Regarding good writing...

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

Please read, and enjoy.

It can be found here.

In which Tim returns...

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

The completion of 26 stoves (24 to go).

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

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

Travel, busyness, and many other things as well!

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

Regarding the Network...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They had told me that the guy would be waiting for me at the bus, so that I could just turn around and ride back that same night. I had my doubts, but hoped for the best. Yet when my bus pulled in, after the three hour ride, there the guy was. He handed me the passport, and I gave him a big hug (even though I’d never met him before). Then I bought another ticket, and got back on the bus for another three hour ride back to Santo Domingo.

It was a long day and I was very tired at the end of it. Fortunately I got plenty of sleep and did alright on the test. But none of it would have happened had it not been for my Dominican friends and family who were perfectly willing to drop what they were doing and help me out. Some Americans say that this country is inefficient, because not everything has American quality standards of service. I don’t know about that. I dealt with both “American customer service” and the Dominican system on that day, and the Dominicans were the ones who helped me. It’s probably because they know me, and care about me. That’s why they were willing to make sacrifices. The lady I talked to for half an hour on the 800 number didn’t care two hoots about what happened to me, because she didn’t know me. I was just another caller. Which system is better?

Regarding gratitude...

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

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

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

So we knew there would be a party, but we figured it would just be a get together with maybe a dozen people, some cookies to eat, and some music to dance to. Boy, were we wrong. We showed up at the appointed time to find at least 60 adults and probably twice as many kids, all yelling “SORPRESA!!” and waiting to hug Kim to death. They had made banners, and covered the house with streamers.

Kim and I were seated at a table in front of everyone, with a massive cake in front of us. Then the program started. Speeches were made, praising Kim for all of the work she had done. The kid who had told me about the party sang a song about friendship. The women from her class sung a song they had WRITTEN themselves all about her work. There was even a verse about stoves! Then some teenagers performed a choreographed dance that was pretty cool. In fact, the audience loved it so much that they made them perform it twice!

And then (since we are still in the DR after all) the electricity went off so the party was plunged into darkness. Fortunately I (since I am still a PCV, after all) had a flashlight in my pocket. So the remaining speeches were made with me shining my flashlight on the speaker, so everyone could see. Then we ate delicious food, and danced and laughed the night away.

It is tradition at these things that the cake is not eaten. It is given to the person who is being celebrated (Kim) to take home, and share with who she likes. So I ended up walking home in the moonlight, carrying a giant chocolate cake. We had it for breakfast the next morning, and dinner that night, and several meals over the next few days. We also shared it with all the last minute visitors who were dropping by.

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

Regarding something smelly...

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

It was a quiet afternoon in Kim’s community and we were just lounging around her house and doing a little bit of packing. A cool, soft breeze was wafting across the pineapple fields and through the window. Normally a breeze provides a pleasant respite from the hot, beating sun. Not this one, though. It brought with it the strong, unmistakable smell of something that belongs in the bathroom.

Now, in the Peace Corps there are many common situations that cause such a smell. It could be a nearby pig or cow. Perhaps a chicken wandered into the house and left a present. Maybe you yourself carelessly stepped in something on your way back from bathing in the river. We began to investigate each of these options in turn, hoping to be rid of the suffocating odor. There were no pigs. We couldn’t see any chicken poop. The bottoms of our shoes were all clean. We went so far as to accuse one another of having eaten too many beans for lunch and not keeping it to ourselves.

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

Regarding the library...

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

Please help us out by donating some money.

Even a dollar or two would help.

Information here.

Thanks for reading!

Regarding illness...

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

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

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

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

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

In which Tim eats something nasty...

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

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

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

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

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

Regarding local politics...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In which Tim goes to work...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Regarding just another afternoon...

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



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



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



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

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

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

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

In which Tim begins to clean...

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

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

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

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

in which Tim rambles incoherently...

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

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

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

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

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

MORE books...

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

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

The Feast of the Goat by Mario Vargas Llosa
Historical fiction, describing the events leading up to the assassination of Dominican dictator Trujillo. A good choice for history buffs.

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

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

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

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

When you are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris
If you like "this American life" on NPR, check out this book.

Dress your family in cordury and denim by David Sedaris
ditto to the last one.

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

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

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling
An old favorite. I re-read it to examine how a book like this is put together.

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling
Still the best one in the series.

