Business or Pleasure?

October 16, 2008
Community Based Training

Business or pleasure? That is indeed the question that often comes to mind when I reflect upon what the next two years will bring me. While long days of tutorials, visits, and interviews and nights filled with host family “bonding” and neighborhood socializing have begun to drive home the reality that the Peace Corps is the “24 hour, 7 day a week job” it claims to be, so far it appears that this experience will also hold true to another one of its slogans: “the toughest job you’ll ever love.”

The line between “work” and “leisure time” has already been blurred. Although there is a part of me that likes structure, I have always believed in the importance of doing what you love and loving what you do. For this reason, the ambiguity in classifying activities as “professional” or “personal” has thus far been relatively easy to accept. Do the following examples that illustrate this trend make me a workaholic or a slacker? You be the judge…

Construye tus Sueños, “o sea”, the Business Plan Competition

What happens when you lock Dominican youth from all corners of the island, a committee of Peace Corps Volunteers, a team of PC newbies, and a handful of American diplomats, Dominican business gurus, and NGO representatives in a retreat center in Santo Domingo for three days? The technical answer is a Business Plan Competition started by Peace Corps Volunteers three years ago. What actually goes on within the workshops, activities, and presentations is, logically, a lot more complex.

As it was my first time observing and helping out with the conference, I was thoroughly impressed with the quality of work that both participants and facilitators put in prior to the event and during the event itself. Though only teenagers or younger adults, the youth participants brought a force to be reckoned with. While it might have been the first time some of them had ever come up with an idea for a possible business and/or attended a summit at the national level, their proposals and their perspectives demonstrated a grasp of essential concepts (such as marketing and budgeting) and an ability to both constructively critique and foster companionship with colleagues. While the Peace Corps Volunteers cannot take all the credit, of course, they do merit recognition for teaching basic business classes in their sites, committing to countless hours of work with the aspiring entrepreneurs in their community, and pulling together an event that showcases the fruits of the efforts of both sides.

While a good part of the sweat came from hard work, some of it came from group-strengthening games and activities, a talent show, and dancing to bachata and reggaeton. Not exactly your typical day at the office.

A Lesson in Non-Formal Education: “Clase” de Español

As you might imagine, language acquisition composes a large chunk of training here in the D.R. For those of you who know me personally, you might guess that I’d actually admit to enjoying going to Spanish class. Before you call me a nerd (which is no big secret at this point), ask yourself if you too would enjoy “studying” if it involved the following “lessons”…

- Dominican history. In order to teach us about the island’s past and prepare us to be able to speak about it on an intellectual level, our Spanish teacher has shown us movies that combine the stories of important political figures with famous Dominican literature. Given the location of our training site, we were also able to visit the home of the hermanas Mirabal, a site turned into a museum after their murder.

- Colloquialisms. Since the objective of our class is to fine-tune our Español, what better way to do it than with practice in slang and common expressions? Favorites include transportation lingo (e.g. vete a la cocina­ – or “go to the back of the bus – which literally translates to “go to the kitchen”) and pick up lines to deflect (e.g. yo quisiera ser un mosquito para entrar en tu mosquitero y decirte lo mucho que te quiero – “I would like to be a mosquito to be able to enter your mosquito net and tell you how much I love you”…ummm no thanks?). Extra points for those of us who can use new vocabulary in front of our Spanish facilitator at the expense of other instructors and volunteers – especially when they’re double entendres (e.g. telling a teacher he “lives far” – vive lejos – because his house is on the top of a mountain…and it means that he’s, errr, “well endowed”) and when they involve inter-Peace Corps gossip (e.g. inquiring about a chuleo, or hook up).

- “Gastronomy.” Finally, like good doñas, we must learn to make certain staples in the Dominican diet. Ok, that might be taking it a step too far, but at the very least it’s a good idea to be able to make a refreshment to serve at a workshop or meeting once we’re in our sites. To complement our community diagnostic presentation, for example, as a Spanish class we made a juice from carambola (star fruit). Our proportions might have been a little off (just a chin less salt next time), but we accomplished the general goals of reviewing recipe Spanish, concocting a local treat, and dancing to meringue when it wasn’t our turn to contribute. Hey, too many cooks in the kitchen…

Building relationships through prayers and Presidente

Though “professional” and “personal” also overlapped in much of our field work – such as our visit to an ecotourism project that allowed us to, literally, “test the waters” by swimming in a waterfall – I can already tell that the greatest ambiguity will present itself in our “free” time spent with our host families and the members of our communities. While building confianza, or trust, among the residents of our sites will ultimately affect the success of our initiatives, it doesn’t exactly take the form of “networking” someone coming from Washington D.C. might be used to.

