The Chronicles of Tim in the Jungle

Regarding endings, and beginnings

2010-08-30T05:21:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

Regarding what I read...

2010-07-02T12:58:00.000-07:00

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

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling
An old favorite. It was given new meaning, though, as I was involved in killing snakes with a machete while in the middle of reading it.

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Book 4) by J.K. Rowling
I read it in a day.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (Book 5) by J.K. Rowling
The same as ever. Harry is a crab.

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

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Book 7) by J.K. Rowling
Definitely a favorite. I laugh, I cry, I lose about a day of my life as it is impossible to put down.

A Perfect Spy by John le Carre
Twists and turns abound as the reader travels into the world of cold war-era British espionage.

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
I wish I could write like that.

The Challenge of Jesus: Rediscovering Who Jesus Was and Is by N.T. Wright
A historian's examination on what the teachings of Jesus are all about. Stimulating and challenging.

Kingdom Without Borders: The Untold Story of Global Christianity by Miriam Adeney
The author examines what the church looks like today in many different corners of the world. Very interesting reading.

Tortilla flat by John Steinbeck
Great fun!

The Kennedy Curse : Why Tragedy Has Haunted America's First Family for 150 Years by Edward Klein
It was fun to read, but I felt a little guilty learning about all this family's dirty laundry. JFK certainly had some interesting exploits...

Captured by Grace: No One Is Beyond the Reach of a Loving God by David Jeremiah
This book tells the story of the apostle Paul in parallel with the story of John Newton, the reformed slave trader who wrote the hymn "Amazing Grace." Thanks, Grandma and Grandpa! I really enjoyed it.

Dune Messiah (Dune Chronicles) by Frank Herbert
Very nerdy. I was going to try reading the whole series, but this book made me give up.

Becoming the Answer to Our Prayers: Prayer for Ordinary Radicals by Shane Claiborne
About uniting prayer with social activism. It challenged me to think more about the way I pray.

The Pilgrim's Regress: An Allegorical Apology for Christianity Reason and Romanticism by C.S. Lewis
An interesting telling the author's coming to faith. A little weird, but very Lewis in all ways.

The Known World by Edward P. Jones
A novel about slavery. It dragged out a bit, but the writing was generally quite good.

Promises to Keep: On Life and Politics by Joe Biden
Fascinating. A great read for anyone interested in politics, and the history of American politics over the last 40 years or so.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry into Values (P.S.) by Robert M. Pirsig
Strange. Maybe I needed some '70's era hallucinogens to help me appreciate it more.

The Art of Fiction: Notes on Craft for Young Writers by John Gardner
I never studied creative writing, but I am trying to be a creative writer. This helped.

Guns, Germs, and Steel by Jared Diamond
Not bad. A little dry, but still interesting.

The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman
I was familiar with the concept, but this was the first time I sat down and read the book. Useful for understanding relationships a little bit better.

The 9/11 Commission Report: Final Report of the National Commission on Terrorist Attacks Upon the United States (Official Edition) by U.S. Government
Not as boring as it sounds.

Lake Wobegon Summer 1956 by Garrison Keillor
Takes you inside the head of a semi-fictional teenager in a fictional town.

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

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

How to Be a Pirate (Heroic Misadventures of Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III) by Cressida Cowell
This is part two of the "how to train your dragon" series. Good stuff. I will read it to my kids.

unChristian: What a New Generation Really Thinks about Christianity... and Why It Matters by David Kinnaman
This book really has it's finger on the pulse of my generation. Anyone who cares about the relevance of the Kingdom in our time should read this book, and be prepared to examine some hard truths.

Following Jesus Through the Eye of the Needle: Living Fully, Loving Dangerously by Kent Annan
This book is about a guy and his wife who move to Haiti to do rural community development work. I read it around the time that I was dealing with some earthquake stuff, so it sticks out as one of the more significant books I read in Peace Corps.

The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down by Anne Fadiman
A very astute examination of the cultural issues at work as a non-English speaking Hmong family attempts to get answers from the American healthcare system. Eye opening.

Under the Banner of Heaven: A Story of Violent Faith by Jon Krakauer
A well written (yet not unbiased) history of the Mormon faith.

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

Michelangelo and the Pope's Ceiling by Ross King
A history of the artist's work in the Sistine Chapel. Made me want to visit.

The World is Flat: a Brief History of the Twenty-First Century by Tom Friedman
A must read for anyone interested in where the world is going.

Hot, Flat, and Crowded: Why We Need a Green Revolution--and How It Can Renew America by Tom Friedman
Better than it's predecessor. Friedman looks at what it will really take to dig ourselves out of the hole we are in ecologically.

The Audacity of Hope: Thoughts on Reclaiming the American Dream (Vintage) by Barack Obama
It is good to have a President who knows how to write.

The Cider House Rules by John Irving
Delightful storytelling, despite the strange story.

John Adams by David McCullough
This is one of the best books I have read on the early history of the United States.

Mornings on Horseback by David McCullough
This is the story of Teddy Roosevelt's early life. I enjoyed it.

The Hot Zone: A Terrifying True Story by Richard Preston
Ebola. Lots of ebola. After reading this, I got nervous every time I had an upset stomach. Really gross.

Basic Christianity by John Stott
A classic.

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

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

It Was On Fire When I Lay Down On It by Robert Fulghum
I read it about three times a year. Enough said.

Jars of Clay: Ordinary Christians on an Extraordinary Mission in Southern Pakistan by Pauline Brown
I have read this piece of family history before, but it became more real this time, as I was reading it in my own rough, rural setting.

The God I Don't Understand: Reflections on Tough Questions of Faith by Christopher J.H. Wright
Thanks, Aus, for the book. Rev. Wright always hits the nail on the head.

The Traveler (Fourth Realm Trilogy, Book 1) by John Twelve Hawks
Silly sci-fi, but still fun.

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

American Raj: America and the Muslim World by Eric Margolis
Important reading for anyone interested in America's role in the world today. Merciless journalism.

In which Tim and Kim take some friends out for pizza...

2010-06-15T13:12:00.000-07:00

After the beach trip went so well, we decided that it might be fun to take the kids on another day trip before moving away. Their sister had moved in with relatives in the city a few months back, and they hadn't been to visit her yet. We went to pick her up, and then take all three of them out for pizza (which they had never had before).

Our assumption was that all kids everywhere love pizza. It certainly holds true in America, and I figured we would be fine because I have never seen these particular kids turn down food. As it happened, they tasted it, picked at it, and moved it around the plate, all with very glum looks on their faces. Having been a picky eater as a child, I had memories of visiting relatives and having to be polite while attempting to eat something that I considered to be inedible. I asked if they liked it. They said "well, yeeees, but....Timo.....when are we going to eat rice???"

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

In which Tim and Kim take some friends to the beach...

2010-06-03T12:20:00.000-07:00

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

This being said, not everyone is able to enjoy the beauty of the Caribbean. Poor people, especially women and kids, often never have enough spare money to travel the short distance to the coast. This concept came home for me when I found out that my two best friends, Ales (8) and his sister Maroli (5) had never even seen the ocean despite having lived their whole lives within three miles of it. I told Kim about this, and she said "well, we should take them to the beach!" So we did.

When I first told the kids I would be taking them on a field trip out of the community, they didn't believe me. They thought it was some kind of joke. But then as the day got closer and I didn't change my story, they started to get excited. They picked out their best clothes, and even cajoled their dad into buying them new flip flops. This little day trip was becoming a very big deal to them.

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

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

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

Regarding magic...

2010-05-29T20:57:00.000-07:00

One of the most mysterious and most often discussed (by foreigners) aspects of life on Hispaniola is the practice of voodoo and other forms of spiritualism not commonly seen in Wisconsin. I have made no formal study of these beliefs, but I have heard plenty of stories and made some observations. First of all, it doesn't seem to be a formal religion in the same sense as the Catholicism or Pentecostalism that I see every day in my community. It's more like a set of folk beliefs that get kind of mixed in with the christianity. The beliefs touch many parts of life, and while some are clearly silly stories told to children, others are taken very seriously. Here is a scattering of examples...

I am told that one can sell their soul to the devil in exchange for wealth and prosperity. When you make this deal, the devil sends a spirit called a “baca” to watch over your property. There is a landowner in my site whom it is said has made such a deal. Children are told that if they steal fruit from his orchards, the “baca” will eat them. I never tried stealing his fruit, so I can't speak to the truthfulness of this one.

Kids are also told stories about witches who fly and can take the shape of animals. One of my friends swears to me that he once saw, late at night, a creature that had the head and torso of a woman, but the body of a donkey. Apparently witches like to eat little children (there is a theme here).

There are other kinds of witchcraft, though, that are taken more seriously by local adults. I know a teenager whose dad had a disagreement with a local practitioner of “brujaria” (witchcraft). This person did something to give the kid a terrible stomach ache that would not go away. The family ended up having to pay this “witch doctor” a large amount of money in order for him to remove whatever was causing the pain. They say it worked.

The most common practice of folk beliefs, though, seems to be in the brewing of herbal cocktails to cure any number of ailments. This is something I never figured out completely, because some brews seem to be considered just medicinal and others are considered magical. I never tried anything magical, but my host mother would make me medicinal teas whenever I had anything from the sniffles to diarrhea. The teas would be made with an assortment of local fruits, spices, leaves, and flowers. The ingredients and boiling procedure are always very specific, and the results are both delicious and satisfying.

Magical brews, I am told, move beyond treating simple diseases into things like inducing euphoria, causing one to fall in love, or enslaving the drinker's will to that of the brewer. I have never seen these in action. The consequences of misusing one of these drinks, though, can be dangerous. A few times when neighbors have had unexplained illnesses, I am told that it's because they chose to drink a magical brew that was made incorrectly.

It would be easy to scoff at these things, and say that they are just stories made up by uneducated people to explain the world. Perhaps it is all nonsense. Or maybe the world is a more mysterious, multidimensional place than cynical American suburbanites choose to believe. I hesitate to automatically dismiss a lot of these stories. My neighbors may lack formal education, but experience has taught them an awful lot about agriculture, engineering, and even medicine (those herbal teas really DO work). A man was once dying of prostate cancer, totally unable to urinate. He took a mixture of honey and some local tree root, and immediately felt better. Ten years later he is still alive and completely cured. Maybe education isn't everything. I leave you to draw your own conclusions.

Regarding the end of the chronicles...

2010-05-27T13:59:00.000-07:00

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

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

Regarding Two (2) announcements...

2010-04-10T09:43:00.000-07:00

I have two big things to announce regarding my life.

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

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

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

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

In which the library moves forward...

2010-04-06T13:29:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

Regarding basketball...

2010-04-06T10:16:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

In which Tim and Kim get engaged (to each other)...

2010-02-26T11:22:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

Regarding relief...conclusions

2010-02-12T11:27:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

Regarding relief...Day 6

2010-02-11T21:48:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

It's been a good week.

Regarding relief...Day 5

2010-02-10T21:11:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

Regarding relief...Day 4 (part 2)

2010-02-09T16:48:00.000-08:00

One more funny note today...

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

It is important to smile.

Regarding relief...Day 4

2010-02-09T16:35:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

Regarding relief...Day 3.5

2010-02-09T02:21:00.000-08:00

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

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

Regarding relief...Day 3

2010-02-08T19:51:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

Regarding relief...Day 2

2010-02-07T18:53:00.001-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Regarding relief...Day 1

2010-02-06T18:40:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

in which Tim gets to help Haiti...

2010-02-04T10:32:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

regarding unexpected food poisoning...

2010-02-04T10:22:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

In which Tim has visitors...

2010-01-19T10:57:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Regarding the earthquake...

2010-01-13T13:25:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

Regarding my obsession...

2010-01-13T13:16:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

Regarding good writing...

