Labor Day

Pipes donated by Appropriate Projects were buried to provide clean water to the school.





Parents paint the school yard walls in Westphalia All Age School's colors: green and gold.

May 23rd was Jamaica's Labor Day. Labor Day in Jamaica is not a random day off like in America, it is a day of labor for the community. Parents and children from all over the district flocked to the school on Monday to paint, clean, and lay pipe. The school looks so much brighter now, thanks to everyone's hard work!

Students, present and past, working together to help their school.

Courtney and Joshua help stretch two gallons of paint to cover all the walls

Carnival

Carnival Paraders take a break after several hours of walking in the hot Kingston sun.

Just before attending mid-service conference I got to witness Jamaica’s carnival. Carnival is a Caribbean tradition which originally started in Trinidad and Tobago and involves scantily clad men and women dancing in drunken orgies to ward off duppies or evil spirits. Needless to say it was quite and experience. It was different from most Jamaican parties in a few key ways 1) it was during the day 2) it was moving (a parade) and 3) people were dancing the whole time. It was like a giant conga line all throughout Kingston! I went with a busload of people from my community, most of them men in their early twenties (or to steal a term from Taylor, a fellow volunteer, the idle bwois). Up until the trip I’d had a hard time interacting with them. I’m mostly friends with the kids (15 and below) and the grandparents (40 and up). The kids are still innocent, fun, and up for anything and the grandparents are mature enough to carry on a decent conversation. When I'm talking to women my age the conversation usually peters out after I ask how their children are. If the men don't try to hit on me, the conversation usually stops right after hello.

Going out with the idle bwois was a real bonding experience. We caught the parade in New Kingston, near to the Peace Corps Jamaica head office, an area I am very familiar with. For the first time, I was showing Jamaicans around Jamaica, a wonderful feeling! I kept them from getting lost and they saved me from a creepy clown who talked in a high pitched squeaky voice. Of course the majority of our interactions since that day have been us saying the same greetings as always but in the creepy clown voice. The conversation isn't exactly gushing forth, but hey, a bridge was crossed and I don’t feel so uncomfortable walking through the square anymore.

Rejuvenation!

The past few months (January – March) were very difficult for me. I just got back from our mid-service (yes its been a year!) conference where we talked about the volunteer life cycle and the one year slump. Most volunteers have a difficult time right around the one year mark. It was definitely a slump but I’m pleased to announce I’m on the way up and out! The biggest contributing factor was my recent trip to the U.S. for Easter. Thank you, thank you, thank you to my family for listening to me complain and giving me so many pep talks. I am energized and ready to dig into the second year of service! It should be noted that most of my community says foreign was good to me, that I’m glowing now, and also that I look so fat and pretty (a major compliment in Jamaica).

I was really trying not to go home for the full two years in order to totally immerse myself if something different, but I didn’t make it. I managed to explain to my community that no, I don’t have money my family is paying for the ticket (sorry Mom and Dad you might get begged big-time when you get here) but I still heard a lot of ridiculous requests. Foreign is a magical land where geese lay golden eggs and ipods grow on trees. So I was SUPPOSED to carry back several computers, three pairs of shoes, a blackberry, pizza, a variety of gourmet cheeses, pounds of broccoli seed and a few mp3 players. I ended up bringing 100 lbs of used books that students from Loomis Elementary School generously donated and some soaps and candles that we had gotten at one time or another and never used. It was tricky, but I think I managed to walk the fine line between every parent in the district asking me to pay their child’s school fees and insulting someone close to me because I didn’t “carry something back for them (do please do).” The Jamaican pleading “do” and “come now” are so hard to say no to!

Grades 6-9 pose for a class picture with their new books on Literacy Day 2011

Bringing the books to the school was a major feat which involved a car, one airplane, three taxis, two buses, and 17 hours of travel time. It also included me getting stranded in downtown Kingston (yeah the dangerous part of the island) after dark and two very kind strangers, angels really, each carrying a 50 lb box of books about 7 blocks for me. To celebrate, we organized a last minute Literacy Day 2011 celebration yesterday which was held, you guessed it, today! As a procrastinator, Jamaican planning is just my style! It was a huge success. All the students are SUPER excited about the new books and better still SUPER excited about reading. The principal and I had to forcibly herd the children out of the library appeasing them with promises that they could check a book out on Thursday once they have been organized.

Reading, books, and more reading!

