On living without power

I have electricity. Sometimes. Cat and I have it most of the time, actually, if we're careful. Which we usually are.

Our house has two sources of luz, actually. The first is the el panel. This was a gift from an NGO, I forget which, that gave panels to the majority of la gente a few years ago.

It weighs about 20 lbs. I heft it up onto the roof every morning to and take it down every evening to keep it from growing legs and sneaking off in the night.

El panel came with the house we are renting. It connects to batteries that store the electricity it collects throughout the day.

These are connected to an inversor that connects to the wiring in the house. You turn on the inversor and voila! there's luz.
 

The second source is municipal electricity. You plug a cord into the wall and there's power. It works exactly like in the US except that it doesn't work all the time. Sometimes there's just not power. Most of the time, actually. This is common throughout the country, even in the Santo Domingo (link to thoughts on the third world), though para alla and in other places that have political capital there's a schedule. Not here.

La luz arrived in the pueblo shortly before we did. In this town, lacking a paved road to connect it to the rest of the world the sight of concrete palos de luz (streetlights) along the hillside seems shockingly modern. Especially when el cable connects to a wooden house with a zinc roof.

When the la luz is off we use the panel. There's a switch that flips between the two.



These two sources more or less keep us in la luz 24/7. Just like the US, right? Wrong. La luz literally means "light," and the current in the inversor isn't good for much more than that. We can charge our phones and laptop, but forget about having a refrigerator.

The house of our host mom had a hefty inversor system gifted by a son who is a técnico de la luz. It has two car batteries and an inversor of the same size. For point of comparison, our inversor is the size of a paperback dictionary.

Even with this system her TV and fridge can't run at the same time. When using panel electricity the food only stays fresh-ish: leftovers don't keep that long but at least the lettuce doesn't wilt. And that TV? It's just a TV and quite modest at that: no DVD, no home stereo system, no Xbox, etc. All of that uses more electricity than a small home solar system can provide.

Some people still have that stuff but they can only use it when la luz is on. We can tell when it's time to switch from the inversor when our neighbor is bumping Rihanna.

This makes for a lot of small differences that add up to a significantly different lifestyle. For example, people don't have carpet here. Maybe this is because it's not a very "tropical" thing but ask yourself if you would have wall to wall rugs that couldn't be shaken out if you couldn't reliably run a vacuum cleaner. The same is true for power tools. They work when la luz is on but when you're relying on an inversor any motor with a good torque makes the lights blink.

There is a phrase I have been thinking about lately, one I have read in older texts: "all the modern conveniences." These are the things to which those words refer.

Life can still get lived, and quite well, without them. It's just less convenient. Things take longer and require more work. Which mean more labor. In the DR where power is inconsistent you see two things that used to be ubiquitous in the US but are less common these days: full time housewives and domestic help.

I think that it's no stretch to say that the edifice of modern feminism was founded on a platform of cheap energy, but that's another essay for another blog.

Another entry for this blog might be an investigation into where la luz comes from and why it is so irregular. I have done zero research but I'll dare speculate that it has something to do with the fact that DR is an island that, unlike my homeland, does not span a continent and cannot mine it's own coal.

This is one reason I am skeptical of the idea of a purely green future in which everything runs on paneles and wind farms with nary a smokestack or topless mountain to blot la vista. For this to work we would need to less energy, but instead we are using ever more. I am using electricity to write these words and you are using it to read them right now, aren't you?

Our community has a Centro de Tecnológico that it's full of computers. They run great when la luz is on. When it's not, it runs off it's own generator which is the size of a minivan.




That black stuff on the pipe? That´s soot from exhaust.

We got a lot less work done today because someone in my community captured an endangered species

Translation:

"OK! This animal is called el solonedonte. It was captured in the foothills of Nalga de Maco National Park. This animal, I think it only exists in the island of Hispaniola and was last seen in this part - I think it could have been - in 1990. The dogs killed that one and it was dried and now it`s in the Museum of Dominican Humanity. This is the soloneodonte!"

The critter was caught by a farmer. The video was taken by my project partner.  As it happens he was instrumental in the foundation of the aforementioned national park. Immediately after taking this video we got the Ministry of Environment on the line and they told him to release it back into the wild.

In terms of rarity they are somewhere between wolverine and unicorn. We showed the video to anyone willing to look. Reactions were mixed. Some shrugged ("It looks like a big rat.") to very impressed. What a difference environmental education makes.

