Mom Calls Them Learning Takes

Peace Corps asked for "lessons learned" in our annual trimester report. I call them tidbits of goofiness that remind me of why I am here and what I ultimately came to do, which is get to know myself better so that just by being alive, I can become a positive energy in the world.

At the school:

• Learn from the locals: You might have a great teaching method and experience but if you are still calling "z", "z" and not "zed" you will not be getting through.
• Be broad: Offer to help in all areas of the school as you get started. Who cares that you hate making banners? It might be just the opportunity to get to know a fellow teacher, who, after developing a relationship with, you may start a comedian troop with.
• Withhold all judgement: In other words, "You know nothing" and you can either judge and have pie in your face later or you can try as hard as you can just to observe and soak it in. You will start to understand the way things work eventually and that is when things will get interesting because you have to fit into the way things work to truly integrate.

In the Community:

• Sincerity goes further than friendliness: When I first arrived, I found myself waving and saying "hi" to everyone. Like I didn't stick out enough to start with, here I was acting like I was running for Prime Minister of St. Vincent; kissing babies and shaking hands. There was a point when I started to understand the looks that were being given to me. It is not like anyone was unfriendly but the looks said, "Alright, you are new here, we get it, so now what?" Once I understood that all of my friendliness really was just a show, I knew that I had to get "real." I started asking names. I started linking parents to children and families to families. I started asking questions and sharing things about myself and what I am doing here. I opened up and was honest about who I am. Wouldn't you know it, all of the sudden, things started to make more sense and I began to feel like I fit in a bit more. I am still in the midst of this exciting process and I love it. What a blessing to be in a culture where people are willing to be my friend, regardless of my skin tone, nationality or goofy outfits.
• For one reason or another, it seems like all of the other Christian denominations on the island do not like the Seventh Day Adventists: I still don't understand it but I am telling you, I see it. As a volunteer it is good to know these subtle prejudices that exist within this culture as sooner or later, you will surely bump into it when you are trying to move forward with an idea.
• If you don't wash your drapes before Christmas, everyone knows about it and you can bet they are talking about it: That's no joke. I have been amazed by the things that my neighbors, community members and students pick up just by existing in the same small piece of the world as me. Originally, the American in me thought, "AHHH!!! No privacy!!!! This will make me nutty!" but now I see the nosiness is a way of caring. My neighbors know all of my friends, they ask how my family is doing, they laugh at my attempts to clean moss off the concrete and try my crazy carrot soup. So they don't really care if you clean your drapes, as long as you are willing to be the messy one in this "family" you have just joined.

Where it counts the most--lessons learned about Myself:

• Humility times two: First, I am so humbled by the friends and family that are supporting me from afar in the states. When you are put in a situation like this where you are 100% alone, you are able to see your support system very clearly. I am, literally, brought to my knees, by the love and concern that these special people have for me. I don't understand how in a world of so much hatred and meanness, I ended up with the most selfless and committed people in my corner. Second, I have always loved to dream big and while that has been an attribute here as well, I feel that I have benefited the most from having some of my largess dreams squashed by the realities of life in a developing country. As the singer K'naan says, "Any man who knows a thing, knows he knows not a damn, damn thing at all." (sorry for the language but it just fits!). I hope that as I move forward in this journey, I move with humility, knowing that I am here to learn from Vincentians and maybe provide some extra energy, smiles and laughable dance moves.
• I am still learning: There is no point in trying to be perfect here, I give up. The idea of perfection was something that I truly struggled with in the States. I always wanted to do it right, so much that I think I let a lot of things fall to the wayside because I was scared of failing. Here, I like to savor the learning moments and look forward to the process that each of my volunteer projects will go through. I want to be told straight what I could be doing better, so I can do it. I want whatever I leave behind, whether it be a memory of going to the talent show with Miss Smith or being taught to read, to have that signature "Sarah Smith" quirk.
• When your soul comes alive, you better listen to it and listen good, gyal (girl).

