27 months in the Dominican Republic

Moments of America, Reflecting on Christmas, Taking a Step Back

And there we were, walking the easy road in the soft heat of the evening. The mellow sea breeze crested the slight distance of the beach, playing in the hair of my fellow volunteers. In our slight rum buzz we sang Bonnie Raitt, laughing, because all of our parents played us her cassettes in their broken down cars, in the slightly rusty memories of our childhood. Dory’s dad played her in an old pick-up track. My mom played her in our old stinky station wagon. All our voices broke and scattered into laughter like little stones bouncing in our walking feet, except for Sara’s, whose voice is heavenly and rang true, right up into the stars, carrying us along.  A year into these shananagans and I’m realizing that what I thought my service was going to be, is really only the tip of the ice berg. My assigned project has roots that run deep into the history of the community where I live now, and future implications that extend well beyond the community’s borders. The process of learning about Dominican culture and sharing American culture, the second and third goals of all Peace Corps Volunteers, is also proving to be vaster than I would have imagined. Now, more than any other time in my life I’ve been exploring what America means to me, as a country, as a nation, and as my home. This process has been especially rich because I’ve been accompanied by my clan of Peace Corps friends, and even though we come from many different parts of the country, we share a history and the experience of growing up in America. In a land where I am constantly reminded of my foreignness, being able to sing along to a corny love song with a handful of my peers has special value; the stinky station wagon and the plastic cassette tape have new meaning.

My primary project is to develop a community ecotourism project based around a waterfall in a protected area that borders the community where I live. The school where I teach classes administers the park, and has invested a good bit of money to develop the infrastructure for the ecotourism project. There are trails, camping platforms, barbeque areas, swimming spots, and a series of wooden suspense bridges that criss-cross a river to arrive at the waterfall. As far as ecotourism projects go, this site has got a ton of potential because it already has a substantial tourist base. The waterfall is known throughout the country, El Salto de Jimenoa. So, as it seemed to me, the job opportunities: working as nature guides and running a small cafeteria, were simply waiting for a few motivated people to take them. I started off working the project with a group of teenagers that are in my environmental youth group. However, this youth group is based in a community that is a good 6 Km from the actual waterfall. We started off great; the members of the youth group re-painted a small cafeteria at the base of the waterfall and sold snacks there for two months. But the project fell apart. Most all of the club members are still in school, so managing the ecotourism project proved too trying. They didn’t have access to transportation, there were only 2 members who consistently worked the project but the group wanted 80% of the money to be funding for the group, the club is mostly women and they didn’t feel safe working the cafeteria without a male present, etc etc. I was back at the drawing board. I decided to set a date for myself. I planned a conference about environmental interpretation, one of the key concepts for nature guides. This was back in October. I figured that in 3 months I would have a team of community members at least interested in participating in the ecotourism projects, if not fully committed. I figured that the conference would be a great event for this team to focus on, and a great start to a training regimen in the various aspects of working as a nature guide. I was wrong. I planned the conference, received the funding to make it happen, found a specialist who works with USAID to teach the major concepts, invited Peace Corps Volunteers from the four corners of the country who also focus on ecotourism to come along with their Dominican project partners, and then the day of the conference arrived. One kid from the community where I’m working came. Then, after an hour, he left, and didn’t come back. The response to the conference was great. Those who attended it were very pleased with the results; we spent a weekend evaluating trails, discussing the dynamics of working as nature guides, getting to know new people, and re-thinking our eco-routes. But, as far as serving to motivate, create cohesion, and kick off a training with my team, the conference was worthless, because, of course, my team, didn’t exist.

December was a month of reflection for me.  My older sister, Rose, came to visit. We spent a few days in Santo Domingo, taking the time to soak in the architecture and culture of the colonial zone. The capital really is a gorgeous city once you get away from the mind splitting noise and the insanity of the junked buses slamming their way through traffic. When I first arrived in this country, the capital seemed a gauntlet that I had to survive. During training we were quite literally sent on goose hunts into the thick heat of downtown. Get in public transport at location X, they told us, make your way downtown, do your best to avoid robbery, rape, and general bodily harm. Find location Y and locate hospital Z. In the future, they reassured us, this hospital is the only one in the country that is to be trusted, so learn the route well.

Ten months in, the beast’s breath wasn’t quite so sharp. Rose and I went to an artisan fair, took a tour of the colonial era buildings and lost ourselves in the labyrinth of uneven stone steps that spiral through the forts. In the evening we went to “the little corner,” a colonial era ruin that is slowly decaying into the hillside, but at night it’s beautifully lit from the ground with museum style exhibit lights. It’s reminiscent of a stage for a Shakespeare play. On Sunday evenings this melancholy atmosphere blossoms into a whirl of colorful meregue music, laughing, spinning couples, bumbling crowds, rum drinks, and dancing feet. I can only grin at the thought of the Spaniard settlers rolling over in their graves as their mixed race descendents exhibit such hedonism at the foot of their ancient forts.

