In which the library moves forward...

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 relief...Day 5

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)

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

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

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 2

(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 the library...

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

Please help us out by donating some money.

Even a dollar or two would help.

Information here.

Thanks for reading!

Regarding local politics...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In which Tim goes to work...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Regarding just another afternoon...

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



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



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



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

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

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

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

In which Tim begins to clean...

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

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

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

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

Regarding the work done by his friends...

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

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

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

In which Tim goes to the bathroom...

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

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

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

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

Regarding celebrity...

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

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

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

In which Tim comments on Swine Flu...

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

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

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

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

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

In which Tim visits a school...

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

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

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

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

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

In which Tim goes to a meeting...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 chases a horse through the jungle...

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

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

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

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

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

In which Tim takes a little trip...

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

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

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

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

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

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