In Search of Some Kind of Routine

It is amazing how much happens in a week around here, let alone two. I put off writing because I can’t possibly write an adequate account of everything, and then everything becomes more things and before I know it I’m writing a novel. Thank god for pictures though, 1,000 words for one picture sounds about right.

Lesa had family visit two weekends ago (June 9), we went to Negril to go to the beach. It was overcast and we got there later in the day, but I had a few beers and swam in the ocean, bonded with my host family and had my first experience of being a white non-tourist in a tourist area- it’s a unique and puzzling experience I can assure you.




The next few days involved meetings and work days to prepare for the big event on Thursday, the contract signing between JSIF (jamaica social investment fund), REDI (Rural Economic Development Initiative) and Community Tourism partners to start tourism training in rural communities across the Island. On Wednesday, Barbara and I went to a farm so that I could see it, meet the farmer and so that we could get some produce for the event. The farm is cared for by a rasta called Fiero and it took us almost 3 hours to get there. We were dropped off at Cottage, a district (road) off the main road. I’d taken a taxi up this district before and it is essentially a road lazily curving up a mountain side. At one point the road no longer even pretends to be paved and a normal 4 door can’t go any further. I thought, we must be almost there, and an hour and a half later was still wrong. At some point Cottage becomes Left Hall (pronounced ‘lef-all’), and the houses are so remote, I begin to understand the true economic situation of Beeston Spring. The view, however, is amazing. From the bush around Left Hall, one can see the Sandals Resort, east to Whitehouse (6 miles away), and then west almost to Sav-la-Mar. The ocean meets the horizon and the shoreline seems immaculate, shades of blue indicating kelp forests, shallow and deep areas and foamy waves. This view, from a field on top of a mountain with a cow in the immediate vicinity is surreal and overwhelmingly beautiful. I let the breeze cool my neck, closing my eyes and smiling. I told Barbara that if she ever lost me, I’d probably be here, in my hammock.

(co-co, a root plant, not the chocolate)

Fiero has shelters at his farm to house his harvest and himself when it rains- this barrel catches rain water so he has it during the day/ for his plants. His wife comes up with him and makes him lunch over an open flame, and also helps him farm, they as well as their daughter are rasta, though their daughter lives much closer to the main road. The only way for Fiero to carry his harvest to market is by donkey, or by foot.

A beautiful example of intercropping- yam, scallion, thyme, lemongrass, peas and more.
Yam grows a spiky vine, the tuber grows huge and tough, even after it’s boiled it is starchy and denser than a potato.

Red peas growing under mango trees

Gungu peas grow on a tree

Looking inland

View from the top of Fiero’s farm, looking outland

Cho-cho is a vine, but the fruit grows from it instead of underground. Relatively tasteless but has a pleasant texture- nice in soups.

The next day was the event. Having been up late the night before in preparation, the CDC members truly rallied to decorate and organize all morning, not leaving to change until the ceremony was set to begin (but of course Jamaica time delayed it). I was truly impressed by the decorations, even though I was helping to make them. After we came back from bathing, I decided to attend the ceremony instead of stay outside waiting for the guests to come out. I entered late of course, and an usher sat me in the front seat- I had to pass all of the officials, guests and the football team on my way there. oy. My friend Poochie was a community representative, and was sitting in the choir chairs facing the audience (the event was held in the church)- we shared a lot of silent looks and giggles throughout the ceremony. Of course the minute the ceremony ended the rain began. It was on and off for the rest of the afternoon, but the tents were set up so that the event was not hindered at all. I enthusiastically wandered around the reception, meeting officials and schmoosing with the locals- kicking ass and taking names almost literally. It was quite enjoyable and I think I made an impression on a lot of people.

I didn’t have the camera for all of this, Shamere took over for me.

Anyway, the next day proved to be NOT a day of rest for me, as I ran around sending emails and grocery shopping. I’ve since discovered that Beeston Spring requested TWO volunteers, so now the tug-o-war over my time at least makes sense. I’m trying very hard to be effective without exhausting myself, it is a precarious balancing act that doesn’t always equal out- some days I focus so hard on the balance that I don’t get home for dinner until after 9pm. I want to farm, and help the CDC (which is the most time consuming at the moment), I want to walk around town and socialize with people during their free time and I want a project to call my own. So far I’ve done all of that this week, I balanced some invoices, wrote some letters on behalf of the CDC, held an after school study session for the primary schoolers and weeded in the demonstration plot. It feels particularly good to be in the garden again, and I can’t help but miss Sprout Creek Farm as my now soft fingers get butchered by rough weeds and thorns. I can’t wait for them to toughen up and for my back to be strong enough to handle the hours bent over. I’m about to revisit some yoga on the beach this weekend. For someone who doesn’t much love the beach, I’ve been escaping to it every weekend for some relative solitude and relaxation with the local PCV’s.

