On big fancy wedding cakes

Jhanna and Macho's (my cousins) Wedding: November 24, 2013

Beauties!

Bridesmaids!

My niece, Lisset and cousin, Rosa

Perla and I

Macho and Jhanna tying the knot

Walking down the aisle

Sachel my favorite!

The beautiful cake

Too bad this photo was staged, no cake was eaten

On Toms shoes and motivation

I’ve had a great week! I’ve been meeting still more people everyday and I’ve officially lost any shyness, or vergüenza, that I had when I arrived. I have come to think of my job right now as the best practice I’ll ever get for my future political career, sticking my hand out and saying hey to everyone! Fascinating people live in this world! This week’s blog is about a few things I’ve come to realize are corrupt.

On lights and politics:

Supposedly, there’s a regular schedule for electricity here in Manzanillo. One day it comes on at 8am and lasts until 1pm, then is gone until 6pm and leaves again at 10pm. Then you’ve got lights from 2am to 5am (stupid time for lights) and then again at 1pm to 6pm the next day. And then the schedule starts over again. That’s confusing enough if you ask me. What’s more is that 100% of the time it doesn’t come on when it’s supposed to and you’re left without lights for twelve to eighteen hours a day. To address this problem, an organization I now belong to, COPRODEMA (Coalition for the Development of Manzanillo) has been working on putting together a petition to ask the government for twenty hours of electricity daily. I asked why and they responded, “Because asking for twenty-four would be asking too much.” If I learned one thing in my college negotiations class, it’s to shoot high in order to get what you want in the end. Starting out asking twenty hours and we’ll be left where we started. So as mildly as I could (so as not to seem like an intruder), I suggested in the weekly meeting that we ask for twenty-four and see what happens. The next day when the government representative came and the coalition asked for a full twenty-four hours, which I’m darn proud of. In the end they settled for a negotiated eighteen hours. We’ll see if anything changes, but it’s sure better than eight.

So why is the amount of lights related to politics? The realization came about last week when we had an above average amount of electricity for five days in a row and when I asked what was up, someone pointed out that the President, Danilo Medina, was up in the north for business and therefore we were getting at least twelve hours a day for five days instead of the average eight. Seems unjust? Yes, it is. And apparently, during election cycles every four years, there’s running water and electricity twenty-four hours a day in all parts of the country so that they can say, “Look! We’re doing something for you countryfolk, vote for us!” How you can just turn on and off the electricity for mass amounts of people I’ll never know, but it’s extremely frustrating, especially when it’s all wrapped up in politics. 

On clothing donations and Toms shoes:

You know how you feel good about yourself when you buy a pair of $50 Toms shoes because another pair goes to a kid in need? Yeah, well that “kid in need” happened to be me last week. I went to this border town called Dajabon, known around the country for it’s weekly market where Haitians cross the border and sell everything from ginger, Crocs and ramen noodles to oddly stained bedding, Christmas themed pillows, broken microwaves, fly swatters, Purell hand sanitizer from Korea, and knockoff Prada purses. It’s a barterer’s dream come true! I thought it was going to be my worst nightmare, but it wasn’t so bad. I’m used to markets where people are trying to sell you everything and shoving it in your face, but the Haitians selling their goods were pretty tranquil, usually just lying on top of their merchandise taking a nap or protecting it from thieves.

There was lot’s of used clothing that looked just like it had just come from the insides of the Planet Clothing bin a few blocks away from my college apartment in Boston. I asked around, and sure enough, the clothing items were all donations that Haitians bring into the DR to sell for their own profit. My first thought was that this was rather depressing, that we are sold this image of being a do-gooder if we send our old jackets and t-shirts to resource scarce people in underdeveloped countries and here they are selling that right back to me. But here’s the thing – they don’t need winter jackets or worn out swimsuits, they need to feed their family. They don’t need ramen noodles, bars of Dove soap, or Prilosec medicine. They want to eat food they know, like pollo criollo and huevos sancochado. They need prescription drugs and often hard to find diabetes medications. They need what we can’t give them by donating old t-shirts, Ritz crackers and multivitamins. 

So when I finally left the market, with Crocs I bought for $2 and a pound of ginger for 25 cents, I felt okay about the cycle of international donations…until I got home and started talking to others about it. Apparently, it’s worse than I thought. The international bundles of clothing, culturally inappropriate food and useless medicine are sent to ports where a handful of rich Haitians collect the goods and bring them to a warehouse where poor Haitians go to buy the stuff, lug it to the border and sell it finally in the DR. It’s a business (a lucrative one for an already wealthy few) and one of the best arguments I’ve found to date against international aid.

