On gastronomy and gal pals

¡Uepa!

Reflecting upon the last couple of weeks, I am pleased to say that I’ve been well fed. Maybe it’s the summer heat that makes doñas want to whip me up some fried plantains every time I pass by, or perhaps they believe my jean shorts that haven’t been washed in weeks make me look thin because they’re don’t stick to me like lycra anymore, because good golly, my community has been taking care of me. And because I’ve been sharing so many meals with doñas, I’ve been doing quite a bit of compartir, a Spanish verb that means “to share.” The concept of compartir certainly applies to sharing food, but more so, it means to share each other’s company. Compartir can mean anything from drinking coffee with a neighbor, sitting in plastic chairs on the street for hours and sending children to buy bread and mayonnaise at the closest colmado, or making a huge vat of espagettis with sweetened-condensed milk to bring to the beach with friends on a Sunday afternoon (and damn is that spaghetti good stuffed in the middle of a white bread sandwich).

Anyhow, with my two best friends Kris and Emily visiting from America, I was determined to show them the true spirit of compartir. In preparation, coveted items were requested weeks in advance so that they would fully experience the reciprocity of compartir. They filled suitcases with Ghirardelli brownie mix, bags of nail polish, coloring books and crayons, Crystal Light juice packets, Sour Patch Kids and every kind of nut Trader Joes carries. We were fully prepared for what I fondly refer to as “The Gastronomic Compartir Tour of Manzanillo.”

Doña food: crab, fried chicken, moro and tostones

Day 1: The adventures of Sambumba

I remember the first time I ever ate sambumba as clearly as I remember learning to read an analog clock. It was a moment of beautiful clarity in which I realized my life had changed for the better. My encounter with sambumba happened one scorching hot afternoon in April and my momma Luisa came into the house with a mischievous grin. “¿Qué fue? What happened?” I asked. “Alida just gave me two pounds of chuleta (lamb chop) and it’s worth $200 pesos so we’re making sambumba” I just stared and tried to repeat the word. Was it samboobies, sambooyah, kombucha, samwhaddya, samyaya? I had no idea but I went with it. “Okay,” I said, “Get at me, sambumba!” An hour later, we were eating a delicious bowl of bean stew with plantains,auyuama (pumpkin), salami, sausage and lamb chop over steaming white rice. Mmmmmm, que rico.

Now every day with sambumba is a day when I get to share a special moment with my momma Luisa. She always saves me the biggest bowl if I’m coming home late and we always eat together and catch up on the latest telenovela drama while enjoying my favorite Dominican meal. Because sambumba has many fond memories, I knew upon planning “The Gastronomic Compartir Tour of Manzanillo” for my best friends Emily and Kris, that sambumba would be the first on the menu.

Emily, Kris and I arrived to my humble abode after a long day of traveling and Luisa embraced my BFFs in her classic bear hug and said, “Are you ready for the sambumba?” The girls looked at me skeptical but sat down as they were commanded to and we served them up a piping hot cauldron of sambumba. We proceeded to enjoy our sambumba with frequent interruptions from Luisa asking “How is it? Do you like it? Do you love it? Do you want more? Eat eat!”

Success!

Day 2: Can’t stop, wont stop!

Day Two started with mashed up pumpkin with some scrambled eggs on top, generously prepared by my host brother Dawin. I’m pretty sure he had a crush on both Emily and Kris, and was more than willing to scramble up their eggs when I asked at an ungodly early hour (for him). We had a few grecas worth of coffee and set out on our way for the biggest and toughest day of the tour. First stop was guava juice and (an offer of potatoes, rice and beans that we politely declined) with Tita. We chatted about life in America and how thankful Tita was for the wrinkle cream Emily generously brought her from the Promised Land. We then headed to Mama Julia’s where the tour really ramped up.