Wikipedia:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hispaniolan_solenodon

Gracias for your servicio

I was long overdue to meet one of my neighbors. In the States, especially in the cities, it is not uncommon to live for years next to someone and not know them well (or at all) but in the DR the reverse is true, especially in the campo. In addition to being good for confianza there's a pragmatic fatalism to knowing your neighbors in a small pueblo. People will know your business whether you like it or not, so you might as well pull up a plastic chair, accept a cup of coffee, and make the most of it. I wasn't exactly avoiding the neighbor in question - I said hola when I saw him - I has just been too busy to really talk.
   
But not too busy to be conscious of the oversight. I was very appreciative when he introduced a subject of real conversation, though I was surprised by the topic.

"My son is a colonel in el ejercito," he said to me over our shared fence, apropos of nothing.

I shouldn't have been surprised. There was a new-ish 4x4 parked in front of the house. Here in the pueblo vehículos are thin on the ground and visitors that arrive in them are usually pretty well off. He added: "He just got back from Iraq."

I was confused. "¿En el ejercito Americano?" I asked. Some Dominicans become Americans and go on to serve. His son wouldn't be the first Dominican American soldier I had here.

"No," he said, "de aquí.¨ From here.

Like many of my generation I spent the early 2000s opposing the war in Iraq: it's announcement, execution and failure. And like them I quickly forgot about it after the majority of the troops came home. One of my most embarrassing gaffes during my courtship with Cat was using the war as a preterite reference point.

"Back when the war was going on. . ." I said.

"It's still going on," she corrected me.  This was 2008. It's 2016 now and it still is.

Before I knew it the son had been produced from the house. He looked exactly as one expects of an army colonel: late 20s, closely cropped hair, and imposingly fit.

I see Dominican soldiers all the time. The frontera is littered with checkpoints where las guardias stop vehicles to check for undocumented Haitian migrants. In a small country it makes sense to combine the army and the border patrol. I was mistaken in believing that this was their only occupation.

In my group of volunteers there is a man about my age who is a combat veteran.  He served four tours. I am impressed by him even if, as he says, he was "just doing what he was told." He served alongside soldiers from a much ballyhooed international coalition that supported my patria's foreign misadventure. I remember being very skeptical of the smaller constituent nations of the coalition - really, what could a small country like the Dominican Republic contribute? - but never would I have imaged that I would one day meet a member of that coalition and see the smile on his face after he returned. Nor in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that his service would be 13(!) years after the initial invasion.

I shook the colonel's hand and told him that I was glad to see him home safe. He told me that it had been hard to be there and see how the people suffered but vale la pena. It had been worth it. I told him there is a refran (saying) that Americans say to soldiers: "Gracias para su servicio." Thank you for your service.

These were the same words that an aunt of mine used when she first learned that Cat and I had joined the Peace Corps. This was a woman whose step-son had seen active duty in Afghanistan. I remember being surprised at the phrase; normally Americans speak it to warriors, not to peacemakers. I accepted the compliment but was inwardly uncomfortable. Surely my sacrifice paled next to that of my cousin, who had been shot at.

As I write this now I think of a Dominican professor who is deeply grateful for the presence of Peace Corps in her country. She was tremendously impressed by the generosity of the volunteers. "They do such good work and they give two whole years of their lives." She did not use the refran. I was less uncomfortable this time.

Another volunteer in our group is a self-described military brat. Her parents recognize her work here as a service to their country not dissimilar to their own. Another volunteer has a brother in the army. She says they are proud of each other.  I am glad for them and grateful for their example. If they can accept a little praise, so can I.

But this kind of appreciation does not make me think that I serve at the same level as a soldier. I chose to serve but I got to chose where I serve and what I would do here. Peace Corp volunteers do get hurt and die during service but the odds of something truly bad happening to me are vanishingly small. If I return home, which I am free to do at any time, there is no penalty or shame associated with the decision.

And respecting these soldiers does not make me believe any less in the cause of peace. Even if, like many comfortable Americans, I have been able to forget a war is being fought because I wasn't asked to fight it.

All of this, though, makes me take my work here very seriously, regardless of the name of this blog.

Don't take my word for it

The truth is,  Cat and I are not the only volunteers in this little pueblo in the mountains. We have recently received un jóven named Chase who is kindly assisting us with an ecotourism project. He is here on an internship between Washington and Lee University and Onwards,  Inc.

Like me, he maintains a blog of his experiences here.