Anyway, I love and miss you all- I think of home a lot and wonder what I’d be doing if I were home: drinking an iced chai? hiking and camping with the pup? still dairy farming and teaching? having a whiskey at Billy Bob’s? drive in movies? ahhhh summer in the Valley. enjoy it for me my loves, and until next time, walk good <3

Work Days and Wisdom Teeth

Frequent and passionate meetings have been the motif of the past week, a necessity to prepare for Thursday’s big event. Stakeholders involved in the event are proving marginally more helpful than a hole in the head and this whole thing is teaching me what questions to ask preemptively, BEFORE responsibility is agreed upon. Questions such as, do you have the funding lined up for this event? Who else could host it and do THEY have funding? Can the rest of the community attend, etc.

Sigh, I’m going to stay away from getting too political, my blood boils sometimes, the stakeholders involved in this rural and limited community are difficult to reign in but I hope to be able to do so. As it is, the planning and preparation of this event have put pretty much everything else for me on hold until it is over.

This past week, daytimes have been dubbed ‘Work Days’. Beeston Spring does not have a maintenance team or garbage pickup, and well meaning citizens have attempted a recycling program that has turned into ‘storing’ plastic bottles in an abandoned historic building adjacent to the event space. Generally the same crew comes out to volunteer their time to weed whack along each side of the road, sift through the rubbish for garbage which is then separated into garbage or recyclables (only plastic bottles are recycled here, no glass or tin/metal). The rubbish is raked into piles and either burned or thrown beyond the road as mulch. Any time an event is held in Jamaica, particularly a service event, food MUST be prepared- and not just sandwiches and water. Jamaicans believe that the only filling food is something hot and wet (with gravy etc.) so the curried chicken with rice and peas and some sort of sweet cool-aide-ish drink is served and eaten in the shade of trees or a veranda.

I awoke on Monday with the familiar feeling of my single wisdom tooth poking out of its secure cocoon in my mouth. By Wednesday the pain was pretty intense, worse than it ever had been, and my jaw was beginning to swell. Fearing a trip to Kingston if I told the nurses, I self medicated with motrin and ice, also buying a topical oragel. Wednesday night, having been fighting a toothache turned headache and sore throat all day, I found myself sitting at the kitchen table doing yet more community related paperwork with community members. My crying host sister, the TV in the background and the chatter of three different conversations overwhelmed my already fried brain and I excused myself to cry in my room- the first time since leaving that I felt compelled to do so… I don’t blame myself in the slightest. I was banned from leaving the house on Thursday to work since Barbara was convinced the heat was making the pain worse, to which I grudgingly complied. I resumed working yesterday and my regimen of self medication made the pain manageable. Today I think things are cooling down, I only woke once in the night and have not yet taken motrin- but have not felt the absolute need to do so. Works for me though, I could use the detox. We’re going to Negril later today to go to the beach, Lesa’s cousin is visiting with his family from Pennsylvania. I’ve never been to Negril so I’m taking the opportunity to join along.

During the work day on Wednesday I let one of the pickney use my camera (under very strict guidelines, she’d been working with us all day so I thought she deserved a treat). I didn’t teach her how to zoom, but the photo’s she took were actually very good… and mostly of me. I bet you guys miss my face too (hehe) and I can’t get enough Internet time to post photos to Facebook SO, here ya go

Looking out from the CDC container- behind the roofless wall is tons of garbage, behind that is the bottle collection room