2009-11-28T14:36:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-11-20T08:06:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-11-20T08:04:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-11-20T08:03:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-11-20T08:00:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-10-06T10:10:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-10-06T09:56:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-09-12T07:56:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-09-12T07:25:00.001-07:00

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...

2009-09-11T11:23:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-08-12T10:12:00.001-07:00

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...

2009-08-12T10:02:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-07-26T10:16:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-07-16T10:12:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-07-03T09:02:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-06-21T14:15:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-06-10T09:06:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-05-28T09:51:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-05-28T04:55:00.001-07:00

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...

2009-05-15T13:26:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-05-01T13:37:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-04-24T09:46:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-04-20T09:31:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-04-07T08:57:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-03-16T07:37:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-03-16T07:18:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-03-01T08:29:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-03-01T07:20:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-02-02T10:34:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-02-02T08:24:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-02-02T08:13:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-01-17T11:40:00.001-08:00

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...

2009-01-17T11:34:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-01-08T10:24:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-01-03T07:30:00.000-08:00

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.

In which Tim considers new careers...

2008-12-17T06:55:00.000-08:00

I mentioned in a recent entry that during the Thanksgiving party I performed a song on stage. It was fun. And it hasn't been the end of my musical displays.

A friend of mine was recently playing his guitar, singing Dominican folk songs, and asked me if I wanted to sing something in English. I provided my best rendition of "country roads, take me home." He loved it, and tried to keep up on guitar.

Lately I've been singing a lot of Christmas carols. Little kids like to try to copy me when I sing. "Hark the herald angels sing" and "O come Emmanuel" are a little tricky for them, but they are catching onto "Jingle Bells" pretty quickly. Last night I found myself surrounded by about twenty teenagers in the park, asking me to regale them with song, so I did. They were quiet as I sang, and then clapped and cheered as I finished.

Who knows? Maybe with the economy being the way it is, I should investigate a career in the fine arts. Any thoughts?

unpublished works: part 1

2008-12-06T05:20:00.000-08:00

I submitted a piece to my hometown paper, but I think it was too late for the to use around the holiday weekend. Here it is for your possible enjoyment:

Thanksgiving from Abroad

Timothy S. Brown

It is late fall, and there is something in my Wisconsinite bones that is telling me to look for that last glorious display of autumn colors, or the first snow flake of winter. I can almost taste the fresh apple cider, and smell the chill building in the air. This is the time of year when #4 likes to lead the Pack to dramatic victories, and something inside me is dreaming of playoff glory. Next week is Thanksgiving day, and my mind is filled with all of these familiar, seasonal images.

On this particular year, though, the images are for me no more than a memory. This year I am serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer in the Dominican Republic, far away from the familiar sights and smells of the mid-western autumn. I've traded fall colors and snow for banana trees and hurricanes. Instead of apple cider in my mug I have the coffee that grows on the mountain where I now live. The cool air of winter will never arrive to cut through the eternal Caribbean summer. And we all know what happened to Brett Favre. Still, Thanksgiving is coming regardless of how unfamiliar everything may seem.

I was chatting with my neighbor the other day, explaining in Spanish that in the USA we have a special holiday set aside for thinking about what we are grateful for. It's important to understand that I spend an awful lot of time explaining American culture to Dominicans, and a lot of it doesn't make much sense to them. The idea of a place where everyone has their own car, electricity is abundant, and where it SNOWS is usually more than they can imagine. Life in Southern Wisconsin is so far removed from their experience of subsistence farming in the tropics, that I feel lucky any time I make some kind of connection. Thanksgiving, though, was something that made a lot of sense to my friend. He nodded his head, flashed me a gap-toothed grin, and said “Yes, it is very important to be thankful.”

He is a man who works sun up to sundown all year, planting, harvesting and doing other odd jobs to be able to feed his family. He works hard, so there is usually enough to eat, but not always. On most nights I sit outside with him, watching the sky light up with more stars than anyone could count. We talk about the weather, crops, and life in general. He is glad to have work. He is grateful that his wife and kids are healthy, in a country where public health is not the best. He's happy to live in his two room wooden house, knowing that there are others who are not so blessed. He is a man who recognizes that while he may not be rich, he still has so much to be thankful for. Life itself is a gift, and he understands this better than I do most of the time.

Here I am, thousands of miles from home, living in the jungle. Being a Peace Corps Volunteer is not easy. On some days I miss my family and friends so much that it hurts. Yet I love what I am doing, and I am thankful that my parents taught me to believe in the importance of serving others, and that they encouraged me to take a few years out of the rat race to do just that.

I am thankful that my Dominican neighbors, though they have never been far from home, understand that it must be hard for me. They go out of their way every day to let me know that I am a valued member of their community.

I am thankful that I come from a country that believes in the goodness of humanity enough to have a program like the Peace Corps, recruiting inexperienced young adults like me to be good will ambassadors to the poor and broken parts of the world.

In a world economy that is coming apart at the seams I am thankful that I have a bed to sleep in, and food to eat. I may not be rich, but I have enough for today, and that is a good thing. Life truly is a gift, and I know that my blessings are even greater in number than those stars that I watch come out in the vast sky every night. Even in a world as unpredictable as the one we live in, I hope you will join me in celebration this Thanksgiving. There really is much to be thankful for.

In which Tim eats turkey...

2008-12-06T05:04:00.000-08:00

There is nothing quite like celebrating an American holiday in a very non-American environment. Two years ago I was killing a turkey by hand on a roof in Bangladesh, in the midst of massive political instability that meant the secret police had taken over every street corner. That was an interesting thanksgiving. This time I went to a party that Peace Corps puts on every year. They rent out a country club (with swimming pool) for the day, and arrange for a full turkey dinner. I have not eaten so much since arriving in country. Between the turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoe pie, green beans, broccoli, cranberry sauce, and various types of pie I was ready to pop.

I realize that most of you probably take little to no interest in that list of traditional holiday food, but it was an incredible treat for those of us who subsist mainly on rice, beans, and boiled bananas. We were thankful for the food, but also having lived among the underprivileged for a while, my friends and I talked a lot about other things that we are thankful for. We all agreed that none of us have had the opportunities we have based on our own merit or abilities. We were each born into a certain family at a certain time under certain circumstances that has allowed us to have what we do. We are all recipients of grace, and for that we are thankful.

There was also a talent show in the evening. At the encouragement of my friends, I agreed to perform a song I had written. Yes, you read that correctly. Tim Brown got up on stage in front of 200 people and sang a song. It was a lot of fun. Maybe I can add musical performance to my list of career goals.

Regarding the Presidential Election...

2008-11-05T14:22:00.000-08:00

Last night at about one oclock in the morning I found myself sweating in the middle of a crowd of 50 Peace Corps Volunteers, watching a grainy image of Barack Obama on a TV screen. The picture was going in and out, but the audio was constant. What I heard quite literally brought tears to my eyes.

Many of you readers know my politics. Yes, I agree with most of the views that President Elect Obama holds on policy issues. The emotion I felt last night had absolutely nothing to do with health care reform, taxes, or even the war in Iraq. So bear with me...

In my life time four Presidents have lived in the White House, and I remember three of them. I have lived in States with governors, and cities with mayors. I have always been concious that my leaders were somewhere out there, and that they were supposed to be working to serve me. They would make speeches on televison or the radio that were written to tell me how good a job they were doing. To convince me of their goodness, and to pander for my vote. I've grown up in this system, and I guess I've gotten used to it. Never once have my leaders asked ME for service or sacrifice. They seem content with votes.

Barack Obama does not fit into this equation, and that's why he started sticking out to me when he popped onto the national stage in 2004. His message is that if we want to see a better nation and world, we need to work for it. His often repeated anthem "yes, we can" has little to do with empty wishful thinking, and much more to do with joining together in a collective effort to improve things. The slogan is not "Yes, OBAMA can," it's "Yes, WE (meaning all of us) can."

My generation is beginning to understand that we can't count on politicians to fix the world for us. We need to take action. That is why we hold candle light vigils for darfur, or join the Peace Corps. Yet still we hunger for leadership. We are looking for people with wisdom and vision to challenge us to shed our apathy and work harder. To help us find that path. I see this hunger every time that I talk to fellow Peace Corps Volunteers. They want to be challenged, and asked for more than a vote.

My friends and I wept last night because we finally see a leader who understands our desire. He knows why we have moved away from home to take part in an idealistic task that at times seems futile. He is asking us to roll up our sleeves and keep going. "Finally," we say, "a leader who seems to be worth following." This is much more important than "liberal" and "conservative."

I also wept at the thought of how far America has come. Had Barack Obama lived in the South fifty years ago, he would not have been allowed to vote, or ride in the front of a bus. Now he has been elected to the highest office in the land. Perhaps we have reached the day that Dr. King dreamed about, when individuals "would be judged not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character." This is something that is worth celebrating.

Regarding more books...

2008-11-04T04:33:00.000-08:00

Here are a few more literary selections for your consideration...

"A Prayer for Owen Meany" by John Irving

One of the most fantastic works of fiction I have read in recent years. It has wonderful characters, a fantastic plot, and will make you both laugh and cry. It also tackles some interesting theological/philosophical questions. I don't know why I had never read this before. Please, get it and read it, now.

"A Secret History of the CIA" by Joseph Trento

A journalists account of the CIA's history from the end of the second World War, through the end of the cold war. It is based on twenty years of research and interviews with a lot of the people who were on the inside. It is saddening to see how much corruption there has been. There is a very interesting section, though, that makes a strong case for the KGB's involvement with the Kennedy assassination.

"The Poisonwood Bible" by Barbara King-Solver

The fictional story of missionaries in the Congolese bush in the early 1960's. Great writing, but more than a little depressing.

"Jesus for President" by Shane Claiborne

The author makes a convincing case that as followers of Jesus, our allegiance should be to something much higher than political parties or nation states. He argues that if we are really doing what Jesus tells us to that we would be living much more controversial lives that are subversive to what our culture considers normal. I wrestled with this book. I would love it if some of you would read it, and then discuss it with me over email or something.

"Confessions of an Economic Hitman" by John Perkins

Eye opening. John Perkins tells the story of how much of his career was spent as a "consultant" who wrote fraudulent economic reports in order to open doors for US aid to developing countries. The goal of the conspiracy was to make these countries economically dependent on the US. It is a very interesting read that spans decades of US foreign policy history.

Regarding meat on Sundays...

2008-11-02T07:51:00.000-08:00

My neigbor doesn't go off to work every day. He has a little piece of land, and does some carpentry for his friends, but mostly he just hangs out. He does work pretty hard on Sunday mornings, though.

On Saturday nights a large pig is delivered to his house. At about 7 AM on Sunday I wake up to the sound of very loud squealing as said pig is in the process of having his or her throat cut. The pig is then shaved, quartered, butchered, and sold to whoever wants some. The meat is still warm when I start to cook it.

The killing of the pig is a real community event. Everyone comes out to stand around and chit chat as we watch the guys do the cutting. Someone usually brings coffee. There is almost always a little kid who grabs the tail of the pig when it is cut off, and runs around whipping people in the ankles with it. It is pretty funny. The dogs also gather, probably because of the delicious smells.

Watching the butchering is not easy on the stomach. I won't go into details, but I am sure you can imagine. It has helped me to realize how sterilized a life we lead in the USA. We go to the store, or the farmers market, and buy our meat wrapped in plastic, and cut into convenient slices. We don't really have a picture (or smell) in our head of where it has come from. It is just a thing that we buy, cook, and eat. Maybe we should try a little bit harder to understand the things that we are putting into our bodies.

I don't think it is wrong to eat meat. I have just come to believe that is important to understand the process. The truth is that the pigs here live pretty happy lives. They stay outdoors, roll in mud, and usually get to wander semi-freely. And when they are killed, it is a pretty quick death without a lot of suffering. And the meat has a really good flavor. I'd love to show you the whole process when you come visit.