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

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

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

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

War without bloodshed by Eleanor Clift
Profiles of Washington players in the mid nineties. The drama centers on the Clinton health care battles. The writer shows you what the fight looks like from the perspective of a senator, house rep, lobbyist, pollster, etc. Interesting, and a bit depressing.

Watchmen by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons

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

Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen

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

Executive Orders by Tom Clancy

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

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

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

Regarding small ironies...

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

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

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

Regarding my journey...

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

-Experienced an interrogation regarding swine flu
-Been in nine states
-Delivered my photo slide show three times
-Educated many Americans as to where their coffee comes from
-Met dozens of Kim's relatives
-Prepared fried plantains for said relatives
-Reunited with many of my own relatives
-Witnessed the marriage of my cousin
-Sampled dozens of beverages that I have missed
-Eaten many kinds of food that I have missed
-Gained about four pounds

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

In which Tim begins a journey...

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

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

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

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

Stay tuned.

Regarding the work done by his friends...

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

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

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

In which Tim goes to the bathroom...

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

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

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

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

Regarding celebrity...

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

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

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

In which Tim comments on Swine Flu...

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

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

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

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

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

In which Tim visits a school...

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

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

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

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

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

In which Tim talks about change...

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

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

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

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

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

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

-My hair is longer.

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


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

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

June 10-14: Grand Rapids, MI.
June 14-18: Madison, WI.
June 18-24: Select locations in New England.
June 24-28: Nashville, TN.
June 29-July 1: Washington, DC.

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

In which Tim goes to the doctor(s) and muses about health care...

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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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

In which Tim goes to a meeting...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In which Tim moons his community, and learns some local medical techniques...

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

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

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

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

-------

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

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

In which Tim gets his butt whipped...

Carnaval is a very festive time of year around here. It is a holiday that does not make a lot of sense to me, and no one has been able to explain it very well. As far as I can tell, the main attraction are the large festive costumes that a lot of people put on to go walk in parades. Some of the costumes look like monsters or demons, and others are more fun. There is usually a lot of alcohol that goes along with these parades. I think Carnaval began as something to lead up to the lent season (much like Mardi Gras), but it has kind of become its own big attraction, so celebration usually goes on a few days after Ash Wednesday.

I chose to observe Carnaval by travelling to La Vega, a medium sized town in the middle of the country that boasts the largest and most festive Carnaval around. I went with a big group of volunteers, prepared to take some pictures and have a good time.

Now, there is a tradition at Carnaval that is very strange and more than a little bit wrong. The men in costumes have ropes with inflated pig bladders (resembling balloons) on the end. They like to swing the rope around, and bash onlookers on the bottom with the pig bladder. Really hard. Their favorite targets are young, attractive women, and tourists. And we had a lot of each of those in our group.

I knew about this tradition, and I was prepared to be a gallant defender of the ladies. I took up a spot in the rear of our group as we moved through the crowd, hoping that the presence of myself (a tall man) between the women and the bashers might discourage a little bit of the physical abuse. I was wrong. While the girls might have been hit a little bit less, the guys with the bladders had absolutely no problem going after me instead. And I think they might have been a little mad that I was keeping them from tormenting the cute little Americanas. Because they hit me REALLY hard. My back side is literally black and blue. I can barely sit down right now. I would post a photo, but I like to keep this blog at a PG-13 level. I am sure you can all imagine what a heavily bruised bottom looks like. Yikes.

So yes, it is a strange holiday. I will let you know if I learn any more about what it all means.

In which Tim tells you, again, what he has been reading...

Here is the latest list of literary works that I have been immersed in lately. Let me know if YOU have been reading anything good, and I can try to track it down. I have a lot of time to read.

"Leaving Home" by Garrison Keillor
A written collection of "News from Lake Wobegon" monologues given by Keillor on the radio, during the '80s. Excellent writing. Funny, said, poignant. This man has quickly become one of my very favorite writers.

"Banker to the Poor" by Mohammed Yunus
The nobel-laureate founder of the Grameen Bank in Bangladesh tells the story of how he decided to start lending money to poor people. Lots of interesting thoughts about development work and the nature of poverty, even if the author acts disgustingly proud of himself at times.

"The Screwtape Letters" by C.S. Lewis
An oldie but a goodie. Lewis employs his unmatched creativity in calling the reader to think deeply about the spiritual world.

"The Problem of Pain" by C.S. Lewis
I have read it before, but it was an entirely new experience to wrestle with it while surrounded by poverty and suffering that has an immediacy far behind what I have experienced in the past. This book will be a part of my library for a long time.

