Tuesday 11 September 2012

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