Regarding duct tape....

2008-10-10T08:32:00.000-07:00

I have long been a big fan of duct tape. I use it for all sorts of stuff. If you have something that needs to be stuck in place, I will recommend duct tape almost every time. My enthusiasm is strong enough that my father pokes fun at me every year by leaving a roll in my Christmas stocking.

Here in the Peace Corps I am discovering hundreds of new uses for the stuff. Here are some examples.

Duct tape can be used to put anything up on a cement block wall. Posters, maps, newspaper clippings, photos of family, and even mirrors.
It can be combined with old mosquito netting to make a window covering. This keeps visitors (mosquitoes, fire flies, rats) from entering in the night.
When combined with a piece of sterile gauze, duct tape makes a very durable bandaid to help alleviate the many cuts and scrapes that are a part of life here.
I used a few pieces of wood and some duct tape to make a roller on which to hang my toilet paper next to the toilet.
My head phones were starting to come apart, so I used small strips of duct tape to keep them together. They should last a while now.
I use it to block off holes in the wall that ants like to crawl in through. There are a lot of holes, so there is starting to be an awful lot of duct tape put up.

I will let you know if I come up with more creative uses.

In which Tim takes it down a notch...

2008-10-06T05:20:00.001-07:00

I realize that some of my recent entries have been kind of exciting. Sitting through hurricanes, swimming in raging rivers, and cave diving are probably not things that most of you do on a daily basis. Some of you probably think that I lead a thrilling life of adventure. Others might just be terrified on my behalf.

The truth is that most days down here are pretty slow and uneventful. I get up around 7:30 and drink some coffee. I spend my mornings doing work in my own garden, or helping out neigbors who have expressed interest in making one. I have also started building some ceramic cook stoves in my neigborhood. By the time sun gets a little higher it is usually too warm to be working outside comfortably, so I read, write, or do work in the house. I often take an afternoon siesta.

When the sun starts to get a little lower I might do a little more work outside, or settle down for a few games of dominoes with the neigbors. In the evenings I sit and visit with people in their houses or at my house if they decide to come over. I am usually in bed by 9:30.

It is important to know that I am almost never alone in any of these activities. I have a good sized discipleship of small children, ranging in age from 2 to 10. As soon as I open the door in the morning I hear the pitter patter of small feet running to greet me. When I work, they try to help (the bigger ones being a little bit more helpful than the small ones). When I read, they page through the old copies of Newsweek that I have in the house. They have little exposure to mass media and they definitely don't have any kids books, so they are absolutely blown away by the bright photographs and the car ads. One family of kids has decided (based on Newsweek) that the dark skinned man running for President of the United States is actually their father (the resemblance is striking). There are times when the kids get a little wild for my taste and I have to lay down a little discipline. A flip-flop is a great object to swing at the back side of a misbehaving kid. They run like the wind. But all in all I am grateful for the constant companionship. Kids are not held back by the same rules of courtesy or inhibitions as their parents.

I usually go down to the town once a week to read email and try to get some news. It has been hard for a junkie like me to be disconnected from the news cycle during such a fun election. Have there been any explanations given as to why the Republicans have insisted on criticizing Obama for inexperience, but are very excited about putting a sports casting beauty queen from Alaska in a position where she might well be President soon? Let me know if that story is published.

As always, thanks for reading.

In which Tim explores a cave and a half...

2008-10-05T16:10:00.000-07:00

I was visiting my good buddy Joel for the weekend in the North of the country. He lives in a village a bit bigger than mine, but similar in that it's located in the mountains with stellar views. It was exciting to see friends, and refreshing to spend a few days doing fun things that are completely unrelated to my work.

Yesterday afternoon we went on a hike to some pretty neat caves near his house. By "near" I mean about two miles straight down one mountain, across a river, and then up a second one through thick woods. We soon came to a cliff with a dark cleft that beckoned us toward adventure. We entered to find a cavernous network of darkness where we could hear bats fluttering around our heads. It was pretty awesome.

After playing around for about half an hour and coming back out, our Dominican guides led us to what they told us would be a much cooler cave. After hiking a little further into the woods we came upon a hole in the ground that we could not see the bottom of. We started to get a little bit nervous when they told us that was the way in. I mean, wouldn't you be nervous if you were being told to climb into a dark hole?

Our guides began looking for a branch that we could use to slide down into the abyss. One of them pulled on a vine right above my head, and I watched a massive branch swing down right toward my head. It was too fast for me to duck, and it left me looking like this:

We did all the normal tests for brain damage. I wasn't dizzy. My pupils were acting normally. I remembered my social security number. My head just felt like...well...like it had been whacked by a large and heavy piece of wood. Yet there were adventures to be had, so I got up and carried on. We scrambled into the hole, happy to find that it was only about ten or eleven feet deep, and pretty easy to descend.

This was when things started to get interesting. They told us that we would be following a series of tunnels and exit several hundred yards from where we entered. I looked around and couldn't really tell where the tunnel started. It looked like this cavern with a hole in the ceiling was all that there was. Then I saw the little hole in the corner. We had to get flat and worm our way in and down, and it was pretty steep. We kept going down, and down, and I began to feel like a character in Lord of the Rings wondering whether or not this trip into the mines was such a great idea. I mean, what if we woke up some giant flaming beast in the depths? That would be bad.

Pretty soon we came to this part of the tunnel:

The kid in the picture is looking straight UP at us, through the widest part of the tunnel. We might have fit, with a little twisting and turning. Our agile and skinny Dominican friends certainly had no problems. But we Americans realized that none of us were quite as agile or skinny as them. We debated for about fifteen minutes whether or not we should keep going. Our sense of adventure tempted us to believe our guides word that there was indeed a way out somewhere up ahead, and proceed. Yet our fear of being buried alive got the better of us. We didn't want to find ourselves quite literally between a rock and a hard place with no way out. So we went back the way we came, and climbed back out the eleven foot hole.

In retrospect, I am glad that this story didn't get any more exciting. I might not have lived to tell it... ;-)

Here is a portrait of the merry band of adventurers:

In which Tim tells you what he's been reading...

2008-09-26T09:32:00.000-07:00

Here are the books I have finished since last I gave you a list...

"Lake Wobegon Days" by Garrison Keillor
I loved it. It is like a 300 page long version of the radio skit. Although I was a little confused to learn that the same characters I have been following in recent years appear to have been the exact same age when he wrote the book in 1983...

"All Creatures, Great and Small" by James Herriott
The tales (from life) of a young vet in rural Yorkshire in the 1930's. It is interesting to spot the parallels between my rural existence and his.

"Theodore Rex" by Edmund Morris
A biography of Teddy Roosevelt, covering his years in the White House. I recommend it for anyone who is into Presidential history.

Regarding Tim´s roommate(s)...

2008-09-26T09:15:00.000-07:00

I have been here long enough that I have a pretty set routine when I go to bed at night. I take a cool bucket bath, I fill out the days events in my diary (by the light of a kerosene lamp), read my bible, brush my teeth, put up the mosquito net, read with the flashlight for a few minutes, and then sleep.

Normally my sleep goes undisturbed.

But sometimes I hear the noise of small claws skittering along the wall, or across the floor. The smacking of small lips. The nibbling of crumbs that I carelessly left out. RATS!!

No need to worry, I don't have an infestation. But I live in the middle of the countryside, in a house that has a few nooks and crannies through which a creature of the outside world can make its way in. And they haven't hurt me so far.

Still, it is awfully creepy when you can hear something moving in the next room. I always make sure to tuck my mosquito net in very very tight, so that nothing can crawl up onto the bed and visit me.

I also keep the machete close at hand, in case the sounds come to close. I have not yet killed a rat with a machete, but a friend of mine did at my house a few weeks ago. The rat was up on the wall, and the guy swung the machete like a baseball bat, almost cutting the thing in half. We threw it outside where it was promptly gobbled up by the local dogs.

I am currently in the market for a cat. If anyone has ideas for names, I am open for suggestions.

In which Tim goes swimming (by accident)...

2008-09-21T09:56:00.000-07:00

My last entry or two may have given you the impression that hurricane season is mind numbingly boring. It definitely has times where I want to tear my hair out due to the frustration brought on by days and days of inactivity, but those are accented by episodes of excitement verging on terror that quickly get the adrenaline flowing again. I experienced one of these episodes last week.

There are two roads that go up to my site. Most people use the "old road" all the time. It is not terribly steep, and you have to wade through the river at the end. The "new road" is about twice as long, much steeper, but avoids water. So when the storms are here and the river is up, people revert to the new road. That was how I went home after having been sequestered at my friends house for a week.

One day, I noticed that people were crossing the river on foot again, so I decided to hike down to investigate. The water is full of sediment due to the flooding, so one cannot tell how deep it is just by looking. What I could tell is that it was a lot lower than it had been a few days earlier, so I decided to cross. I didn't have anywhere in particular to go. I just wanted to see if the river was crossable.

So I secured my rubber peasant sandals, and picked up a stick to use to test the depth, and in I went. It was fine. Well below my knees, though moving pretty fast. Then I found the hole. I guess when the river is moving faster than usual, it picks up the big rocks that normally just stay put in the river bed, and starts rolling them along. My stick somehow missed an eight inch drop, but my foot found it. I stumbled, but retained my footing, breathing a sigh of relief.

Then I looked up, and noticed something floating away on the current. My left sandal had come off, and was heading for the ocean. So I naturally did what anyone would do in the situation; I took off running after the thing. It's a good sandal, after all!

I didn't really pay attention to the fact that the water was getting deeper until I was in up to my chest, and the current was actually carrying me. I managed to swim over to the bank, and pull myself up on some conveniently placed vines. I never got the shoe back.

So I hiked back up the steep, rocky hill wearing only one sandal, and dripping wet. My neigbors thought it was the funniest thing they had ever seen. I had to agree that I looked pretty ridiculous.

So what did I learn from this exercise in stupidity? 1. Always cross the river either barefoot, or with sandals that are strapped on. 2. Know how deep water is before I go charging into it like a crazed hippo.

All's well that ends well! I have new sandals now.

In which Tim loses his mind...

2008-09-10T09:55:00.000-07:00

It is still raining around here. A week ago (when last I wrote) I reported that there were more storms bearing down on us. I was at home when Hannah passed by and gave us three straight days of rain. Then the sun came out, but there were rumors that someone named Ike was following close behind, so I went to investigate my river. It was passable on foot, but muddy and deeper than usual. No vehicles were making it across. So I called up HQ and told them that I could get out, but if it rained for another day or two I would not be able to. So on Friday morning I shouldered my bag, and hiked down the mountain to my fellow volunteers apartment in the town. I expected to be there for maybe two days, then hike back up. So I thought.

Today is Wednesday, and I had expected to go back up today. Another call came in from Peace Corps telling me not to cross any rivers, so I am still here. Stuck. Bored. Watching television. I feel like my brain is turning to mush. There is nothing to do besides read, watch tv, cook, clean, watch a movie, listen to music, call a friend, watch more tv. It is still kind of rainy so all the people around here are staying in their houses, and this isn't my town so I don't have any friends besides the guy whose apartment this is, but he is in the capital due to illness.

There was another volunteer stuck here with me, but she got permission to go home yesterday. So here I sit, alone. I have nothing interesting to write because nothing interesting has happened. I feel useless. Forgive the tediousness of this blog entry

Hopefully I will be able to go home soon.

And now for something different...

2008-09-02T13:53:00.000-07:00

I made it back to my home after the hurricane. I had to wade through water up to my waist, but that was made right with a towel when I got home. There was no damage to my community. The were cut off from the world for about a day and a half, so there wasn't much food, but life has more or less returned to normal now.