I spend every Saturday afternoon with Mama Julia as she is the best story teller in town. She’s always got a mango, coconut or guava to share and is never without a story and a good laugh. Mama Julia remarks that I was sent to her at the perfect time, just when her daughter moved their whole family to New York and she was missing someone to love like her own. “God works in mysterious ways mi’ja,” She’ll tell me. “God knew that I needed a new daughter to love.”  If I had to quantify the amount of food that’s helped us reach this point of love and strong connection, it would be as follows.

- 52 mangos

- 6 coconuts

- 19 nuts that taste like pork

- 192 tostones (twice fried plantains)

- 8 bowls of moro (rice and beans)

- 2 bowls of extra-salt added ramen noodles

- 43 mints from the colmado

- 36 cups of sugar-ed up coffee

Me and my Mama Julia!

So of course Mama Julia’s house was on the list. We arrived and I told her son, Jose, that we would just be stopping in for some coffee. Well, a plate of tostones and fried salami, a bowl of moro, a platter of vegetables, three cups of coffee, one coconut and three mangoes later, we finally left her porch. We head back down the hill to my house where I informed the girls that they’d need to magically make space in their stomachs because it was time for la bandera, rice, beans and chicken at Chichi’s house. Stuffed, happy and two lunches later, we rolled out to my Escojo youth group graduation where cake was served with fried yucca balls, empanadas and quipes, small chicken-stuffed and fried grain balls. The graduation was beautiful and it was a great time to compartir with the jóvenes (youth) from my town. The girls handled it well when I set them to work blowing up balloons, setting up signs, serving the cake and pouring the soda. Their afternoon treat was much deserved.

A cake weighing in at 20 pounds!

And to top of Day Two of the tour, we went to my old host mom Wendy’s house for pastelón, another one of my favorite Dominican dishes. Pastelón is a dish with mashed plantains, meat and cheese very similar in to a shephard’s pie. The whole platter later, I informed the girls that they were officially done eating for the night, unless they wanted leftover cake. A shake of the head from both of them let me know that I’d done a fine job with the agenda on Day Two.

Day 3: Fry everything twice

Yesenia, my women’s leader from the neighboring town of Copey, has been my saving grace. She was the first person I met here that I trusted de una vez (right away). She quickly became my “mother” in Copey and she warmly welcomed me into the family. Now Margot, her mother, is my grandmother and brindars me juice within two minutes of my arrival in her home, every time. When I mentioned that my friends would be visiting, they immediately asked what they could make us for breakfast. Joking, I told them I was putting in a formal request for tostones, fried cheese, fried salami, juice and a platter of fruit. I laughed at the end to hint that I was kidding and we only wanted their company and perhaps a cup of coffee. “Mi’ja,” Yesenia exclaimed, “That sounds perfect! We’ll have the whole thing ready by 9 o’clock.”

Twice fried plantains, cheese and salami. Mmmmm.

Sunday morning rolled around soon enough and we were ushered to their table to enjoy all aforementioned fried goods along with mabi de palo, a delicious kombucha-like juice made from sticks and dried leaves. We gorged ourselves on one too many fried plantains and Yesenia mentioned, “As your student in our women’s Healthy Homes group, I only justify this once! Bea...you should know better.” The guilt set in, but as she said it, I realized just how much confianza (trust) we have with one another. Three months ago, I never would have felt comfortable dictating what she should make for breakfast, let alone invite a clan into her house to eat it all. Upon washing all the grease off our fingers and packing our bags to head out for the beach, I reflected upon how truly amazing my community is. They have adopted me whole-heartedly and I them. We have inside jokes, favorite meals, gossip time, so much more work to accomplish and so many more fried plantains and cups of coffee to compartir.  

Delicious breakfast thanks to Yesenia & Co.

Margot, Me, Emily, Kris and Yesenia!

And so concluded “The Gastronomic Compartir Tour of Manzanillo” and the hours of my friends, doñas and I spent laughing, eating and enjoying friendship cultures apart. 

¡Buen provecho!

Bea

This delicious dinner was a special treat because it included a salad! 

My kids graduated!!! Felicidades! Let them eat cake!

On the United States of America

Happy belated birthday, America!