I Heart Evangelical Christians

My wife has a hard time with heavy metal. When I listen to Falls of Rauros or Wolves in the Throne Room, I do it through headphones. She can't take the screaming. She is quite sonically adventurous - she likes everything from classical music to an experimental genre that is called, literally, "Noise" -  just not when it comes to certain extremes of the human voice. It reminds her of being yelled at.

So she has something of a hard time when the Evangelical church two houses over from us gets going. I'm not trying in any way to disparage los evangélicos by saying that they're screamers. I am just trying to be accurate. I recognize that they might prefer the word "praise" (or in español, dar oración) but when you are praising so intensely that your voice breaks, you're screaming.

I kind of dig it! And not just because I am the guy that likes screaming music.

As I grow older and become more invested in my own spiritual path the more I celebrate the spiritual expression of other people.  I think it's a good thing that evangélicos pray in the way that they think is best. I also think I get why they scream. Sometimes a feeling is so powerful that it possesses the entire body and forcefully escapes through the mouth. In metal this process is cathartic - bad feelings get shouted out - but it happens to Evangelicals when they are having a good time.

This sonic similarity is one of many things that I am surprised to appreciate about Evangelical Christianity as it is practiced in the Dominican Republic. It might be a bit early to call, but I'll go on the record as a fan. Evangelicals play a surprisingly large role in society here given that they are outnumbered by Catholics by more than two to one.

Despite being extremely expressive in their praise - I've been to other Evangelical churches and even the ones where they don't scream the volume is still turned up to 11 - they serve as a moderating force in Dominican culture. Dominicans dance and drink and do the dirty deed at rates only barely exceeded tourists in Punta Cana.  I don't think that drinking, dancing and doin' it are inherently bad but I do think that these stats for alcoholism and teen pregnancy suggest that Dominicans, as a whole, need to tone it down a little bit.

Which is exactly what evangélicos do. They don't drink, they don't dance (outside of church) and they (allegedly) don't do it before they're married. Yes, all human beings are capable of hypocrisy and, yes, Catholics have moral precepts too, but from my own observations it seems to me that your average evangelical en la República takes their commandments more seriously than your average católico.

I think that this is because Evangelical Protestantism is a relatively new thing here. I have met some multi-generational Evangelical families but I have met more new converts away from Catholicism. This is important not because I am an ex-Catholic myself (though I am), nor because I am a fan of Evangelical doctrine (we actually have profound disagreements) but because when you convert you are by default making a choice. And when you make a choice about a religion you necessarily have to consider your own behavior.

This isn't just a Dominican thing. It happens in other cultures, too.  I, un americano, came up Christian but converted to Buddhism when I needed to make some big changes in my life. Korea, a traditionally Buddhist country, has high rates of alcoholism despite the Buddhist prohibition against abusing alcohol. What religion to Koreans convert to when they want to turn it from 11 to 7? Christianity.

I am into choosers, even if it's a choice I don't particularly agree with. It suggests a certain liberalism, not in the political sense of the word but meaning "openness to new ideas."

This surprised the heck out of me when I first realized it. Like many liberal-ish Americans who came of age during the Bush years the I associated the word "Evangelical" (meaning merely that you preach your faith to others as opposed to practicing it at home) with bad pop music and outsized influence in public policy. I had a negative conception that can only be described as prejudice. How ironic is it my biggest experience of cultural exchange in Peace Corps is a with group I already thought I knew?

The same is true for Jehovah's Witnesses. Don't worry, I won't be knocking on your door anytime soon but I now know something about their practice (as opposed to nothing) and so far I like what I have seen. My project partner is a testigo and upon visiting his house I was pleasantly surprised to discover a shelf full of books - not the most common site here. It turns out that becoming a full-fledged testigo requires a lot of study and therefore the J-dubs are seriously into literacy. The book shelf didn't bear only JW books. They were just books about the world. I am not into their doctrine but I admire the outward facing interest.

I hear that Mormons are on the upswing here, too. This doesn't surprise me. Outward facing interest aside, the RD has to be the easiest assignment in todo el mundo for missionaries, be they Mormon or any other group. The Dominican national pastime (other than baseball) is sitting on the front porch visiting with folks. They prefer folks they know but in a pinch they'll flag down a stranger and give them coffee.

I believe that these different denominations represent the introduction of religious diversity to RD. Even if it's just new flavors of Christianity right now, it's only a matter of time before it includes other religions. That's how it worked in Europe and the US, after all. As a diversity loving heathen, I approve!