But I am not encouraged by the presence of three (3!!) tropical storms over the Atlantic right now. Please pray that God might protect us from these consequences of our having abused his world by pumping carbon into the air.

On a lighter note, I have gotten involved with a project to produce a textbook that uses environmental themes to teach the English language. I have been nominated the "master of the spoken word" on the project. For some reason I have become the poet laureate of Peace Corps DR. Not sure how...

But anyway, I thought you might enjoy seeing some of my scribblings.

Enjoy!
---------
Garbage is a problem
when piled in the street.
But if we just recycle
the world will be more neat.

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

River, river, flowing clear,
full of fish from far to near.
Throwing trash and killing wood,
for its health is just no good.

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

Though our languages are many,
and our differences are vast,
we must struggle together
if our good world is to last.

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

As I watch the bird pass by,
flitting, gliding through the sky,
his graceful flight, a work of art,
wonder overtakes my heart.
This tiny pilot of the blue
is closely bound to me and you.
For all that on this planet live
in harmony must take and give.
Lest one day should one small thing shift
and bring a horrid change most swift.
We of conscience must take care
to keep these beauties in the air.

In which Tim meets Gustav...

2008-08-26T09:27:00.001-07:00

Just as we were getting over the little visit that Fay decided to pay to us, her little brother Gustav decided to drop in. Although I suppose "little brother" is a bad designation, since she was just a tropical depression when she was here, but this guy is a full blown hurricane.

No need to worry. I am safe. I came into town yesterday to check my email and buy some groceries, and my phone started ringing. It was the volunteer who is in charge of emergency coordination in this part of the country. He told me that a room had been reserved in my name at a local hotel, and that I was not under any circumstances to return to the countryside until further notice. "Not even to get some clean clothes and my toothbrush?" I replied. He said no, that this was going to be a big storm.

So here I sit, in the rain, wearing dirty clothing. It looks like the eye of the storm is past, so we might be out of the woods. Haiti will be hit pretty hard though. Please pray.

There are about twenty of us who have been evacuated to the same hotel, so at least there is no lack of company. We have AC and cable, which is nice. We might get to go back home this afternoon. As nice as the little luxuries are it is still not the same as sleeping in my own bed at night. Maybe I will be back there soon...

In which Tim gets a cold and goes to a wedding...

2008-08-19T14:32:00.000-07:00

I have been in the capital for a loooong time. Almost a week now. Hence my inundation of blog entries. I had four days worth of meetings, and came down with a sore throat somewhere in there. Yesterday morning I was all packed to leave, and dropped by the doctors office to see if she couldn't give me a pill to soothe the throat. She did her poking and prodding, and told me that she wanted me to stay in town for a few days for "observation". The nice part about this is that Peace Corps pays to put me in an air conditioned, PRIVATE hotel room, and gives me a pretty penny to cover my daily expenses. The unpleasant part is that the capital is pretty lonely when there aren't lots of fellow volunteers in town. Being sick isn't a lot of fun either.

The boredom was pleasantly alleviated today by, of all things, a wedding. Anne and Tim are volunteers who came to the country in the same group as me, six months ago. They are dear friends of mine. They met when we all came together in February, and very quickly decided that they liked each other. I guess when it's right it's right, so today they went into the magistrates office and tied the knot. About ten of us packed into a tiny office and cheered them on as they signed the paperwork.

We took them out to a nice dinner, made toasts, took lots of pictures, ate cake (courtesy of the wonderful Peace Corps staff) and did the things that you generally do at a more conventional American wedding. It was a lot of fun, and I feel fortunate to have played a part in the proceedings. None of us have known each other very long (most notably the bride and groom), but I suppose it goes to show that neat friendships, romances, etc. can pop up anywhere.

Congrats, Anne and Tim!

In which Tim opens a window...

2008-08-18T08:17:00.000-07:00

I have finally posted photographs of the community I will be calling home for the next few years. You can find them here.

Regarding what I've read...

2008-08-17T15:14:00.000-07:00

I spend a lot of time reading. I think it would be cool to begin letting y'all know what I am finishing. If you want reviews (or have suggestions for future reads) let me know!

Here is an approximate list of what I have read so far in this country (excluding the 3 or 4 volumes I am working on right now) and a very concise review of each:

"The Far Pavilions" by M.M. Kaye (Still my favorite novel of all time.)

"Cross of Christ" by John Stott (Meaty and applicable. A new staple of my library.)

"Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff" by Christopher Moore (Funny and thought provoking.)

"The Fellowship of the Ring" by JRR Tolkien (Brilliant.)

"The Two Towers" by JRR Tolkien (Brilliant.)

"The Return of the King" by JRR Tolkien (Brilliant.)

"A People's History of the United States" by Howard Zinn (I alternated between loving it and
wanting to burn it.)

"Truman" by David McCullough (Worthy of the Pulitzer it won.)

"Pride and Prejudice" by Jane Austen (I don't know where this author has been all my life!)

"The Irresistible Revolution" by Shane Claiborne (Get ready to be seriously challenged about the
way you live your faith.)

"Dragon" by Clive Cussler (Terrible. I would rather read toilet paper.)

"Collected Essays" by Ralph Waldo Emerson (I am enjoying being exposed to a brilliant mind.)

More to come!

In which Tim meets Fay...

2008-08-17T14:55:00.000-07:00

New Peace Corps Volunteers, much like young children, experience many milestones. From learning to communicate well in the language, to moving into our own houses, or running our first meeting, our lives are full of memorable firsts. I experienced a notable first just the other day. If you watch the news, you may know that a lovely little cloud by the name of Fay is ripping her way across the Caribbean. She happened to be right on top of us when her designation was changed from "tropical depression" to "tropical storm." I mean RIGHT on top. Like if you looked at a radar map, you would not have seen my island through the clouds.

Fortunately I am in the capital right now, where I am able to hear weather reports and do basic things (like buying food) without climbing mountains or crossing rivers. I was completely safe (except for the moment when I needed to cross a street that had turned into a rushing river, but my back-woods skills served me well. I live to ford more streams or streets.). There was a heck of a lot of rain, and the electricity was less reliable than normal for about 24 hours. I saw some downed trees, but no damage to speak of.

I am not sure what the situation is like in my town. I am going back tomorrow morning. I tried calling some friends in the area, but it seems that our one cell phone tower is having problems (maybe related to the storm). I imagine I will return home to find a lot of mud, and the road in crummier shape than usual. It was not that bad a storm, but my community is not well prepared for any kind of super-heavy rainfall. I am praying that we don't get hit by any major storms before some things can be changed.

Only a few more months of hurricane season left...

In which Tim learns about coffee...

2008-08-16T09:06:00.000-07:00

Last week I celebrated three months of being a PCV. Rather than giving us a party, Peace Corps mandates that we attend a week of training to "process" our first few months at site, and to brush up on whatever technical skills we feel we might be lacking. It was refreshing to spend several days with so many of my friends, speaking English, telling stories, dozing through lectures from PC officials, and getting into mischief.

One day of our training was dedicated to learning all about all of the processes that take coffee from being a tiny seed in the tropical soil to that flavorful caffeine filled beverage that American society depends on for productivity. The bean is first planted in sand, where it sprouts and grows to a tree of about six inches. It is then transplanted into soil where it takes about two years to reach the point of bearing fruit that looks like this:

The fruit is harvested, and dumped into tanks of water where it is allowed to ferment. Later it is dried, and processed to remove the shells. The result is something that looks like this:

The beans are then judged for quality, shipped, roasted, sold, ground and consumed. Apparently there are very strict guidelines (weight, bean size, color, shape) that govern the quality of coffee. The highest quality coffee here is sold for export (that's the Dominican coffee that we snobby, French pressing using types can get at our expensive stores in the US). The medium grades end up in the cheap brands that folks buy to put in the drip machines. The low grades are deemed not fit for sale.

We were given a lesson in quality control by a gentleman who we were told is one of the "fifteen top coffee experts in the country," whatever that means. I expected him to give us two mugs of coffee, and say "this one is good, and this one is bad" and the taste would be self explanatory. Coffee is just coffee, right? Wrong.

There are a few steps that the coffee critic must take in order to judge the goodness of a given bean.

Step # 1 - Bean Sniffing
This is exactly what it sounds like. One holds the bean close to the nose and sees what sort of flavor can be detected.

Step # 2 - Grinding and Ground Sniffing
The beans are ground to the desired coarseness, stirred up, and smelled very VERY closely (I mean you get your nose within a quarter inch of the grounds). There are layers upon layers of flavor in this stuff. With good coffee (like I have heard about good wine) you can smell fruit flavors, nut flavors, sweetness, acidity, spice, and even more. One of the ones we smelled was a bit like beef stew. At first I thought "don't they all smell like coffee?", and they did. But there was a surprising amount of variety.

Step # 3 - Brewing and Brew Sniffing
Hot water is poured into the bowl of grounds, and allowed to sit for a few minutes. The grounds form a layer on top of the water. The sniffer gets his nose close, and uses a spoon to swish away the layer of grounds. A wave of aroma bubbles up, and is strongest for only a few seconds. The complexity of the aroma tells the sniffer much about the quality of the coffee.

Step # 4 - Tasting
Each part of the tongue is responsible for a different part of taste. The tip of the tongue detects sweetness, another part looks for saltiness, acidity, etc. The point is that in order to get a full sense of what something tastes like, the food has to make contact with as many parts of the tongue as possible. Professional coffee tasters make this happen by slurping the coffee in such a way that it enters the mouth as a fine spray, making contact all over, giving a very good sense of the flavor.

I thought this whole exercise was a little bit silly at first, but it turned out really interesting. All the coffees we tried were very good (and expensive), but also very different. It seems that certain varieties are more popular in various parts of the world. The fruitier/subtler kinds do very well in Australia and Scandinavia. Continental Europeans and Americans think highly of the nuttier and more robust flavors. Our guide told us that serious coffee drinkers tend to look down their noses at the coffee favored by Italians to make espresso and stuff like that. It reminded me that I really live in a pretty neat world. There is tremendous variety and beauty everywhere we look, even in something as simple as what we drink for breakfast.

Where does your coffee come from? What is special about it? Who grew it? Look into it. It is probably more interesting that you suspect.

In which Tim explores the forest in sandals...

2008-07-22T11:20:00.000-07:00

It was shortly after seven oclock on a Friday morning, and I had been looking forward to another hour of sleep before beginning a day of seeking out people to do interviews with. A voice came through the window summoning me from sleep.

"Timo! Get up! It's time to go!" It took me a minute to figure out where in the world I was supposed to be going. The sun was barely starting to peep over the surrounding hilltops. Alter attempting to rub the sleep from my eyes I remembered the hydroelectric project that my community is working on, and that I have somehow been appointed a consultant to. There is a good sized stream flowing down a mountain to join the main river, and the plan is to send some of this water along a route of pipe that gets gradually narrower (thus increasing the pressure), and into a plant that will provide enough power for three small communities. It is a neat idea, and I am glad to be involved.

Yet my enthusiasm was tempered on this occasion by the memory of my last trip up to the site. It is a three mile hike from my house to the spring that feeds the stream, and it is all up hill. The rock and gravel road eventually turns into a small, steep and narrow forest trail, then eventually the trail ends and you have the choice between scrambling up the slippery rocks that the stream cascades down, or macheteing your way through the forest on the banks, and still having to do a fair amount of climbing. It had been a long trip that resulted in not much more than looking at the stream, me taking some gps readings, and then turning around to hike home sore, sweaty and scratched up by mean plants. Suffice it to say I did not particularly relish the prospect of getting up on this particular morning to do it all again.