Holidays have been one of the hardest parts of my Peace Corps service. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, birthdays, Mother’s Day and anniversaries are are times when I get homesick, reminisce, crave traditions, and just miss me some good ol' USA. 

I love the Fourth of July! This Fourth of July I was reminiscing on past celebrations in Idaho watching a town parade with horses, politicians, rodeo queens, etc. I thought about the times I went to the rodeo to watch baby calves get roped or attended a friend’s barbecue with ample beer and country music. Or I’d be antique show shopping with my mom and working at a pizza restaurant in my mom’s old cowboy boots in the evening. Or I’d be hiking a mountain with a friend and watching my little brother win a bike race. And as much as I was craving country music, hot dogs and cold beers, cold alpine lakes and lazy rivers, it was the one day here when I’ve felt most proud to be an American. 

Many volunteers remarked that they never knew how patriotic they were until we left America. It’s similar in a way to the saying “You never know what you have until it’s gone.” Now that we’ve been dropped into an environment so different from our own little piece of the American pie, we have had to learn to appreciate what comes from being a citizen of the US of A.

There’s the comfort things like internet and air conditioning, craft beers and customer service. But there’s also the deeper things like our education system, our diversity, our work ethic and our justice system. There are our job opportunities, our democracy, our efficiency, our accessibility, our history and our freedom – of religion, of speech, of expression. It’s not yet perfect and there are some Americans who have less access to these deeper freedoms than others, but there is progress. We have forward momentum to become a better people and a better nation. And there are so many people fighting and working hard everyday for just that. To allow those who cannot access the education, healthcare or justice systems to get there. That in and of itself makes me so proud.

It’s this and so much more that makes a person like me, on a tiny island in the middle of the Caribbean, jump up and sing “America the Beautiful” at a bar full of volunteers who have given 27 months of their lives to serve others. It is a pride that propels a group of 60 volunteers to sing “Party in the USA" on a catamaran sailing through crystal blue waters, wear American flags in our hair, pin a mint wrapper that says “Made in America” to our clothes, high five and scream “’Merica” and reminisce on the good ol’ USA.

Peace Corps has three simple goals. Goal #2 is “to help promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served.” This means I get to tell people that American is more than Nueva Yol, explain how to make a simple grilled cheese sandwich, emphasize I don’t personally know Miley Cyrus or Justin Beiber, describe what snow looks and feels like and teach my nail lady how to paint the American flag on my toes. But more importantly, I get the chance to talk about equality, women’s rights, political leaders who are not corrupt, democracy that works, scholarships for academic achievements. I get to talk about equal opportunity, work ethic, the Supreme Court, and a president who doesn’t give empty campaign promises. And most of the time, they don’t even care if I know Kanye’s newest baby’s name or what the bathroom looks like in Obama’s house.

So yes, on the Fourth of July I missed America more than usual. But I am proud that each and every day I get the chance to represent it. I am honored that I was given the opportunity to serve the country where I was lucky enough to have been born, in the land of the free and the home of the brave. 

Peace! 

Bronwen 

On unsolicited advice

I don't make decisions lightly and reflecting back on my year of service, I am so glad I'm here serving in the DR. Thinking back to the years before I applied and when I thought, “I kinda wanna join the Peace Corps," I wish more people had given me unsolicited advice on the subject. Surprisingly, a few months into service, a friend connected me to his old college roommate and the unsolicited advice came! I read his words and they've helped me time and time again throughout my service. So here is some uber helpful advice for anyone serving in the Peace Corps or contemplating it. All from a man who did the Peace Corps over 30 years ago. Many of the sentiments he describes from “back in the day” are the same feelings I have today...years and a world apart. The words are his, with a few edits!

  

"I served by myself in a remote part of Malawi where no whites had ever lived before (or since) working in a health program setting up child care clinics. What strikes me and reassures me is how similar Peace Corps is today as it was “in the day.” I am also very impressed with how you are approaching the experience.