Recipe of the Day

First of all, I would like to say that it is almost downright hilarious that I am posting a recipe. Back home in the states, I am no cook. Here in St. Vincent, I am no cook. That being said, when a person is put between a rock and a hard place, i.e. there are no restaurants besides ones cooking chicken and chips serving dinner in Layou (rock) and the most legit grocery store is a ride into town and lugging pounds of groceries all over God's green earth (hard place), one tends to get creative. I have found myself daydreaming about flavor combinations, trying to figure out how to mash carrots into a pulp fine enough that it counts for soup and learning how to cook bully beef (corned beef) and chicken sausages (a more refined way of saying Purdue Chicken Hot Dogs) in ways I never thought possible. In an environment where imagination and imitation (of the local dishes) are king, eventually you land on something that you think, "My goodness, I simply have to share that with the masses." So from my little gas stove to yours, let's bring our hearts close together by cooking the same thing regardless of how many miles we are apart.

Roasted Vegetable Pizza:

Earlier in the day: Take out 1 cup of frozen spinach and put it in the fridge. Move it to the counter if you want it to cooperate faster.

Part One: Roast that garlic

Take two heads of garlic, remove the fine paper covering and chop of the top of the bulbs. If you are in St. Vincent, cover with a square of MelloKrem margarine and put in a baking dish. Cover said baking dish with a baking sheet to create a small oven within the oven. If you are somewhere with more conveniences, actually they are here I just can't afford them, unwrap the garlic, chop the tops, cover with olive oil and wrap in foil. Place in your oven to bake. I don't know what temperature because mine is in Celsius and honestly, I tend to guess. Let's say 350... that sounds safe.

Part Two: Make that dough gyal

In one bowl: Mix 1/2 tsp of yeast, 1 tbsp of sugar, 1/2 cup of warm water. If you live in St. Vincent, this will be a blend of water out of your kettle (HOT!) and water from the empty rum bottles in your fridge (COLD!), together they combine for warm. If you live elsewhere, you probably can use a microwave or find hot enough water coming out of your tap. (Jealous?! Me?Never!)

In another bowl mix 1/2 tsp of salt and 1 cup of flour. Keep the flour open because you will need more.

Mix wet mixture to dry mixture. Keep adding flour until you get a consistency that is not sticking to your hands. Move this to a floured countertop. If you are still using a spoon, get rid of that thing and get your hands dirty. For the next 3-4 reggae songs (Oh yes, I forgot to mention that you must have reggae music playing for this recipe to really work. May I suggest Beres Hammond, Buju Bantan or my new favorite, Alison Hinds) knead the dough until you have an elastic consistency. Continue adding flour until it is no longer sticky. Work that dough gyal and don't forget to dance while you are doing it. When you feel that it is at the right consistency, roll into a ball and cover lightly with oil (Sunbeam Supreme in St. Vincent!), place in a bowl and cover with a towel. Let rise until it doubles in size.

Part Three: Roast your other veggies

I used zucchini, grape tomatoes and onion but feel free to do whatever works. If you live in Vincy, slice up your veggies, add to garlic pan and add more MelloKrem. If you live elsewhere, unwrap the garlic, place in a heavy glass baking dish, add vegetables, add more olive oil, cover the whole shebang with aluminum foil. Place in oven until everything looks soft (but not too soft) and downright delicious.

Part Four: Par-bake Crust

Work with the dough until it fits the shape of the "pizza pan." Rumor has it that you can roll it out but lawda ha mercee, you need a laddah to purchase one of dem here because the price is so high. Cook the dough until it looks like an undercooked piece of bread. There should be no doughy parts but it also should not be starting to brown. If this is happening, reduce the heat on the oven.

Part Five: Cheese, cheese, cheese.

Shred cheese. I use cheddar because that is what I can get. If I were back home, I would use mozzarella and Parmesan. Shoot, I would probably just buy the Italian Blend in the supermarket. Take the roasted garlic and squeeze the cloves into the cheese. Mix, mix, mix until you have a lovely cheese and garlic combination that you are dreaming about swimming in.