CDC Container

Cleaning behind the abandoned building

Alligator vs Crocodile

If Alligator Come From Ribba Bottem An Say ‘Stone Hot’…Believe Him!
This is a Jamaican proverb that insinuates ‘Trust Local Knowledge’- the alligator knows the temperature of the river bed better than you, sitting upon dry land.
While this was a bit of a mantra for us during training, I sometimes find it difficult to follow now, especially where the many Jamaican superstitions are concerned. If the lizard falls from the wall onto my shoulder, I’m pretty sure I won’t get pregnant- but try getting a Jamaican woman to stand near it.
Anyway my point here is that last week I frequently asked people living in Robins River (where I live, below Beeston Spring) if they ever walk to Beeston Spring, how long it took etc. Most responses were negative- don’t walk, the hill is impossible, it will take forever, it’s too hot…ra ra ra (‘blah blah blah’). Past volunteers strongly recommended walking everywhere as an integration tool. So on Monday I ignored the alligator and took the advice of the crocodile. I persuaded Shamere to accompany me, since we needed to do work at the container together anyway, and he was the only person willing to relinquish the taxi who also lives in Robins River. The first part of the walk is ‘lonely’, the houses are far apart and the bush is thick on either side of the road- the entire walk is uphill. As we walked and chatted, I greeted anyone who walked by. At the post office I stopped and introduced myself to the 5 older folks milling about at the entrance- one man lives in Brooklyn and is visiting family, the others happily introduced themselves and asked questions freely. Shamere came out of the connected shop with some cold waters and we continued our walk.
Between the people I recognized and he knew, it took us about 45 minutes to get to the container- alligator says Jamaicans stop and chat, no matter how late, or shy, you may be. People respect this, and admire the foreigner taking the hard route and opening up to strangers. One man even called me a ‘yardie’ today, he pointedly stated: NOT a tourist.
I spent Monday at the container sorting through funding records, trying to set myself straight on project plans and actual actions etc. By the time I was getting hungry (around 4:30pm) the football team began filtering in for practice and others followed to mill about on the container’s porch, watch and chat. Friendly with most of these people, I stayed to chat and watch the footballers practice. Monday was a fulfilling day
Tuesday I went to Whitehouse with Lesa early in the morning to use the internet and negotiated my own way back via Ralston’s taxi. I was so glad to recognize and know the farmer turned taxi man in the square, my people take good care of me. Later, I loitered about on Barbara’s veranda with her aunt, sister and nephew. We talked about community related issues, organizational solutions, culture, language… pretty much everything. I helped Barbara with a few goats and we picked a soursop, which I ate during my visit today. I took a taxi to the basic school to ask the principal if I could use the space for after school homework help with the primary schoolers- she wasn’t there so I decided to walk back down to Robins River. As school had just let out, I accompanied a grandmother who had picked up her grandson and 2 other pickney as they walked home. She stopped abruptly before we reached the road and began picking seed bunches from an eyenut plant (sp?)- the seeds of which make castor oil. I picked her brain about the process and purpose as we continued down the road. I traded her company for Carlton’s as she turned off the road with the kids just before Joe’s carpentry building. From there I ran into Shorty, another active community member, loading up a car with football equipment and surrounded by the footballers, who all politely ‘pree’ me whenever I see them (pree: to stand aside and watch in order to make judgments; to check-out) I humor them because they will be clutch with community organizing, and they’ve already expressed interest in my safety.
Tuesday night was a community meeting that was centered around planning an event on June 14th. Somehow I ended up mediating the meeting, delegating jobs and because of this, wound up as the ‘event planner’. While I know I can handle it, I don’t believe I’ll continue putting myself in that position for the next few months- Just today I’ve truly begun to appreciate that small town drama exists outside of the states, and I need to learn more before jumping in. Not to say that I was a part of drama, but I’ve been sitting and chatting a lot, and I think I need to do more of that with more people because WHEW is there a lot to catch up on. My abilities of perception only go so deep… sometimes what a Peace Corps Volunteer really needs to better understand his/her community is GOSSIP
Anyway, the point of this post is to say- while the alligator is almost always right (the walk IS long and sweaty), sometimes the crocodile’s advice is better.

