see Rossi struggle with some of the same things I struggle against in my community: ignorance, stubbornness, machismo (so it isn’t just because I’m American I thought). Rossi showed me that much of what I thought were cultural differences are really just educational differences. We spent three days cooking together, swapping stories, and visiting homes where I had installed filtros. It was a very positive experience and left me wishing that I had a highly educated Dominican woman in my campo with me.

Another project I can no longer ignore in my campo is TRASH. Solid waste is by far the biggest eyesore in Judea. When I conjure up images of the Dominican Republic I wish I saw coconut trees and pristine beaches. Rather, my view of these pristine vistas has been compromised by my experience on the ground. I see a beautiful landscape filled with trash. I see raw sewage flowing into the drinking water for lack of any sewage system and I witness our dirt roads turn to mosquito breeding grounds with one rainfall as we have no drainage system and the pools of water turn to green slime in 24 hours. I see people content to burn their trash daily for lack of any organized system. And most worrisome to me, my neighbors are more concerned about sweeping their yards and patios free of organic waste such as leaves and grasses and are perfectly content to throw glass beer bottles and dirty diapers behind the house. Solid waste management in the Dominican Republic is not something that can be tackled overnight. Nor do I feel that changing people’s habits and attitudes towards solid waste will do much good without the support and initiative of the government to do something about the growing waste produced on the island of nine million inhabitants (that number does not include Haiti). For me, as a lowly volunteer fighting the smoldering stink that swells around me in this island paradise, I will begin by planting the seeds of change. What greater tool to use to wake people out of their heat-induced malaise than fear! Dominicans in my community fear the reality of cholera, as well they should; it is on the island and I do not see this bacterial infection leaving anytime soon.

I will begin my trash initiative by linking the presence of solid waste and sickness. People in my community do not leave the house if it is raining because this will make you sick, they do not drink something cold when they are eating something hot, because this will make you sick, they do not take off their socks until they cool down and they don’t like mixing different fruits together in a smoothie, all these things make you sick. However, having exposed piles of trash sitting next to one’s latrine, washing one’s hands only when taking a shower, and drinking contaminated water are rarely linked to illness. Soap in public bathrooms is like a good intention never realized. There is usually a fancy hand dispenser but 95% of the time it is dry as a bone. I was in the dentist’s office the other week in a fancy up-scale part of the capital and the office did not offer soap! AH! At least the dentist put some gloves on before he filled my cavity without the use of Novocain, explaining to me that it was such a small cavity it would be quicker to just fill it without anesthetics, and I stupidly did not protest, my thinking being well I guess if it just hurts a lot for a little bit that’s better than hurting a lot for a long time. The heat really does impair your judgment, I think that would be a viable research project for grad school, the equally harmful effects of heat and alcohol on your brain and your decision making. I digress…
So I think a great way to get people fired up about trash is by having a new and shiny receptacle for them to put their trash into. If there is one thing I’ve learned here, it’s the more glittery and shiny the better. I met with the new governor in MonteCristi to see if he could assist me in my new trash initiative and clean-up project in Judea. My host mother made a few calls (she works at the Ministry of Education) and I was quickly ushered into the governor’s office past about 50 disgruntled Dominicans that had obviously been waiting all morning. The portly governor made a very convincing show of his dismay and concern about the “dirty” reality of my community’s waste problem. I explained that the government had not picked up trash in my community once in the last fifteen years and his answer to this was to donate five trash cans to me (discarded metal tanks). I was very grateful for this gesture because I have already written and received grant money to buy these same metal tanks and paint to put around the community in public spaces. However, having a place to put the trash is very important but it still does not solve the issue of getting rid of it. Having smoldering buckets of trash is really not much of an improvement over the current individualized piles of trash that get burned. But at least now people can feast their eyes on prettily painted trash receptacles while they burn the ozone layer. More meetings with a different branch of local government will hopefully produce weekly trash pickup.

The best thing about visiting the governor was what happened after he promised me the trash cans. He asked if I wanted to go with him on a house call. Having nothing else to do that day I figured I should go along; always saying yes to invitations usually adds an unexpected outcome to the day. He told me to wait downstairs with his driver (Yes, he has a driver and a heavy-duty looking SUV). We left MonteCristi, took a few turns down some side streets and were suddenly in a very poor barrio. We pulled up a dirt road and got out next to a lean-to where there was a tarp covering a table with three large cauldrons, and utensils for about 40 people. In the shade of a mango tree sat about 20 children between the ages of 5 and 15 waiting hungrily for their first and probably only meal of the day. I suddenly felt a tinge of embarrassment as I noticed a lot of the shoe-shine boys that constantly pester me to shine my flip flops as I use internet. I never give them anything but a banana or orange, worried that giving the money will only go to the purchase of candy or soda. As soon as we pulled up and got out two more high-end SUV’s pulled up the road and men with video cameras got out and all jovially made small talk. As the governor began talking with the woman in charge of this ramshackle soup kitchen, I pieced together what was going on. A very kind woman has taken it upon herself, for the last three years, to provide a proper lunch-day meal to about 40 poor children every day. She has requested grant money and looked for hand outs from the local government in order to come up with the food staples to feed the children. The governor was deeply touched by her story and has resolved to build a proper building and kitchen, complete with tables and chairs so that the children will no longer have to eat in the dirt. I was placed in front of the camera and asked my opinion on this project that I had just heard about. I agreed that it was important and then the governor went on to speak to the fact that waste management is extremely important how he is working in close connection with me to clean up the province. I couldn’t help but smile thinking about how the governor had just met me an hour ago and how we were already doing publicity television spots. I guess it never hurts to have friends in high places, especially in this country.

On May 12th we had our annual all-volunteer conference. This is the one time every year where all volunteers are obligated to meet in the capital to learn about new safety and security measures, meet and greet with the new volunteers and share information among ourselves about our clubs and organizations. The following day my fellow volunteer group celebrated our one-year as volunteers by taking a trip to a beautiful beach for three days. The thirty-eight remaining of the 39 that swore-in as a group took the opportunity to catch up on how we have all spent the past year as many of us are not located very close together on the island. My favorite part of the trip was a short excursion we took to a cave located in a national park. After descending into the cave you could swim in the 15 or so feet of water that was there. It was a truly surreal experience swimming around in a nearly-pitch black cave with only a headlamp and a snorkel to detect what was ahead. And yes, there was lots of bat shit!

After heading back to the capital I was giddy with excitement knowing that Mom and Dad were flying in the next day!


Neighbors where I installed a filter






More community members





Rossi with some delicious green coconuts! Posing with one of my favorite women in the community.