Part Six: Make it

Take par-baked dough, cover evenly with spinach (please squeeze out excess water), cheese/garlic heaven mixture and roasted vegetables. Cook in the oven until the cheese starts to bubble and the crust is golden brown. I find that this is the test of patience because I always want to pull it out early but if you wait, you will find just the right moment, I promise!

Part Seven: Find a good friend to eat it with. Don't forget to share with your neighbors if you have an extra.

Vincygardners!

I believe that children are a universal breed. I believe that anywhere you go in this big, wide world, there is a lighthearted, eager energy that lives within each child. They are special and unique. As an adult, I am constantly in awe of children and the experience of childhood. I am now reporting that I have made a breakthrough discovery of a new type of child. This new breed is called a "Vincygardner" and can be defined as a child attending Kindergarten in St. Vincent, more specifically at the Layou Government School. A Vincygardner will make your heart melt while your brain thinks, "Lawda ha mercee, them pickme's es ah crazy!" (Lord have mercy, those children are crazy!) I really cannot describe the wonders that I see in these children so I am just going to share some pictures and a video. Enjoy!

Video: We watch a Phonics video that goes through the sounds each letter makes. The "W" section has a DJ and the Ws dance all over the place while the DJ goes crazy with the "W" sound. The little one in the green shirt is nicknamed "Sexy" because he is just so darn cute. Check the little girl in the back, I told you these kids can move! I can't figure out how to flip the video but it makes me laugh sideways!

These are the stoplight boys napping, typically the light stays green!

Only one word that can describe this picture: SWEETNESS

I am almost 100% certain that after looking so darn cute for this picture, she turned and boxed a little boy in the nose for stealing her rubber (eraser). Fierce, these girls are FIERCE!

Showing Miss Smith that they are "ready," well at least that they will pay attention for the next 60 seconds.

And he has a twin... does life get any better?!

Surely, there is no better thing in the world than being a carefree child. Except maybe being a carefree child with a big ice cream cone in one hand and a bright red balloon on a string in the other.

"Go into the world and do well. But more importantly, go into the world and do good." -Minor Meyers

I remember learning about social apathy in Freshmen Psychology class. The professor described a horrific scene in which a woman was murdered on a bridge while it was full of traffic. Everyone looked on but no one did a thing. I remember hoping that if I should ever find myself in a situation like that I would do the "right" thing. I would face the injustice head on, regardless of the consequences for myself. I hoped that I would be brave but luckily it never truly came to that point. Sure, I volunteered to fight the injustices of poverty, education and violence. In any given year, I would travel to Guatemala to build houses, teach Somalian refugees how to ride the Blacksburg Transit or purchase gifts for an Angel on the Salvation Army Christmas tree. It's not to say that I wasn't doing enough but I rarely found myself in situations where doing the "right" thing was really all that challenging. I am a good, compassionate person but I wouldn't include brave or bold under my list of personal qualities. Sure, I hope to be both brave and bold but I have had the luxury of being an upeer-middle class American from a strong family with good friends and great opportunities. Up until now, my chances to be brave and bold were limited to sports competitions and managing sorority and workplace politics. There, in the US, horrific events take place every day but they were always so far from my reality. Here, in St. Vincent, they are right at my doorstep, so egregious that you can smell the inhumanity as if it were a freshly baked pie of all the terrible things that humans can do to one another.

She is in the hospital this week. She is 9 years old. The rumor around town is that she was pushed by a four year old and fell onto a steel pipe. It was up the hill where nobody lives and nobody saw. They were fighting over a piece of bread. But the truth of it is, that story just does not work. She had a steel pipe invade her private parts. Her sister, 13, has a similar story from when she was 10 years old, the only difference is that she accidentally fell on a stick. So I won't make any assumptions but I will tell you that when I look at the youngest sister in the bunch, she's 7, my heart aches in a way that it never has before.

