July 4th Reflections

All my recent entries (including this one) have carried the "Blogging Abroad Challenge" badge. I have signed up for this challenge in attempt to write more regularly and write from different angles. The second I saw this week's theme ("Quotes & Proverbs") one phrase immediately leapt to mind:Si no tienes padrino se muere sin bautizar.

"If you don't have a godfather, you die without being baptized." To get ahead in the world you have to know someone.

Dominicans use it with the resigned air that you use when acknowledging an unpleasant but long learned truth. This is especially true in a country that struggles with corruption as much as the Dominican Republic. Political favors, employment, even healthcare can depend on who you know or how much you pay.

I don't drop the C-word lightly. I have a disclaimer on the side bar of this blog stating that the opinions on this blog doesn't reflect the opinions of the Peace Corps but this is still very much a PC project. This means that I take responsible representation of my host country very seriously.

Peace Corps service is incredibly rewarding but it can also be baffling, frustrating, and disappointing. Sometimes you just need to vent but that isn't what this is about. Because corruption in the Dominican Republic isn't a matter of my opinion or my frustration but fact: it ranked 120 of 176 countries on Transparency International's "Corruption Perception Index." This means that there are 119 countries less corrupt than the DR and only 56 more corrupt.

The classic example of corruption is la botella ("bottle"): a job for which you are given a title and a paycheck but don't have to do anything. I once met a store owner who was also a prominent campaign organizer for the political party in power. As a token of appreciation for his efforts he was appointed "Assistant Ambassador to Canada" despite not speaking English or French or even having traveled to the country.

This example might be a little comical but corruption is a much bigger that that. The DR was one of 11 countries involved in the 9 billion Odebrecht bribery scandal - the largest such scandal in recorded history. . Seven people went to jail.

I feel OK talking about corruption because Dominicans talk about it. A lot. Corruption is a widely acknowledged problem that enters virtually every political conversation that doesn't involve a politician. And, rather awesomely, Dominicans not only talk but take action. The Odebrecht case appears to be the last straw for many. There is currently a nationwide protest movement (La Marcha Verde - "Green March") demanding el fin de la impunidad: "the end of impunity."

I have written admiringly about Dominican politics before and that hasn't changed. It is, in fact, quite heartening to know that they haven't given up on their young democracy despite everything. The people take to the streets to make their voices heard and voter participation is higher than in the United States.

Still, the folks in the green t-shirts and ballcaps have a long march ahead of them.

Today, here in the mountain village, far from any other Americans except Cat and any fireworks, I am grateful to have grown up in a country where where my education, employment and health didn't depend on my having a "godfather."

By CPI standards the USA is not the least corrupt country in the world but certainly far less corrupt than the DR.

We're number 18!

Happy Independence Day.

A Day in the Life of Hombre Serio Cero

This is not the story of any one particular day.  Some days I am not nearly this productive and - and some days I have even more to do. What follows is a sketch of the "average" day.

04:00 Awake to the sound of screaming roosters.

04:30 Fall back asleep after much tossing and turning.

06:30 Alarm on cell phone. Wake up and get up.

06:30 - 07:30 Morning meditation and old man stretches.

07:30 - 08:30 Breakfast: black coffee and oatmeal. Brush teeth, shower and shave.

08:30 Holler into the street to remind neighborhood muchachos about math lesson at 9 AM.

08:45 - 09:15 Talk about the day ahead with Cat

09:20 - 10:10 Math lesson with two or three muchachos. It's a surprising amount of effort but is a good way to warm up my Spanish for the day.

10:15 Leave for the community bank, in theory a two minute walk.

10:30 Arrive at savings bank having briefly chatted with at least five neighbors and politely but firmly resisted at least one invitation to sit and have coffee.

10:30 - 10:45 Chat with the cajera (teller) catching up on important local news: deaths in the night upcoming and/or religious holidays I might not not know about.

Most important: is the Señor (my project partner) in today? He was but he left on an errand while I was teaching math. When real news gives way to chisme (gossip) I know it's time to get to work.

11:00 I finally sit at my desk. I review my email and calendar to see if I have any reports due to Peace Corps (they are surprisingly frequent). Nothing today, but I do have an appointment with a business student at 02:30.

11:15 - 1:00 I review my notes about what the Señor and I need to discuss, writing an informal agenda of questions and bullet points. To avoid about 15 minutes of increasingly frustrating back-and-forth questions, I take special pains to identify and look up any jargon that I don't know necessary jargon: e.g., "Cartera de prestamos" (loan portfolio).

12:00 - 12:45 I review notes and terminology for the afternoon's appointment and print out and examples of simple accounting ledgers for us to practice with.

12:45 - 12:50 I repeat the same hello/goodbye gauntlet on the way "home" (host mother's house across the street from where we actually live) for lunch. It takes less time because less people are outside in the the mid-day heat. The president of the bank's credit committee is on his front porch, in the shade. I stop to remind him of the meeting we have scheduled one week from today.

12:50 - 13:50 Lunch, la bandera in all it's glory: beans, rice, a little bit of pollo criollo (backyard chicken) still on the bone, and a mayonnaise-based salad featuring boiled, cubed tayota squash.