Haitians and Hanukkah

When winter comes in the US, we say "Happy Holidays." As far greetings go it's pretty accurate but not very precise; most people aren't celebrating generic "holidays" but something more specific. As far as winter holidays go Ramadan is a moving target and Kwanzaa is an asterisk: the biggies, as we all know,  are Christmas and Hanukkah. So, what do we say to our baristas when we drop our change in the tip jar? Merry Christmas or Happy Hanukkah? Neither: we equivocate with "Happy Holidays," for fear of causing offense.

It's easy to see how we got here. Really, how can you tell if someone is Jewish or Christian by appearances alone? You can't!

Sure, sometimes we can hazard a guess and not strikeout. And there are signs we might look for: someone wearing a cross or a particularly ugly sweater is probably into Christmas. A bearded gentleman with prominent forelocks' and a kippe probably will not object to Happy Hanukkah.  We might listen for a name or accent to clue us in. If we are really comfortable (and most likely Jewish ourselves) we might judge by physiognomy.

Of course this is profiling in itself. And it doesn't always work.  Even Jews get it wrong sometimes. Hence, Happy Holidays.

It's July and I'm wondering, how can we tell Dominicans from Haitians? I ask because I am currently enrolled in a Kreyol class. My wife Cat and I stationed near the Haitian border and Kreyol, being tte language of Haiti, might come in handy. The chance to learn another language (Spanish) was one of the reasons we chose Peace Corps, so we're really excited to learn another and are to determined to use it.

Since there is no equivalent of "Happy Holidays" that covers both Spanish and Kreyol, I have to guess. Even though I know I'm going to get it wrong.

So I present here, more for my own mortification as for your edification, a shortlist of the "signs" I've discovered.

Color
Both Dominicans and Haitians have a lot of Africa in their history, but Dominicans are more intermixed with other groups than Haitians. If someone looks "black" in the American sense of the word, they are likely Dominican. If they look "African" they are likely Haitian.

But of course there are "African" looking Dominicans. And there is the fact that nationality is not a genetic trait. A person of 100% African Ancestry, born in Haiti, can magically transform with the right documentation. One of the most celebrated of all Dominican politicians, José Francisco Peña Gomez, a man many consider the first true leader to emerge after three decades of dictatorship was born to Haitian parents, orphaned by a massacre, adopted by Dominican parents and *poof* was magically transformed.

And there is the fact that there are light - even "white" - Haitians. So let's forget about color.

Class
Haitians are, unfortunately, almost universally impoverished. In my town of 2000, which is about half-Haitian, only 2 or 3 Haitian families own their home. The rest rent or squat. They often lack shoes and their clothes are little more than rags.

But national privilege does not guarantee subsistence and I have met Dominicans whose extremely humble house was indistinguishable for their Haitian neighbors and whose clothes were likely picked from the same paca.

So let's scratch class as well.

Occupation
Haitians, like Latin American immigrants in the US, bear the brunt of the agricultural grunt work. They often work longs hours in fincas owned by Dominicans where they are paid by the day.

But Dominicans, too, toil in fields not their own. And Haitians can do as well for themselves as any other group and I've heard a few own land, so maybe occupation isn't that helpful after all.

Language
Haitians speak Kreyol and Dominicans speak Spanish, right? But if *anything* is mutable it's language, right? So many I shouldn't get started with this one . . .

Accent
Kreyol is, well, a creole of many languages but the largely constituent in the stew is French, somany Haitians speak with a nasal acc--- You know what? Nevermind.

Happy Christmas in July!

Helpful skills for life in the campo

How to swing a machete

How to dance*

How to ride on the back of a moto without using your hands

How to cook over a fogon*

How to take a bathe, shave, and brush your teeth using only one pitcher of water

How to tell if "Yes, soon" means "Yes, soon" or "No"*

How to keep up with a conversation while only understanding 40% of what is said

How to wash clothes by hand*

How to sit on the edge of the bed of a moving pickup without falling out

How to make coffee in an empty tin can*

How to hook up a solar panel

How to politely equivocate when answering the question whether or not your are going to have
children*

How to flush a toilet using a bucket of water

How to politely steer the conversation away from religion so you don't have to tell people you're not a Christian*

How to use a toilet with no seat

How to haggle politely while still getting a fair deal*

How to address someone's illiteracy without making them feel ashamed

How to hiss at someone politely*

How to say "Hi" in Kreyol

How to peel a green banana*

*Pending