In Sickness and In Health

Labor day was a day of ‘house arrest’ for me as Barbara thought it best I stay indoors due to the ooman rain (on and off all day). My cough got a chance to completely recover by the evening when I accompanied the family to a party up the road in front of the CDC container (office).
I don’t believe I’ve written about Jamaicans and their parties but here’s the thing, Jamaicans LOVE to party. I mean as a culture of course, I don’t want to generalize but MAN can they party.
Here’s the general picture: People of all ages (literally, grandpa right down to grandson) gather in a yard, town square or any clear area. If the party has a reason (birthday, anniversary, etc) there will be a fire going with a huge pot to cook things like curry chicken or goat, rice and peas (beans), mannish water (soup containing all parts of a male goat)- perhaps breadfruit will be roasted in the open flame as well. For a party involving a purpose, rum is provided- the white, overproof kind, often mixed with Pepsi or ‘Ting’, a very sweet grapefruitish tasting soda. Sometimes parties are sponsored, like the labor day party I attended- so someone hires people to tend a bar, built especially for the occasion, and drinks are not free, same with food. Parties ALWAYS however, have a sound system blasting several genres of music depending on the time of night (usually moves from the old ska genre to reggae to dancehall around 11 or 12pm). The sound system is a Jamaican cultural tradition started around the time of liberation, communities or shops would build their own speakers and speakerboxes- every sound system has its own reputation etc. It is common to see the sound system speakers stored in street shops until it is time to set them up. I had the misfortune of living directly next to one such shop in Woodford, as a result on Friday nights my bedroom windows would shake with the bass until 4am.
Slight digression but also important to realize, since mingling at these parties can be tricky for a peace corps woman, while also rewarding. There comes a time in the night when being out just isn’t smart for a newbie with few friends. Around 12 or 1 the men are drunk and the women around you bending and winding make it easy for them to forget about your boundaries. I learned this one night in Woodford, the last week at site. Wednesday night was easy for me since my host family was with there with their two year old- it was however important to be seen with them, out in the community- and they introduced me to a few people too.
The next morning I woke up with a nasty stomach bug and couldn’t leave the house all day. I felt frustrated and miserable laying in my bed, hot and weak, knowing that my fellow PCV’s were making more connections this week than I was. That evening, having stabilized, Barbara came by with her sisters and a farmer named Ian to see how I was feeling. We lazily chatted and watched TV with the family, I lay comfortably on the floor, glad and flattered by the concern of my new friends. By Friday I had recovered but was still weak from not eating. I went to Savanna-La-Mar with Lesa to pick up some groceries, although the outing lasted much longer than I had anticipated, so 4 hours later we were on our way home. With a headache I showered, gladly letting the cold water soothe my hot body, changed and went back out for a small meeting at the CDC container to touch on upcoming and ongoing projects. It was my first meeting with an agenda in Beeston Spring and while I gave input on a few things, I was happy to just sit and listen…ie, try my hardest to follow fast chatting in patwa.
Saturday I woke up feeling good as new. I knew that the family and Barbara were preparing for a ‘Welcome to Beeston Spring’ party for me later in the evening, but they had made it clear they didn’t want me to know about it. I called home and had a wonderful chat with Olivia… you know, my baby sister who is growing up faster than I care to admit and far from a baby these days… and who I love super muchly. After that chat I helped Barbara make a huge pot of curry chicken outside in the yard… and then helped her pull a baby goat out of its mother. My host dad lives in the same yard as his father, who has a herd of about 6 Boer goats (meat goats).


I think I’m the only new PCV who had a welcome party thrown for me   There was curried chicken, rice, roasted breadfruit and even a cake! We gathered at the CDC container and the night started with a prayer (as always) and speeches from the people involved in my stay- Astille, Carlton, Ozzy, Barbara, Lesa, Michael, Ian and finally, me. Everyone had said words of welcome, they want me to feel safe and happy, some attempted to explain the Peace Corps and my role to the guests, some encouraged others to come and talk to me (a few plugged: ‘she’s outgoing and easy to talk to so don’t be afraid to!’). When my turn came I introduced myself, explained Peace Corps as an agency, my role in Beeston Spring and my background in agriculture/environment and finally told them that I just want to work for them and be one of them, so chat slow for me and let me know if I ever do something completely taboo (cue smile and laughter from others)- I hope we can all become friends and vibe together because that is all I really want. After this we shared dinner, the men began playing dominoes, the kids played monopoly and car blasted music from rooftop speakers. The boys on the football team respectfully chatted with me, I had a nice conversation with Ian about love, perched on the edge of Ozzy’s immense truck, and drank some rum with the domino players (Michael being one of them). The whole evening had me so thankful, and made me realize that my health is more important than trying to impress my community in the first week, as time is something I will have a lot of.
Today (I know, I know I’m still babbling), I went to Braes River in St. Elizabeth, an area that has the only agricultural high school in Jamaica. I was told we were going to an organic ag expo, but it turned out to be an opening celebration for park-like square-like gathering space, with some beautiful new produce stands, each named and decorated for a Jamaican plant. I attended the event with Barbara and four other members of the Bluefields Organic Farmers Group, as well as Kevin and Linnae (the PCVs for Bluefields farmers and fishermen). Bluefields has set itself apart with its agroprocessing interest- they have made (grown, cooked etc) and preserved sorrel jam and liquor, june plum jam and Jamaican Apple jam. Today they set up a table and sold a good amount of product. As with most Jamaican celebrations, there was music played and performed and other forms of entertainment. The heat was exhausting however we met a few nice people and found a shady place to watch and chat when the festivities began to feel long.