I was told that our plan was to follow the stream down the mountain to evaluate where we could lay a pathway for the pipeline that will eventually be installed. This being the case, I asked if I should opt to wear A) jeans and hiking boots, well suited for scrambling through vegetation, or B) swimsuit and a pair of Dominican rubber sandals, ideal for getting wet and negotiating slippery rocks. I was told without a doubt to go for option B, so I did. Off we we went up the mountain in the cool morning air that was quickly heating up as the sun climbed higher and higher. When we came to the end of the path I was hot and sweaty, and a little blistered from having walked so far up hill in sandals, but I was looking forward to the prospect of soaking my feet in a cool stream for a little while.

We came to within site of the water, and the party of eight suddenly turned and began hacking their way single file through the brush down hill. I expressed curiosity as to why we were not going TO the stream as I had been told. The reply was "Oh, we are going to MAKE a PATH today right where we think the pipe should run." Oh. I guess plans have changed. Now hiking through tight forest on nothing wider than a machete path in a swimsuit is a miserable enough venture given a lot of the plant life that likes to bite, sting and scratch. But add to that the fact that this forest runs straight downhill, and the fact that you are wearing open toed and heeled sandals that like to slip off. It makes for not the most fun of hikes. There was much stumbling, tripping, saying words under my breath that are best not repeated, and thinking about the kinds of things I'd like to do to some of these people who talk about "saving the rainforest" without ever having had to hike through one. It was not one of my shining moments. I was tired, hungry, angry and sore. My hiking companions did not find me very eager for conversation.

I made it back home to bathe, eat a good meal, and sleep for a few hours. The bad mood eventually passed, and I have been back to the worksite a few times with less frustration. Yet frustration is a BIG part of my work here, and it never goes away completely. There is the issue of communicating with my partners across linguistic and cultural barriers ("what clothes should I wear REALLY?"). There's the challenge of dealing with new environmental conditions, such as sauna-like humidity and ferocious plants. And then there's the fact that when I do come home at the end of the day, the only thing I can speak english to is my journal. It is far from easy, but I think I am learning how to deal. Toward the beginning it felt like I was having one or two days a week where the frustration felt overwhelming. Those days become less and less frequent the longer I am here. There are far more good days than bad. I love figuring out the ins and outs of the language and culture. I admire my environment far more than I whine about it. And I am learning to appreciate solitude as something that can be very healthy, for a season. I live, and learn, and try not to be too afraid of looking like an idiot as I stumble through the jungle in my rubber sandals.

Regarding mangoes...

2008-07-10T09:44:00.000-07:00

There is a tree near my house that stretches its arms to heaven and dwarfs all of its neigbors. Its status as the tallest tree in town, as well as its proximity to the road make it something of a local landmark. Everyone knows "the mango tree". Its branches are thickly laden with fruit right now, but the height of the tree prevents fruit lovers from from dining at leisure. We have to wait for a nice stiff breeze, which brings about the "plop, plop, plop" of the falling fruit. Lately the fruit has been fattening, so it falls frequently. Sometimes it seems to be raining mangoes.

The foot of the tree has become a gathering place for the local kids. When the fruit falls the kids gather up as much as they can carry, often taking off their tshirts for use as sacks. They lug their loot off to a corner where they spend a good long while eating their fill. My proximity to the great tree is a wonderful thing. It means that the kids, whether from generosity or guilt, always feel the need to share their harvest with me. They often give me their best mangoes.

At first I was reluctant to accept these frequent gifts. It wasn't because I didn't like mangoes; I love them. Nor was it because I was hesitant to take from people who less than I do materially (their wealth in fruit is great, as testified to by the fact that they can barely carry all the mangoes they have picked up). I was slow to accept the fruit simply because I felt like an idiot trying to eat it in front of people.

Where I come from we deal mostly with fruit of the "user friendly" variety. Bananas and oranges come in wrappers that are easily removed and disposed of. Apples, plums and peaches can be eaten as they are, with special care given to avoiding the pit. Grapes, strawberries, and blueberries can be taken whole. We don't know much about things like mangoes, papayas, or passion fruit. They might be a flavor in an exotic juice that we enjoy, or part of a fruit salad at an expensive restaurant. But most of us could not tell you what a mango fresh off the tree looks like, let alone how to go about eating one. And the mango is certainly no easy fruit to eat. Its inedible skin is more difficult to remove than that of an orange or a banana, and its pit is much more tightly bound to the fibrous fruit than that of an apple or peach. Consumption requires a lot of pulling and cutting, which is no clean work given the sweet juiciness for which the mango has been dubbed "queen of the fruits". If one had a cutting board, a good sharp knife, and a large fork it would be possible to eat a mango with some semblance of neatness. Yet these implements are hardly readily available when a grinning four year old hands you the greenish gold fruit out on the street and tells you to eat. Bashfulness always kicks in, because I see how wet and sticky this kid is, and I don't want to have to take my second bath of the day so early.

The kids have no problem with the process. They tear into the bottom of the fruit and rip off the skin with their teeth. Then they suck the fibers completely dry with a depth of joy that makes me think about life. By the end, their hands and face are completely drenched in the sticky orange colored juice. This process did not appeal to me. It was too messy to fit my attempted image of "professionalism," and I really hated spending hours picking those little fibers out from between my teeth. Eating this fruit is a sticky ordeal with an irritating aftermath.

Ah, but I have forgotten the reward, and the reason that children all over the world always run toward the "plop, plop, plop" of falling mangoes. That taste! The juice of such refreshing sweetness and subtle flavor the beckons the desire, even after years of separation. The queen of the fruits is indeed a temptress, and she quickly seduced me to forget my hesitation. I now eat mangoes in the same way as my young neigbors. Sometimes four or five in an afternoon. I realized that the mango season, much like life, is short. We need to bite that skin and the suck the juice out while we still can, and enjoy that succulent flavor as it drips down the chin. It's what I've decided to do. If you'd like to join me, I know a good tree.

Regarding how I come and go...

2008-06-23T10:03:00.000-07:00

You've all heard tell of many things that "half the fun is getting there." This saying certainly holds true of life in the Peace Corps. In the past few months I have used a variety of means to get from the various Point A's to Point B's. Here is a sampling...

Guagua - This is what you would most commonly refer to as a mini-bus. It's the most common way to move between large towns. Most of them are falling apart, and packed with people to the point of being a public health issue, but they are reasonably priced and relatively comfortable.

Passenger Bus - A lot like grey hound. This is what you use to travel very long distances. The bigger companies have buses that are very comfortable (air conditioning!!!), albeit a little festive for the taste of many Americans (they like to blast Meringue music).

Carro Publico - Translated = "Public Car". Used in the cities. They follow routes the same way that a bus would, and you pay based on how far you ride. These are normal sized four door cars, but they put up to four people in the back seat, and two in the passenger seat up front. Watch out for pick pockets.

Bola - In English we would call it hitch hiking. Basically you stand by the road and wave at whoever comes along, hoping they'll pick you up. In this part of the country most of the vehicles are pick up trucks so there is always enough room. You might have to sit next to a goat or a chicken, but at least the open air nature of the vehicle provides adequate ventilation. If the truck is REALLY full (like if you are headed toward a beach on a weekend, and there are a lot of people with the same idea as you) you will probably have to hang off of the bumper. This is not as bad as it sounds. The sense of adventure on the turns makes up for the discomfort.

Moto-concho - This is a motorcycle taxi, and it's the most common way to travel to remote locations in the countryside since the odds of catching a bola are often slim. This is how I get up the mountain to where I live. PCV's are required to wear helmets, so whenever I am out and about I am dragging along my sleek looking motorcycle helmet. It makes me feel cool. The motorcycle ride up a mountain is an interesting experience. A lot of these bikes are not in the best shape, so one spends the entire trip up the hill wondering if the engine will make it or not. On the downhill side there is another cause for worry. These drivers like to go FAST. I won't offer more details here, because I know my mother and grandmother are reading and I do not wish to cause them concern. Just be aware that I ALWAYS wear my helmet.

Mule - A common beast of burden on the farms around where I live. I have used them on a couple visits. They are not fast or flashy, but they get the job done and don't smell that bad.

Horse - Quick, loyal and glamorous. I spent a weekend toward the beginning riding a horse on mountain trails, and had a blast. My own horse should be arriving any week now. I am working on growing my cowboy moustache, and I am going shopping for a suitable hat as soon as I finish this entry.

Anyone who comes to visit me can rest assured that they will experience many of the types of transport on this list, and maybe more. I am sure the list will grow!

Regarding Food

2008-06-08T11:23:00.000-07:00

An easy trap to stumble into when describing an experience like mine is to only share the stories that seem sensational, and forget about the everyday stuff. There is so much that has become commonplace for me, but that I forget would strike all of my readers as new and interesting. So from now on I will try to spend more time talking about some of the many routine and often repetitive elements of what it means to be in the Peace Corps.

My diet here is much less varied than it was back home, but still delicious. The big meal of the day is lunch, which almost always consists of white rice, beans (red or black), and some kind of meat (usually chicken). There is sometimes a salad too. This meal is popularly referred to as ¨La Bandera Dominicana¨ (the Dominican flag) because it offers all the colors that are present on the flag. It is nourishing and delicious, and I am starting to think it might be addictive. Around mid-day, every day of the week, I get a craving in my gut. If the menu happens to be different that day, or if I am on the road and not able to sit down to eat, I experience a wave of disappointment at not getting my bandera. I am actually starting to get hungry just writing this.

Breakfast and dinner are made up primarily of what they call ¨vivres¨, what we would usually call starches. Green bananas, plantain, yucca, squash, potatoe, and yam are all common features during these meals, usually boiled but sometimes fried. The vivre will usually come with some salami (basically summer sausage, but not as good as it is back home), fried cheese, or an egg.

I live in a very lush tropical valley where agriculture is the name of the game, so I also eat a lot of amazing fruit. There´s a giant mango tree right next to my house that the kids are always throwing rocks at to get down whatever fruit might be ready. There are THOUSANDS of them on this tree, just waiting to turn orange and drop. Delicious. There´s also a lot of oranges, lemons, bread fruit, banana, and an amazing fruit called ¨guanabana¨ which I never had before coming here, and don´t know the english for.

Despite the fact that my community is poor, the fact that they are farmers means that there is almost always plenty of food. The food shortages that have been striking much of the world have been felt here with rice being more expensive, but fortunately there is no emergency. There have been problems in the past, as we live right in the middle of hurricane alley. When a storm hits directly, it has the potential to wipe out any and all crops that are in the ground at the time. Some of my work is going to focus on growing a greater variety of food to 1) keep the soil healthy and happy and 2) reduce dependence on one or two kinds of crops for income. We will be starting a community vegetable garden project sometime soon here.

Stay tuned!

Regarding stomach problems...

2008-05-31T09:45:00.000-07:00

WARNING: The following entry contains graphic and disturbing descriptions of the things that can happen to one's digestive tract when traveling in the developing world. Proceed with caution.
----

It all started very early on a Wednesday morning. I had been back in the city for a few days since visiting my site, and was getting ready to graduate on Thursday, and move out to the country on Friday. I had to get up around five thirty in order to make it all the way to the heart of the city for important meetings that were scheduled to last all day. My alarm clock sounded, I arose, and folded up my mosquito net. Suddenly I had a feeling that is best described as one of extremely urgent pressure in the lower regions of my intestines. I am not talking about the kind of pressure where you say "Oh, I should visit the bathroom in the next little while." No. This was the kind where I thought to myself "If I don't RUN to the bathroom I will soon have a situation on the floor that I would rather not try to explain to my host mother." So I ran, and made it to the commode.

The next few minutes involved a series of minor explosions that are not a regular part of my bodily cycle. Uh oh. Apparently I had eaten something that my body did not like. My assessment was proved correct when a few minutes later I found myself shedding liquid from the other end of my body.