Oh, and Toms shoes. Yeah, they were selling those things like hotcakes. Maybe they keep a pair or two for themselves, but I’m pretty sure any good Tom thinks he’s doing by giving a pair of shoes to someone in need, is being undone by sending them to rich Haitians who sell them for profit to poor Haitians who sell them for profit to poor Dominicans. And I’ve got two pairs sitting here on my floor, eugh.

On motivation:

I’ve been talking to my other Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) friends and they all echo the same sentiment, this is hard work. There is usually something really awesome and really challenging about someone’s site. For instance, my good friend Grayson lives in a highly motivated community with a bunch of women ready to kick ass and start a health group, but they lack a lot of financial resources as a community to make it happen. My friend Chaz has a million resources at his disposal because he lives an hour away from the capital, but he doesn’t know what’s the most useful way to spend his time helping the community. My friend Dante lives in Santiago and his town is huge, but he gets to work in a high school and partner closely with the school psychologist to start his groups and use space for meeting in the school.

And in Manzanillo, the good: a women’s group that already functions, a high school with a great director and 200 energetic students, a middle school without a sex-ed curriculum, and two health clinics. The challenge: no one seems very motivated. I went to health clinic and met with the two health promoters who are supposed to visit homes in Manzanillo and check for proper sanitation and hygiene. When I asked how often they work, they replied, when the government sends us toothbrushes. What? I asked. They replied, “When we get toothbrushes sent from the capital, we go to the elementary school and hand them out. That’s our work for now because we’re too tired to do more than that and it takes a lot of time.” Yes, I thought to myself, that’s why it’s called work, it should take eight hours a day (is that my capitalism side coming out too strong?). And in the women’s group, there is supposedly a group of fifty but I’ve been to three weekly meetings and have yet to count more than seven. And at the high school, well, they’re adolescents, nuff said. And in COPRODEMA, there’s no organization because they’re in debt. Basically what I’m hearing from people is “Ain’t nobody got time for that” and what I’m seeing is people sitting in chairs. So why the lack of motivation? I have yet to figure it out but it’s my job to find it and put it back in the capable hands of Manzanielleros. And all this finding motivation in others takes a lot of motivation on my part. So far I’m going strong, hope to keep it up until I can get my group’s started, rolling, and excited by early February.

That’s enough food for thought for this week! This weekend should be a good one. Tomorrow, a huge town-wide baseball tournament (with series of games everyday until January 16th) begins with with a parade down main street and I'll be taking part. And on Sunday, my host cousin and friends Jhanna and Macho are getting married, so that'll be fun! Then on Wednesday, I'm off to the capital for Thanksgiving with other PCVs, yummmm! 

As always send updates from your lives!

Sending peloteras, warmth from the Caribbean sun, and dembow mixes.

Missing toilets that flush, drinking water from the sink, and being cold.

Mil besos,

Bea 

On teaching second graders

Wanda, the regular 2nd grad teacher, was out sick today. So she rang me up and asked if I would teach her class for the afternoon. Of course I said yes, but I didn't go without reinforcements. My host sister, Elenne, came along to help out!

Sachel with her teachers Bea and Elenne

Jose Gabriel Garcia Elementary/Middle School

Ay, seems so cute! 

Math, fascinating. 

Snack time.

On my point of view

What do I see on a daily basis? Porches, children, panties hanging, beaches, boats with bananas, plastic chairs, wooden shacks, latrines, cement houses half-finished and so much more. Here's a glimpse into my point of view.

The surrounding area:

An abandoned ship and a beautiful sunrise view on the beach two minutes from my house.

The road I run on, conveniently located parallel to the beach!

The beach and a view of the dock where bananas are exported

An old/used to be nightclub that's since been vacated and left as a beautiful piece of art on the beach.

Views of porches:

The porch at Chuchi's.

My back porch at Chichi's

The back porch at Tita's (my personal favorite and where I spend a lot of time)

My room decorations thanks to generous support from friends and family back home:

Thanks to Henry for the lovely room decoration! Miss ya buddy!

No room would be complete without a ginormous Idaho flag flying!

Collage of friends!

On culture and granny panties

¡Hola! 

I’ve been here now for 85 days and counting. It’s almost the three month mark! I think it’s time for a bit of reflection on Dominican culture, and of course some story telling.