During the meal, I help Host-Mom badger Host Brother into getting ready for school.

Cat shows up at 13:30, done up for the afternoon class session and whisks off Host Brother with her.

I let the food settle as I watch the last half of a telenovela with Host-Mom. We chat about the silly plot and how her grown kids in the big city are doing. I let her know that Host Brother behaved himself during the morning math lessons and is really starting to get the hang of it.

13:50 -14:00 Sit at home with the doors and windows shut so I can enjoy an afternoon cup of coffee in peace and quiet.

14:05 I arrive back at the office, having said adios to anyone who said saludo to me - which is culturally appropriate and I greatly appreciate it. While I wait for the 14:30 appointment I write idle fragments of poetry. 

14:45 My 2:30 appointment arrivals.

2:50 - 15:30 After small talk we get to work. Instead of reviewing the practice ledgers, she wants to talk about getting a loan for her small business. We talk about the pros and cons of loans and how they aren't always necessary even if you qualify for one. We brainstorm likely expenses to put together a budget for her project. Around 3 PM el Señor pokes his head in to let me know he's here.

15:30 -16:30 Finally sit down with the Señor. We discuss his oficios (errands) outside of the pueblo: business or personal? As always, both.

On the agenda: the accountant says we should increase the size of the loan portfolio if we want to offset our troubling spending deficit. He also recommends initiating a promotion campaign to promote other financial products. Is that realistic with a staff of one and a half people?

The door is open so we notice when the President of the Board of Directors comes in for a routine transaction. The Señor and I form a friendly tag team and force him into an impromptu meeting. We review all of the above. The afternoon rain kicks in, keeping us inside a little longer than planned.

16:45 - 17:45  Home sweet home. I sit in the shelter of my front porch and scribble notes for this blog entry while I watch muchachos play in the street.  The mom of one collects laundry that she has hung on the barbwire outside my house and lets me know she has an English exam at the university next Monday. Could we study tonight?

18:00 - 18:00 We practice English in her out-kitchen as screaming children run in and out. In 30 minutes we have maybe 15 of actual concentration but she is steadily coming along. I leave because the sun is setting and the light will come late tonight.

18:30 - 19:30 Romantic dinner by candlelight with Cat: lentil soup (she made it) supplemented with individually wrapped single-serving pieces of bread from the colmado ("corner store"). Cat tells me we are running low on key provisions (e.g. lentils) that we can't get in the pueblo. We talk schedule and logistics about heading into the nearest big city - an entire days errand. We realize we can't go tomorrow but the day after works. It's been a while and it will be nice to take a break from our campo.

19:30 - 19:45 Romantic dish washing by candlelight.

19:50 We hear the scrape of the front gate against the sidewalk and the tell-tale call of  "¡Vecinos!" (neighbors). It is, of course, Fulano. We are tired but he is a good friend so we invite him to sit on the front porch. While we chat, the evangelical church three houses over commences and it's raucous service. We botar Fulano at 20:30 because we are tired.

20:30 - 21:30 Meditate, brush teeth and collapse into bed with a good book by light of electric, solar-powered lantern. The church service has wrapped up.

22:00 Pitch black tranquility gives way to an impromptu celebration as the light arrives. Every family on the street turns on their televisions all at once and the corner store turns on loud music just for the hell of it. So much for reading! Cat and I load an episode of /Narcos/ on the laptop.

23:15 All at once everyone remembers that they have to go farming tomorrow morning. The TV and music go silent. Cat and I close our eyes. Somewhere, for some reason, dogs begin to bark in the darkness startling a lone rooster who begins to crow.

Why

I have wanted to join the Peace Corps ever since I was 23 years old. I remember clear as day checking out a tome titled "So You Want to Join the Peace Corps" from the university library. In addition to promising the experience of a lifetime, it described a two-year long application process. That alone told me I wasn't ready.

I spent another six years of growing up. I turned 29. I got married. Three days after the ceremony Cat and I closed up our apartments and moved to Hawaii. Instead of a permanent address we moved to a new location every eight weeks as part of an extended WWOOFing tour. Instead of steady jobs we worked for free.

It was a bold move, but carefully considered. No, we didn't have any definite plans upon return but we had plenty of ideas. Chief among those? Peace Corps.

I turned 30. We applied. We got in. We were told that since we had only been married six months that we would have to wait another six months, at least.

But then my beautiful and talented wife got a job good enough to pay off our nagging student debt so we put PC on hold. But we never stopped talking about it. Years went by as we talked until finally, debt done paid, we applied again. We got in. We are here. I'm now 36.

So, why?

They ask you on the application. I told the truth but you know how those things are. The boundaries of acceptable explanation are so narrow that it forces your story into another shape. But here in this little read space I am free to say as I like so long as I don't make PC look bad, which I can't imagine doing since I love almost everything about this experience.

So, why?

Cat and I talked about it on the podcast but I don't remember much of what I said except for one phrase: "It's the best thing that one does."

Sometimes, when I submit my resume I wonder if the recipient will have an easy time understanding what it's all been about. To me, the guy who lived it, there are two common threads that connect all my various employments, including volunteer farming:
1. Work at understaffed, under organized, underfunded, o sea, "underdeveloped" organizations.
2. Work that involves trying to help people in some capacity.