The next morning, at a small breakfast nook, three men leaned over a bottle of rum in the corner, tuning their instruments. By 10:00 AM they were in full swing. I took my sister’s hand and gave her first meringue lesson. The ragged morning musicians were ecstatic about our willingness to indulge their fantasy world, where dreamscape Sunday evenings never end.

From the capital my sister and I headed for Jarabacoa, my home in the central mountain range of the country. A handful of my good friends accompanied us on the trip.  A stone’s throw from my house there’s a cabin that my neighbor’s family tends. We rented it out for a few days and indulged the calm of rural mountain life. The weather in Jarabacoa in December is not what you would expect of the Caribbean. It’s misty and cool. The pine trees bend in the wind and everything is green and gray. But we took advantage of the un-tropical weather and got reduced rates on a white-water rafting excursion. It turns out that a short pick up truck ride from my little house is the only white water rafting destination in the Caribbean. Rose got the complete package for her visit to my site, which, unfortunately, included a bout with food poisoning. Rose was down for the count just long enough for her to dread the next step on our journey. I had planned for us to spend Christmas with a handful of other volunteers in Arroyo Manteca, in the province of San Jose de Ocoa, where things start to get real rustic. Rose, told me simply enough that this was not going to happen. I have a job, she informed me, and we are staying in a hotel.

As the time came to part ways with the other volunteers staying with us in Jarabacoa, one of the volunteers mentioned a baseball game between two rival teams that he was going to attend with some of his Army friends. Rose was all a glow with the idea and, as she is the big sister, decided that was what we were going to do. The game was a riot. It was interesting to meet other Americans working on international relations in the DR, granted from a different angle, a picnic table of U.S. Army soldiers and U.S Peace Corps volunteers (one of whom is an ex-marine) sharing a pizza before a baseball game in the DR, pretty neat. Hot dogs and beer were maybe a tenth of their price at Fenway, no exaggeration, and both teams had cheerleaders. Good call Rose.

It seems that the game put my sister in good spirits because I was able to convince her to agree to the trip to visit my friends Anna and Leon in Arroyo Manteca, in the southern mountain range. The trip out there was a saga in itself. The transition of the landscape was stark and dramatic. The green thickets of coffee and coco that blanket the outskirts of the capital city give way to a desert of bluffs and plateaus. I’ve made two substantial westward journeys back in the America, once from Colorado Springs to Los Angeles, and again, after graduation through the north, from Vermont to San Francisco. The dramatic landscape transition that I saw crossing America took place over the course of 4000 + km; the change that I saw crossing the DR took place in barely 100. After the bus ride we got out at a crossing to hop on motor cycle taxis. There are a few jeeps that make the last leg of the journey up the steep muddy roads of Arroyo Manteca, but they’d all passed by the time we got to the crossing. Rose, two other volunteers and I took off in our mini convoy, gripping our luggage as best we could as the motorcycles bumped and weaved up the mountain pass. A few sections were too steep and slippery to get a motorcycle up with a passenger, so we made our way on foot. The journey was worth the struggle. 

An interesting Peace Corps policy is that if you are married you can serve with your spouse. Anna and Leon are a young married couple, both with heritage among the Pennsylvania-Dutch, who’ve taken advantage of this policy. They took a three-room wooden shack on an eroded, steep hillside and turned it into a home that, despite its size, emotes hospitality. We were greeted with warm embraces and smiles. When you live in relative isolation, there’s an electric energy when you receive guests. We followed Anna through the front door, past the kitchen/boot room, into the main room of the house. “Cozy,” was I think the word that my sister used to describe it. Despite the small size, it was very welcoming. Construction paper Christmas ornaments and gaudy nic-naks abounded. My mother, it just so happens, is fanatical about holidays. Christmas and Halloween especially. So in some ways it felt fitting that the first Christmas my sister and I would spend away from home we were participating in such a valiant attempt to re-create the American Christmas dream in a foreign land (Rose and I had about a dozen be-jeweled little kitchy ornaments to contribute to the madness). As Anna prepared a heroic dinner on a diminutive stove, Rose and I stepped outside to soak it in. Anna’s horse was grazing in the thick shrubs along their fence, jagged hills swept down the horizon, the sunset soaked the sky in lazy shades of purple, and there was nothing to do but be. I sat. Rose read.