He just started attending school this past Monday. He is 7. Mom did not have the money to send him to school so he spent his kindergarten year and the first 5 months of his first grade year hanging around his house. First grade is a scary place for him. The only way to describe the way he looks is lost but there is a light. In the dim lighting of my office turned into a classroom, he gives off a certain energy when he listens to me read. It is an energy of hopefulness, excitement,and the bliss of learning as a child. I can't help it; my eyes fill with tears when we get to a poem titled "The Question." He didn't come to school today, teacher says he is already on holiday.

She just wanted to lime at the beach for a day. She just wanted to let loose and have some fun. Sure, she knew that she shouldn't be drinking but it felt so good. She stood at the makeshift bar, winding her hips and making eyes with any man who looked like he might be able to give her the love she so desperately needed. Hours later, her head is being held underwater as three men come at her. It was too late by the time someone brave came along. One had already gotten through. She ran down to the other side of the beach desperate to get away. She wrung her hands, feeling the shame of the day as if it were a rock holding her under the water. She did not mean for it to go this way but it seems to happen often. These situations that get out of control have become so regular that her life is spinning.

And I wish with all of me that I could say the things above are just stories. I wish that I could tell you that I read about them in the news but these are stories that I have had so close to my skin, I can still feel the tingle. This is the raw edition of life that is happening around the world but it is my first true experience with it. What to do? If you have an answer, please send it along. For now I listen to my parents. My dad says that he truly believes that all any parent wants for their children is a better life than what they had. My mother says that a person can only know what they have been taught or exposed to. So I go on with it hoping that what they have told me is true. Together with my community, we can teach and expose people to more, to kindness and to love. Through education and exposure, parents can see their dreams for their children come through. Social apathy, it turns out, is not just doing the "right" thing at the right moment; it is striving and struggling to do as much good as you can with all that you have.

Another volunteer told me that she had been contacted by someone who had just been placed in St. Vincent (they are arriving this Saturday!). She was disappointed to have a cushy placement like the Caribbean where we have electricity and running water. This what I will say to her, "Gawl, jes because yo ha water running out ah di pipes, dat doesn't mek it easy."

"The Question"
by Dennis Lee

If I could teach you how to fly
Or bake an elderberry pie
Or turn sidewalks into stars
Or play new songs on an old guitar
Or if I knew the way to heaven
The names of night, the taste of seven
And owned them all, to keep or lend--
Would you come and be my friend?

You cannot teach me how to fly.
I love the berries but not the pie.
The sidewalks are for walking on,
And an old guitar has just one song.
The names of night cannot be known,
The way to heaven cannot be shown.
You cannot keep, you cannot lend--
But still I want you for my friend.

The Paradox of Homesickness

I know, I know, I am not supposed to even mention homesickness. It has become a four letter word in my vocabulary. One that I am supposed to guard myself against but it has gotten to the point where if I failed to mention it, I would be doing a grave injustice to the whole Peace Corps experience and my attempt to share it. Homesickness is a study in contradictions. There are moments when I would give my right arm to go back to Blacksburg, Virginia and enjoy a sunny day on the Lefty's patio, surrounded by my friends, family and sweet dog, Murphy. After a short trip to the luxuries of Target, I would lace up my boots and hike to the top of a mountain. Lord, it would be a good day. On the other hand, despite not having to give up an arm, it is also a dream to spend the afternoon swimming in the ocean with new friends, dancing the night away with my newly discovered hips or looking up DaBrat videos while I eat spoonfuls of peanut butter with my closest companion here. You see, you can manage to be overwhelmed with joy while still being torn at the heart. I think this means that I am one lucky girl.

