Sometimes you get shown the light, in the strangest of places if you look at it right

On this day I want to thank and remember our heroes. 





OK!
**WARNING THIS ENTRY CONTAINS STRONG LANGUAGE AND UN-CONTAINED, UNAPOLOGETIC, AND UNPROFESSIONAL THOUGHTS READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.**

A lot has happened since the last entry. A whoolleeeeeleap as the patwa saying goes. Since July 1st, I've been kicked out of the peace corps and deported from Jamaica all criminal-like, lived at my parents house, found a new job, and up and moved to New Orleans. Wow. Where to begin....

It all begin around early June. I received a call from my brother announcing he'd gotten a career almost straight out of college. After congratulating him, we threw around the idea of him coming to visit before selling his soul to the adult work day. Although extremely excited, a huge problem was placed before me: how would I have him visit without taking vacation time? (We were forbidden from taking vaca time before 4 months.) Also how would I avoid breaking the 48 hour rule? (We were not allowed to be away from site for more than 48 hours without taking vacation time.) These thoughts weighed on me for quite a few weeks. Should I just tell my security officer (the person we were supposed to report our whereabouts to) and hope she would be ok with it? What if she isn't? I couldn't tell my brother not to come- the truth was I didn't know when I'd be able to see him again. I also thought about the last time my brother and I had had a really close relationship (around the age of 12.) In addition, I thought about how much I had sacrificed to get to the Peace Corps. Years of applications, interviews, doctors fees, selling most of my personal belongings, mentally preparing myself for 2 years of what was supposed to be El Salvador rural living. What to do?

Like any other Peace Corps decision, I called the all knowing ones, aka the Peace Corps group before us. I asked three different 82ers what they thought, and I received many responses-- mostly saying 'oh I break that rule all the time' or 'everyone breaks that rule.' Well if everyone breaks the rules, and rules are meant to be broken.... fuck it. Let my brother come and I'm going to show him one hell of a time. Upon asking my principal's permission, telling my host family, and receiving positive responses, I prepared for my brothers visit.

Fast forward a few weeks. Sam is happily received at the airport and off we go to Jah-B's Rasta cabin in the woods. After an amazing few days hiking the blue mountains, getting lost in weed plants, eating amazing back country Ital food and sleeping in a beautiful cabin overlooking the mountains, we arrive in Ochio Rios at a friends place. A few hours later, a few other volunteers show up and we are drinking  local rum out of a bottle pre-gaming for clubbing at the infamous Margheritiville. After almost 5 hours of non stop dancing, I notice myself dancing with a random gymnast from Iowa. Win. I look over to my left, smiling my usual drunk cheshire grin, and a male volunteer is happily dancing right beside us. To the right my fellow female PCV is being daggered by 2 different Jamaicans in different positions ranging from (but not limited to) on her head, on the ground, and upside down. It was some of the most amazing gymnast daggering I have ever witnessed-- by a whitey none the less! Go itty.

The next day we awoke to an amazing snorkeling and cliff jumping sesh in Pat's backyard. Yes. That's right. His back yard is this:

The rest of Sam's visit essentially consisted of boat trips at Pat's work, beaching, cliff jumping at blue hole, and meeting up with other volunteers to see their sites. Overall it was the most amazing few days I'd had in Jam. I felt exstatic about being able to rebond with my brother as I packed my stuff to return to site. Then came the dark clouds. I received a call from my country director explaining an emergency meeting I would attend the following morning to talk about "the whereabouts policy." DUN DUN DUN. That's it. I had really done it now. I knew and my heart sank. "Will I be admin sept Carla?"  I asked in a pleading and shakey voice. She then replied, "I don't know we will talk tomorrow." 

Most of the night I stayed awake writing an honest apology and explanation. I would be clear, honest, and apologetic. I will explain that I have never broken the policy before and have no plans to break it in the future. I will explain that I had JUST FOUNDED AND INITIATED MY BREAKFAST FEEDING PROGRAM (a program where I had begun a school garden with the children in hopes that those who were unable to afford meals could eat from.) I will explain that I AM RUNNING 3 SUMMER CAMPS IN THE NEXT FEW WEEKS. And they will understand, I thought. Well I thought wrong. 15 mins after the meeting, I was poked and prodded by the medical evaluation people, "exit interviewed'" by our director, given 30mins to pack my shit and say goodbye to my host family (some of whom were not even there!), forced to clean up a volunteers home who had ET'd (including cleaning out her rotting food), all the while hysterically crying-- mostly in public. 