Over the next few days we saw spectacular stars as the night settled crisp and cold, we shared beers with the local drunk outside of a small tavern on our way down the hill to the river and the swimming holes, we ate stove-top baked pies, we placed gifts under the pine tree that Leon drew on the cabin wall, but more than anything else we shared in each others company. The best American Christmas away from America, digo yo.

On Christmas morning Rose and I tried to take off for the beach. I promised her that she’d at least have a few days of the typical Caribbean vacation. None of us were really certain about what the deal was with traveling on Christmas. Leon informed us that the trucks that serve as public transport would indeed be running, so we said our goodbyes and piled in. Pretty quickly it was obvious that our fellow passengers were really feeling the holiday cheer. The Brugal bottle was making swift rounds through the seats and all of the other passengers seemed to be falling in love with each other . When we stopped so that the driver could refill his jug of booze I decided that Christmas morning was not the time to travel in the Dominican. I politely informed them that we had forgotten something, and my sister and I got out of the truck, one more night in the hills for Rose.

Rose and I eventually got to the beach, and I have to admit that sleeping in a bed was great. We stayed in a small hostel run by an Italian woman who created the hostel to fund an orphanage that she runs in India. We spent two days lounging in beach chairs, running along the beach, sampling different types of Margaritas, exploring the coastline, and just soaking it in. When it came time to part ways it was a bummer to say goodbye but I definitely felt renewed and rejuvenated. Living far distances from my family for long periods of time sometimes makes me feel like parts of me are missing, so its nice to have family members visit and leave me feeling whole again.

As soon as I got back to Jarabacoa I moved into a new house in the hills. It is admittedly “cave-ish” but I was able to get my dog back from a local lady who’d been taking care of it (the director of the school where I used to live decided that dogs were no longer allowed on campus). The view from the cave is spectacular. Also, the only common space is open to the elements, so you really feel the glory of nature as you try to enjoy a conversation with a friend and the wind-swept rain starts blowing in. Living outside the fences of the school has also placed me closer to the people who I am working with on the ecotourism project. I came to the realization that the community couldn’t be expected to work on any substantial project if it wasn’t organized. Since this realization I’ve been focusing my work on developing a union of neighbors group with this community. It’s been an amazing process to watch people illuminate as new ideas catch on. One of the initial problems with my project was that it was to defined before I arrived, and the definition didn’t come from the people who were supposed to work on and benefit from the project. After a series of interviews I learned that there was a fair degree of interest in art, so I asked another professor from the school where I work to facilitate a workshop on how to make art with local products. It was a hit. I’ve also been working with a few young guys on developing a bird watching project. One free afternoon one of the guys took me on a trail that I had never been on. The trail winded through small agricultural plots (which should certainly not be there), up to a cliff-side. As we crested the last section of the trail, we came upon a lookout spot with a view of the waterfall that was grander and more complete than the view from the lookout that the school was promoting. For the kid who brought me on the trail, the new lookout wasn’t just better because you could see the canyon that gaped above the waterfall, it was better because it was his own discovery.

January, 2012 Peace Corps celebrated 50 years in the Dominican Republic

Thoughts on a Tear

By Ekow Edzie

[“Democracy,” said Newsweek magazine, “was being saved from Communism by getting rid of democracy.”

…

Nineteen months later, a revolution broke out in the Dominican Republic which promised to put the exiled Bosch back in power at the hands of a military-civilian force that would be loyal to his program. But for the fifth time in the century, the American Marines landed and put an abrupt end to such hopes.

…

A bloody civil war had broken out in the streets of Santo Domingo.

…

The first 500 US Marines were brought in by helicopter from ships stationed a few miles off the coast. Two days later, American forces ashore numbered over 4,000. At the peak, some 23,000 troops, Marine and Army, were to take up positions in the beleaguered country, with thousands more standing by on a 35-ship task force offshore]

 

Excerpted from the book, “Killing Hope,” by William Blum, compiled by the website: Third World Traveler

 

In the hours of the panel, Lana only let one tear fall, and she quickly wiped it away, apologizing, but the emotion had been brimming just behind her eyes since the start of the event. The tears were thinly veiled by the severe stoicism of her posture. I saw them in the frailty of her rigidness and in her shaking hand as she reached for her water. I imagine that her expression was much the same forty-seven years ago, as her heart broke while she watched the U.S. Marines descend from the sky. She had joined her neighbors in the street as they cheered hopefully for their savior’s arrival but she remained silent, watching the war machinery shadow the streets of her barrio. In a grim moment of prescience, she knew that there was no call for joy. The military had arrived in the name of politics, not of peace. Lena, her Dominican neighbors, and the other U.S. Peace Corps volunteers stood on the wrong side of the political line.