Last Friday, I was feeling awesome. I felt as if I finally had a grasp on the layout of this town, that I was meeting people left and right, that all was going well and I hadn’t had a mishap, communication error, or problem in almost a week. But like all things I think I know, I usually don’t. After a long day of power walking all around up and down town from meeting Guatemalan missionaries in the primary school, eating lobster salad with my host aunt, rice and beans with another doña and locrio de ayuama with my own doña, to visiting the primary school and playing with kids, attending a social security beneficiary meeting of townsfolk, sitting in a meeting of leaders from critical groups in Manzanillo, to running to the Evangelical church to watch my friend Elenne in a danza, I was so relieved when I plopped down at home at ten o’clock to eat my mashed plantains and fried salami. And remember that I was feeling great about myself and all the people I met and all the places I saw and the things I did to integrate. It was such a relieving feeling, knowing I can do this.

And then out of nowhere pops my host mom Chichi to ask me a “sensitive question.” She asked me why I left three pieces of meat on my plate Thursday night. Just when I was starting to feel comfortable at home, kicking it with my doña, and here she is thinking I am starving myself. But I can’t tell her, “Well doña Chichi, I just ate a bowl of rice and beans at doña Julia’s house then doña Alex invited me in for lobster salad, so I’m kinda full and as much as I love you, I don’t want your boiled pig intestines mixing with all that in my barriga.” Or maybe I just should have. But it got worse. She followed up with, “Do you like my cooking?” Now I can’t quite tell her that I don’t really eat mystery meat/chewy pig intestines because they really gross me out and that a salad every once in a while really won’t kill me, so I said, “Lo siento mucho, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to leave it, I promise I am enjoying eating your food. I love it!” But after that I felt guilty. It’s a cultural thing. And like all cultural things, I feel like I’ll never get them all right.

For instance, church. I have been going to the Evangelical one because my three precious host cousins (with basically the same name: Elenne, Iliany, Eliana) invited me and I’m on a mission never to say “no” to anything here, so I go. It’s pretty intense. There are people who speak with God and lift their hands up in and scream “Amen, Dios nos bendiga, God bless us, hallelujah.” I actually really love it. I don’t associate very strongly with the connection to God and rarely feel the Spirit in the room, but I appreciate their enthusiasm and willingness to show me what’s up and welcome me warmly into their congregation. Its fun in that there’s lots of applause, stomping feet, sitting down, standing up, singing, and watching people communicate their love for God in various other interesting ways, like crying, yelling, walking around in circles murmuring under their breath. Like this one time when four high school girls performed an emotional dance with their eyes closed the whole time. They finished and left out a side door and mere minutes later I hear the sounds of human sobbing outside. Someone opened the door and there the four of them are sitting in a circle on their knees rocking, crying, holding hands and looking more or less possessed. I was pretty curious though, because I simply didn’t understand what was going on and I didn’t know if it was appropriate to ask them what was up when they came back in – so being me, I did! Turns out they felt an overwhelming love for God and the only way to let out their sentiments was through tears and song. Power to ‘em.

Another example, schools. I don’t understand how schools get anything done during a school year. I went to visit the small elementary school and just wanted to present myself to the director and let her know I am in town for a while. Well, we got to chatting when the kids were in recess, and an hour later, they still had recess and the director and I were still talking. I thought I might have missed something, maybe they got a free day to play, maybe they had been dismissed already. Nope, the teacher just interrupted her class and let them play for an hour so she could talk to me about my role in the community. When I walked out of the room she said, take five more minutes and then we’ll learn about math for ten minutes before class is over. Much appreciated, Martina, but them poor kids got ripped off on their math time.

Other cultural differences that shock me:

1) White pants and neon colored granny panties.

I suspect the concept of thong underwear has yet to be introduced down here. That or women don’t like wearing underwear up their butts because we wash our undies in big buckets that are also used for mopping floors and cleaning toilets. Okay, to be fair, maybe it’s a hygiene thing. But it’s bad. You’ll see women in snakeskin/floral lycra wearing bunched-up-two-sizes-too-big-granny panties popping out of the top of their skintight lycra, often reading “PINK” or “SEXY” or “MARTES (TUESDAY).” You’ll also see women going out in tight white dresses looking hot as hell and then they turn around and boom!...red granny panties in your face showing through that sexy see-through slip that doubles as a party dress just like that. By no means am I a fashionista but even I know better than that.

2) Babies. Everywhere.

