Cool Breezes

Hurricane Sandy blew over Jamaica last week Wednesday canceling school across the country and battering banana fields. The eastern parishes got it much worse than the western parishes which, if you haven’t checked a map yet, is where I am. So we counted our blessings and fallen branches, waited patiently for the electricity to come back and watched TYJ broadcast the damage seen by the  eastern parishes. It’s hard to fathom the damage a category 5 could inflict on this small country if the damage from a category 1 is this significant.

Jamaicans see their homes as investments, which is why they are often very unfinished. It is common to see a family living in a downstairs while the upstairs is still being built. It is common to see rebar coming out of rooftops and it is common for additions to take years, if not lifetimes. Most homes are built out of cement blocks stacked over rebar and set in concrete, but the process is time consuming and expensive, so families save when they can and build when it’s possible. Some people build cement additions onto their wood cabins, others build their houses so slowly, plants and goats take up residence. If a house goes up quickly, I’ve been warned, that person is a scammer or ganja man- especially if it belongs to a young man. If a family struggles financially, the chances of living in a sturdy cement home are slim, and for those families, especially in the eastern parishes, the chance of their house being damaged or lost in a storm is highly likely. It’s a pretty typical commentary on poverty, the rich get richer and the poor get poorer but once you have a house that can stand the tests of time, that house is in your family for generations, sheltering your grandchildren no matter the circumstances.

So now Sandy has unleashed her fury on my home state as well as my temporary home, and I watch images of the West Side Parkway underwater while high quality split screen reporting takes place in the foreground. Graphics whirl, foreboding catch phrases swirl and one of the networks pulls a flat screen touch screen somethin something out of a van to illustrate the storms path while doing an “on the scene” report. Very different from the TVJ coverage that skipped with technical glitches and pixilated, basic camera work. Frankenstorm indeed. Regardless, I know that the damage to the NY, NJ and eastern seaboard has been significant, and I’m reminded of the serious flooding in the Hudson River Valley last summer. I hope that crops have been reaped and the agricultural damage is not too terrible. Manhattan seems to be experiencing some unprecedented situations, so I hope that leaders and policy makers act with caution, and with the people in mind.

On a lighter note, I went to Hanover this weekend to visit a fellow PCV! Her site is beautiful, higher in the mountains than I am but with a similar view of the ocean. We watched a beekeeping workshop and took a walk to a nearby river and waterfall. Visiting other sites is always a great opportunity to reassess your own situation, and recharge your batteries.

I climbed up the side, but the girls were too lazy to move to get a good pic

Photo Essay

Went to Montego Bay about a month ago for some beach time and this was the sight that greeted us as we walked from the bus park to the beach. Do we continue or seek shelter? The fickle nature of coastal systems had us forging ahead.

We reached the beach and watched from the shore as the storm did its thing just in front of us, and we enjoyed a cool drizzle as we sat on the sand and watched the lightning storm ahead.

I tried really hard to get a shot of the lightning but obviously failed.

Yesterday I went with my host family to a foundation pouring. Yes, you read right, pouring a foundation of concrete is an event in Jamaica. A large group of men, usually friends, are hired to mix concrete, fill buckets or wheelbarrows with the concrete and then pour it into the foundation that had been previously dug out. A big meal is prepared (that was my host mom’s job) and rum is consumed. My host brother was particularly excited to go fishing in the nearby river which was very muddy from the rainy season. Take a look:

I also discovered that I can edit photos as fisheye shots. So expect more of those in the future!

This photo happened when I tried to take a picture of my host sister but she grabbed at the camera just as I took the shot. Turned out kinda cute still.

Comparing Our Common

Wendel Berry has said at least two things in his life:

“Praise ignorance, for what man has not encountered he has not destroyed.”

and the more uplifting statement of:

“The earth is what we all have in common”

We might all live on this beautiful, elliptical ball of land, water and ice- but we do not all see the same side of her. She is a dynamic system of cyclic change, and in some places this is more apparent than in others ie: New York State, USA. Here nature moves in a pattern: birth, life and dormancy/ death (depending on what kind of creature you are) and this pattern continues on a predictable trajectory. The Birth of Spring, Life of Summer, the transitional dormancy of Fall and the quiet recharge of winter- and repeat.

I am a creature of the obvious and apparent cycle, a child of extreme heat and extreme cold, and a woman, apparently, of habit. And while I am not a destroyer, I am, of course, ignorant of of life in any alternative cycle. So now we move into Jamaica.

A week ago I resented the lack of autumnal beauty and crisp air in this ever green countryside and I found myself romanticizing Fall to a Jamaican friend “Things die and are reborn so blatantly in front of you that it’s impossible to ignore, it’s such a beautiful contrast” I remember gushing.