These are the two things that I seem to be good at: making do with dysfunction and trying to do good in the midst of the mess. I cannot think of a better description of Peace Corps work.

So, I appear to be cut out for it. But why did I decide to do it?

I can only explain that I had a nagging sense that I wouldn't be "done" if I didn't join PC. During the lengthy application process I asked a mentor of mine to serve as a reference. He didn't hesitate, even though my departure would leave him in a lurch. He said: "I've always regretted not joining Peace Corps." He's 70.

So, I wanted to avoid regrets later in life. But what did I want to get from the experience?

That I can answer easily without (further) long-winded introspection. At 34, when I applied again, I distinctly remember wanting the following:

• To learn to speak Spanish √
• To get the hell out of the city √
• A break from the Rat Race √
• "Adventure," in all its ambiguity √
• Experience another culture long-term, from the inside √
• Make new friends √
• Find more depth in my marriage √
• More time to write √
• Get away from the internet and constantly being "plugged in"
• Learn to dance
• Live more low tech, more lightly on the land √
• Discover new depths to my spiritual practice  √
• Help people who need it √
• Have more time to stretch, exercise and do the things necessary to care for my weekend warrior injuries √
• Broaden my professional horizons √
• Do things that scare me √
• Make some kind of sustainable difference
• Have a garden

The check marks mean what you think they do. As for the unchecked items, well, it's been been over a year since I arrived in country and nearly a year since we arrived to our permanent community. Which is to say I have just over one year left.

There's still time.

A letter to a friend

Hey Kenny,

About a year ago you were here on the island for a wedding. You offered to come out and see me but I couldn't make the time because I was still in training. Training is mostly powerpoint marathons and icebreaker games but your visit overlapped with something important - my first trip into the field to visit an actual volunteer. This is like job shadowing but compressed and abbreviated: since PC service is a 24/7 job you spend three solid days hanging out to get an idea of what it's like.

One year on, it`s on me to return the favor. This past weekend I played host to a new volunteer, still in training, so he could get an idea of what life is like. My site is super tranquilo: clean, safe, and isolated, near the Haitian border. There's not a lot to do for fun and what gets done for work gets done more slowly. During the visit I showed the newbie around and introduced him to some of old timers I work with. It's SOP for getting anything done: no one takes you seriously if you haven't the decency to spend a few hours on the front porch with them shooting the shit and drinking coffee. At one such gathering newbie tells us a story.

In training they stick you in a barrio outside the capital. It's safe-ish, as long as you don't walk around at night, not that different than the neighborhoods where you and I worked in San Francisco except your street smarts don't always translate. One night newbie wakes up to all the dogs on his street barking. He gets up to see what the fuss is and sees two guys running from roof-to-roof being chased by what can only be described as an angry mob. The two were trying to steal motorcycles - way more common than cars here - but instead of getting away they get caught. The police show up but stand back while the mob works the thieves over a bit: this, too, is SOP. When the crowd is done the thieves are bloodied but not seriously hurt. The cops take them away and the neighbors use the occasion as an excuse to party.

Newbie has been in the country less than three weeks and is telling this story to practice his Spanish and make conversation but also to process the event. The old timer responds with a story of his own: a few weeks back, two guys were caught trying to steal motorcycles in a town just on the other side of the border. They, too, were caught by a mob. But instead of turning them over to the cops, the mob doused them with gasoline and set them on fire. I am reminded of the Old West: they didn't have gasoline back then, so when mobs caught horse thieves they hung them from trees.

When I first got to the DR I was still processing the experience of our work in SF. I made constant comparisons not just between the US and Dominican and Haitian culture, but between the Americans I had left behind and the Americans I found myself working with. The average PC volunteer is a decade or more younger than I am, which makes them the exact age as the "at risk" folks we used to work with. That was the biggest difference of all: not the Spanish or the threat of violence (plenty of both of those in Bayview, right?) but going from working with 23 year old gang members who couldn't write a complete sentence to working with 23 year olds with masters degrees. Because PC has been on a big diversity push in recent years the demographics even overlap: plenty of African Americans and Latinos, though not any Pacific Islanders - at least not in my group.

A year on, this education gap remains the biggest difference that I am aware of. Not just between the kind of Americans who get accepted into PC and the kind of Americans who end up in programs like the one we used to run in SF, but the difference between Dominicans and Americans and Dominicans and Haitians and even the difference between Americans now and Americans in the Old West. I think this one key difference eventually manifests in the other types of differences that bring PC here to the DR: a struggling economy, too many teen moms, violent crime, etc.

When we were in the thick of it in SF, we were usually too busy putting out fires to reflect on what we were doing. At least I was. Now, here, in between the cups of coffee and parlays in Spanish, I have had a little time to process it all. I know we weren't always able to make the difference that we wanted to, to prevent the violence from reaching the kids or reaching out of them, but I want to you to know I am proud of what we did, as small as it might seem in retrospect. I am proud of you and thank you for being there with me through all of it.

I hope you and Amy are well,
Kevin