Grandparents are usually the ones taking care of babies. It’s like the raising of the kids skips a generation, because 16, 17, and 18 year olds are having kids and when you’re 18, it’s not cool to change diapers, it’s cool to drink shitty beer and flirt. Which is the lesser of the two evils in my opinion. They shouldn't be popping out babies and giving them to grandma (who is usually like 34 years old). While it kills me to see so many teenage mothers, and a lack of concern over the alarmingly high hates, I then have to remind myself, culture runs deep. Socialization can’t be undone and what’s normal where I come from can’t be normal everywhere. Most children are so loved, even if raised by grandparents, extended relatives, single parents. Most days it still shocks me, but it's a beautiful thing to watch the metaphorical village raise these children.

3) 23 year olds who don’t graduate from high school.

I would say (as my research findings have thus far adequately represented) that 50% of teenagers who start high school don’t finish. In first year, there are around 120 students who enter the local high school and this year, only 51 graduated. Some take more than four years to complete high school, but the majority either drop out to find work, have babies, or just chill. They call these people “vagas” which doesn’t really directly translate in English but is aptly described as a mix between “lazy and leeching off one’s parents.”  Some young mothers go back to school, but most don’t. Think about it, it’s embarrassing to go back to school if you’re 23, mingling with lame 15 year olds who take selfies in History class. So most just quit, and sit around on the porches of their parents. My host sisters and host brother never graduated from high school and when I ask them what they do all day they say, “Nothing, just trying to get rid of boredom.” I want to shake them and tell them to get their asses to high school, especially because it’s only from 8am-12pm everyday, but then again I have to realize that culturally, they aren’t raised with an expectation to go finish high school (much less to go to college), but rather the expectation to find someone they like alright and then pop out babies, help around the house, and maybe get a job. 

But while these things are hard to overcome, wrap my head around, and deal with, there are plenty of cultural aspects I am so happy to have found here.

1) The friendliness.

If I don’t stop by Tita, Alejandrina, Lourdes, Wendy, Billerca, Addis, and Chichi’s house everyday, I’m in big trouble. I’m always being offered juice, coffee, rice and beans, dulces, and soda. And even those these people are poor and live peso to peso, sharing with your neighbors is just what you do. A lot of this is based in their deeply rooted Christian beliefs in giving those less fortunate and a lot of it has to do with this culture of compartir (sharing). Even the poorest people have company to share, they say.

2) The yelling.

The most productive way to get ahold of someone is to just show up at their house. And if they’re not sitting on their porch out front in plastic chairs, odds are they’re cooking or cleaning. So you yell. “CHICHI! CHICHI! VEN ACA!” That usually does the trick. And if not, you walk right on in, maintaining a loud yelling voice the entire time. Then you’re greeted by kisses on the cheek, a plastic chair to sit in (no one likes to talk to someone standing up), and a nice cup of juice or coffee.

3) The pace of life.

I love my days here. If I feel rushed to get to a 4pm meeting, I just have to remind myself that the meeting isn’t actually going to start until 5pm, and I can get away with arriving even at 5:30pm if I want. Although it makes my life so much less productive because I am usually a pretty punctual person, I just have to let go of the stress and remind myself that here, people forgive you for being late, interrupting a meeting to say hello or buenos dias, answering your cell phone in the middle of a meeting, and leaving early. Everything is chill. Tranquillo, tranquillo.

And there you have it! As a student of Dominican culture, I keep reminding myself that culture is about perspective and attitude. Keeping perspective and realizing that this culture is not better, or worse than the one I come from, just different. And maintaining the right attitude in that I shouldn’t judge an entire country for the beliefs and values they’ve deemed important. It's permeated too deeply and who am I to judge? We do weird things in America, too!

Off to observe a sex ed class in the high school. Sending love, dulce de maní, and abrazos del pueblo.

Missing my family, a great IPA, and the third season of Scandal with Kerry Washington.

Xoxox,

Bea

On poetry by Nancy Álvarez

For those dear readers who speak Spanish, I am sure you will love this!

¿Por que nos sentimos siempre a menos con otros paises?

No somos un país desarrollando es cierto.

No tenemos grandes industrias y educación suficiente para solucionar nuestro caos vehicular.

No tenemos las langostas de Maine, pero tenemos los camarones de Sánchez, no tenemos el trigo de Kansas, pero tenemos los arrozales del San Francisco de Macorís.

No tenemos las papas de Idaho, pero tenemos la yuca de Moca y los plátanos de Barahona; no tenemos la cocina exótica europea, pero tenemos nuestra sazón criolla que tanto añoramos cuando estamos fuera de nuestra querida isla, no tenemos los kiwis de Nueva Zelanda, pero tenemos guayabas por todas partes.