In the following months, Lena would have to move her bed onto the floor to avoid gunfire, and, as the violence escalated, she would leave home to join other Peace Corps Volunteers in an abandoned hospital. During the rebellion, the hospital was needed more than ever, and though most of the volunteers had no previous experience in medicine, they filled crucial roles. One RCPV described the horror of sorting out the wounded, having to decide who warranted medical care and who was hopeless. Another RPCV described his experience being sent to fix the generator for the hospital. The volunteer had no previous experience as a mechanic, and he had to perform the task under gunfire. At the end of the event, Lena was asked to reflect on the general impact of the experience; she responded, matter-of-factly, “There’s a crack on my heart that I think will never heal.” Despite the countless events of violence and chaos that could have cracked Lena’s heart, the injury happened silently, as her ideals as a Peace Corps volunteer were undercut by the country that sent her.

Truly connecting with a Dominican family, seeing the spark of ambition ignite in previously idol kids from my community, and listening to the panel discussion of the RPCVs who were in Santo Domingo during the revolution of the early sixties have been the most momentous experiences of my year in this country. The panel discussion ranks among my other big, more expected, Peace Corps moments because it unveiled the big picture of what we are doing here and it was a veritable definition of beauty: breathe-taking, heartbreaking, and timeless. At a previous event during the 50^th anniversary, Dominicans who had been positively affected by Peace Corps volunteers were invited to take the stage. One speaker said that 50 years ago, in the Dominican mindset, JFK was the second most important person in the world, only bested by the Pope. It was also suggested that Peace Corps Volunteers were seen as the “muchachos” of JFK. Peace Corps volunteers coming into the Dominican Republic were filling shoes of legendary proportions. After decades of groveling under a dictatorship, when a Doña received one of JFK’s muchachas in her home to work in her campo for 2 years she might well have imagined a slight glow emanating from her volunteer. The sickly yellow in her cheeks, an early sign of an evening ahead in the bathroom, might well have been interpreted as the shiny halo of American Democracy and all its romanticized glory, only two steps removed from the will of God. In reality, I doubt there was much ideological symmetry between the PCVs of the 60s and the Dominicans who received them. The events of the panel discussion showed clearly enough that the PCVs’ ideologies did not match with the ideology of the white house at the time. But whatever difference in political perspective existed between the PCVs and the Dominicans they were serving didn’t matter. It didn’t make a difference because, at core, the volunteers were there to promote peace and friendship by working hand in hand with the people they lived with. The work that the volunteers engaged in was aimed at taking the community a step forward, what’s more, the direction forward was to be decided by their community. Everything else revolved around that central idea, and was subordinate to it, a respectful relationship based on peace and friendship through shared work. I doubt that half of the people on this planet who would to this day applaud JFK’s legacy actually know anything about the specifics of his politics. Instead, they applaud his support for human rights and the American Dream, ideas that transcend the confines of government in practice. Lena did not cry because of a semantics change in politics. She did not cry when she had to face down a tank that was aimed at her house, literally. She cried thinking back on the day her government sent in troops to stand in direct opposition to the will of her neighbors, undermining the integrity of her relationship with her community and the basis of her individual pursuit of the ideals of Peace Corps.

After the panel, one of my friends suggested that he felt that he had missed out on “the real Peace Corps.” I sympathized with him. Certainly there was a sense of wildness and utter independence that accompanied Peace Corps service in the 60s that is not the same, mostly because of modern communication technologies. However, if you work in a Batey, your life might not be all that different from Peace Corps life in the 60s. I think that what my friend and I saw and idolized in the returning PCVs was their passion for what the Peace Corps means, as an idea. They were willing to weather a revolution and stand up against their own government in sake of this idea. What is most inspiring is that the same inner fire that they held 50 years ago seems to continue burning today. I am not sure how the Peace Corps volunteers of the 60s compare with the Peace Corps volunteers of 2012. The world is a dramatically different place, so I am not sure that a comparison is fair. However, I certainly had no trouble finding things to laugh about with the volunteer of the 60s who took me out to dinner. I imagine that the volunteer that I take out for dinner in 50 years will have a story or two to make me chuckle as well, maybe they’ll even have those sweet flying skateboards from “Back to the Future” by then.

