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.

Ohhhh Jamaica

The highlight of my week has been the fruiting Mulberry tree just outside my window. I can scope out particularly bountiful branches as I dress in my room- the boughs easily bend so that seemingly unreachable treasures become sweet and warm treats. A simple reward as I pass in and out of the yard routinely every day. Mulberries are easily my favorite berry, and they remind me of my grandmother’s house upstate, before the tornado knocked their impressive tree down.

Also, pear season is gaining momentum, guava and plum too (plums in Jamaica are nothing like the type you’d imagine from the states… green and oval with a hard texture similar to an apple or American pear). I got laughed at the other day for mashing up my pear with scallion, salt and pepper. ‘It’s a sandwich!’ I reasoned, ‘It looks disgusting!’ they replied. I decided not to point out that I thought their tin mackerel and tuna fish with rice lunch was more disgusting to me.

Alex sent me a package with the game Set in it and I’ve been teaching the kids at the summer program how to play. Teaching them is frustrating, since the game is very hard to pick up on and requires a lot of attention to detail, but a few kids are picking up on it and they ask me any time they see me if I have Set with me. Last night was ‘games night’- kids play monopoly, cards, puzzles etc while adults and older kids play dominoes. Of course I had Set, and two of the boys from the program were getting pretty good, so I decided to play instead of just deal. They got a kick out of getting beaten which I found surprising, but the competition was the fun part and they tried very hard to ‘beat teacher’. By the end of the night I was surrounded by a group of young men shouting ‘Set!’ and trying desperately to understand the game. A few picked up on it, which was cool to witness. I almost got my nose broken during a particularly spirited race to point out a Set of cards on the board. Watch out Jamaica, a new game craze is coming your way.

A man who noticed my arm hair dubbed me ‘fuzzy’. As this is an age old insecurity of mine, I’m not super psyched about this nickname, however, he said he liked it- and made a few lewd comments to support that statement. Oooooooh Jamaica.

This is a leap-frogging random thoughts kind of post, so I leave you with this quote from one of my favorite movies, Big Fish:
”They’d talk about just about anything… except for religion.”
”Why don’t they talk about religion?”
”It’s rude to talk about religion, you never know who you’re going to offend.”

This quote rang true when the third question posed to me by a complete stranger was: “are you a Christian?” my response to that question is always that I was raised Catholic, sometimes (and this particular time) I add that I stopped going to church regularly when I was about 17 (or that I haven’t been to church in a while). The stranger’s supplemental question was one for the books: “Is that because you started having sex?”

Oooooh Jamaica.

Standing On A Stumbling Block

It’s been a very dynamic past week. Literally the day I wrote my last post, I had my first real meltdown and left a meeting before work actually started (but 3 hours after the designated meeting time…yeah). The details are unimportant, every volunteer has those days where the work ethic and social tendencies of cultures simply clash with an uncomfortable resonance. I was lucky that the next day I left to visit J 7 parishes away, I needed time away with a friend.

We met a whole bunch of PCV’s in Portland and stayed in a beautiful log cabin on the edge of a cliff, in the yard of an ex-patriot. I slept in my hammock on the back porch, swinging to the tune of the ocean against the land, and I woke up to a hot but brilliant sunrise. The weekend contained a bit of bonding, catching up, drinking, cooking, dancing, swimming in some pretty large waves and lounging on the beach. It was time that I needed to readjust my perspective and consider my position in the community. The first step is to admit you have a problem- I have a few.

PCV Getaway VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

I returned home with my neighboring PCV’s by way of official (air conditioned) PC vehicle, thanks to our Program Manager, Dan. I enjoyed my veggie burger from Burger King immensely before leaving Kingston (trivial and unimportant fact, but as we’ve discussed already- little victories). Dan and Anika were coming into W-more (here on in I’d like you to understand how annoying it is to type out “Westmoreland”, so we have a new abbreviation) for site visits, to check in on volunteers, see the sites and chat about progress and whatnot. He also was able to drop off our bicycles

As always, meeting with Dan put me in a good place. I explained how very many projects Beeston Spring had in its arsenal, the steep learning curve I’m climbing daily and my recent meltdown. Describing the incident, I was able to hear the rain of dominoes falling against each other, pushing me over and to the edge. Dan empathized with the situation so completely that I felt validated in leaving the meeting. He also stated his pride in my progress and perception of the community/culture. Whew, that felt good.

The next meeting I attended to build the Denbigh display, I walked in as an outsider, and asked what they’d gotten done. Instead of delegating, I watched and offered assistance. I knew I’d thrown them off the other day by leaving, and I wanted to show them that I’d been humbled, that I was over it. My moment came when the Carpenter teased me about something we’d argued over previously, and I laughed at my ‘mistake’. Since then, the rest of the week went smoothly and pleasantly.