Somos los de los mangos banilejos y del dulce de leche de Baní, las tortas de Pimentel, los chicharrones de Villa Mella, los pasteles en hoja de San Cristóbal, el mabí del Seibo, las hojaldres y rosquetas del San Cerro.

Dios nos ha bendecido con un sol precioso, un cielo como ningún otro y unos paisajes que no los apreciamos hasta que dejamos de verlos.

Tenemos ron. Todas quieren tomar cerveza Presidente. Cigarros dominicanos. Bailar merengue. Contratar peloteros dominicanos.

Hay quienes han dado más jonrones que Sammy Sosa, pero ninguna tiene el carisma de criollo.

Somos un pueblo alegre, de piropos, de bromas, de compartir en el colmado, de hacer sancocho cuando llueve, de jugar dominó, de jugar pelota en la calle, de salir a bañarse bajo la lluvia, de volar chichiguas en cuaresma, del café de la vecina, de serenatas, de “asaltos” de cumpleaños, de habichuelas con dulce, de discusiones por fritos verdes y concón, de cocinados y “serruchos,” de angelitos de navidad, de bailar, de bailar en la calle, de hablar alto y reír duro.

Somos dominicanos.

On swearing in

I became a real-live Peace Corps Volunteer this week!

Nom, cake!

Look, a real Volunteer!

My two compinches Chaz and Sofia!

Who are the ladies? We're the ladies!

And then I had to head back to my new site, Manzanillo! 

Me with Licelot, my project partner, and her son Robviel

In front of the border to Haiti in a town called Dajabon

Sunset from the top of Wendy's roof

Another beauty!

My beach with a boat bringing bananas to yall in America

On being una voluntaria

What a week! 

I arrived back to the capital last Sunday, the 26^th and low and behold it was my host mom’s birthday. So we sat in a colmado (corner store) and listened to really loud music and drank Presidente. I hadn’t realized it was her birthday, so in a hurry I rushed to the nearest store and bought her a nice bottle of wine (surprisingly expensive here!). She was very thankful and suggested we make tacos and drink wine the following day in celebration of my near completion of training. I was so excited. Well the next day came, and when I got home, my host sister was vomiting all over the floor and we were fairly convinced she had dengue (she doesn’t) so tacos were off. It happened to be my last day at my original host family’s house and the mood was like a horrible terror movie – it was raining, I was using candlelight to pack a suitcase, the sounds of vomiting were in the background, and I could hear cockroaches crawling up and down the walls. It was depressing way to leave my first family, but what can you do, ya know?

Meanwhile, back at work, I had to give a presentation called “Readiness to Serve” to my bosses. Turns out, I was ready to serve, so Wednesday, the second-in-command at the US Embassy swore in forty-four (we lost five people before swear-in) volunteers and we took the Peace Corps oath to serve in Spanish and English. I teared up because I’m not gonna lie, it felt like a pretty big deal to finally become a real live Peace Corps Volunteer! To celebrate, straight after the swearing in ceremony, my newly minted volunteer friends and I went to a professional baseball game - tickets were $1. And of course, no celebration here would be complete without topping the night off with a trip to a discoteca for some merengue and bachata dancing, so that's just what we did. 

I spent the next two days downtown in the capital running errands, swimming at the US embassy pool (not nearly as elegant as it sounds), eating American food (Pizza Hut), celebrating Halloween (I dressed up as Earth in a threesome costume of Earth, Wind and Fire), fixing my computer (!!!), chatting with my bosses to confirm how I would start the health projects at my site, and dancing!

Friday, I hopped on a bus up to the beach town of Monte Cristi, only about 30 minutes from my lesser known site in Manzanillo. There, I met two other Peace Corps volunteers who live there and they’ll be my crew from here on out, so it’s a good thing they rocked. Saturday, I ventured to yet another Peace Corps Volunteers’ site in a town called Palo Verde (Green Stick). We went to a Dominican wedding, in which the church service was dominated by little kids getting baptized. Finally, on Sunday I jetted back to Manzanillo where in a random twist of events, I changed host families and now live in the center of town (instead of up on a hill) in my own mini-apartment above the house of an awesome family (mom - Luisa, dad - Enriquito, brother - Dawen, aunt - Chichi, and five little nugget kids) who are super social, chevere, helpful, bacana and fantastic. 