I don’t want to be presumptuous but let me pass along a few humble wisdoms I gleaned from my service.

1. Expect to go through periods of depression and loneliness and wondering whether you are doing anything valuable.

2. You will never be able to evaluate the “impact” you will have, so trying to measure the effectiveness of your service by “things” accomplished is somewhat of a fool’s game. The eternal debate between the job and the experience is a false dichotomy because the job is the experience: the how you do what you do is more important than the what you do, and don’t let anyone try to diminish that.

3. NGO’s, aid workers, etc. etc. are not volunteers, they are not living with the people and working alongside them. We can never divorce our ego from what we experience, nor should we, and, yes, you will get more out of this experience then you think you will give but only Peace Corps volunteers enter the communities they serve with humility and an open heart and with no other agenda. Host country nationals are not fools…and they get that…and they respect and love volunteers in return because they get that.

4. When I stopped trying to help, I finally started to serve. It took me about 6 months to work through that one and you seemed to be sensitive to it from the beginning and maybe starting to deal with that now. Helping is our issue, it is our need to feel useful, significant; it is our need to get an “A” on our assignment (I am here to HELP so I must constantly evaluate how well I am doing by looking at what I am doing and then self-evaluate how the doing is measuring up to the standards I am setting for myself….I think you get the point.) It was when I finally stopped helping and started living without the burden of trying to self-evaluate something that is impossible to measure that I started to become a member of the community, an equal participant in the lives of the people that I live with, yes with more knowledge about certain things (and clearly a lot less knowledge about many, many other things) and relieving myself of that burden of needing to help, what I was trying to do became more organic and natural and human. The villagers I lived with got that…I had the benefit of living where dancing was a part of daily (evening) life of the people. It took me a while before I would leave my hut and just go to where it was happening and just watch (I also didn’t want to engage people until my language skills had improved until I realized I would never have the fluency to avoid instances of lack of communication and I finally realized that it didn’t matter, it wasn’t just that non verbal communication can work but that my presence was communication). In any case, I then started to watch the dancing and observe the steps then after awhile I took the plunge I entered in…..much to the delight and howls from the villagers…..until they realized that I knew the steps….and then…..I was one of them. I was no longer an “other”….I was someone from another place (they had no idea that whites came from different places) but I was in their world and living life on their terms, not making them engage me on my terms. I often say when I first came there they thought it was great that I greeted them (and could communicate somewhat) in their language, they thought it was even better when I would work alongside them, digging holes and doing the work of the community, but when I danced with them I was one of them, I was interacting with them at their most intimate level, and the respect and love I gained from that defined me and my experience from that point on.

5. My experience is my experience and the amazing thing about Peace Corps is that everyone’s experience is different and yet somehow the same….I encourage you to find a way to take the leap of faith that will lead you to connect with your Dominican community in a way in which you are letting go, finally, of the person who has lived 22 years in the US and been imprinted in ways known and unknown to be and act in a certain way. When you lose yourself in the experience and the barriers/divisions between “them” and “you” begin to dissolve is when you will learn certain truths about yourself and life that is the unique opportunity of Peace Corps. It is at that point, as well, that your impact really begins…although you will never be able to measure it and you alone will be the only one who will ever understand what you did and what your experience was like.

6. Lastly, whatever each day brings is part of the experience…it is all good…there will be bad days and good days, days when you want to hide with a book, days when you bond with fellow volunteers who can relate to who you are and you can come home for a day, weekend, whatever. Peace Corps is a “time away” when we can stop needing to grade ourselves, when there is the unique freedom to be out of responsibility and most importantly it is the one time in our lives when we can lose who we are (and all the unseen cultural imprinting that goes into defining who we are) in order to discover the “truths” to life itself that will become the jewels you will take with you for the rest of your life (and no one else will truly ever understand…but that is another story).

For almost every volunteer there is no other experience like Peace Corps…..and no matter what it is …it is all good……

Thanks for letting me bend your ear…"

Gordon Radley

RPCV Malawi ’68-‘70