Building the Denbigh Display VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

Yesterday, Friday Aug 3, was a jam packed day of…stuff. Woke early to add the finishing touches to the display before the bus came to pick it up. The community was celebrating Jamaica’s 50th year of Independence, so I decided to get a ride to the Agriculture Show Saturday morning in order to enjoy the festivities of the day/night. We worked until about 1 and stayed for festivities until about 2:30, at which time the heat and dirt from the earlier work became uncomfortable- so I headed home for a bath and lunch. A storm on its way was being closely monitored by the Peace Corps Office, and rumor was that we might need to be on stand by. The official word came around 4pm- no volunteer was to leave the parish or their sites until further notice. The Greenies are currently not very happy campers. Denbigh is the biggest Agriculture Fair on the Island, apparently much like a state or county fair, the Peace Corps has its own booth for the first time ever and many of us have been working with our communities on displays for a few weeks. Major, major bummer. I hope it at least rains today- the sun is out, the heat is oppressive and the hurricane isn’t supposed to hit until Monday. On the bright side, Jamaica is celebrating, my community is partying and I look good in Black, Green and Yellow.

Reppin the JA Vybz (vibes)

 

Jamaica 50th VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

Sunset VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

The Little Victories

Acknowledging and accepting limitations is not something I am generally very good at. I like to imagine myself as invincible, a ”tough cookie”, someone who can be leaned on and relied on- likkle but talawah, young but wise, a humming bird: small and fierce.

HAHA man do I need to get over myself. Seriously. I can’t possibly have those expectations of myself while working in a community of people I’m just getting to know. So I’m learning to focus on the little victories- they’ll add up eventually right?

Since the farmers meeting, we’ve held some meetings and work days with varying levels of success. The work days have accomplished a pegged out “floor plan” of the demonstration plot and we chopped down 9 shoots of bamboo (which are very, very long).  We are now focusing on the display for Denbigh and those who have been participating give me hope that we can pull off something to impress.

Another little victory has been a Community Notice Board that I finally painted yesterday. On it, I post things like meetings for the week and announcements for events. It resides on the outside wall of the CDC container, a great location overlooking the ball field. I’m hoping that the more I use it, the more community members will also use it.

The community has also been holding a talent competition for the past few weekends. We’re in the semi-finals now. Volunteers tend to speak about that one thing they did that really pushed their integration into the community- riding a donkey into the bush, dancing at a stage show etc. I sang as a ‘guest performance’ at the talent competition 2 weeks ago, it went well in terms of no mistakes and whatnot but I’m not sure it was “that thing”. I bet it’ll be something completely unexpected.

I will be getting a bicycle soon! There’s a little victory! It’ll probably take me 20 minutes to bike to the nearest other PCV’s (and the waterfront bar down the street from them), 30 to get to the beach! I’ll be able to make my own schedule and not worry so much about taxis! Maybe I’ll even get in better shape (my dairy farming body is now firmly a thing of the past, siiigh).

The last few weeks has had its fair share of bad news and nostalgia for home, and sometimes the little victories are bittersweet (heavy on the bitter). When a good friend goes home for good (we call it ETing, early termination), sometimes the tears not only reflect mourning for a friend but personal uncertainties, and the conclusion can only be the very littlest of victories- “I’m still here”.

The time is hot here, and rain has been falling hard almost every day- hurricane season is underway and most nights, even if the stars are out, lightening flashes in the distance. The combination of these discomforts has prompted me to set up my hammock across the bar of my “closet”. I’m therefore comfortably swinging and writing this entry, a fan pointed directly at me, my headscarves tickling my toes. The epitome of a little victory.

This coming weekend is the big PCV gathering in Portland- entirely across the Island from me. I will be leaving tomorrow morning to visit my girl J and staying with her overnight. Everyone will get together for the weekend in a big rented house and then on Monday, I get a free ride from Kingston with our Enviro Program Manager (with my bicycle in the trunk I hope). The weekend after that I get to see the Green Initiative crew again at Denbigh! THEN the first weekend in September my family is visiting me!! I think that’s enough silver linings to get me through the next month.

Progress, Or Something

Last night I had one of those nights where your brain doesn’t shut off until 3:30 in the morning and instead goes over every possibility the next day might bring in minute detail while singing complicated Adele songs in anticipation of the far away event I might have to sing them. I woke a few hours later and proceeded to the demonstration plot with Barbara where our tired looking sorrel transplants recovered in the sunshine and dry topsoil. Waiting in the shade for the person we needed to complete the task at hand (pegging out the locations for the seedling nurseries) I gazed at the hilltops asking the names of structures and clearings. Once we realized the person was not going to come, Barbara decided to show me how to get to the Paradise Hill Guesthouse- a building at the very top of the hill (or mountain, I don’t know what to call them b/c they might not be ‘Catskills high’ but they are steep).

