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

Ova Di Riva an Tru Di Bush

For the past two weeks, the Green Team and Youth as Promise (YAP) have planned to meet up at Hermitage Dam, a spot rumored to be a hike away from each of our hub sites. So this morning, after being awake for a set-up (pre funeral celebration) until 2am, I awoke to overcast skies and, after assessing the chance for rain, assembled 4 others outside of my home by 8:30am. None of us knew how to get where we were going, but we knew the trail to start on and the general direction of the dam, so we set off, down the paved road beyond my house, which simply ends and becomes a wide path leading to farm plots and houses.

Passing by my neighbor’s house (Shameaka’s cousin) her older son, Akiyme jumped from the stoop as his sisters washed clothes, heralding Pat and asking if we were going to the river and that he wanted to come. We’d been keeping the event under wraps since no family member wanted to go into the bush and walk for hours, and we had to have a chaperone so, glad to have a Jamaican with us, we set out, as Akiyme asked, “Mi nuh know di way, unu?” Do we know the way? HA we laughed and good heartedly joked about bush whacking as the road ended and banana trees began.

The trail was initially well traveled, a by-way for farmers to reach their plots, and we happily joked as we walked the crest of the hill, looking far down to our left and the front into the valley, where ‘our’ river lay. Batting coffee trees limbs from our path, the trail began to narrow, and the red clay began to get slick. The trail began bearing left and the farm plots gave way to the bush, my first foray into the jungle. The soil darkened to a mulchy black, the rocks got bigger and moss covered, the tree cover got thicker and vines fell from their limbs. Climbing down the trail, we good naturedly lamented the climb back up, as we really were jumping from roots and rocks feet below each other, less of a hike and more of a controlled fall. Akiyme negotiated this all in flop flops, turning sharply and flinging out his arm if he heard me slip even a little behind him.

The sound of the river beckoned us, as we wove around forests of bamboo and the trail leveled. We basked in the cool rush the river provided, mopped our faces and appraised this next obstacle. Everyone chose a different path- some just waded across, but some, like me in my recently delivered hiking boots, chose to piggy back on several large boulders downstream. The trail continued, this time up the opposite mountainside- I’m sweating just thinking about it- the scenery, a jungle much like before. We walked for a while this way, ascending, descending and winding along the skin of our earth until we came out on the bank of another river. We thought we must be close, as the river pooled a bit downstream.

Fighting the urge to strip down and swim in the crystal clear flow playing about many large boulders, we took off our shoes and crossed to the opposite bank and, unable to see the trail again, decided to follow the river, as we must be closely upstream of the dam. We were right, and the pool we had seen in the distance opened up into a large, dark reservoir. Still, we didn’t see the bridge where the YAP crew was supposedly waiting at, the the trail continued to allude us, so we continued wading in the shallows of the reservoir- pants wet and shoes slung over our shoulders, we finally came to a spot that could be a trail. Climbing up the slippery and muddy bank, we came across a man who had been fishing who told us that our friends were waiting ‘pon di bridge! the trail widened and finally we glimpsed the massive concrete structure of the dam, and a walkway going across the top- the bridge. In glee I pulled out my harmonica and played a cheerful tune to indicate that we were coming, which turned into a rambunctious O-Susanna as we spotted almost the entire YAP group, perched on the railings and building roof, waving and cheering at our muddy sweaty entrance. Dramatic slow hugs and general happiness followed.

Vinai attempting to cross the first river

View of the reservoir from our hike home.

This is a map highlighting what maaay possibly be the route we took to get to the dam… it might also be very wrong, but at least you can see where we started (lower right) and where we ended. click for a larger view

The YAP kids had a very knowledgeable guide from their town with them, and he took us around the west shore of the reservoir and once again into the jungle to show us a waterfall. Upon reaching it, I said barely a word but stripped to my skivvies, and launched myself into the small clear pool. Everyone else quickly followed my lead, and I followed Patrick, swimming under the freezing cold falls to perch on the rock ledge behind it, gasping for air and smiling from ear to ear.

A Jackfruit that was obtained during the walk from the reservoir to the falls was cut open and devoured, the sticky sap covering our lips and fingers, the sweet nectary fruits refreshing my beaten body. I sat on a rock and chatted with my good buddy Josh, who I hadn’t seen since Hellshire and slowly, reluctantly, re-clothed for the walk back.

A quick pit stop led by the YAPpers guide brought us to a small clearing of boulders and a large tree dangling one lone vine over a stream. We all excitedly took turns swinging on it and I was pleasantly surprised by how far I flew and how fun it was.