My Life in Translation

En Ti La Tierra /  In You The Earth

Pequeña  / Little

rosa,  / rose

rosa pequeña,  / roselet,

a veces, / at times,

diminuta y desnuda, / tiny and naked

parece / it seems

que en una mano mía / as though you would fit

cabes,  / in one of my hands ,

que así voy a cerrarte  /  as though I’ll clasp you like this

y llevarte a mi boca, / and carry you to my mouth

pero / but

de pronto / suddenly

mis pies tocan sus pies y mi boca tus labios: / my feet touch your feet and my mouth your lips:

has crecido,  /  you have grown

suben tus hombros como dos colinas, / your shoulders rise like two hills

tus pechos se pasean por mis pecho,  / your breasts wander over my breast

mi brazo alcanza apenas a rodear la delgada / my arm scarcely manages to encircle the thin

línea de luna nueva que tiene tu cintura: / new-moon line of your waist:

en el amor como agua de mar te has desatado:  / in love you have loosened yourself like sea water:

mido apenas los ojos más extensos del cielo  / I can scarcely measure the skies most spacious eyes

y me inclino a tu boca para besar la tierra /  and I lean down to your mouth to kiss the earth

Pablo Neruda- from The Captain’s Verses / Los Versos del Capitán

 

My life is in translation. To really exist in a new language and a new culture you have to rebuild. Spanish is not English spoken with Spanish words,-just roll the Rs add add a vowel- not so much.  Its different phrases, a different structure, a different feeling. The same goes for the culture. Going through life trying to “deal” with the circumstance, bracing against it, making some kind of mental algorithm through which it some how conforms to what was more comfortable or more familiar, I don’t know, I just don’t think that’s sustainable, not for happiness. If you’re going to commit, you know, two years or whatever it may be, I’m under the impression that you really need to walk the walk. Instead of mumbling in your head, “typical… or you’ve got to be kidding…,” taking the time to really understand the why behind what’s happening around you, getting off the high horse and shaking your butt to the local merengue.

 

            So, at least when I’m out in the community where I did my interviews and recruited for my ecotourism project, Ekow in translation is Isaac. Making the transition happened fluidly enough. Right away it was apparent that most people, especially in the more rural areas where my gringo accent is all the more distancing, Ekow simply wasn’t going to fly. The whole idea is to become a somebody in the community where you’re working so that the community trusts you. During training one of our trainers asked us what the most popular sport in the Dominican is. Everyone responded: baseball. “Nope,” he informed us, “its gossip.”

 As far as I’ve seen the primary mechanism for truly integrating into small communities is just that, gossip. People see you and then they talk about you. The more they talk about you the more you become a player in their world. If they can’t remember or pronounce your name, well, things go a bit slower. My middle name is Isaac , during community based training one of my closest Dominican friends was named Isaac, pronounced E – saach so I figured it was common enough, and some how or another Isaac means laughter (as I’ve been told) and I certainly enjoy a good laugh.

Other than changing my name, I’ve realized that my style down here is completely different, and not the way I expected.  I think in general people imagine Peace Corps volunteers growing out their hair and going really hippy. At least in the DR that is simply not the case. The reality is that personal appearance has a much bigger effect on your ability to work and function within society here than it does back in the states. I imagine that countries need to gain a certain level of  “development,” before a disheveled aesthetic can be seen as fashion and not just a sign of impoverishment or bad education. As such I am without a doubt the most clean cut that I have been in my entire life. Regular trips to the barber, consistent shaving, shirt tucked in, shoes instead of sneakers, the whole nine yards.

I feel, how shall I put it, very square most of the time. But it’s easy to laugh at myself, so it’s all good. I can just imagine the comments from the kids playing baseball with soda caps and broken timber as the American – silver helmet clad, sunglasses adorned, sun block smudged on nose, digital camera in special little black carry bag strapped to belt, goofily smiling and shouting “Buenos tardes!” to people he doesn’t really know- weaves his clunker mountain bike down the puddle splotched red clay road. Hilarious is certainly an understatement. One of the times I believe one of the really young kids threw something at me, but I didn’t turn to check it out. Plus, once I pass through this section of the road into “Lo Catorce,” the community where I do most of my work, people are generally excited to see me.

The environmental youth group that I started, mostly in order to introduce the ecotourism project that Peace Corps sent me to do, has slowly whittled down to six participants. It’s not bad really. There have been many ups and downs already. We started with maybe twice that, but the six who have stuck with it are spectacular. I meet with the group every Wednesday afternoon around 1:30pm to discuss an environmental theme (reforestation, water use, energy, etc.), community work projects, and our ecotourism project. On Saturday mornings I teach this same group a course on business development. On Saturday afternoon and most all day Sunday two or three of the participants head 5 Km down the road to staff the cafeteria at the base of the waterfall, our ecotourism site.