So far, my “business luncheons” have ranged from food in front of the T.V. with my host brothers, their cousins, and any other 20-something who happens to be passing by in time for the midday novella to a picnic at an artisan fair after helping them set up their booths. My “meetings” include chats with neighbors about politics and the price of plátanos and visits to local businesses in which I leave with a free work of art (seriously – an artist gave me a beautiful, full-on painting the other day). Finally, I cannot neglect to mention the importance of making my appearance known at “special events” …even when calling attention to my foreign self is the last thing on my agenda. E.g.: Stuttering and turning the color of the holy wine when someone offered me a beer during a neighborhood prayer session. Somehow I had missed the memo that the transition to the afterparty had begun; a good laugh at my feeble attempt to remain “respectful” and “appropriate” won me some brownie points, the promised drink, and a better explanation on what exactly we were celebrating in the first place.

---

In just a few days, our coordinators will finally reveal to us where we will live and work for the next 2 years. While I am anxious to find out, I feel that the events and experiences of the last 5 weeks have shown me that I will be cut out for whatever they send my way. (Or, more accurately stated, whatever way they send me). I can already tell that the details of my job description will not be as clear as that of those of you currently reading this from your office job in the Back Bay, Manhattan, or Mumbai – but I wouldn’t trade places with you for anything at this point in time. :)

Reality Bytes

September 21, 2008
(Our one month anniversary in-country!)

¡Saludos!

As today marks the one month anniversary of our arrival in-country and the 10 day marker of our five weeks in “community-based training,” I feel like it is a good time to share some of what I have been digesting recently - literally and figuratively.

Sink your teeth into this…

I take a bite out of my community…

Where in the world are Alanna and her fellow Community Economic Development trainees? About a week and a half ago, the 17 of us left the “big city” we called home for 3 weeks and settled into new homestays in a northern farming town. For the duration of our time here, we will undergo more sector-specific training and fine-tune the business and personal skills we will need to be effective volunteers in the field.

Among the first of our assignments fell the task of familiarizing ourselves with our neighborhoods through a “community diagnostic.” Although it sounds simple enough, and this was only the practice for the real thing months 0-3 of service brings, the project was not exactly a piece of cake. Knocking on doors and asking to interview new neighbors, compiling daily activities schedules and oral histories, and conducting a SWOT (Strengths, Opportunities, Weaknesses, and Threats) analysis was nothing compared to having to actually draw out a map of streets, houses, businesses, and farmland – whatever vestige of visual/spatial talent acquired through middle school art classes did not exactly reveal itself through flipchart paper and travel-size magic markers.

Although the project confirmed my suspicion that art is not my calling (check that post-service possible career path off the list), it did help the other trainees and I gain more confidence and experience compiling and analyzing community data and condensing it into a technical presentation. For that matter, it also pushed us to fine-tune our professional Spanish and put ourselves out there in our new neighborhoods. As a result, I now feel more fit to assess and integrate into my permanent community – and already nostalgic to leave the new friends I have made by being that inquisitive gringa they invited in for juice.


…and their delicious fruit.

Speaking of juice, let it be known that I might as well have turned into a banana or an orange at this point. The diet changes that come with life in a new country have thus far been bittersweet. Although my calcium now comes from an unidentifiable type of cheese fried in some artery-clogging oil and my coffee is practically syrup from all the sugar “mixed” in, I have readily embraced the abundance of local fruits that make it to my breakfast, lunch, and dinner plates. While you too might be able to acquire the aforementioned types of produce at your local Safeway or Stop and Shop, does your family blend you goiaba and passionfruit juices on a daily basis? Does a new acquaintance extend an olive branch in the form of a pitahaya? (please google this fruit...I will be sure to put up a photo when I finally get the opportunity to upload pictures). If so, remind me to ask you where you live when I’m finally ready to re-locate back to the states.

Take a bite out of crime?