Everything is looking up. We’re going to build shelves for the books, move the library into a bigger room, and put in a computer with reading games. Our garden is looking fantastic (who knew everything could grow so much in three weeks?!) and students are EATING VEGETABLES EVERY DAY and even taking some home for the rest of their family. Also, even though the National Water Commission is full of false promises and bureaucracy it looks like not all hope is gone for the community water project after all. Hopefully, more on that is to come. Until then, our eyes are wide and dreamy and we look fat and pretty!

Am I encouraging racism?

This past weekend was a big one for my host family. Lion's Canadian boss came to visit Jamaica and took all his Jamaican farmhands out on the western side of the island. I went to Falmouth with my host mom to celebrate my one year anniversary on the island with some other Peace Corps volunteers. When they both returned home, I overheard the comparison of their trips and resultant exposure to "how white people stay." The things that I heard filled my head with questions. I jotted down a few outstanding quotes. "Black people selfish. White people giving." "White people nice and loving, black people a sh*t." "These [white] people don't have money either but they still go out and see the place. White people interesting more than black people. They enjoy life more." "White people treat we better than black people."

Color stereotyping is rampant in Jamaica, especially in the country. Light skin means intelligence, beauty, and success. Darker skin is associated with laziness, ignorance, and crime. Good hair is straight and long. Bad hair is short and curly. Parents tell their children that they are black and ugly. Some men and women use laundry "cake soap" which contains bleach to lighten their skin. Many women weave extensions into their hair or cream their hair to make it straight. African Americans deal with these same issues especially in urban areas, and many sociologists say that these attitudes stem from colonialism and slavery. However, this was different. Adults were justifying their intangible racist ideas with me as a real life example. When I tried to argue that color had nothing to do with it my host mom scoffed and reproachfully told me that black people are worthless. How can someone live forty-four years and think that about themselves?

Children's voices carry the most fundamental ideas of a culture. The children often tell me that I'm not like other adults or teachers. I play with them, give them attention, and don't beat them. To them, those qualities are inextricably linked to the fact that I'm white and have "pretty tall hair." My neighbors and community leaders tell me they need more white people in their country to make it a better place. I find myself wishing I could perm my hair, dye my skin brown, and prove that personal qualities and color are not related. Maybe shaving my head would show the young girls that you don't have to have long hair to be pretty or nice or respectful.

Interestingly, I have encountered the opposite attitude amongst wealthier and better educated Jamaicans. This is a hopeful sign that changes are beginning, but these changes are still nascent in Jamaica.

School Garden Part 2

We've started harvesting! The school has turnips (radish) and green beans at lunch now. Some of the poorer students are allowed to take vegetables home with them. We've raised J$400 by selling turnips at the market to buy some more seeds. This past week we planted watermellon, tomato, and lettuce seeds along with our sweet pepper suckers. The students are excited to see things growing, the farmers are enjoying teaching the students, and I'm happy to see more nutritious lunches being served.

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year!

This Christmas was my first Christmas away from home. ::tear:: I won't lie. At first, it was terrible and lonely. I got back from a hiking trip on Christmas Eve to find that everyone in the house had gone to town to do last minute Christmas shopping. I made myself pancakes for dinner and went to sleep at 8. When you go Christmas shopping in Jamaica you don't focus on buying presents for other people. You shop for new sheets, curtains, and paint. Why? Because the Christmas tradition in Jamaica is similar to the spring cleaning tradition in America. I awoke at around 5 AM to the sound of a couch being used as a battering ram against my door. (Not a problem because I had gone to bed so early the night before). Time to empty out the room, mop the floor, and wash the walls. Six hours later we went on a tour of each others rooms OOoing and Ahhing over the new made-in-china sheets and curtain sets. Also, every room got a new set of lacy doilys which matched the curtains and sheet sets for the top of the bureaus. If you see a home decoration that has "old woman's home" written all over it you can be assured that its the apogee of Jamaican interior decorating style. For our community's womens' group gift exchange I made sure to get a faceted pitcher set that my great grandmother would love. Yes, I was upset that instead of spending Christmas morning opening presents I spent it scrubbing the floor. However, the morning of hard work was soon rewarded with Christmas fruit cake, (Much better than American fruit cake: its moist.) sorrel, (a purple drink made from this and ginger) and Christmas wine (always administered with the precaution "Mind yuh drunk yuh know."). The afternoon was spent visiting neighbors, relatives and friends and begging the three aforementioned Christmas delicacies. By evening, you could tell that some of our visitors had visited most of the 116 households in the district.