We began our ascent in a district called “Silent Lane”, an unpaved road with sparsely placed houses among lush greenery- mango, pimento, pear, ginup, fig and breadfruit trees, thick vines of yellow and red flowers, ferns that look fake and copious other unidentified flora. As the road deteriorated into a path, the houses became more prominently wood board and tin roof structures (as opposed to cinderblock and concrete), the vegetation continued to be magnificent and I began to miss my dog something fierce. I am discovering a side of Beeston Spring that I adore- paths that have all the regenerative properties of a good hike, and that lead to places where people live and farm. I am a strange sight in many places in Jamaica, but especially wandering on my own in the bush. And I’ve not been accustomed to doing so for the last 3 years, since a perky little canine version of myself nestled into my arms. I found myself wondering if I’d ever find a dog in Jamaica who so happily follows my footsteps, and understands my words (those who know Lucy know that this is no dramatization). It feels alien and lonely to wander in the woods without a canine companion, even with the presence of Barbara. Needless to say I’m searching for a puppy. Not to take home, just to love in the interim, for just as age brings the wisdom to accept the things you don’t like, it also brings the wisdom to accept the person you are. I, am a dog person.

Anyway, we arrived at Paradise Hill and I promptly acknowledged that it was very aptly named. Nestled on a mountain top and surrounded by mountains, the Beeston Spring valley in the immediate landscape and the ocean beyond, Paradise Hill attracts a cool breeze, has a pool and a bar. On a clear day you can see as far as Treasure Beach along the coastline. Today it was quiet and the owner showed me around and then we sat in the shade talking about Beeston Spring, behavior change, American influences and the connection between anything called ‘Columbia’ and the Illuminati.

On the walk down I continued to marvel at the ‘hidden’ poverty in Beeston Spring. The thing about it here is that it’s literally off the beaten path, and off the beaten path means various differences- access to water and electricity being the main two, the former more than the latter. It’s not an easy walk, and I witnessed a mother carrying her infant, an umbrella for shade and a large purse up the hill, negotiating the uneven and rocky terrain in a simple pair of sandals. I also watched a woman leave her house with an overflowing hamper of clothes on her head, about to do her wash at the top of the hill where the water spigot is- and we were about halfway between the bottom and top when this occurred. People here continue to perplex and amaze me.

What went on between  arriving back to the main road and the evening is not of consequence. This evening though, I inadvertently led my first Farmers Group meeting. As we have no executive body, this being the first meeting, and I am modestly capable of putting words together, I ended up doing a lot of talking. Barbara and I had worked out an agenda the other day and we stuck to it quite well. The turnout could have been better, but it could certainly have been worse- there were a few new faces to my eyes so I count that as a plus. I was to introduce myself at this meeting, a task I took very seriously as the group disbanded 3 years ago due to distrust and an opaque organizational structure. I think I did well judging by the nods and knowing smiles at my insinuations of past versus present. I stressed that I am here in Beeston Spring for two years solely to get this group functioning, and I will not take that task lightly, nor will responsibility be abused or transparency compromised while I am doing my job. Next, I facilitated a SWOT analysis (strength, weakness, opportunity, threat) of farming in Beeston Spring and was disappointed when the opportunities section prompted no participation. Perhaps they just need inspiration.

In the end, while I think the meeting was productive, I am not sure how I feel about my own performance. I think I may have come off as too passionate and too outspoken. At the end of the meeting I was relieved to not have to hear my own voice, to not have tidal waves of emotion rolling out of my mouth. This mostly pertained to the last part of the meeting- a discussion about turning the plan I drew up for the demo plot into a diorama type display for the Denbigh Agricultural Show the first weekend in August, an annually huge deal for ag in Jamaica. Some persons were hung up on the time and energy and money it would take to create while other more silent participants had voted it a good idea (some protesters even voted it a good idea). As we discussed details, such as materials and whatnot, I was on a completely different wavelength as the protesters, making for a rowdy discussion for a solid 20 minutes (this discussion including a lot of “Adri, you don’t understand”s which made me feel as young and inexperienced as I actually am- cue sinking feeling in my gut). I realized I may have been getting possessive of the whole idea and just as I backed off, the other half understood where I was coming from.

It’s gonna be a busy next three weeks. Time to find my favorite fuzz-face in my photo archive.