From my entries thus far, I’m guessing that two things have become apparent: 1. I enjoy themes (often maintained through expressions and figures of speech) and 2. I am a glass-half-full kind of gal (please see point #1). In spite of the latter, I have reached the point where I must make the disclaimer: the point of maintaining this blog is not for readers to see everything I am experiencing through rose-colored lenses.

As the title of this section implies, I was recently forced to confront a rather dark universality: no matter where in the world you are, bad things can happen to otherwise innocent people. Just a few days ago, a local robbery that went awry left a man in my neighborhood dead and another two in the hospital with bullet wounds. After enduring so many training sessions on identifying signs of dengue and the importance of wearing a helmet on a motorcycle, crime had fallen toward the back of my “Peace Corps fears” list. I do recognize that the tragedy that inflicted my host community could have just as easily have occurred while I was living in Sao Paulo, Brazil, or Washington, D.C. Nonetheless, as someone who happened to be walking down the same street just minutes after the culprits sped off, I could not help but briefly rethink what risks I have subjected myself to in choosing to live in an unfamiliar place.

Bugs take a bite out of me.

To close on a lighter and yet more immediate “threat,” I must admit to being attacked on a daily basis – by one of the signatures of Dominican wildlife, something we refer to in English as the “no see ‘ems”. Yes, I breathed a sigh of relief when my supervisor told me the swellings on my legs did not come from malaria-carrying mosquitos. However, comfort quickly turned to cursing as the inexpressible itching set in. So far I’ve tried bug sprays, long pants, special soaps, and an interviewee’s ointment she supposedly imports from Milan, and I still look like I have chicken pox from the knee down. Excelente.

WET Hot Dominican Summer

September 7, 2008
Santo Domingo

Water water everywhere and not a drop to drink - unless you want to purify it or get diarrhea, of course. I’ll save the “water-borne diseases” discussion for that special time I hit the Peace Corps tummy trouble rite of passage; for now, I’d like to revel in my good health and roll with the flow of some other wet and wild phenomena.

Riding the DR tide means…

Sweat. As we learned in a lesson about the DR’s physical geography recently, the island’s climate is determined by the interaction of 3 factors: position on the planet, landforms, and movement of moist air (weather/rainfall). Under this framework, the DR is classified as “subtropical.” What does this signify for 51 Americans adjusting to their new environment? Incessant perspiration.

Yes, by this I am talking about sweatiness morning, noon and night. At breakfast, my host mother laughs at my already glistening forehead. Between training sessions, my compañeros and I drink like fish – and by that I don’t mean clinking Presidentes, but rather constantly refilling Nalgene bottles. On the walk home, forget about impressing a cat caller, much less a trainee crush – you’re covered in enough salt to fill Lago Enriquillo (the DR’s only salt lake). Thank god for a good bucket bath and my fan at the end of the day. I may still be sticky when I retire to bed, but I know that these two luxuries might not be as readily accessible when I am sent off into the countryside.

Hurricanes. Another fun fact I’ve acquired through language and cultural study is the fact that the word huracán came from the language spoken by the Taino peoples, the indigenous population who originally inhabited Hispaniola. After being drenched by Gustav and Ike before I’ve even set foot on the beach (need I remind you, I now live on an island), I can definitely believe it. Although the rains have brought power outages, flooding, and more mosquitoes to Santo Domingo, we have been fortunate enough to escape the worst Mother Nature has had to offer. Poor Haiti.

Car Washes. It’s worth closing with the disclaimer that not everything water-related is entirely bad here; in fact, some of it is fun. Just take one of my current wonders about the Dominican world: the Car Wash.

If you think I’m talking about a quick rinse for a dirty jeepeta or carro público, think again; something as common as a place to clean your vehicle would not excite my entrepreneurial spirit nor move my two left feet. What I am referring to here is a location on the forefront of multipurpose facilities – a carwash by day and a discoteca by night. From my gringa perspective, it’s both utterly brilliant and completely ridiculous. To the local, it’s just another feature of a city neighborhood.

---

My first meringues in an auto joint, jogs in a tropical storm, and interactions as “that stinky foreigner” have wet my appetite for the adventures to come. Now if I can only find the time and sun to make it to the seashore…

Feedback after the First Full Week: Hay que “Aplantarse”

August 29, 2008
Santo Domingo

As I type this, I cannot decide if I need a pat on the back or a good laugh at naiveté. I have officially survived my first full week of training and my first full week in the DR – and it’s been even better than I’ve thought.