Currently the other focus of my work with community members is the development of a nature interpretation workshop to prepare the youth group to work as nature guides on the trails near the waterfall. This process has been proving to be both tenuous and intriguing. First off, my Peace Corps environment trainer informed me that most all of the ecotourism sites affiliated with Peace Corps could benefit from a workshop on nature interpretation ( especially considering that Peace Corps generally works with projects that are still in the development stages.) So, I decided to design the interpretation workshop such that any volunteers in the Dominican who are interested could come participate along with their host country project partner. After doing some research and meeting with an ecotourism specialist from USAID to put together the base of the curriculum, the next step was to look for funding. Getting people or organizations to pay for things is not easy.  The types of projects that grants and various foundations want to support ebbs and flows to cater to the hot topics of the year. So, after meeting with a Peace Corps advisor, my course which was previously entitled “Nature Interpretation in the Dominican Republic,” is now entitled, “Nature Interpretation and Avoiding Sexually Transmitted Diseases in the Dominican Republic.” Hooray.

When I arrived in Jarabacoa a group of eight teenagers was already working as guides near the waterfall. There is a path between the main attraction waterfall and another waterfall that is all the more wild and maybe even more beautiful. The path is steep and in bad shape so when groups want to go to this second waterfall they pay one or two of these guys roughly 9 $ US to take them there. However, the guides don’t have any specific training in guiding nor do they actually have permission to be working within the protected area. So it is also my job to integrate this group of guides into the workshop and the overall guiding system that I’m putting together. It turns out that a few weeks ago one of the young guys that I brought into the waterfall ecotourism project went to the trail head with his dad to see if they could find a group to take up the path and make a few extra bucks. Seeing as no one technically has permission to work in the area yet, the kid and his dad had just as much right to be there as the other “guides,” who were there. A group approached looking for a guide. The kid’s father noticed that one of the women in the group was wearing really rinky-dink sandals and seemed out of shape so he advised her against going.  The self proclaimed leader of the “guides,” spoke up and yelled at the father for  not knowing what he was talking about and told the woman that he would guide her. A week after this event I organized the first official meeting between the two groups, the environmental/ ecotourism group that I organized and the group of guides that supposedly has 10 years working on the path (slightly suspect as they have an average age of 17).  So there I am doing the Peace Corps thing, “We are here today to discuss our goals and our vision for the project ahead yadayadayada” and I noticed some very palpable attitude vibes. I asked the guy from my group if everything was okay and  he started telling me that he is not going to allow anyone to disrespect his father. I assured him that no one was going to be allowed to disrespect anyone. As I regained my train of thought and started again the “guide leader,” sprung from his perch on the side of the cafeteria and smacked the other guy across the face. Immediately the guy from my group grabbed a fist sized rock and heaved towards his now official enemy. As I was directly in the middle of the two I grabbed his wrist before he could swing the rock. In a slight panic I told them both that this was not acceptable. As I knew the kid from my group much better than the “guide,” I directed my energy towards him. “Drop the rock!” I yelled, and he did, and then he bent down and picked up a long iron bar to launch a second attack. Fortunately when I swear I still swear in English so I probably seemed relatively composed, that or just plain crazy. Again, I grabbed his arm as he prepared to bludgeon the other kid. After a few moments of intense diplomatic negotiating the threat of immediate violence seemed to dissipate and we sat down on our respective sides of the cafeteria, the teenage guides on one side, the Peace Corps environmental group on the other. As I tried to reason with the kid in my group the benefits of keeping the peace he told me bluntly, “Papi doesn’t use a lot of words either. He resolves.”  Double hooray.

 

 

 

 

            My parents visited me a few weeks ago. It was really novel and really wonderful. First off, I convinced them that it wasn’t necessary to get a hotel so their housing situation, as it seemed to me, was an adventure for them in and of itself. They weren’t in a shack by any means. As far as Peace Corps residences go, their spot was probably in the 60^th percentile as far as comfort. They had ample opportunity to play Macgyver, jerry rigging their mosquito net to cover the screen-less windows, etc.

 But I am convinced that it is this very type of activity that shaves years off of your age. It was beautiful to watch my parents surviving together.

I took them out dancing to a live merengue bar, we went to the beach, took a boat tour through a lagoon under a tunneling canopy with cacophonous big winged birds. We explored a cave. We rode public transportation. We drank rum together.

 

 

I have been forming and reforming myself. If I say that I’m adapting to my environment it feels like whatever changes happen are temporary. Quizás, mejor dicho, I am developing in my environment. 

In this process of self translation, as much as I soak things in, I find my self projecting aspects of my personal history onto my new landscape, perhaps searching for the point of harmony.