The beautiful thing though, was how much love I received before I left. Upon me leaving, I was told my community had called pleading for me not to go. Most of the volunteers called or even came to my hotel to say goodbye. Some volunteers even gave me presents, cried with me, and Claire Girven, bless her heart, stayed with me for the whole 72 hours pretty much ensuring my sanity. Thank God for her. 

After the saddest goodbyes to people who had become my family and the most miserable and hysterical travelling experience I had ever endured, seventy two hours later I was on a plane home-- where I had no job, no car, and a very upset family awaiting me. There I was, plopped straight into the most American and celebratory day of all- July 4th. Happy Fuckin 4th I thought as I tried to secretly cry in my lawn chair, the fireworks sparkling over my head. Even my decorative American flag seemed sorrow, as it sadly drooped over the cup holder in my lawn chair. For awhile, it seemed like no one knew what to say to me. Even some of my friends didn't come around or barely answered my calls. WTF? I didn't die or become diseased I just got fired for christ sake, I told myself too many times. 

After a few days of feeling bad for myself, crying and just generally being a rainy cloud to my family and friends, I got my act together and starting applying to jobs. I applied to absolutely any non profit on  idealist.org that I found even tolerably interesting in Fort Lauderdale, NYC, and New Orleans. One day passed. I receive a call from the Red Cross New Orleans office. I would be interviewed *IN AN HOUR* for a disaster relief postion. ZOMG! I better start preparing! After what I thought was a shakey interview, and after explaining my "family sickness" reasons for leaving Peace Corps- I didn't get my hopes up. I went for a swim and received a voicemail a few hours later. It was the Red Cross. I was hired!? And expected in New orleans in 10 days. Holy shit again. Luckily my stuff wasn't even unpacked, so I moved to the land of beer and debauchery with two suitcases and a bit more employability confidence. Win. 

So here I am. 24. Fired and hired. Jamaica to New Orleans in 1 month. Typing to you on my computer in my very own *scarcily furnished* uptown, 2 bedroom apartment with two roommates. Busy as shit with Hurricane Isaac disaster relief. I often think-- do I regret having my brother visit and getting fired? Honestly, I really don't know- but for right now I'm content, broke, happy, and excited for the future.

One Love,
D

view from Jah-B's cabin

sam and pat beachin

cliff jumping at blue hole

sunrise hike in the blue mountains

diving in pats backyard

boating with pat 

backcountry ital cooking

clubbing in margheritaville

4th of July

A compilation of the most interesting pick up lines

A compilation of the most interesting pick up lines Brandi and I hear:
Fluffy n nice
Hey nice lady
Your skin is so clean
Him: Let's have sex! Me: No, I'm on my way to church. Him: After! (can't make this stuff up)
Explicit tellings of what they want to do us.
I want to rub lotion on your skin
Can I come with you/can you carry me with you? (yes I really want you to come grocery shopping with you on public transprortation-- that's my idea of a date!!)
You will bring me home with you. (I had no idea you can predict the future!)
You're married? That's ok you need two!
yah sexy
PSSSTTTT (times 14 million and usually screamed, who knew you could scream that?)
I like your shape/size
EY WHITEY (you know my skin color!! omg! your so observant!)

Greetings from Cockpit Country

The Jamaica list thus far

things I love about jam:

the size

the beauty

most people

patties

dancehall

white rum

cheap veggies/delcious fruits

driving way too fast

wtf things:

heavily bandaged hospital escapees

goats, everywhere.

things I hate:

smalling up

abused dogs

extreme religion

mosquitos

water lock offs
Jam time (aka a half hour late-- I thought I was late till I came here..)