Finally, it was time to separate ways, and the YAPpers guide gave us directions to a more direct route home. I think we followed that route, although the trail got questionable (once again) at times- most of it was uphill and we did not cross any more water. We found ourselves coming out at the southern most village in Woodford called Cottage and it took us about 45 minutes-an hour to follow the steep road back to Freetown. Upon returning home, I peeled off my clothes and gladly bathed beneath the freezing cold showed water and, looking at my watch, was glad to see that it was only 3pm. I fell asleep just as the rain began to fall, hard and melodious outside my window.

*I did not bring my camera on this trip to keep a light load, though I did post a video on facebook and snap a few photo’s with my ipod- keep an eye out for photo’s I’m tagged in on the book*

Mi Soon Come

The emotional ups and downs associated with this particular adventure are enough to make even the stoniest stomach a bit nauseous, but as always, it is the downs that give the ups the finest view. Today, a current volunteer offered us one of his most profound moments in service, a moment when you feel so low, all you can do is take strength in another’s smile and “bless up!” I appreciated his honesty, I identified with his story and later in the day I feel that I had the first of many of my own profound moments.

After a long week of hard and applied work, we retreated to the classroom today, just as the rain decided to lean towards relentless. In my dress and tights, with my hair lazy and long about my shoulders, I balled myself into my chair as I am prone to do, and I listened to the intelligent and reserved passion of Raymond, the representative of Jamaica Organic Agriculture Movement (JOAM). He spoke about the organization, it’s mission and objectives and how it engages farmers to move towards organic. I identified in him, the same passion I identify in myself, Chris & Lisa, Sadhana Forest and other counterparts stateside- an almost idealistic wish for people to live in harmony with their mother earth, and a plan to help them do so.

The last part of the day, we hosted some farmers of Woodford to join us for a forum of sorts. We sat in a circle together, about 18 persons in all. We introduced ourselves in the context of our mission as volunteers. Among such a peaceful crowd, these people I must focus my energies on, I was the most honest I could be: “ My name is Adriana, I just graduated from Forestry School so yes, that means I’m 22 (cue knowing smile from me and laughter from others). I have always felt an inherent peace in nature and honestly feel that we can produce food and keep that peace. I am here to learn how to help you all achieve that peace.” Many farmers nodded in eager agreement, Mervin, the farmer next to me clapped his hands.

We proceeded to ask the farmers questions ranging from ‘why do you farm?’ to ‘what market to you sell to?’ and ‘what are some challenges you face?’ The farmers were open and knowledgeable, acknowledging some of their practices are not perfect, discussing strategies that they use, frustrations they share, and asking us questions about our own country’s farming practices, which was of course practically impossible to answer unanimously.

The farmers spoke of their connection to their land, the joy of watching growth, knowing that they can subsist, giving breath to the plants as they give us breath, and therefore the importance of chatting with their crop. It was a beautiful gathering. Often words fail where emotion eludes rationale, but listening to these humans speak I felt in my chest the ‘rightness’ that I feel when I am in the woods, or planting/working, or silently meditating on simple beauties.

This past week, we worked at a demonstration farm in Woodford, we worked at an organic farm in St. Mary and we cleared land and began the steps to farm our own plot behind the school. I used a machete to clear grass from our plot, carried 10ft long poles of bamboo cut by my fellow trainees on my shoulder, planted pine, built a barrier into the hillside, got sunburned and smiled a lot.

I also heard a passionate rasta quote the bible with such fire that I withdrew far from any happy place I could remember, felt grumpy for no specific reason, felt sick with a migraine, fought heartburn several days in a row and relied a great deal on others to support me. This, I am told, is the life of a trainee. But this, I honestly feel, is the most eye opening experience I have yet had as a person on this Earth.

In Jamaica the phrase ‘Mi Soon Come!’ is synonymous with frustration for American counterparts. The phrase could mean ‘I’ll be there in five minutes’ or it could mean ‘I’ll be there in 5 hours’, even so it can have no meaning at all. I use the phrase as my entry title today because, even though I don’t know where, and even though I don’t know when, Mi Soon Come pon a community to be their very own PCV: Mi Soon Come with open arms, ears and eyes, Mi Soon Come to learn and to teach and to love strangers until they are no longer strange, Mi Soon Come my friends! I hope that the next time I am down, the strength I feel now is waiting for me on the breathtaking scenic hillcrest above.