 

 

            Ercelia is maybe the most impressive woman I’ve met, one of the only women who emotes the same rusty nail wound tending, jagged splinter pulling, eternally empathizing, soft, hard, gritty, mother love that defined my childhood.  She reminds of my mother and all of her sisters, the girls engrained with iron sinew, cultivated with the callous hands of WWII military parents- not that Grammy and Grandpy were severe but they demanded a work ethic- illuminated with the precious idea of the sixties, the doors open policy to love and thought. Her dark pony tail hung nearly half way down her stout frame, not quite as long as my aunt’s, but close. Silver caps run along the edges of two or three of her teeth. Her skin is darker on the folds of her cheek bones, where the sun’s light has shimmered her smile for nearly sixty years.

            As I began the interview she pulled another wicker chair just across from my own. We sat in the front most room. The brute gray cinder-block house is built like a railway car, the rooms all extending down in a line. It made for an interesting depth of color and light as the backdrop for our interview. Our space glowed mellow with the dropping sun of the late afternoon as Ercelia massaged the small leg of the little girl draped on the couch, sucking her thumb to dreamland. Behind Ercelia the enormous blackened pots and smoke stained walls of the kitchen loomed in shadow, and out beyond the kitchen the verdant green of the banana trees’ wide palms glowed through the door-less open porthole of the furthest room.

            We began as I always do, “full name? nick name? address?  How many people live in this house?”

            Ercelica smiled at this last question. “Eleven,” she told me.

She is caring for nine, not all her own, but all hers. Three weeks ago she cared for seven, but she works at a school that provides food and care for children whose parents aren’t capable, and on a recent school vacation two of the students didn’t have parents to go home to, so she took them in. 

            We had a moment as my mind changed form, abandoning interview mode for something suppler. Peace Corps asks that within the first three months of service volunteers interview every household in their community, or at least 100 households if in a larger community. As I’ve worked towards this goal I’ve developed a sort of interview swagger, a way of conversing that allows for meaningful deviation from the interview at times while directing the general flow towards the target questions that I wrote.  But as starry eyed Ercelia explained to me that the little girl lying on the couch next to me is sick from an infected tooth the swagger went out the window. Her husband has a warm soul and tends to the mixed crop of fruiting trees in their backyard to provide baseline nutrition for the house, but he’s been out of work for years. She accounted the various side projects that she has taken on to support the day to day.  One of her projects is a stand where she sells fried cornmeal sandwiches called arepa. I lit up and explained that the waterfall-side food stand I’m working on would seem a perfect local for her to sell her cooking. The little girl started to rustle on the couch; Ercelia rubbed the girls feet and she started to suck placidly again. “This is what I’ve been looking for,” she said. “I tell God that I need something,” she said. Still with her hopeful smile, she gestured around the house with her eyes, pointing out the two boys running into their room from outside –baseball bat in hand— as their father yelled after them to put their shirts back on, the draped curtains hanging where doors should, and the charred wall that backdrops the wood burning cook stove. “What I’m trying to say is,” she began, but I stopped her. “I understand,” I told her with a smile. “I understand, you’re looking for a little bit of help.”

“Thank you,” she said.

I understand that things like a child’s infected tooth are not easy to deal with when you live in a cinder block house in a disenfranchised rustic community, especially when that child is one of nine.

            As we came to the latter part of the interview Ercelia’s husband sat down beside us. I asked about the agricultural practices they employ and they joyously grabbed me by the hand and lead me into the backyard. Beans, plantains, avocados, and mangos dangled around me in all dimensions. Ercelia grinned proudly as her husband gave me leaves to smell and taught me the names of many tropical fruits that I had never seen before.

            As we wrapped up the interview I gave Ercelia a kiss on the cheek, the customary greeting and goodbye between friends in the DR.  

Ecoturismo

La Escuela Ambiental y

la comunidad de Piedra Blanca,
Jarabacoa

•     Perfil del proyecto
•  Ubicación
• Metodología
•   Organizaciones y actores clave 
• Recursos físicos
• Recursos humanos
•  Amenazas potenciales
•  Propuesta de proyecto

Perfil del proyecto

Lo siguiente fue tomado del documento que la Escuela Ambiental mandó al Cuerpo de Paz para solicitar un voluntario, lo cual consiste en los proyectos principales subrayados en el documento:

• Realizar trabajos comunitarios, cuyo fin principal sea el mejoramiento continuo de las condiciones de vida de los miembros de la comunidad y la conservación de los recursos naturales.

• Alcanzar la formación de recursos humanos en el área medioambiental a nivel técnico y vocacional.

•     Desarrollar un proyecto ecoturístico, que ofrezca cierto grado de seguridad al visitante, incluyendo actividades que puedan ser manejadas por la comunidad.