Greetings from my rooftop in rural Trelawny! I am currently overlooking the beautiful mountains of Cockpit country. A lot has happened since my last entry. I moved from the bat cave into a beautiful family home. I now have my own tv with cable(!!), 5 windows(!! aka no more moldy clothing), a washing machine(!!) and my own entrance and exit. I basically just share a kitchen. My homestay sister is 31, she's also a teacher and awesome. my homestay brother is around the same age, also really cool and I enjoy spending time with both of them.  My homestay parents are are sweet but very religious-- the other day I ran into my host mothers room hearing wailing. I open the door and she is kneeling begging for God's forgiveness like she was crying. I slowly  backed away without her noticing my presence. I've never heard anything like that before.. it was alarming to say the least.


The past few weekends I have been visiting other PCV's at beaches and other rural areas so I decided to keep this weekend to integrate despite other pcvs going to Ochio Rios. It ended up being worthwhile because I  had a great conversation with my homestay brother for the first time and found a co-worker at church. This sunday's church by the way, was a pentecostal five hour long service led by my host mother which I begrudgingly agreed to despite my strongest objections. I only went to the last three hours of screaming  and reptition of the same statements, yet it was still maddening and needless to say I will be back to my usual church the following sunday.  Upon returning from church, my homestay mother informed me that she had a vision from the lord to preach and thus she became a pastor. While I very much respect her religion and beliefs, the screaming and wailing sort of freaks me out-- I guess its something I need to get used to.

Extreme religion is definitely an integration struggle for me, as is life here in such a rural area. The bush is slow and chatty (aka everyone talks about everyone else) and its taking time to get used to the lack of things to do and the chattiness. A lot of times I find myself sitting on this roof blasting music and writing letters. I've also developed a love affair with 100 Jamaican dollar burned DVD's from street vendors. For a little more than 1 US dollar my sanity is kept intact with illegally burned dvd's of crappy American movies. Thank God for piracy. 

As far as work is concerned,  school has been going fairly well considering its only a few weeks in and I have done a lot of teaching (and have gotten to know most of the teachers.)  I teach full classes of 3rd to 9th graders multiple times a day. I usually do HIV education, however I have also been teaching various other life skills such as goal setting and emotional health.  I created an HIV monopoly game, and a few other games to simultaneously interest and educate. While there are classes I simply cannot control, most kids seem to enjoy and behave in my classes,  particularly the 9th graders. After each class they ask me when I'm coming back and become upset if I can't return immediately. I'd like to think my education is effective, but I will never really know how many students are still participating in risky behaviors. My attention is still being pulled in so many different directions-- the principle is retiring and wants me to begin the school farm Tuesday to help with many students inability to afford breakfasts, a cop wants me to start a group for sexually abused children, my supervisor wants me to do a literacy group, etc etc. I could probably live here for 15 years and not complete all the projects needed so I guess its a matter of time before I feel out which projects will work and when. 


Oh here's a fun fact, I went into kingston for an HIV meeting, and had Armageddon of the body for 24 hours due to Yao's chinese food. Who knew tofu could be used as nuclear warfare? No more Chinese food for me, lesson learned. Right now I'm looking forward to a few important visitors in a few weeks, learning how to control my classes, and ATI (the biggest party in Jamaica in August.) That's all for now.

One Love,

D

and if you ever think of me kneel down and kiss the earth, show me what this thought is worth

as I left the US embassy on Friday, as an official peace corps volunteer,  I couldn't help but reminisce how incredible it is to think that in March I was partying with my friends at my going away party, skyping my significant other goodbye, and hugging my parents as I departed for an unknown world. I awoke from a nap  and suddenly it hit me- this small rural Jamaican town would now be my home for the next two years.  I now sit here at my new school, as a guidance counselor, searching the internet for new HIV session ideas. My small basement dwelling, limited cell service and the mountains and people of the Trelawny parish are my new reality now. I have lost many connections to the US, but have gained many new ones here in Jamaica. As I hand wash my clothing, bathe in a basin and listen to Frank Sinatra far too loudly, I sometimes think of the people I miss at home. I wonder what they are doing, if they are thinking of me across the lonely carribean. It is a lonely reality, my peace corps existence, far removed from the cultural festivals and hikes to dams and natural ropes swings we attended in stonyhill, far removed from other volunteers, and even further removed from my American existence--  but I plan to put my all into my work. My work which happens to be cut out for me with the high teen pregnancy rate here at my school, conflict resolution consisting of a push or shove, and many of the teachers seemingly burnt out. I have been here about four days and have little idea of how my day to day school life will look, as there are various projects that pull my attention in different directions. There is a feeding program that requires a school farm which I feel passionate about, a community service club called white cross that has requested my assistance, and various guidance activities that are extremely necessary. The ambiguity of my work is a challenge but also a strength, because I am able to set up my existence here at the school in any way I see fit-- either teaching full classes with my counterpart, doing pull outs or one and one counseling. Only time will present the best practices. As for now I plan on  teaching my first classes tomorrow-- I have an HIV hot potato game planned, and am working on creating an HIV monopoly board game as well as figuring out how my conflict resolution class will look. I will try to update this tomorrow after I have my first set of classes-- wish me luck. One love, D