The Bluefields Crew

Upton eating a jackfruit (I’m so sorry they don’t grow in the states- it’s delicious)

On the way TO St. Elizabeth however, I partook in an act of Praedial Larsony (thiefing another persons ag). As we drove down the road, a farmer called Duppy started chatting about mangos up ahead and Upton, another farmer and the marketing leader for the group, fervently agreed (the vague description of the conversation is because of the rapid nature of the chatting…I didn’t catch it all). The van pulled over and they darted out from the sliding door. Brian (president of the group) asked if I was gonna follow. “To tief some mangoes? Heck yes!” I exclaimed and jumped from my seat after the other two. Brian calmly followed in his rasta manner as I ran through a cow pasture to the mango tree Upton was shaking from atop its limbs. We gathered the fallen fruits and moved to the next tree, completely overfilling our scandal bag (black plastic shopping bag) with juicy, sweet and apparently rare Gryan mangoes. As we walked back to the van nyamming our prize Brian reminded me that, “we work together, but we play together just as often”. I think I’ll be making friends here just fine

Official Volunteer!…Now What?

The internet is a scarcity in Beeston Spring, so I have not been compelled to blog. I’m writing this not knowing when I’ll actually have the internet to post it, but I’m hoping I’ll be able to get to the internet café in Whitehouse this weekend.
Last week feels like ages ago. We reconvened in Kingston for our last week of training before heading back to site. While many of us were not excited to leave each other, I felt as though I’d been pulled away from a great book mid sentence in an action scene. I wanted to return to my community and get started, I wanted to ‘do me’ instead of sitting in lectures about safety and budgeting. As frightened and uncertain as I was for my future, it was difficult being back in the city when I had barely touched down on my new home.
I’ll admit it was a blast to cook in our hotel room, swim in the pool, drink rum and spend quality time with my friends before I departed, but, true to the nature of an introvert, our often rambunctious crew became overwhelming to me quickly.
The day we were sworn in was my 23rd birthday. We convened, along with our project supervisors, at the US Ambassadors home under a big tent for the ceremony, which was much shorter and less painful than the welcoming ceremony that took place 10 weeks prior. Being that we had to leave for site after the ceremony, and Westmoreland is at the other end of the island, we left shortly after the ceremony. Three of us volunteers live and work near each other, so we piled our bags into Wolde’s van (Linnae’s supervisor) and hit the road, three of us and three supervisors, listening to Wolde’s reggae selection and nodding off to sleep.

The Ambassador Giving a Speech at Swearing In- She was denied from the Peace Corps when she applied back in the day!

The Governor General of Jamaica making his speech

Our representatives from each group giving their speeches (Kevin, Riley and Jedd- environment, education and youth as promise from L to R)

We arrived back in the early evening, in time for dinner. The family greeted me warmly and I was glad to be back. Saturday morning I woke to Lesa cleaning the house in preparation for two guests to arrive, courtesy of Countryside Community Tourism- a business headed by a strong willed woman named Diana Pike. The guests were potential investors in Ms. Pike’s business, and I tagged along as they toured Beeston Spring, introducing myself to people along the road and listening to things I hadn’t heard yet. I got to watch the Mento Band play and danced like a tourist for a bit. By the time we returned home, I had gotten a whole new viewpoint of where I live, and who/what kinds of personalities I might be contending with. A big family style dinner was followed by a rowdy game of dominoes on the back veranda.

Dancing with Astille and a little boy in the band. (photo courtesy of Countrystyle Community Tourism)

Sunday was nice and lazy for most of the day- feeling a cold coming on I gladly lay about the house, drinking tea and watching tv. Later in the evening, Barbara and I went to Bluefields Bay to join the fishermen and farmers in wishing Patrick, the former PCV for the area, farewell. The turnout and appreciation at the party speaks measures to Patrick’s accomplishments and his role in the community. It was heartwarming to witness.
The past few days I have spent mostly observing. I leave in the morning and, with the guiding care of my friend Shamere or Barbara, I get a ride up to the container where the Beeston Spring Development Committee has its office. I read development plans, environmental statements, history pamphlets etc, while my fellows have been organizing photos into a slideshow for the Best Community competition, which was judged today for 2011.
Tomorrow (Wednesday, 5/23) is labor day here- a day marked by community service and a day off from school. As I came home early due to the worsening of this damn cold, I hope to be well enough to participate tomorrow. Dear tight chest, dry cough and stuffy nose- GO AWAY I HAVE PEOPLE TO IMPRESS.
<3 love always from abroad

A Little More Info

Happy Mother’s Day to my dear beautiful mother, my grandma and all of my aunts- you have raised some amazing and loving sons and daughters and I’m so proud to have you as role models!!