I try to explain fall to Jamaicans in this way- “You know when the breadfruit tree has a few leaves that turn orange, and then brown, and then they fall off the tree one at a time? well, imagine if all of the leaves on all of the trees changed color at the same time. And not just brown or orange but red and yellow and orange and sometimes all of those colors on the same tree. Then, in the span of a few weeks the wind blows, as if it understands that its sole purpose is to persuade every leaf to swirl and twirl and gust about until they reach the ground.”

That explanation got a little more poetic than it usually is but the message is the same. Except that the other day it occurred to me: The process of death, life, rebirth still happens here, but it is subtle, and the cycles are staggered so that life will always occur simultaneously with death. There is certainly a balanced and cooperative beauty in that as well. The breadfruit and almond tree sheds its leaves, but eternal photosythetic opportunity dictates that it must also leave most green. So they take turns. Just as I lose my hair but I am never bald, and my skin sheds but it never thins.

So there is a beauty in looking a little harder to appreciate nature and her need to out the old and welcome the new. And there is beauty in knowing that the two are not mutually exclusive, that one must feed the other no matter how the cycle presents itself.

What a unique perspective I now have. I am a creature accustomed to hibernation and the notion that agricultural prosperity ends around mid-November, so I nest and I stock up (and unintentionally rely on greenhouses and California) and I accept that I will have blackberries again next August. I am now in a place where mangos fall and cannot all be eaten and people can live off of their own piece of land, or in tandem with their neighbors’ throughout the entire year. I am in an environment that does not make a big dramatic event of change but rather does so subtly, with only the prolonged presence or absence of rain to somewhat boldly indicate that life is precious and fragile and by no means ever lasting.

But now I raise my glass to the ever-green, and the one brown leaf; and to you at home, watching the sun set over a flaming mountain of shifting tides and I say, “Cheers” to our mother earth and her dynamic system of cyclic change. She truly is what we all have in common.

(Almond Tree Leaf)

6 Months

Last week I attended the Early Service Peace Corps Conference in Ocho Rios along with the rest of my training class, Group 83. I felt like a grown up since my dad used to take us for these “all expenses paid” “vacations” while he lectured and sat in on conferences with the American Academy of Dermatology. It wasn’t quite that luxurious- the resort we stayed in was undoubtedly on a beautiful piece of beach, but by the decorations and deteriorating interior it was apparent that its heyday was closer to 1975. Regardless, Group 83 enjoyed free meals, air conditioning, fabulous instruction on project design, management, proposal writing, mental health and safety as well as took full advantage of unlimited pool and beach access. The latter two items mostly took place at night, since our days were jam packed with the former items. The whole experience was a great opportunity for bonding between sectors which I’m grateful for- there was little opportunity after sector training ended for such interactions and the laid back after-hours vibe of the week really lent itself to mixing and mingling. I also decided to do away with 1/3 of my hair with a very simple solution:

I call it “boy chic”

I am less prone to feeling overheated, though no less prone to sweating or being hot.
The conference ended on Friday but a few of us chose to travel further east to Oracabesa where we swam over a vast reef (and I wished I was a stronger swimmer/ didn’t hyperventilate in a snorkel), saw a fellow PCV’s site and stayed at an amazing hostel that I’ll definitely be recommending to visitors. The owner is an Italian hippie from Jersey with 4 very friendly dogs and who’s been living in Jamaica for many many years. The walls throughout the house are painted with beautiful murals and quotes:





the above mural says “Until the lions have their histories, tales of hunting will always glorify the hunter”



these two are a continual mural on two walls



Anyway, being back has been interesting. The American camaraderie I left behind was strong and comforting and a cool breeze today brought flashbacks to the autumn I know is gearing up back home. Today was a day of extreme home sickness- My biological clock is demanding crisp Mohonk Mtn hikes, colorful Sunday morning horseback rides, apple picking and pie and the warmth of a furry pooch in my arms. Scarf and sweater weather, cider donuts and hay rides.
As I continue sweating and thanking god I have less hair, I remind myself that I can come home to fall in two years, and I after that I’ll never have to miss another one <3

Below: I biked to my office- a continual and steep uphill ride for maybe a mile and a half. I met up with some school pickney and they decided to help me walk my bike the rest of the way. I got company on the walk AND physical assistance, damn I’m a lucky gyal.

Internal Narration

On days like today, when my only scheduled appointment is canceled and the day now seems a vast expanse of nothing to do, I look from my book, to my computer, to my disheveled mess of a room and resolve to put things in their proper place.

I am neither a slob nor a neat freak- as a high school science teacher once quipped, “nature tends towards entropy”. I am no exception, but when the mood arises, I prefer to do my cleaning in one fell swoop. And so, I gather the sweatiest of my clothes from the hamper and rinse them in the bath before letting them soak in a soapy 5 gallon bucket, doing the same with my less sweaty garb in another bucket.

To the tune of '”Ragged Wood” by the Fleet Foxes, I sweep my floor, gathering the golden strands of hair that shed from my head like a very long haired golden retriever. This is a common occurrence for the soft haired breed, and while we generally choose to be indifferent or ‘grossed out’, my counterparts in Jamaica find it wildly entertaining after the initial shock, and will grab the fistful of neglected hair from my hand and stroke it, twist it like twine or pretend to wear it like a wig.