"The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay" by Michael Chabon
Winner of the Pulitzer prize, this novel is about two young Jewish men in New York City during the Second World War. They start a comic book company, and become very successful. The book has all kinds of interesting history about comic books, how they were inspired, how they were initially received, etc. The book also deals with issues of the holocaust, immigration, and the way America was changing in the post war years. A great read.

"Watership Down" by Richard Adams
I hope my father is reading this entry, because I am rather furious that he never read this book out loud to me when I was younger. I could not put it down. It is about a group of wild rabbits who leave their home to start a new colony. It may sound silly, but this is an epic adventure on par with Lord of the Rings, or the Chronicles of Narnia. Exquisitely written, with vivid characters. This might be the best book I have read since coming to this country. Dad, what gives?

"The Nine" by Jeffrey Toobin
This new book is a well written history of the last several years of the United States Supreme Court. Toobin does a great job painting portraits of the Justices, their personalities, idiosyncrasies, etc. This book is a great way for someone who doesn't know that much about the Supreme Court to learn about the complex dynamics that have such a big impact on the country. I recommend it.

"The Catcher in the Rye" by J.D. Salinger
I had not read it since high school, and I found it a lot funnier this time around then I did the first time. It is a book that's worth going back to. I wonder whatever happened to ol' Holden Caulfield in the end.

"The Hobbit" by J.R.R. Tolkien
I read Lord of the Rings fairly often, but it had been a while since I picked up the prequel. It is fun, but lacks some of the heart breaking beauty of its big brother.

"White Mughals: Love and Betrayal in 18th century India" by William Dalrymple
A fascinating book. Dalrymple tells the very well researched story of the romance between a British diplomat and an Indian aristocrat, the controversy it caused within both cultures, and the greater historical context that it all fits into. I recommend this to anyone who is interested in the history of the British in India, or just in issues of colonialism. Dalrymple talks about a generation of European "colonizers" who were far more interested in learning the language and culture of their hosts than anything else. These guys ended up becoming more Indian, rather than trying to make Indians become British. Really interesting.


More to come soon. Thanks to those of you who have sent books or made recommendations...

I was recently enjoying a nice quiet evening at home, cooking some ramen noodles by the light of my kerosene lamp after dark. My tranquility was interrupted by an engine roaring, followed by the sound of tires skidding through dirt, and then a loud crash.

Within a few seconds I could hear voices and footsteps that made it clear that half the neigborhood was on their way over to investigate, so I took a peek out my front door. I saw a pick up truck with no windshield and only one head light that had crashed into the fence post marking the corner of my front yard, and that had white smoke pouring out from under the hood. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

Apparently the guy had been driving down the hill, and it had been a little while since he had done any maintenance on his brakes. Great. The driver had the hood open and was whining about how there weren't any lights in our town for him to see if he was going to hit anything, and also about how inconveniently placed my fence post had been. I replied by politely informing him that had he had working brakes and headlights there would not have been a problem. He retorted with something about me not knowing anything about driving, since I didn't have a car. I told him that I had driven in more snow and ice than he had ever seen and could probably teach him a thing or two. I also informed him that I hoped that he was planning to replace my fence post that he had just destroyed.

By now we are speaking in voices that are much louder than what I usually use in civilized conversations. He told me that he was never going to offer me a free ride on his truck again (which he never had), to which I replied that I had no interest in riding a truck without any brakes. He backed his truck up and went driving off into the night.

I was a little steamed, but glad that no one had gotten hurt in the crash. My neighbors were very impressed with the way I handled the man. I guess my Spanish has advanced to the point where I can exchange insults with strangers at the drop of a hat. Incidentally, the man still hasn't brought me a new pole. I yell insults at him every time his truck goes by, and he replies with rude gestures, and a hint of a smile. I think we are becoming friends.

In which Tim feeds the mountain...

A few weeks ago I was sitting at home in the early evening, and my project partner pulled up in a pickup truck completely loaded down with sacks of seeds (corn, beans, peas, all the staple crops around here), about 2000 lbs altogether.

He said to me ''here are the seeds.''

I replied ''what seeds?''

''The seeds that you are going to distribute to all of the communities up here on the mountain.''