my first 'make a difference' story

I woke up today dreading the morning. I was extremely nervous to spend more time doing outreach with younger at risk youth because the day before at the Kingston YMCA had gone so poorly (although I had been completely unprepared.) The kids were unruly, our plan of attack was weak, and my information limited. This morning though, I was ready.

I walked out of the peace corps bus onto LEAP (essentially a school which teaches at risk youth basic trades for employment) school's grounds armed with HIV notes, condoms, dildos and a game plan. We were greeted by a principal who proceeded to make inaprorpiate conversation with us, and were finally led to the students. We introduced ourselves, lined up the students, and seperated them into a few groups of 10 (at the YMCA we had learned that smaller groups work much better.)

We then led our group into a small (air conditioned!) room. Two truths and lie was our first activity. In this game, the students were to give three facts about themselves, and the others had to guess which of the three statements was a lie. Most of the statements revolved around simple things such as food or Jamaican football but allowed us to create rapport with the kids as well as give insight into the group dynamics,  personalities, and gage attentiveness. Much like sales you have to know your client and gain trust before you can get into the nitty gritty work.

Our second activity was led my me. I ran an HIV hot potato game, where if the music (we played Jamaican dancehall music which I think helped to further build rapport) stopped the student holding the hot patato (wad of individual paper layers) had to unwrap a layer. Each paper layer had a number which correlated to a question pertaining to healthy sex. A lot of the questions were aimed at creating a basic knowledge of HIV; some of the questions were to demonstrate proper condom usage or disposal.
Most of kids had at least a basic knowledge, although there was one student who actually knew each exact step and was able to demonstrate for the rest of the group which was both helpful and impressive. (I like to encourage group knowledge rather than lectures because hearing life lessons from your peers is always more effective.) Besides a few hiccups with kids not wanting to touch the dildo, (Jamaica is extremely homophobic) the activity went really well and the students were able to discuss what they had learned.

Our second activity was led by the other two PCTs in my group. We defined long and short term goals, while encouraging the students to create their own chart of long and short term personal and career goals. Most of the students were at least able to draw their goals, (a few were unable to write) and a few more were willing to share. During this time I became aware of  a slower student. During his turn to share, he spoke very quietly and extremely slowly. A few of the other students explained that he was "slow" (I replied no problem) but I 'took time' (as they say in Patwa) and kneeled down to his eye level to look him in the eye, trying to show patience and understanding. I believe he felt more comfortable and continued what he was saying a bit more confidently. During this time we walked around to each student giving them personal attention to help them to create plans for the goals. Some of the goals were to acquire materials (cars, houses) others were career orientated (chefs, football coaches) and a few were to have a family which I found both sweet and a bit scary (these were mostly 16/17 year olds!)

The kids were as attentive as they possibly could be (I was impressed) and fairly effectively completed the activities and discussions. We then rewarded them to a  paper airplane contest to see whose could fly the longest-- led by the male PCT. The students absolutely loved it. It was really awesome to connect with them-- as I could tell a lot of them are not regularly respected by adults especially teachers (a lot of them had not completed high school.) I think they really appreciated our respect and really  enjoyed our time together. At the end of the day the teacher approached us to say that she had never seen them so engaged let alone completely happy to ignore the break they were apparently supposed to have. As we waited for the bus to take us back, I was elated to have made a visible difference and to share in camaraderie with some of the students who were asking us when we'd come back and if I'd be their girlfriend (both slightly alarming and flattering.) What an amazing experience. I left saddened thinking about how, due to its location in Kingston,  peace corps volunteers are not placed with LEAP. 

one, two, erbody pump ya fist

All weekend I had been excited for our second HIV outreach event in Kingston. I had heard it would be a carnival and we were to pass out condoms. The idea flowed in my head: awesome costumes, dancing and an all around amazing time-- while still doing worthwhile outreach. When the day finally arrived we received a text explaining that Jamaica Aids Support had bailed but we were still going. I was a bit confused as to why we were going if not do outreach, but was still really excited to get out and see some floats.