I sweep around Larry, my resident lizard, and try to coax him towards the open window, but he takes an elegant swan dive from the wall to the floor and I leave him be. He is a useful creature in my insect populated room- my hope is that he’ll get big enough to eat the cockroaches who invade my personal space at 4am, when, as if in a dream, I find my hand grabbing at an exoskeleton and spiny legs and before I wake completely, instinctively fling the perpetrator away. I spent the half hour after that ensuring the monster was not still in my bed, and the 15 minutes after that wondering if I had not actually dreamed the whole affair entirely.

As I put new sheets on my bed, I think how much easier the process is without Lucy Goose jumping in and out of the billowing cloth and I suddenly crave that kind of distraction, when making a bed turned into a high energy game of chase or Taco Lucy (how long will it take her to untangle herself from the blankets??).

These activities took place with a running internal narration inside my head, which you have just read, while the Fleet Foxes continue to keep my mood light- so here I sit, on a freshly made bed, lavender incense burning and thinking, maybe now I’ll read my book.

Vacation etc

So Sincerely Sorry for that Span of Silence! (statement brought to you by my infatuation for alliteration )

This time lapse has been due to a need for internal introspection and a busy schedule. Also, I’ve had my nose stuck in a series of books in which the protagonist is a young woman in her mid 20’s who is 4ft 11in, less than 100 lbs and kicks a lot of ass… for some reason I find her character empowering, haha.

After a hectic month of high stress situations, I was only too glad to pack my backpack, hide my money on various locations against my body and hit the road for Montego Bay, where my parents were to meet me in the lobby of a resort hotel. Fresh from dropping their youngest baby girl off at college, they wasted no time transferring their pent up parental love directly into my arms. This love came in the form of the typical sort, hugs and kisses, but also in a gigantic bag of “home things”.

The first full day in the resort I spent feeling very guilty. Phrases like “Posh Corps” kept popping into my head and it was weird to be attended to by Jamaicans. I could wear strapless dresses and put on make-up… seriously? do I deserve this? I should be back in the bush sweating through my clothes!

That guilt lasted approximately 6 hours. I was able to extend my rare position to the volunteer in MoBay and we spent an evening catching up over dinner and the sunset. It was a strange juxtaposition of scenarios, Mom and Dad in Jamaica as I approach my 6 month point on Island. Not nearly the expert but certainly not a visitor. Taking them to my community was even stranger- I guided my father through the turns and potholes of the road through the hills from North to South Coast, I introduced them to the people I see on a daily basis and the fruits I’d come to love- breadfruit, jelly coconut, mango, sweet sop, ginep… We drove through my community, they sat on the porch of my office and I was given the amusing sight of my mother in the foreground and the empty ball field behind, where so many rowdy football games, events and parties g’wan routinely. I think if we’d come any other day but Sunday, they would have been overwhelmed, but most of the population was in church.

We went back to MoBay by way of the coast road, which took us through Negril. With Dad’s birthday dinner in mind, we avoided a crowded tourist hotspot famous for it’s sunset and ate at an adjacent restaurant that was quiet, secluded, served delicious food and had an equally awesome view of the sunset. Probably as perfect an evening there is. (see Mom’s album on FB for proof).

They drove me back home and I felt refreshed as I put my “new” things from home in their rightful place.

I’m looking at my place here a little differently, and I have to remind myself of these things when my gut starts tying into knots. I am the first volunteer in this community and so, I need to accept that my role here may not seem big and impressive. Some community members may not feel the difference I make, but if I can clear a path for the next volunteer then perhaps I can consider that a job well done, and if I do something that the community needs, even if it’s not directly related to my skill set (enviro/ag), I’ve done a service- and isn’t that the point?

My community needs a LOT of help, and I might be “likkle but talawah” but I aint superwoman.

Here are a few photos of things that happened in August- Preparing food for a Fun Day and a Farmer’s Workshop taught by NEPA.

Making Coconut Milk from Scratch: Shred coconut, blend with water, squeeze and filter, repeat.

 

		NEPA Workshop VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

…Only took 4 months and NEPA’s presence to turn all that lumber I’d dismantled into the compost bin I’d intended it to be…

In the Swamp

“Once upon a time there was traveler on horseback who found himself facing a swamp. He doesn't know whether to go around the swamp or try to wade through it.
He asks a local boy, "boy, does this swamp have a hard bottom?" and the boy says "yes it does".
So the traveler guides his horse into the swamp and promptly begins sinking into the muck deeper and deeper. He shouts to the boy "I thought you said it has a hard bottom!" to which the boy replies "It does sir, you're just not there yet!"”

Perceptions, challenges, ironic outcomes… This little anecdote just reminded me of Peace Corps Life.