After Christmas dinner (gungo peas and rice, fried chicken, and salad) I joined some of my community members in the shop out front for a Christmas drink of Dragon Stout, Supligen, and white overproof rum all mixed together. It tastes better than it sounds. We put on "holdies" or old time reggae and started dancing, which, as people who know me know is one of my favorite pastimes. One of my best friends in my community, Fitzroy (farmer, red cross volunteer, genuinely nice person) convinced me to go to a party, which I normally avoid due to incessant sexual harassment, saying he would be my protector. He stayed true to his word and we danced until morning. We visited with friends, watched a machete fight caused by two drunken youths stoning a woman's house, and had a genuinely good time.



The next day was the Christmas tree lighting hosted by the chruch. A Jamaican Christmas tree lighting is basically like a talent show to raise funds for the church. The hostess calls random audience members names. If she calls yours you must sing a song. If you can't sing, you dance. If you can't dance, you pay money. As I entered the church one of my friends warned me, "You know they're going to call your name tonight. You better think about what you are going to sing." He was right. As I walked up to the front of the church, I reached my hand into my pocket to pull out the cash I had stored there after hearning the warning. However, once I got up there I had a sudden burst of courage. I found myself saying, "I'll dance." So, to a standing ovation and a lively reggae beat I started dancing. I think I brought more funds than anyone else that night because they called me up for an encore. The rest of the service was wonderful with candlelight singers, skits, raffling of presents off the tree, and the gift exchange. I got a Spencer's gift style revolving lamp with fish on it. Joy to the World!

No man, yuh kyann manage dat. (Yes I can!)

My days seem to consist of several moments of complete confusion strung together by alternating bouts of comprehension and helplessness. I have come to the conclusion that this confusion and helplessness are largely due to my education and living on my own. I have been training my whole life to block out distractions, concentrate on the task at hand, working on computers and in books. I'm very good at blocking out distractions. So good, that I don't see so-and-so's truck parked by the school or notice the new rain-catchment tank in the neighbor's yard. The Jamaicans in my community have superhuman observation skills. A red dot on a hillside is Ms. Daisy. They can hear the bus on the road from over a mile away (although once my host sister did confuse it with a tractor). One woman in the district who is particularly observant (and particularly gossipy) can glance into a passing bus and can tell you exactly who is leaving Westphalia, where they are going, and about what most everyone is doing there. News in general spreads extremely fast here, which I guess might be characteristic of most small towns. (Westphalia had about 500 people.) It's great for advertising community meetings but often leaves me feeling out of the loop. For example, the other day I was wrapping up a conversation with a friend so that I could visit with a neighbor down the street. When I mentioned where I was going, the friend said "Oh that neighbor isn't at home. I think he's at the nine-night in Resource." When I asked him how he knew he said that he heard his voice a while back while were were talking, and the obvious place for him to be going at this hour was the nine-night. He probably got there about 15 minutes ago. Didn't you see a lot of people going up the road through that hole in the bamboo fence? No, I was paying attention to our conversation. I didn't see anyone going up the road, and I didn't hear anyone's voice either. Are you sure it was him? Sure enough, as the neighbor picked up my phone call I could hear the duppy band in the background. He was at the nine-night.

I have had a great many humbling experiences in Peace Corps so far. Not only have I been training to block out distractions my whole life, I've also gotten used to living on my own for the past five years. Now I'm going from cooking for one to cooking for 11. The pot is a lot harder to stir! Turning on a sink is a lot easier than pouring water from a large basin. I'm really fast at working on computers and with spreadsheets, but I'm pretty slow at hand washing. I can open a can easily with a can opener, but the school doesn't have one. It turns out I'm pretty clumsy with a knife. Probably the number one skill that Peace Corps Volunteers should have is skill with a knife. Other skills that would come in handy are construction, farming/machete weilding, and carrying things on your head. In any case, I'm lousy at all these pratical skills. I never realized that I lived such a stoosh life. All of these changes coupled with the stereotype that white people are weak result in me hearing "No, you can't manage that." several times a week. Most of the time its people taking care of me and protecting me, but it gets frustrating sometimes to hear that. Right now there are some things that I can't manage. Hopefully though, at the end of two years, I'll come back swining a machete with a bucket of water on my head, and my community will be literate and have piped water.