Around 12pm, we got on our first coaster (these are the mini-buses that drive insanely fast on various planned routes across Jamaica) and arrived in Kingston about 20mins later. After a bathroom/ice cream break at Devon House (really famous homemade Jamaican ice cream http://www.devonhousejamaica.com/)  we walked to the corner and awaited the parade. About a half hour later,  we began to hear extremely loud dancehall music and from a distance noticed a few floats sponsored by cell phone carriers. Around five minutes later came a high school marching band, a giant float full of people daggering (essentially grinding) to dancehall music, costumed bikini clad woman, jacked men with cowboy hats, drunk tourists, and pretty much every person you could imagine. It was a giant burrito of wild drunk fun.  Women of all shapes colors and sizes were dancing, daggering, singing, and drinking in beautiful bikini costumes. Some of the bikini costumes were amazing-- bejeweled, peacock feathers, feathered boots,  pretty much anything you could imagine. People on the floats were going crazy; daggering, drinking and unfortunately not handing out beads. I absolutely loved every minute of it. 

At one point myself, and a few other volunteers got right in the middle of the parade and broke it down under the pouring rain. One of my favorite dancehall songs came on and the float MC screamed "one two erbody pump ya fist!" There were 1000's of jamaicans and us dancing and fist pumping in the pouring rain-- it was awesome.  At this moment I realized I love Jamaica. Unfortunately anything this fun comes with a price, and when we were found to not be wearing the expensive bracelets that allow you entrance into the middle of the parade, we were sidelined. We walked over to the sidewalks where people were partying just as hard: there were cameras, blowing vuvuzelas, yelling, more daggering, drinks being thrown everywhere, and just generally a joyous crazy atmosphere. It was during this time a large man danced to the front of me and I just laughed and danced right behind him. The last time I had had this much fun was at Mardi Gras New Orleans, where the beads were abundant but the dancing and culture lacked in comparison. On our walk back to the coaster we stopped to observe two people daggering each other on the ground in a large puddle. Only in Jamaica. 

Here's a few of the popular dancehall songs right now: 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nLWN1qyxwbM

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s8EGI6_SqmU

watch and enjoy.

One Love,

D

Been so many days of longing now
Why should it ever be this far
Where I get frightened
I could never gather birds enough to carry 'round your part
But I see traces of your thoughts out here
I see a sight; I hear a sound

I only comfort in the brittleness of days when I can hold what I just found
In the untired eyes of the laughing child
And the dirtiest sweater he owns
Early, sun-warmed pine
And all those life-like sins
That will pull out the memories to show
I'm not leavin' alone
I'm not leavin' alone

If just that weather-beatin' plane was here
Haven't seen it since I came
Can only wonder if it's near or in the skies
When this damn city sounds the same

And sometimes I'm just a tangle in this trampled wheat
I circle like a losing dog
If just tonight that I could be where you are near
And just forget where I am lost

In the untired eyes of the laughing child
And the dirtiest sweater he owns
Early, sun-warmed pine
And all those life-like sins
That will pull out the memories to show
Not leavin' alone
I'm not leavin' alone
I'm not leavin' alone 

-tallest man on earth

Pedicure... Jamaican Style

*special thanks to caroline s. for the title*
One thing I've learned to get used to is being a minority. Being a white person in a primarily black environment, speaking only English in a Patwa culture, and so fourth. Being a minority means lots of misunderstandings/awkward moments. Luckily the more you travel, the more you become able to deal with these moments-- you learn to laugh at yourself very quickly. Last night was proudly my first in Jamaica.

So the previous night I went to church for the 3rd time since being here. I've honestly gone to more Church in Jamaica than I've ever gone to Temple in my life. Last night was one of the more interesting church experiences to say the least....