You know a day is going to be rough when you both vomit and experience diarrhea before six oclock in the morning. I could have gone back to bed and avoided having to do anything that day. No meetings, no travel on packed and uncomfortable public transport. Just my bed, a toilet close by, and a concerned host family to keep me full of soda and saltines. I could have chosen that, but you've already probably guessed that I didn't. I am not very good at listening to my body when it tells me to rest. If there is work to be done, then gosh darn it I will roll up my sleeves and do it. Not snow, nor sleet, nor hurricanes, nor diarrhea will prevent me from doing my duty for Uncle Sam. Besides, what kind of a story would it have made if I'd just gone back to bed?

So I got dressed, filled my nalgene with oral rehydration fluid, and headed out into the world, despite the adamant protests of my host family. I had taken some pepto, so the forty five minute walk to the training center passed without incident, though I did visit the bathroom immediately upon arriving. The hour and a half ride into the city was a different story. I was packed onto a bus with thirty of my companions for a bumper to bumper, stop and go claustrophobic experience that might well have made me nauseous under normal circumstances. As I sat there with my gut sounding like a particularly morbid sort of orchestra I found myself thinking about those Buddhist monks who can concentrate to the point of making themselves immune to physical distractions. I have never before put more focused mental energy into controlling the actions of my body. It was exhausting, but I succeeded. I made it to the bathroom at the Peace Corps office in down town, and fortunately there was a doctor in the house. She gave me some pills that helped, but at the end of the day I had visited five different bathrooms for a total of nine individual trips.

It was four days until the flow subsided, with each day a little easier than the last. During this time I managed to finish my training, pass a bunch of exams, attend my swearing in ceremony, pack, and move ALL of my stuff to my new home in a remote village on the far side of the country (via public transport). I was ready to sleep for a week, and also very glad that I was now able to take solid food. A mountain of rice, beans, plantains, mangoes, and other assorted tropical goodies was waiting for me, so I am gaining back a little bit of the weight that the disease took from me. And avocado season is right around the corner so I will be eating much more. I recently tried describing the idea of guacamole to my family, and they thought it sounded weird. I guess I can do a little cultural exchange as soon as that fruit ripens.

As always, thanks for reading.

In which Tim updates you...

2008-05-27T08:11:00.000-07:00

I descend from my mountain abode to update my faithful readers. I rode on the back of a motorcycle through a rain storm, and waited on a street corner for half an hour to squeeze myself into a van to ride along the sea shore for another hour, and now I am here. I have been living on my mountain for about two and a half weeks now, and I am learning how to adjust to life way out there in the country. Forgive me if my English is a little sticky. I have not used it for about a week.

Many of you have asked for more details regarding the work I will be doing, so here it goes. I am partnered with a small NGO that tries to help poor rural farming communities improve their situations a little bit. I am living in one of the main communities where they work, and I think my job will be to sort of serve as the eyes and ears of the organization, looking for new opportunities to help them do what they do. I am connected with a local farming association, and will probably use that as a jumping off point for work with soil erosion, organic fertilizers, and environmental youth activism.

For the first few months I am working on a diagnostic project. I am trying to go door to door in my community, meeting with each family to introduce myself and get to know them. In the process I am tabulating things like level of income, source of income, number of kids, level of education, etc. When I finish getting the numbers together I will probably post it all so that you get some kind of idea of what the basic situation is here.

Most days I get up around seven, drink some strong coffee, and visit with the family for a bit. Then I might go for a walk, or out with some of the farmers to learn about pruning coffee trees or harvesting cocoa. I have seen a few pigs butchered already. When the sun is nice and high I go back to my house and try to get some work done. At night there is usually a game of dominoes to be won. It´s not a bad little routine. We´ll see how it evolves as I find things to do.

Stay tuned!

In which Tim reveals his location...

2008-05-06T04:50:00.000-07:00

I have beheld the location where I will be spending the next two years of my life, and it is good.

But before I get into the description, there's a funny little bit of irony. My close friends and family back home will remember that during the months before I came here I had a special way of describing my upcoming Peace Corps service. Instead of prefacing statements with "When I am in the Dominican Republic..." or "When I am in the Peace Corps..." I started saying "When I live in the jungle...". This turn of phrase was usually in jest. I did NOT actually expect to be living in the jungle. But it turns out that either I have a gift of prophecy, or God has a sense of humor, because Tim REALLY is moving to the jungle.

My site is in a small forested valley with a river running down the middle of it. To get to my village you have drive down dirt roads, and straight through the river. It's not possible to get there without a good motorcycle, or a pretty powerful four wheel drive truck. Then you go up some rough, rocky track and you are at my front door. I live in a cement brick house in the middle of a cluster of houses that I believe were built by habitat for humanity. The houses are cement-gray, and the inside of my bedroom looks a bit like a prison cell, but the walls are solid and the roof keeps the rain out so I am happy. And the boringness of the house is more than made up for by the view and the sounds. The surrounding slopes are covered in more kinds of trees than I know the names for, and there are birds everywhere. At night I hear the crickets singing and river flowing. It's a very beautiful place.

I haven't yet figured out exactly what work I will be doing. It will probably have something to do with helping coffee farmers to figure out cheap and environmentally friendly ways to improve their productivity. There is a lot of soil erosion, and problems associated with the more and more frequent hurricanes that like to batter this part of the country. The people are very poor. Most of the houses I see are little more than wooden shacks with tin sheets for roofs. I've been told that a lot of the adults are illiterate. Many are Haitian refugees, so they don't speak the Spanish that they would need to really do well here. Of course, even if they did speak good Spanish they would still have to deal with the massive discrimination this society has against Haitians.

So here I am. I live in a cement house in the jungle, and I am trying to help desperately poor people help themselves and the earth. It's a big job, and I would be lying if I said I didn't feel a little bit overwhelmed. This fun little trip in the Caribbean just became serious. Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers, and I will try to keep the stories coming!

P.S. Security regulations prohibit me from revealing my exact location on the blog. If you want the GPS coordinates, feel free to email me and ask.

In which Tim meets with the Japanese...

2008-05-06T04:48:00.000-07:00

It was 10:30 on a humid Santo Domingo morning, and my assignment was simple. I was to meet the director of the organization to which I have been assigned at the office of a group called JICA. JICA is more or less the Japanese equivalent of the Peace Corps. Japanese professionals volunteer to live for two years in a developing country, sharing their culture along with various technical expertise. A JICA volunteer had been assigned to the same organization as me, so I assumed that my director and I were just going to be picking the guy up and high tailing it for the countryside. Because it would just be an in and out affair, I figured there would be no problem with the fact that I had sweated through my shirt on the walk across the city and looked a little bit like I had forgotten to dry off from my morning shower before getting dressed that morning.

I got off the elevator at the seventh floor, and felt like I had been teleported to a part of the world quite far from the North Caribbean. The hallways were full of Japanese people running this way and that, and the decor had the sleek silverish look that I have come to associate with twenty first century Tokyo. I was ushered into a waiting room where I sat down in chair that looked like it could have come from a spaceship, and I was soon met by my director. Far from simply meeting the Japanese volunteer, we were actually about to attend their swearing in ceremony that was to be officiated by none other than the Japanese ambassador. There would also be in attendance a number of very important people in the world of Dominican development.

Great. Here I am about to hob knob with the cream of NGO society, and I am in a sweaty shirt. On top of that, the Peace Corps has a lot of very strict rules governing everything from what I am allowed to post on my blog, right down to the food I put in my body. I wasn't quite sure how they would feel about me representing the Corps, as well as the entire U.S of A. at a semi-diplomatic function. And there was really no way around this since I came into the building wearing my standard issue Peace Corps ID badge, and couldn't very well take it off and stow it in my pocket while sitting in the spaceship chair in the quickly filling room. Then I remembered that one of the things that my Peace Corps drill sergeants are big on is the art of improvisation. When one finds oneself in an ambiguous situation, just keep on rolling.

So I did what I do best. I put on a smile and turned up the charm. Fortunately the powerful air conditioner was able to take care of my sweat situation before it came time to mix and mingle. Since my Japanese is a little rusty, and most Japanese living in the Dominican Republic have little to no reason to be fluent in English, the language of conversation was Spanish. More specifically, my conversation partners were speaking Spanish with fairly heavy Japanese accents. I had never before paused to wonder what Spanish would sound like when combined with the East Asian manner of speaking, but now I know. If you, dear reader, ever have the opportunity to speak Spanish with a Japanese person, please use it and use it well.

I also discovered very quickly that the Japanese people around here really like the Peace Corps. A lot. When I met the deputy director of JICA, I thought he was going to bounce through the roof. We engaged in an extended hand shake and series of bows that lasted a very long time, with him continually saying "Peace Corps!! USA!! Very good!! Muy bien, muy bien!!" And when he left the room at the end he came up to me, smiled ear to ear, and said in his heavy Japanese accent "Estados Unidos y Japon. Juntos siempre!" ("The United States, and Japan. Always together!"). He bowed deeply, turned around, and quickly marched from the room.

After the program with speeches, there was a reception complete with sushi and a bunch of those amazing cookie and cracker concoctions that the Japanese have invented. The Dominicans present did not think much of the sushi, but loved the cookies and the chicken terriyaki. So I got to eat a little extra sushi. I was as happy as a pig in mud.

At the reception I met the volunteer who will be a part of my program, and he's a stellar guy. Smart and excited to get started with his volunteer work. We spent the next couple of days together, travelling to our site and meeting a lot of new people who's names we've probably both forgotten by now. But despite the fact that he and I come from totally different cultures and can only communicate in a language that is native to neither of us, there was a tremendous spirit of shared adventure. We've both left home and family to come to this tiny island, and try to do something that will make the world a little bit better.

It's neat to know that no matter what ambiguous, random, or strange cultural situation I find myself in, there are some things that persist. Like people everywhere loving good food. And decent people recognizing the fact that our world has a lot of problems, and being willing to work hard to fix it. It was a cool day.

In which Tim announces the big news...

2008-04-28T10:11:00.000-07:00

This will be a whirlwind entry due to lack of time. Today we received our project site assignments, so I know where I will be living the for the next two years. I will be in a very small community in the mountains above a town called Paraiso, in the South of the country. Do a google search for images, and I guarantee you will want to visit.

I have to run now, but expect a longer entry next week because I will be visiting my site for the remainder of the week.

In which Tim checks in...

2008-04-11T10:09:00.000-07:00

Yes, I live. I am reporting to you literally from the top of a mountain where I have discovered a wireless connection at training center for coffee growers. For you history buffs out there, this training center is located in a large country house that used to belong to the dictator Trujillo.

I am living with a family in the town that is quite different from the family I stayed with in the city. They make a living off of farming, so economically they are not quite as well off. There are ten kids in the family, most of whom have grown up and moved on. A few of the brothers still live at home, owing to the fact that they are deaf. So my Spanish is not getting much work, but I am becoming not-that-bad at sign language!

The biggest change in moving from country to city has been the interconnectedness of the community. Everyone knows EVERYONE here, and everyone always knows exactly what everyone else is up to. And I am sure you can imagine the kind of attention that a group of Americans moving into the middle of a small town is getting...we're pretty much rock stars.

There are about eight of us who live within a mile of each other, and it's a little unnerving but often hilarious to see how gossip travels. For example, my friend Claire who lives up the road from me is often told by her host mother what Tim had for breakfast and what time he got up that day. Last week Claire entered the kitchen and found her host mother laughing very hard at something. She asked what was funny, and was told "Tim got up early to do his homework, but the power is out so he has to use a flash light! HA HA HA HA HA!" Apparently it was very funny. I will let you draw your own conclusions.

On that note, a normal part of life here is that the lights go out often, with no warning. So I will stop writing here, and post the blog lest it be lost to a power outage.

Please keep sending the emails. I enjoy reading them, and I will probably be able to keep checking a couple times a week.

In which Tim signs off (temporarily)...