So I apologize for the slight vague nature of the last post- these days can weigh on a person sometimes. I will make up for it with the proclamation that my site is FANTASTIC and I see many positive and productive projects occurring during my time here.

My community is small, just a couple thousand people, and it is nestled in the mountains not far from Bluefields Bay, the 2nd largest fish sanctuary in Jamaica. There is a couple from the Green Initiative serving in Bluefields, a health volunteer in the nearest town and three volunteers in Sav-la-Mar, the city about 30 minutes up the coast.

Beeston Spring actually HAS a freshwater spring. The town uses rainwater catchment as their primary source of water and the spring, I think, as backup. It is unclear to me how many residents rely on the spring primarily for water, and I have yet to visit it, though I’ve passed it. It is my understanding that there is an actual structure piping water into shower areas etc.

My supervisor and my host family live at the base of Beeston Spring, so I will have to take a taxi to work, otherwise walk a good distance. I’ll be applying for a bicycle. Even further down the hill is a honey bee farmer who has begun an organization around his product (of which my host mother is a member). Beeston Spring also is the home of a 100 year old church and a Mento Band (traditional drumming). All of these things, coupled with the philanthropic Sandals Resort that I can see from my house, offers the perfect opportunity for Beeston Spring to become a day trip site for tourists, something they have already been doing with smaller hotels in the area. However, with their stake in things, Sandals is granting the Community Development Commission money to build greenhouses and a demonstration plot to further community development (and of course make the community more appealing to tourists- but hey, if it gets my people what they need…). I’m psyched about this because it’ll offer the Organic Farmers Group an opportunity to host farmers field schools and demonstrate organic farming not only to tourists but to farmers as well. As we all know, organic is in high market demand, so this will allow farmers to sell their products at a higher price to tourists.

View from the house

My host dad and sister

My host family’s home

Future site for the demonstration plot

Honey Bee Farm

I am so excited to work with this community. They are a dedicated group with tons of ideas and a lot of potential. Check out this news article featuring Beeston Spring- it quotes my host mom (Lesa Brown)! Also, take the writing with a grain of salt- Sandals is involved in the company that owns the Jamaica Observer so they obviously want to make each other look good:

http://www.jamaicaobserver.com/business/Community-tourism-takes-off_11428473

Drumroll Please…

This post spans not only time, but space.

About an entire island’s worth of space actually…

Yes, my friends, I have arrived at my final destination. I realize I haven’t blogged about the entire week in between but it mostly involved a farmer field school, chatting patwa ‘nuff’ (a lot) and rehearsing our skit for the cultural Olympics.

So, we arrived in Kingston on Sunday after a sad goodbye to Woodford (on Xavier’s birthday too, wah). The rain started as we left, good luck according to our farmer friend Merv…

Oh I’m sorry, did you want to know where I am? Well to be honest my mind is in like 16,000 different places right now. Like the fact that I said I’d have internet and I don’t so I’m hoping my family doesn’t freak out that I haven’t contacted them. And that I haven’t written in so long that I’ll be leaving out ‘nuff tings’. Also, I’ve barely been here more than 5 hours and I’m so very sleepy.

OKokok. I am the new Peace Corps Volunteer (as of May 18th) for the Beeston Springs Organic Farmers Group located in the parish of Westmoreland, within sight of Bluefield Bay. I live with a lawyer and his wife who both seem to love to entertain, the house is surrounded by fruiting trees and bushes and plants of all sorts waiting to be eaten (everything from mulberry to thyme, soursop, breadfruit, banana, cherries, naesberry…) The couple also has a likkle pickney girl of about 2 years old who has the biggest eyes and the most adventurous of personalities.

I want to describe the process of yesterday, learning about my place, winning the cultural Olympics by repeating the mantra ‘it doesn’t matter if we loose’ and meaning it. I want to describe in great detail today, meeting our supervisors, packing up our things, the 3 1/2 hour drive to Westmoreland. But I’m exhausted, and I don’t imagine I’ll have much time in the next few days to blog more than how the day went. So for now, I will accept that there are things that just don’t need to be detailed- moments that can be saved for letters, or stories for a phone call.

I must rest up, for tomorrow, I meet my community