Monday was a holiday in celebration of the Dominican constitution, and as such, was naturally full of music, coffee, and porch sitting. But I’ve got a job to do, so I went out and made the rounds of town meeting anyone and everyone I could. I also made myself a schedule, and have hit the ground running with full days of meeting school/hospital/government directors and administrators, finding myself a small group of youth to help me conduct interviews, creating interview questions, starting the first of eighty-five interviews/home visits, going to English School to help facilitate classes for kids, attending literacy for adult courses, introducing myself to every classroom in the two elementary schools and one high school, walking up to random groups of people porch sitting to introduce myself, singing at Evangelical church services, being attentive at Catholic mass, and eating my fair share of fried food.

But, enough of that! Let me to create yet another list of the interesting things I’ve noticed this week!

1) You can interrupt anyone or anything whenever you want.

When I went to visit the high school, my project partner and I just stepped right on into a classroom, interrupted the teacher to say, “Hi, we’re here.” The teacher would stop what s/he was doing, and say “Oh hey, Licelot, good to see you, why don’t you introduce yourself and your friend.” Then I would introduce myself, tell everyone that I am a volunteer with Cuerpo de Paz and I will be here for two years working on health things blah blah blah, ask them to be my friends, and repeat my name three times (I'm Bea here because lord knows how hard Bronwen is to pronounce even in English). Then there’d be a few awkward seconds of pause before the teacher would say “Cool, anyways back to geometry.” And you never need to make an appointment for anything. Saying, “around ten o'clock” or “later” or “when God wants” seems to as effective (if not more) than penciling someone in.

2) You can send muchachos (little kids) to do anything for you.

If you have a little kid, are tight with a little kid, or see a little kid, you can make her/him do any number of errands for you. For example, I can send a kid to get me five pesos worth of sugar, flour, or rice from the nearest colmado. I can send a kid to pay my electricity bill, relay a message to a friend down the road, paint my nails, bring back a beer (wow, right?), or recarga my cell phone. It’s nuts the utility little kids have here. And unlike my own little brother in America who almost always refuses to do my errands, these kids here always say yes. It’s awesome.

3) I am still not sick of rice and beans.

I love la bandera (rice, beans and meat) and I eat it every day, without fail. Even when I was in the capital and had the choice of any food my heart could desire, I chose la bandera. It’s just SO good! They call it doña food because it’s the only thing a doña will give you for lunch so she can ensure you’re well fed. Without rice and beans, no meal is complete, she’ll say.

4) Christmas is all around!

You wouldn’t believe the Christmas cheer that’s all around! Since they don’t celebrate Thanksgiving here, the Christmas decorations are dusted off and set up at the end of October/early November. It’s weird (because it’s still 85 degrees everyday) and nice (because Christmas is my favorite holiday) to see all the trees, lights, wreaths, ornaments, sparkles, angels, and nativity scenes in the middle of the DR. Christmas truly is a beautiful thing, and it’s awesome to be able to feel the cheer for more than two months!

5) I’m going to start walking with doñas on the beach at 6am.

Hopefully I can work them up to jogging/running/lifting weights, but we’ll see. For now, I hope they’ll just become my good buddies and that I can develop confianza (trust) with. Maybe I’ll even get some good chisme (gossip) by walking early with them! And I don’t have pictures yet, but my morning jog/walk/run is absolutely gorgeous...I get to watch the sunrise on a beautiful beach.   

6) My job is so cool.

I am an anthropologist. I get to experience a completely different way of life, learn from friendly, warm and caring people, and go to weddings, drink coffee, and chat with people in order to understand their culture. My job rocks! I am so lucky. This is such a unique and vibrant experience to be having and even though it sounds like I’m just sitting on porches and eating (which I do my fair share of), I am learning so much from the stimuli around me. Even the most relaxing day on a porch teaches me something new. The busiest day running around from meeting to meeting allows me to grow in a different way. I talk to people, ask questions, listen, learn and think. I haven’t been bored for even five minutes in this country because there’s always something to be digesting, debriefing, and analyzing about my experience. It’s cliché, but everyone here has something to teach and show me. It’s my job to keep the right attitude about it, remembering to reflect at the end of every day, demonstrate compassion, and practice patience as true integration is neither immediate nor easy.

Sending you all love, fried plantains, and bachata rhythm!

Missing you all, the top music hits in America, NPR radio, white wine, and the streets of Boston after our sports teams win things!

Xoxo,

Bea (often mistaken for Vea (to see) or Bella (beautiful))