2008-03-20T04:50:00.000-07:00

The first stage of our training is complete. On Monday we leave the capital city, and move to the countryside for five weeks of community based technical training. The family I am living with does not have a telephone, and I doubt there will be readily available internet access. If possible, I will try to get to a city every few weeks to read email and possibly post on the blog.

I assure you that I will continue to collect stories, and probably have a deluge of posts as soon as I get regular internet back.

Please feel free to continue sending emails, or even snail mail (there's a possibility that will get to me faster than email). My address is:

Tim Brown, PCT
Cuerpo de Paz
APDO 1412
Santo Domingo,
Republica Dominicana

Send that mail, and cheer for Sparty in the tourny!!

In which Tim bathes...

2008-03-20T04:44:00.000-07:00

*WARNING: The following story contains nudity.*

Last week I traveled out to the countryside to visit a Peace Corps Volunteer who's been on the job for a few months already. The purpose of the trip was to learn first hand what a volunteers living situation is like, and how they spend their time. Getting to my assigned volunteer was an adventure in and of itself. It required a bus ride to another large city (pretty straightforward), followed by a two hour ride up a mountain spent hanging off the rear bumper of a pickup truck that was loaded down with people, sacks of rice, and live chickens (less straight forward, but mission accomplished). My first thought was that this experience was starting to feel a little bit more like what I expected from the peace corps.

Patrick, the volunteer I visited, lives virtually on top of a mountain. His house is built right next to a very steep slope that drops down about 500 ft. into a lush and picturesque valley. The view is westward, so you can only imagine how gorgeous the sunsets are. Definitely a cool place to live.

On my first night there, I was shown where I could bathe to get myself a little cleaned up from the road. The "shower" is a barrel of water out back with a bucket used to pour the water over oneself. There are no walls or curtains to conceal the process from the outside world. This isn't much of an issue since there aren't really that many passersby, and everyone in the house would know you were bathing so they would be courteous enough to not come and start a conversation. Or so I thought.

I very much enjoyed my first outdoor bathing experience. The cool water was very welcome after the heat of the dusty road. It was a little strange to be buck naked in the open air, but it didn't bother me that much. In fact, as I looked out at the sun setting over the tropical valley, heard the crickets chirp, and felt the cool breeze, I truly began to feel at one with nature. I felt like Adam at the beginning of time, surveying the purity of creation, unspoiled and unashamed.

The poetic gears were just beginning to spin in my head when it suddenly all came to a very awkward stop. I glanced over my shoulder and noticed that I was not alone. There was an elderly gentleman sitting about ten feet away from me, chowing down on his dinner of yucca and salami. We made eye contact, and he wished me a good evening before continuing with his food. It was as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I began to think that nudity might not represent the same taboo in this culture that it does back home. This conclusion was confirmed later in the evening when another member of the household on his way to bathe came walking through the area where myself and others were sitting, wearing nothing but his birthday suit.

So my moment of intimacy with nature may have been interrupted, but I learned a little bit more about what may or may not be taboo here. But I can assure you that this is not a social norm that I intend to conduct experimentation with. That is a promise.

In which Tim cooks...

2008-03-10T04:47:00.000-07:00

Within a few days of moving in, I made it clear to my host mother that I was very interested in learning how to cook Dominican food. At first she didn't really believe me (this is a very "macho" culture, with some pretty strict expectations for what men and women choose to take interest in), but after repeated expression of interest by me, she caved. I was told on Tuesday that on Sunday I would be taught to cook. What ensued was a day by day countdown during which more and more people became interested in what would happen on Sunday. Each day it was "three more days until you learn how to cook...", "only two more days...", "Timo, are you really going to learn how to cook tomorrow...?". Grandma Maria was so excited that for the last several days she has been confused about what day it is, thinking that tomorrow was the big day.

The day dawned, and I stepped up to the stove. We cooked a dish called "Lokria" which is really quite tasty. We employed a few techniques that I've not used before. The following is a step by step description of what we did. Feel free to try it out and let me know how it tastes...

1. We took a full chicken, cut it into it's various pieces (legs, thighs, wings, etc.) and cleaned it using freshly squeezed orange juice and a little bit of water.

2. With a mortor and pestle I crushed up a handful of rock salt, about two spoonfulls of oregano, and six full garlic cloves. It came out as a nice pungent smelling paste that we rubbed on the chicken along with some chicken bouillon. We put it in a pot, and added onion (quartered), a green pepper (uncut), and a splash of red wine. We let it sit for about fifteen minutes.

3. We got some oil heated up in a large pan, and put a lump of sugar in to cook (I was told that it would give color to the chicken). When the oil was bubbling nicely we added the chicken/veggie mix, stirred it around a bit, and covered it to cook.

4. When the chicken is almost finished, we added corn, peas, a can of tomato paste, and some full stalks of cilantro, and enough water to make it look like a soup or stew. We let it sit until it came to a boil and tasted it to see that the seasoning was right. At this point, we fished out the cilantro stalks and added a ton of rice.

5. The trick seems to be to make sure you have the exact right rice to water ratio, because when it had cooked up completely it no longer looked like a soup. It was a red colored rice based dish with chicken and veggies in it. Almost like a paella. Absolutely delicious and very easy to make.

It was a very satisfying and filling lunch. The best part was that the many neighbors who had heard about my foray into the culinary arts decided to swing by for a taste. The agreement seemed to be that I was a decent cook, and might just be able to survive when I move to the country side on my own in a few months.

In which Tim discovers that some of his skills translate better than others...

2008-03-10T04:46:00.000-07:00

Last week we had a session on "acculturation" in which we were taught first to play dominoes, and then to dance the Merengue. Apparently this is a critical element of training, as Dominicans spend much of their free time either playing dominoes or dancing. The dominoes lesson was uneventful and fun. Game play is pretty simple (you just match numbers), but the strategy gets pretty elaborate. The most skilled players will know instinctually who has which piece, and how they are going to play them. Apparently it can be a very intense game.

The dance lesson was much more amusing. Let me preface the following by stating that my ancestry has not equipped me with the necessary hardware or software to be an amazing dancer. Half of my ancestors were New England puritans who were not allowed to dance, and the other half were stalwart midwestern farmers who had no reason to dance...

Merengue is a fast and rhythmic style of dance that requires a lot of swing in the hips while the feet barely shuffle across the floor. When done well it is really a beautiful dance. Those who know me well understand that I do not often have trouble finding the words that I need to describe a situation. But I cannot for the life of me begin to describe what I looked like trying to get my butt to move more than my feet. Please let your imagination do the work. It was downright embarassing, especially when I discovered that a friend had decided to spend her time taking video of others rather than practicing the dance...(this video will NOT be made available for main-stream consumption)...

Of course, the embarassment was mildly relieved by the fact that most of my comrades looked just as ridiculous, if not more so, than myself. And fortunately the day did not end with humiliation. When I got home that evening I told my host mother that I had learned dominoes that day, and would very much like to play sometime. Later that night she took me over to the neigbors where I have noticed that they play very spirited games every night (lots of slamming pieces down on the table and yelling at each other). I was a little intimidated to have my skills tested so early on so competitive a crowd, but I sucked up my fear, sat down at the table, and picked up my pieces.

I won the first few hands, and they laughed it off as beginners luck. But then I won the game, and they decided to play a little harder. After winning the next two games in a row they acknowledged that I possessed no small amount of skill, and told me that I was welcome at their table any time.

So while my dance skills may leave something to be desired, at least I can hold my own at the dominoes table. All in all, not too bad for a day's worth of learning.

In which Tim rides a bus...

2008-03-10T04:43:00.000-07:00

Last Monday our training schedule informed me that the entire afternoon would be given over to learning how to navigate the local bus system. We were to spend an hour in a classroom learning about how things worked, and then be sent out (accompanied by staff) to practice our newly acquired knowledge. Naturally, I rolled my eyes. I mean, come on. How hard could it possibly be to catch a bus and ride it across town? Give me a map, show me which way is North, and I am good. Teach me something IMPORTANT that I haven't already done in plenty of other countries. As the dear reader can probably imagine, my pride was about to have the wind knocked out of it.

We walked out to the street to find a bus (here called "guaguas"). We did not go to a bus stop, because there is no such thing here. You more or less stand by the road looking for a bus that is going in the right direction, and has the markings that tell you what it's ultimate destination is. I have yet to see a poster or pamphlet that explains the bus routes or how they are organized. Everyone just sort of knows what bus goes where. The 10 B bus goes from Pantoja to Maximo Gomez Blvd and back again. Everyone just knows that. And there is no 9 A bus, or 11 C bus. The names are arbitrary.

This is the part of the story that involved my friends and I waiting by the side of the road without really knowing what the plan was. Apparently one chooses a spot along the route and waits for the bus to come along, at which point it is advisable to stick out ones thumb or wave exuberantly so that the bus actually stops. There is no schedule, so the wait could take a while. It's possible to wait half an hour without seeing a bus, and then have three come by within five minutes of each other. It is advisable, especially in the middle of the day, to pick a spot with a lot of shade.

When the bus came we found seats in the "cocina" (lit. translation = "kitchen"), or the very back row. The music was blasting, I was getting a nice lung-full of exhaust, and there were quite a few more people on that vehicle than would have been legal back home. But we were on the bus, and we were learning the route. It still seemed pretty basic, with the greatest ordeal being that of fitting my not-so-short legs into a not-so-large amount of space.

After about half an hour we made it to our destination in the heart of the city, got our bearings by looking at a map, and got ready to cross the street and pick up the same bus route going in the opposite direction to get home. At this point I stole a glance at the horizon, and couldn't help but notice a great, dark mass quickly blocking the sun and bearing down on us. I was momentarily nostalgic about the fact that I was about to experience my first rain storm in the country that is now my home for the next few years, but I quickly remembered a similar incident in Bangladesh, and my nostalgia melted away like ice cream on a hot summer day. The rain came fast, and it came hard. It was not as torrential as other down pours I have experienced, but I was pretty wet. My small group sprinted a few blocks to find shelter under a marquee in a spot where our teacher assured us we could catch a bus back to the training center. Great.

The buses started coming by, and my first response was "I guess we will have to wait, these buses are way too full". Little did I understand of what was to come. The rain was coming harder, and we wanted to get home. A bus came that appeared to have enough standing room for our group. We ran to get on, but it appeared that we were not the only pedestrians seeking shelter and transportation. There were legions of people evacuating the sidewalks for vehicles. We joined the squeeze to get on, and somehow I was the last one. I suddenly found myself hanging out the open door of a bus that was moving at no low speed through very tight traffic. Over the next few blocks I managed to pull myself further in, and got wedged between two of my female colleagues who had also found standing room. At this point I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking "well, we are on the bus, and there is absolutely no way they are going to put more people on this thing". Once again, little did I know. The people kept coming, and coming, AND COMING. I got shoved further in, to the middle of the aisle directly in front of the door. The only solid thing for me to hold on to was the door of the bus. I latched on like a limpit. The two girls on either side of me could not reach anything either, so I had one clawing on to my left arm to keep from falling over, and the other squeezing the life out of my right shoulder. And still they kept shoving people onto that bus. There was definitely a person riding in my armpit for a little while. I think I might have been sitting on someones shoulder. I lost track of the number of people that I was in close physical contact with. I wondered for a moment if I wouldn't be sucked into the vortex-like crowd and be permanently stuck on this Santo Domingo bus.

But eventually we came to our stop, and I was able to somehow pry myself from the midst of the forest of limbs with which I was entangled. It would be a lie to say that I wasn't frustrated, irritated, and just plain grumpy. I was ready to never ride a bus again. But after a tasty dinner and a good night's sleep I felt significantly better. And I got on a bus again the next day, and had a better experience. I've learned how the system works, what routes go where, and how to be more comfortable. I realize now that what I perceive as disorganization and chaos may really be a form of order with which I am not yet familiar. I see that comfort and convenience are culturally relative, and that it seldom pays off to come into a situation assuming that I am an expert before I know what's really involved. I have learned a little bit about humility. And I am sure that the next two years will have many more such lessons for me...