I find this paradox keenly felt when I eat soup. Now, I already know what you are thinking, "You eat soup there?! Isn't it 90 degrees everyday?" Yes, it is hot here but soup is a staple. The school makes soup so good on Thursdays that I have already begun the emotional preparation for the summer when I will have to live without it for eight weeks. I also enjoyed my fair share of soup while I was in the states. Chili, broccoli cheddar, Hokie House's frozen concoctions; I loved them all. As I was eating a cup of Callalou(green sort of like spinach) soup (no spoon, just cup) this past Saturday it got me to thinking. I was trying to navigate the green minefield; looking out for delightful dumplings and wondering what part of the goat had landed in my cup. Then I remembered a nice hearty bowl of chicken noodle where there were no questions about what part of the meat I was eating and spoons were readily accessible. Sure, I missed the chicken noodle but I was plum happy in the earthy, mystery flavors of the Callalou. Somewhere between the noodles and the goat lies the truth of this experience. You must adjust, you have to learn to love the Callalou to the point where you are buying bags of it but you don't ever forget how to mix eggs and flour to just the right consistency so that you have the most heart-mending bowl of chicken noodle. There will be days when you want the new stuff and others when you just want the old familiar but most of the time, I find myself trying to strike a balance and adding homemade noodles to the pot of Callalou.

Just call me Whirlpool

GE, Hoover and Swiffer have nothing on me these days. I have become a cleaning machine. Honestly, there is not another option here. The expectation in St. Vincent is that a person takes care of their things. "Taking care" doesn't just imply putting away your shoes; taking care is washing your broom after you use it and mopping your front porch. In all fairness, cleaning is really not within the job description of a Peace Corps volunteer but integration is. For me, part of integration has been keeping up with all of the housework. All around me, my neighbors are tidying up. I can hear Elvia, who lives a few doors down, scrubbing her "yard" with bleach and a scrub brush at 5am. Fitzroy, the 20 year old who lives behind me, cleans up after his dogs and sweeps his porch before I have time to ingest breakfast.

As my forearms burned this morning from the 6am laundry, I realized that I love to be my own wash, rinse and spin cycle. There is something so rewarding in seeing a full line of clothes, blowing in the breeze, and knowing that it is your own elbow grease that put them there. "I have to do my laundry" has a whole new meaning and unfortunately it does not include catching up on "The Mentalist" while I patiently wait for the washing machine to finish its work. I was called "Vincy" recently when I decided that the moss growing in my water run off path had to go. Recently, I've come close to slipping to my death as I try to make my way around the house in the dark. The water flows out of the house via an open drainage system and it is a breeding ground for slick moss. This is not my new favorite chore-- it is gross! Best yet, I found a pair of underwear that must have slipped down the pipe when I did laundry last week. I am sure my neighbors don't lose their knickers but what can I say, I am new to all this!

For me, there are simple moments when I realize how different my life has become. I am sure that when tourist drive through the town of Layou, they see the clapboard houses, mis-matched paint and the grime that seems to cover everything. I used to see it too. These days, as I walk to school, I see the lines of laundry that took hours to clean. I see Elvia scrubbing a pair of 2 year old rubber flip flops until they shine. Porches are scrubbed, clothing ironed and floors swept. All serving as a reminder that we must be grateful for the things we have whether it is a vacuum or our bare hands.

Thousands of Tiny Miracles

Mike Greenberg once said, "Life is a series of thousands of tiny miracles."
Today, at the Layou Government School, I came across one of those tiny miracles. I have been working with a group of fourth grade students who barely know their alphabet. I decided to use a specific teaching method with them during the final two terms of the school year. The approach is extremely remedial and actually designed for the overachieving parents of the world that want their 4 year old to learn how to read. The good news is that whether a child is 4 or 10, the program works. This morning, the fourth grade teacher came to me and said that the children had been excited and involved in class all morning. "Even Cathilda!" she exclaimed, Cathilda being one of the students who barely speaks and is not responsive to lessons. To my surprise, I walked into my classroom during lunch and saw Zita, another of my fourth grade students, reviewing the lesson from yesterday with one of the younger students. Miracle! was all that I could think! Maybe it is teaching or maybe it is Peace Corps but whatever it is, I am learning that the most important thing you can do for a child is to believe in them. Once they know someone is there to cheer them on, they will be able to move mountains (and read!).