Clearly, I am not in the campo yet. I have not been sent off to a rural area to experience life as the token foreigner in a closely-knit community. Heck, I haven’t even learned how to ride the moto I will be taking to my volunteer visit next week. I have, however, been attempting to “Dominicanize” myself. As my host sister’s girlfriend put it to me yesterday, “hay que aplantarse.”

What did she mean by this? Like plátanos, the plantains that serve as a staple to the Dominican diet, I have to plant myself into the culture and integrate as much as I can. Thus far, this has meant anything from recognizing Dominican piropos (read: those oh so “creative” expressions that accompany cat calls) to navigating the “organized chaos” (as our training director call it) that is Santo Domingo’s transportation system. I have begun to understand the root causes behind the constant apagones (power outages) and mastered the bucket bath. I have even won an occasional round of dominoes, a local pastime slash obsession, and can shake my hips enough to fake a decent merengue or bachata.

Only time will tell whether or not I am really absorbing the customs of my new home and letting them shape my daily life. Some tests will come sooner than others (wish my two left feet luck at the discoteca tomorrow), and others won’t sneak up on me until I move to my permanent site. Nonetheless, my first days here have given me reason to be incredibly optimistic. With respect to the acculturation aspect of the Peace Corps, I believe that I will really enjoy being a plátano – and by that I mean growing and maturing as new values and traditions shape my thoughts and my actions here in the Caribbean.

Cheesy? Perhaps. Exciting? Definitely – maybe even more exciting than the fact that I just paused from this reflection to catch a lizard crawling up my wall…

First Days in the DR: Navigating New Territory or Finding Common Ground?

August 25, 2008
Santo Domingo

¡Estoy aqui!

And now, without further ado, what will perhaps be the most highly anticipated post in my two years of service…drum roll please…my first entry from my host country, the Dominican Republic.

Ok, for the record, I do realize that an “international” flight that lasts all of two hours is reason enough to assume that I most likely made it to my destination unscathed. However, a more reasonable question might be how I am holding up thus far. What follows is a summary of some of the ways in which I have found the initial adjustment both easier and more challenging than I might have predicted.

Pan comido… (piece of cake)

- I’ve done this before…to a certain degree. Although this is my first time committing to something as long-term and life-consuming as the Peace Corps, I have spent a lot of time abroad. From staying with one friend’s family in India to sharing meals with another friend’s host family in Senegal, I have previously interacted with local families in other countries. I have also both studied and volunteered abroad for extended periods of time, ranging from five weeks in Spain as a junior in high school to six months in Brazil as a junior in college. From the level of discomfort that results from having to adjust to a new environment to that that comes from living in a foreign language, I’m familiar with a lot of what overwhelms a person when she or he dives head first into a new culture.
- Hablo español…mas o menos. “Speaking” of language, my Spanish is holding up a lot better than I expected. Although I will go so far as to brag that I’ve already been asked if I am Latina, I certainly have a lot to review and to learn. This ranges from the more general (e.g. forgetting how to say “to brush” as in “to brush my hair”) to the Dominican-specific (big mistake using the alliteration “Airplane Alanna” in a name game; apparently the Spanish word for airplane, avión, is slang for prostitute here). With all of the unknowns we will have to endure, though, it is comforting to know that not everything I am saying and hearing is lost in translation.
- I have another great host family. After clicking so well with my families in Brazil and Spain, I had convinced myself that I was in for an unpleasant surprise. I am happy to report that this is not the case at all. My host family in Santo Domingo, a doña with adult children, has already reached out significantly through long chats and exciting adventures. What have we bonded over thus far? My host brother has even been to the town next to that where I attended high school, and his sister’s husband works for the same company as my mom. Oh yeah, and they’ve already taken me to McDonald’s.

Um, ¿Cómo?