Oh. Well, no one exactly told me about this project. But what could I say? Basically my job now is to visit farms that are ready for planting, and make sure that they are adhering to certain environmental standards. They are not allowed to slash and burn, and they are required to build barriers to prevent soil erosion if their field is on a slope (which they all are up in the hills).

It's been tiring. For the last seven days I have been hiking up and down mountains, scrambling along near vertical farm fields, trying to explain to poor farmers why slash and burn agriculture is a bad idea. I am learning a lot. Here are a few highlights...
·Roads are not a necessary part of human life. I am meeting many people whose existence I was not previously aware of because they live three miles down a goat track in the bush.

·How to estimate the amount of seed a field needs. I can now eyeball a farm field and tell you approximately how many pounds of beans you will be able to plant there. Marketable skill, you think?

·Planting is best done on Sunday. I was informed by an elderly gentleman (with no teeth) that seeds that are planted on a Sunday will not be afflicted with sickness or pests. He says it is because God is watching over them. I am not sure how this jives with the Old Testament commandment to not working on the Sabbath, but I guess we shall see.

In which Tim chases a horse through the jungle...

My horse is a pest. We've been working on getting warmed up to each other. It is a little hard given my lack of knowledge of the equine world, and the fact that he doesn't like anyone telling him what to do. I thought things were going alright, until I recently went to move him to a spot with fresh grass, and found him gone. The rope that I had used to tie him up was certainly still there, but there was no horse attached to it.

I was with a friend who knew about this kind of thing, and he informed me confidentally that we would find the beast in no times. He had been parked on the bank of the river, and there were relatively fresh tracks leading up stream, so we followed. The tracks kept going for a while, and then they cut into the woods. We bushwacked our way in, doing our best to keep the trail. I should also mention that it was raining decently hard. After about a quarter mile of following goat tracks through woods, we came to the highway. It became clear to my companion at this point that the horse was headed for a spot on top of one of the mountains where an entire herd of horses lives and is allowed to roam pretty freely within several square miles of orange groves. So do we turn tail, go home, and plan to find him when it is not raining? Of course not. We follow that sucker up the mountain. Had it not been for the rain, it actually might have been kinda fun. We were tracking a stray horse through the jungle! I felt like I was in a movie.

Two hours later after a lot of climbing, shivering, sneaking up on groups of horses to try to spot mine, and failing, we did eventually give up.

I had a friend visiting me in my community, and I had told her that I would be back from moving the horse in about ten minutes. Three hours later I showed up soaking and grumpy. Let this be a warning to anyone planning to visit me...

Three days later the horse was found and brought back. I am taking a firmer hand with him now.

In which Tim reports the news that you have all been waiting for...

It is true. I, Timothy S. Brown, certified city boy, am now the owner of a horse. He arrived about a week ago while I was off in the capital, and he came with saddle, bit, and bridle. I have christened him ''Capicua'' which is a term related to dominoes, and carries the conotation of good luck. He is a medium sized animal, and white in color. His color makes everyone say that he is the perfect horse for ME to have (ha, ha, ha. white horse for the white guy...I wish I were clever enough to have thought of it first...).

I was told by my project partners who arranged the purchase that he is a very good horse. They said that he was strong, beautiful, and calm. I guess two out of three being true ain't too bad. He is both strong, and attractive. He sure likes to run, though. Every time I have saddled him up so far he has quite literally chomped at the bit wanting to take off down the road. This wouldn't be a problem except for the fact that I have ridden a horse maybe half a dozen times before this, so I am not yet comfortable doing reenactments of the Kentucky Derby in my Dominican countryside. Enough said. We will have to get used to each other a little bit.

One of my neigbors has taken me under his wing, though, and promised to ''enfriar'' (translation...''make cold'') the horse for me. After a week or two he should be ready to match his speed to my comfort.

I will get some pictures up as soon as I am able.

Regarding adventures in transportation...

Funny things happen frequently in this part of the world. For example, this morning I was on my way to town where I now sit using the internet. My minibus was driving up a hill on the highway, and slowed down next to a beat up old station wagon that was parked on the shoulder. It's occupants were waving us down, I thought to probably ask for a ride.

But did they want a ride? No. They wanted our van to push their car up the hill by the bumper so that they could try to pop the clutch and get their hunk of gears started. Did anyone pause and say ''that is a bizarre idea''? Of course not! Our driver reacted non chalantly, as though this were something he has been asked to do every day of his ife. So we lined up behind them, pushed them along, and a few minutes later both vehicles were happily crusing along.