In which Tim tells you about his house...

2008-03-03T08:39:00.000-08:00

I live in a medium sized, single story orange house in the suburbs of the capital. The head of the house hold, or Dona, has two grown children who live in the USA. She is pretty much my Dominican mother, giving me more food than I could possibly eat, laughing when I put up my mosquito net wrong, and always checking on where I am going and when I will be back. Speaking Spanish has turned out to be a lot easier for me than I thought it would (it HAS been six years, after all), so communication has been really easy. I feel like this lady is the godmother of the neigborhood. She speaks with a commanding voice, immediately capturing all attention when she is in the room. She really rules the roost. The whole neigborhood knows her, and I am beginning to think that the whole neigborhood is related to her in one way or another. She never calls me by my name, but always by "mi amor" ("my love").

Also living here is Carlos, a cousin of the Dona's. From what I can tell, he owns a farm in the country side but likes to come into the city for extended visits. He and I have bonded over a mutual appreciation of the Boston Redsox. Maria is another person in the house. I am not sure if she's a friend, or a relative, but she has certainly been around for a while. I think she might be in her eighties or nineties. She is very small, and sort of reminds me of the pictures of Mother Teresa. She spends all day in the kitchen, cooking and cleaning, talking to her pet parrot, singing, and even dancing on occasion. Every time I enter the room she gives me a big hug and tells me she loves me. It's easy to feel welcome when I am being shown such affection all the time.

I live on a street that is usually sleepy and quiet. The silence is broken when a truck comes by that is completely loaded up with speakers blairing Salsa or Meringue music. It happened three times yesterday afternoon. I haven't figured out yet whether or not these trucks are trying to advertise something. Carlos told me that the music is so that people can stop whatever they are doing and dance in the streets. I am definitely not in Kansas anymore.

In which Tim goes to school...

2008-03-03T08:38:00.000-08:00

After our first night in the country, sleeping in a nunnery, we were packed into buses and vans for our first day at the Peace Corps training center on the outskirts of the city. This is where we'll be spending much of the next several weeks, practicing Spanish and learning the technical skills we'll need before we can be assigned volunteer projects. During the half hour trip I got my first real look at the country that will be my home for the next 27 months. There was much that one would expect to see in a developing country. Crowds of people, pollution, stray dogs, and traffic that makes the typical Illinois driver seem qualified to teach a driving class. Yet these things seemed like a foot note against all the beautiful and interesting things accosting my eyes and ears. There is tropical vegetation everywhere. All sorts of trees that I do not yet know the names of, and flowers too. The buildings are almost all painted in loud and exciting colors that shine brightly in the morning sun. And on every street corner there seems to be a little store with loud and exciting dance music playing. I felt like I had just begun to drink in the sights and sounds when our bus suddenly stopped in front of a gate with "Cuerpo de Paz" painted across it. We had arrived at our destination.

Now when you hear the words "training center" your mind probably conjures up an image similar to what mine did. That is, a picture of a building full of class rooms and offices with maps on the walls and notices on the bulletin boards. It's a place that serves it's purpose, but isn't particularly interesting in and of itself. And boy was I in for a surprise. As the gates opened we found our bus pulling into a green oasis in the middle of the city. The training center is almost completely out doors. It is a large, well kept garden with lots of fruit trees and flowers everywhere. Classes are held in small gazeboes that are scattered around the grounds. It is quiet, and the air is quite a bit cooler than on the outside of the gate. I can't imagine a more pleasant place (except for possibly cedar campus) to learn challenging concepts. I've found that when I am in close proximity to the natural world, it is much easier to calm down and take life as it comes. I think the same is true for a lot of other people as well. And for people who are getting used to a country and culture that are totally new to them, it's important to have a place of safety to calm the nerves and process what is going on. Collective tension had been building in our group for a little while. I think we were tired of hotels, airports, airplanes, and being treated not a little bit like cattle, herded from one place to the next. I felt the tension subside a little bit as we stepped off the bus into what felt like a Garden of Eden. I am glad we get to spend every day here for the next little while.

In which Tim describes his travels...

2008-03-03T08:34:00.000-08:00

The last few days have been a whirl wind of which I can safely say I have never experienced the equal. To give you a small taste of what it's been like, the following is a blow by blow, day by day account.

Sunday, 2/24 - Departure
Tim frantically shoves some last minute items into his bag, and boards a plane for Washington DC. He spends the night with a dear friend from MSU days.

Monday, 2/25 - Site Seeing
He arises early to meet up with Cousin Mike. They spend the morning reconnecting, and then head into downtown DC to meet up with Stephanie (married to Cousin Mike), and have lunch at a curious restaurant/bar/bookstore fusion joint that turned out to be quite charming. The three then spend some time walking around DC, and Tim enjoys the fifty degree weather so much that he spends four hours on his own walking to monuments and being completative before meeting another friend for dinner in China town. Tim heads back to Cousin Mike's place for his final night spent with family for quite some time.

Tuesday, 2/26 - The Adventure Begins...sort of.
Tim gets up early yet again, and hauls his entire 90 lb collection of luggage onto the DC subway at rush hour for a half hour ride followed by a half mile walk to his hotel. He is very tired when he gets there, but must keep moving, for he has an early appointment at the WHITE HOUSE. Unable to gain access to the President, Tim contents himself with touring the public parts of the mansion, thus fulfilling his long standing desire to step inside that remarkable meeting. Tim then proceeds to the Congressional Office Building for a meeting and photo shoot with his Congresswoman (Tammy Baldwin, Wisconsin 2nd). He is impressed by how down to earth she seems in person. And the day is far from over. Tim meets with one last friend for lunch before reporting back to his hotel to officially take up his title as a Peace Corps Trainee.

Before reporting to sign in, Tim is quite nervous. This truly feels like the point of no return. As soon as he ventures into that room, he will be starting down a long and challenging path, the full consequences of which he cannot foresee. He does not know what kind of people will be there with him. He is completely convinced that he will be the worst spanish speaker, and by far the least qualified "environmental development professional" in the group. But he says a quick prayer, and steps through the door despite the fear and doubt.

And he was glad he did. He started chatting (as he is often prone to) with those around him. He was surprised (!) to discover that many of his companions shared fears similar to his own. He immediately felt much better. After scaling a mountain of paperwork, Tiim sat down in a large circle to begin preparation for the experience with his 36 new friends. And what a diverse group. They hail from literally every corner of the country, and a wide range of academic disciplines. It is a remarkably quirky and fun blend of people. Many were already seasoned travelers, while some were looking forward to their first extended trip outside of the United States. The atmosphere of shared anxieties and aspirations, combined with the help of a brilliant team of trainers/facilitators led to the team bonding very quickly.

2/27 - ALMOST THERE
The team spends all day in training meetings, continuing to get acquainted, and eagerly counting down the hours until the plane lifts off for warmer climates, hopefully with all of them aboard. Last minute arrangements are made, bags are packed, and many on the team decide to go out for a pricey "final meal in America" kindly financed by you lovely tax payers. Then it's to bed early, if any of them are able to sleep amidst all this excitement.

2/28 - Wheels up!
Alarms go off at THREE OCLOCK in the morning to summon the team to the lobby of the hotel to check out and be counted. Tim was foolish enough to volunteer himself as a "group leader" on the previous day. This made him responsible for making sure that eight other members of the group made it to the end of the trip without geting lost, mugged, arrested, etc. He had to count their heads at the hotel, on the bus, in the check in line at the airport, at the gate, at the lay over in Miami, and then as they finally got off the plane in SANTO DOMINGO. He is proud to report that all arrived safely.

Tim stepped off the plane into a bright sauna of a country that made Wisconsin winters seem like a far distant memory. The sun was shining, and one felt like the air could be cut with a knife. Tim felt weary under the weight of the fleece vest that he had been wearing without thought for the last several thousand miles. He shed the vest, donned his sun glasses, and smiled. He was finally in the Caribbean. At the gate, Tim and his friends were met by the jolly and amiable director of PCDR (Peace Corps Dominican Republic, get used to acronyms...) who helped them negotiate their way through immigration and customs. Through the doors, an enthusiastic throng of current volunteers were jumping up and down cheering, holding colorful signs. The group proceeded into the parking lot, feeling an awful lot like a group of high schoolers who were supposed to go on a field trip to Washington DC but must have stepped onto the wrong plane. "Deer in the headlights syndrome", if you will. It was almost hard for them to believe that they were expected, and were being welcomed with such enthusiasm. After being separated from their luggage (it was being delivered to host families), the group was herded like cattle onto some waiting buses that wisked them past the ocean, through the city, and straight to a nunnery. That is not a joke. They were taken to a nunnery for their first night in country.

They were greeted with cool water, fresh fruit, and strong coffee. And there was little time to rest. They were immediately given a presentation on the manifold diseases waiting around every corner to kill their idealism, issued mosqutoe nets, malaria pills, and bug spray, and given a rabies vaccination. Next came a delicious dinner of roasted chicken, potatoes and vegetables, and the group of ecstatic and exhausted brand new friends who now felt like they had known each other for years were finally given an evening to relax.

----

And that brings us up to the present time. I am lying under my brand new green "mosquitero" wondering at the joy of this situation. At the risk of sounding cliche, I will say that it truly feels amazing to be here even though I've yet to do anything. Tomorrow is a very big day, as I will be moving in with my host family and taking a test to see just how good or bad my Spanish is. I will blog as time presents itself.

In which Tim prepares for departure.

2008-02-23T20:31:00.000-08:00

All my bags are packed, and I'm ready to go. Here is the photographic evidence:

The process of packing my entire life into two checked bags (combined weight of no more than eighty pounds, and combined dimensions of no more than 107 inches) and one carry on has been interesting and a little difficult. At the end one has to make tough decisions about what to leave in, and what gets cut. I mean, how am I supposed to know if I will be better served by taking an extra shirt instead of that favorite book? The answer is that I can't really know. Packing for an experience like this will always be guess work.

For your edification, here is my approximate inventory:
-blue jeans (2 pair)
-khakis (4 pair)
-shorts (2 pair)
-t shirts (6)
-polo shirts (3)
-button downs (3)
-white socks (5 pair)
-black socks (3 pair)
-brown socks (5 pair)
-boxers (10 pair)
-swimming trunks
-belts (2)
-baseball cap (redsox)
-neck ties (2)
-hiking boots
-tevas
-running shoes
-dress shoes

-shampoo
-body wash
-shaving cream
-razor
-hair gel
-deodorant
-nail clippers

-laptop computer
-iPod classic
-digital camera
-digital alarm clock
-full size multi-tool
-miniature multi-tool
-miniature mag light
-measuring cup/spoon set
-kitchen knife
-kitchen scissors
-tupperware set (4 piece)

-Journals (2)
-Pens
-Letter paper
-Envelopes
-Monkey made of socks, for companionship (courtesy of little sister)

-Lord of the Rings, by JRR Tolkien (3 volumes)
-Pillsbury cook book
-The Far Pavilions, by M.M. Kaye
-The Cross of Christ, by John Stott
-The Federalist Papers
-A Documentary History of the United States
-Walden, by Henry David Thoreau
-Collected Essays, by Ralph Waldo Emerson
-It was on fire when I lay down on it, by Robert Fulghum
-Banker to the Poor, by Mohammed Yunus
-The Complete Adventures of Curious George
-Bibles (English and Spanish)

Tomorrow I will get up, go to church, get on a plane, and eat dinner in our Nation's capital. I will spend Monday bumming around DC, and then report for staging on Tuesday. Thursday morning it will be wheels up for Caribbean. Check for updates!