- What was I thinking when I packed for this? One of the first shockers in meeting up with my trainee group was the realization that I might have brought a lot more stuff than I could possibly need for rural development work; apparently I really did try to pack two years of my life into two suitcases. If the thought of scaling a mountain on a moto with two bags the size of me isn’t motivation enough to make some donations before I leave the capital, the fact that we receive a new binder or kit almost everyday will be. Something’s got to give to make room for additional “essentials,” but it will be hard to guess what should go and what will actually be useful for my work, my interaction with my community, and my sanity.
- You know you’re not in Massachusetts when…you’re evacuated from training because of a tropical storm. Or, when you find your BostonIrishCatholic self accompanying your new friends to an evangelical service. In previously stating that I am familiar with living and traveling abroad, I by no means wished to suggest that everything about this experience will be predictable and mundane. On the contrary, I have already been thrown into new situations head first that have opened my eyes to other ways people think and behave by choice or by necessity.
- Can something be both structured and unstable? The paradoxical nature of this combination is hard to wrap my head around, but it is nonetheless something I cannot push by the wayside. On one hand, the regimented nature of our training schedule leaves something to be desired; that something is a bit of free time to better acquaint myself with Santo Domingo and to get to know the other PC trainees. On the other hand, I find myself also starting to wrap my head around the extent of the flux we’re going through. Because training occupies the first ten weeks and keeps us busy in the city and the countryside, it feels like the friendships begun with other trainees and Santo Domingo residents are misleading; will we be able to maintain these connections when we’re sent off to live in alone in more remote communities? For that matter, we also know that the luxuries we currently enjoy – such as TV, frequent contact with other Americans, and being told what to do – will soon disappear. The very exciting and very overwhelming reality in the distance makes it hard to take our day to day life in the capital at face value.

In essence, I suppose it’s starting to hit me both how long I will be here and just how much I am going to experience within one small island. I guess that’s the fun that comes with the initial adjustment…

talk about a ride: what the start of 27 months sounds like at 7 a.m.

Note: Due to the anticipated lack of access to internet throughout the duration of my experience, I will often be writing pieces in advance to post at a later date. For this reason, please regard the date within the body of the text as that in which my thoughts were collected, as opposed to the date that they went live on the web.

Thank you for your understanding and enjoy the ride with me!

Cheers,

Alanna

---

THE FIRST ENTRY:
Introductions and justifications for the journey ahead.

August 19, 2008
7:39 A.M. E.S.T.
American Airlines Flight 1909 – Somewhere between Boston, MA and Miami, FL

It took 8 months, countless goodbyes, and several overstuffed bags to get to this point, but the moment I have been anticipating has finally arrived: me voy a la República Dominicana.

Ok, so perhaps that statement isn’t entirely true. I suppose “the moment” actually happened when we touched off the runway of Logan Airport roughly an hour ago. I should also clarify that I don’t actually arrive in the Dominican Republic until the afternoon of the 21^st. Details, details. What is important is the greater picture, which I will briefly clarify in this introductory post.

For those of you who happened to stumble upon this page and do not actually know me, I am a recent college graduate of Georgetown University’s School of Foreign Service who has made the decision to join the Peace Corps. My academic focus on international development and Latin America, combined with professional and volunteer experience ranging from research on microinsurance and promotion of sustainable tourism practices to directing a small business and tutoring Spanish-speaking immigrants, sends me to the island of Hispaniola to work in economic and business development.

On paper, I suppose I sound qualified – but somehow life always ends up more complex than the clear-cut format of a well-organized resumé.

Nonetheless, the acknowledgment that the course of the next 2+ years cannot be fit neatly into a Wanted Ad column (or a concise post on Craig’s List) does not frighten me at this point. In fact – no offense to any former supervisors who read this – the thought of a first job out of college that breaks the 9-5 mold both excites and inspires me. As a travel nut, a bit of a workaholic, and a big-time extrovert, I am chomping at the bit to get out into “the field” and really live and breathe development work and intercultural exchange.

This is the part where you roll your eyes at the irony of the situation. Here I am talking about non-conformity, and I have completely backed myself into the “I-am-young-and-way-too-idealistic” corner that stereotypes PCVs. J

I know that I have a lot to learn and a lot to come to terms with, but I say BRING IT ON. The unknown might be a large part of the appeal, but I hope to illustrate in the next few posts that it is not as if I am jumping into this completely blindly. I am a person with premeditated goals, familiarity with Dominican culture and life abroad, and an understanding of my personal strengths and weaknesses. To be continued in subsequent entries; speaking of weaknesses, my Achilles heel is that I write like I talk – too much.

If, at the very least, two years teaches me to be less verbose (in English AND in Spanish), I’ll have made one step in the right direction. Paso a paso.

De aqui, vamos.

­­­