The funniest part of the whole thing was that none of it struck me as being that odd. Maybe living this lifestyle of peeling vegetables with machetes and bathing with a bucket is starting to impact the way I think about things...

In which Tim takes a little trip...

I stayed in my community from Thanksgiving to New Years, so by the first week of January my feet were getting a little bit itchy.  I wanted to explore some parts of the country that I'd not seen yet, visit some friends, and maybe have some adventures.  I packed a bag with a toothbrush, a book, my laptop, a few extra shirts and pairs of underwear, and naturally my swimsuit, and I hit the road.

We started off in a beach town not far from my community, which is the only place in the world where one can find the semi-precious stone known as Larimar.  We found some tumble down shacks that were furnished with saggy beds, and were able to rent them out for $5/night each.  Not bad for being able sleep with the sound of the waves in my ears, and wake up to the sun rising over the Caribbean.

That morning we got up around seven to backtrack down the coast to another beach where we could have breakfast and go for an early swim.  We ate deep fried balls of mashed yucca.  The water was great.

Most of that day was spent navigating public transportation to get to our friend Claire's community (where none of us had been before).  We rode about three buses, a pick up truck, and a few motorcycles.  Before we knew it we were at a cock fighting ring deep in the mountains, where we spent the evening dancing our feet off with the locals.  Nothing too out of the ordinary...

The next morning we played a few rounds of dominoes with the villagers, and hopped another pick up truck to get back into the capital.  Upon getting here we learned that two out of the four of us (myself included) had eaten something we shouldn't have, and now had a case of what we sometimes call "the mud butts".  I suspect the chicken feet I ate the night before.

So here I sit in the capital, getting some work done and visiting the bathroom frequently.  Feel free to get in touch!

Regarding Christmas...

The celebration of the birth of Christ has now come and gone, and I am sure that my vast (I can only hope) readership is fascinated to learn how I spent the holiday. Many volunteers choose to go home to the States, and there are also lots who choose to go to the beach. I opted to stay in my community and learn how back country Dominican farmers do the whole Christmas thing. I am glad I did.

It was nothing terribly outrageous. The awful roads and near total lack of electricity put some limitations on what we are able to do as far as a celbration goes. Still, my neigborhood's population has been about doubled by the flocks of children, grandchildren, aunts, uncles, second cousins, and random acquaintances who have come to call. Some enterprising souls managed to purchase gasoline powered generators, so few houses have had lights and music. Dominicans tend to use loud music and dancing to observe any occasion that is worth observing (Christmas, birthdays, elections, Saturday nights...the list goes on), so there has been a lot of it. The music kicks on around 4 PM and goes at least until 11. The rum has also been flowing in no small amounts. The atmosphere has generally been very festive (and people are offering free food all the time...awesome).

I went to my local evangelical church for Christmas Eve worship. I think there were about 15 of us there, most of whom were young kids who fell asleep before we were finished. It was not exactly the candle light service I am used to, but the lantern light was very candle-esque, and the building we met in is kind of a tumble down old wooden house that I guess looks like a stable. It felt like an appropriate way to celebrate. I learned some Dominican carols, and shared a few of my favorites in English.

I went to bed early, being sure to set out a snack for Santa (a cup of tea, some crackers with peanut butter). He didn't seem to want them, so I had a nice pre-breakfast snack waiting the next morning ;-) .

One of the many Christmas traditions that my family observes is the eating of a delicious breakfast on Christmas morning. I decided to carry on the tradition, and share it with my neigbors. I cooked about a thousand pancakes. This took a little while, because my only frying pan is just big enough to do one flap-jack at a time. Fortunately, I had an army of small children helping me (one adding butter to the pan, one keeping the batter stirred, two manning the platter where the finished pancakes were stacked, one on syrup duty, and about six who were assigned to deliver the finished results to the various households.) so it was a lot of fun. Their reward for helping out was pancakes (I had a lot of them, after all) and a reading, in translation, of Curious George.

In the afternoon I was invited to go crab hunting. This involves hiking through the river, looking for holes in the bank where the crabs might be nesting, and reaching ones arm into the hole to see if anyone is home. If there is a crab, you do your best to grab onto it and pull it out. Often the crab manages to grab onto you first. I have not yet taken a turn at reaching down the hole, but maybe one of these days. If you come visit next Christmas I can take you on a hunt. The meat makes a delicious (and cheap) Christmas supper.