I get home from ultimate frisbee after training, and am introduced to the current volunteer who stayed at this homestay before me. She arrived to spend Easter weekend with us and I was excited to meet her. We hug, briefly discuss experiences and laughs, and are hurried off to church. Normally at church I follow along, at times sing, and just try to stay generally quiet and not fall asleep. However, this church night was a bit more interactive...

Half way through the service the PCV and a church member behind us ask me if I want to get my feet washed. I look at her with complete confusion and immediately look down at my feet and think, wow my feet must smell so bad people are talking about it! I then try inconspicuously to take a whiff of my feet. The strange thing was they didn't really smell or look that dirty. Realizing the look of disgust and confusion on my face she starts laughing and I explain that I don't want to wash my feet. I am returned to my thoughts, wondering just what the hell is going on.  A few minutes later chairs are put out on the alter and people are starting to line up and sit on the chairs. I await the happenings and notice one empty chair left. Before I can even guess, I  am soon caught in eye contact with the man who was previously sitting behind us. He is now on the alter dressed in a traditional robe and pointing at me to get into the chair. I look behind me, he must be looking for someone else. I point to myself and mouth the words, 'me?' I look again behind me, nope he really is talking to me. Oh god, I'm supposed to get up there and do god knows what. I nervously walk up to the alter and sit in the last remaining chair. Here I am, the Jew in church on good friday awaiting my feet washing. I sit in the chair trying not to laugh, thinking about my family and how hilarious they'd think this was.

I am reminded of a childhood memory when my mother forgot to pick me up, and as a result I went to church with my best friend and her family. I remember lining up, (because hey, that's what all the other people were doing) and being feed something extremely bland to eat followed by some grape juice. When my mother finally came to pick me up, she asked me what went on in. I explained that I went to church and had a snack. I will never forget my mother laughing and explaining that I had eaten Jesus (man you would think jesus would taste waaayyy better!) and I remember immediately worrying if I was no longer a Jew.

I am brought back to reality as the preacher comes into view. I watch him poor water on the woman before me and rub her feet. Sweet a free pedicure! It is then my turn.  I take a deep breathe and put my right foot out in front of the preacher. He pours water on my feet, rubs my foot, and towels it off. I nervously smile. If he had just given me a pedicure, I would be thanking and paying him at this point. I follow the others and put my shoes back on and walk back to my seat with a pretty zen'd out feeling-- maybe it was the foot rub?  I was pretty happy to have my rite-of-passage into Jamaica completed.

p.s.- just wanted to update yall and say were in our new homestays in stonyhill. mine is baller, an awesome sister my age, a grandma, and HOT WATER/INTERNET! sweeet. Also this monday we started job-specific training so we've been getting a lot more youth education as well as HIV info... a lot of the children here are up against a lot: bad parenting, poor sex education, young mothers, gangs, etc... so we have our work cut out for us!

First blog... Soooo I guess I'm a blogger now... (sweet blaugh bro.)

whoa my first blog....

soooooo I decided to join my peace corps friends and create a blog about my experiences. I just want to say.... this is me. this is how I feel at the time I write what I do. These are my feelings, my experiences, my sights and subtle sounds*, scattered thoughts, tastes, etc. If you don't like it's fine but whatever you do PLEASE PLEASE REALIZE: THE OPINIONS STATED IN THIS BLOG IN NO WAY REFLECT THE VIEWS OF THE US PEACE CORPS. Yeah, I had to do that.

That being said.... whoa jamaica. Or as Olivia says, Jamaica Jamaica Jamaica. So I'm here now. I'm can finally join the ranks of my fellow PCV's in saying that I am now officially a Peace Corps Trainee or PCT. Oh baby let the fun begin! Here's how my adventures started: I left for Atlanta, Georgia at 4am for a one-day training called staging. We all met each other, got all touchy-feely, discussed expectations, and were promptly driven back to the airport at 2am to catch a 6am flight to Miami then Jamaica. We arrived off the plane in sort of a chaos of lost baggage and immigration paperwork. Sooo.... how bout that immigration paperwork: length of stay (27 months... maybe....), place of residence (no idea where I'm going), person of contact (do I even know my country directors name?!) After much confusion, I asked the nearest immigration office what to write for Peace Corps. "Peace Corps? What's that? No, you're not staying for 27 months, where's your return ticket?" Me: "Ummmm... I don't have a return ticket" Him: "Yes you do you aren't staying for 27 months." First thought: oh god, I'm going to be deported back to miami. Second thought, oh god I'm going to be deported and probably arrested. After some time, other volunteers found me and explained what I should write, and to go through immigration. Luckily, immigration knew about peace corps and  I was eventually allowed entrance into Jamaica narrowly avoiding deportation.

Following, we were greeted by various staff and helped with luggage, (I must have looked great walking backwards trying to roll two pieces of luggage down a ramp) group picture taken, and bussed off to the Kingston Peace Corps office for a 50th anniversary of Peace Corps Jamaica celebration (just what we wanted to do  after 48 hours of no sleep and flights whoo!) Surprisingly though, it was a lot of fun meeting staff and current PCVs and we were even serenaded by a famous Jamaican chorus group called Nexux one. After two nights of hotels and daily training sessions we were shipped off to our first homestay experience-- which is where I am now. 

I've been living with my homestay family: a sister whose my age, her daughter age five, and a mother in her 50's in Hellshire Jamaica for two weeks trying to learn Jamaican culture. From 8-5 we sit in a classroom setting learning Peace Corps rules, Jamaican culture, etc. After training we go home to attempt our first Cultural  Integration. Ohhhhhh cultural integration. Peace corps is so big on this understandably since it basically determines our survival and effectivness in this foreign culture. Basically integrate or die. On that note, or really just randomly, I must mention how my homestay mother peels and cuts things. It's incredible. She makes a pineapple look like a work of art. I then attempt it myself and transform the poor pineapple into sad, cut up, emaciated piece of fruit.

with my homestay fam hellshire, jamaica

Anyway, during the weekends we hang out with fellow volunteers usually involving red stripe on the beach. On Sundays we go to church with our homestay families like good little  Catholics/Christians/Seventh Day Adventists/Pentecostals.

                                                                                   
On Monday it's back to PST or Pre-service training. Overall PST is alright, 9 weeks of getting the paperwork out of the way, with a few breaks *awesome breaks might I add* where we learned Jamaican dances, African dance, and steel drumming at a local university. The language and culture teachers are amazing, bringing us to such events and are extremely creative in their teaching methods-- dressing up as characters we may meet, explaining and actually having us play various games we may play with the children we work with.

pre service training hellshire, jamaica

Still though I'm really antsy to get to Monday where we break off into different towns by sectors (Youth as Promise-- that's mine-- goes to one town and Green Initiative and Education go their individual towns.) During these five weeks we obtain job specific training (mine will be in HIV prevention) followed by permanent site placement.

Today, to get us and the staff thinking about site placement we had our program manager interview, which essentially went like this: "So how are things going?" "Well things are great only I have no idea what I'm doing in the HIV Sector as I meet none of the qualifications." "Well, your interested right?" "Oh yeah human sexuality is definitely interesting." "Ok great well we'll be able to find you something to do." "Ok great thanks!" Welp it's a good thing I'm interested I guess haha. On a plus note I did find out I'll be placed in a "peri-urban" area... still unsure of what that means...

The only other  thing particularly of note was my trip to the local market, a place deemed so dangerous we must tell our security officer anytime we travel there, even when with our homestay families. The chaos of the market is overwhelming, and probably un-navigationable as of yet... still very interesting. It's a blur of veggies, yelling, weed, crumpling and throwing of money, and carts being moved through incredibly small spaces. Just when I thought I'd seen it all, a blind woman came through and sold me a necklace phone holder, at the right price of 30J which is equivalent to a little more than 30 cents. Unreal. I also saw an egg vendor addressed as "Eggman" which I immediately wanted to blog with the title "I am the eggman, I am the walrus." When I thought we couldn't possibly carry one more bag of food, my homestay mother unmercifully bought more and incredibly we managed to carry home what seemed like 80 pounds of food through buses and walks. And that was that.

As of now, those are all the mentionables. Feel free to comment, hate, laught, smile, cry, throw things at your computer... whatever you feel is necessary.

One Love,

D

*Those of you who know me well knew I had to throw at least one Phish reference in there.