Ubicación    

 

Mapa de sitios principales donde los proyectos estarán plasmados

[Photo 1]

Metodologia

Desarrollo de un curso de ecoturismo con materias adecuadas para analizar las habilidades de los estudiantes.

Entrevistas informales con estudiantes.

Asistencia a reuniones de Juntas de Vecinos, “La Nueva Esperanza.”

Formación de grupo de Brigada Verde de ‘Los Catorce, Piedra Blanca’

77 Entrevistas formales en Los Catorce y las comunidades de alrededor con colaboración de Brigada Verde de Los Catorce y estudiantes de la Escuela Nacional de Medio Ambiente.

Historia oral.

Mapa de la comunidad.

Asistencia a reuniones de Cluster Ecoturístico de Jarabacoa.

Entrevistas informales con profesionales en desarrollo y ecoturismo.

Asistencia a un curso de senderismo

Para cumplir el diagnóstico comunitario, un aspecto obligatorio del Cuerpo de Paz, en sus primeros tres meses de servicio, los voluntarios tienen el objetivo de identificar recursos, necesidades y amenazas de las comunidades que reciben sus servicios.

Para satisfacer los aspectos diversos de mis proyectos en ecoturismo en La Escuela Ambiental y sus alrededores, yo dividí la metodología en tres partes. Diseñé el enfoque para tomar en cuenta los recursos, necesidades y amenazas de la escuela en nivel de organización, la población estudiantil, la potencial del terreno del recinto uno, dos, y el Salto de Jimenoa para el ecoturismo, la comunidad de Los Catorce, y el pueblo de Jarabacoa en cuanto un sitio ecoturístico en general.

 

En la Escuela

 

            Para identificar las habilidades y necesidades de las estudiantes de la escuela yo diseñé un currículo con los objetivos de ofrecer a los estudiantes la oportunidad de demonstrar sus capacidades en seguir direcciones, organizar información, y pensar creativamente. En particular, yo asigné un proyecto que valía un cuarenta por ciento de su nota, que fue diseñado específicamente para demonstrar estas tres habilidades. Cuando llegué a la escuela de una vez yo encontré una debilidad de la misma, lo cual significa un gran reto para los estudiantes, lo cual es la falta de acceso a información. La biblioteca tiene muy pocos recursos y el internet no es adecuado. Por consiguiente, yo organicé todo el contenido necesario para compilar el proyecto en una guía, llamado “Guía para un proyecto de ecoturismo (Anexo I).” La guía fue suministrada a todos los estudiantes para que la falta de acceso a información en la escuela no fuera un factor en la calidad de su trabajo.  La mayor parte del contenido de la guía fue hecha con información de las tres materias: Ecotourism: A Practical Guide For Rural Communities por Sue Beeton, Environmental Interpretation: A practical guide for People with Big Ideas and Small Budgets por Sam Hamm y Using Participatory Analysis for Community Action por el Cuerpo de Paz de Los Estados Unidos.

 

En Los Catorce

 

            La Escuela Ambiental tiene interés en desarrollar el ecoturismo entre el cruce en el calle principal que se llama El Cuatro - Salto de Jimenoa. Sin embargo, esto es seis kilómetros de calle con muchas comunidades que se ramifican. Por consiguiente, en la escuela me sugirieron eligir una comunidad para enfocar y empezar capacitando gente para ser incluidas en los proyectos ecoturísticos.

            Elegí enfocar mi trabajo comunitario en Los Catorce debido a su cercanía con la escuela y el interés en los proyectos que pude percibir durante mis visitas a las reuniones de las juntas de vecinos.

            Después del primer mes asistiendo a los reuniones con la junta de vecinos La Nueva Esperanza, las mujeres en el grupo me ayudaron a encontrar jóvenes para participar en un grupo para aprender sobre la naturaleza, desarrollar liderazgo, hacer trabajos comunitarios y tener diversión: Brigada Verde.

            Yo estaba un poco preocupado de que mi ubicación en la escuela, separado de las otras comunidades por una puerta y una cerca alta, sería un reto demasiado grande superar para integrarme en las otras comunidades. Por esta razón, acepté cada invitación para brindar un café o comida. Ahora yo me siento muy cómodo en la comunidad de Los Catorce. Yo he almorzado muchas veces con la jefa de la junta de vecinas. Una vez yo oí por casualidad ella llamarme su otro hijo a un vecino.    

           

Durante las reuniones de Brigada Verde he aprendido sobre unos de las preocupaciones ambientales de la comunidad. Además, los jóvenes de este grupo hicieron la mayoría de las encuestas en la comunidad y me asistieron para hacer el mapa de su comunidad.

-Observaciones de fortalezas y debilidades de la juntas de vecinos.

-Entrevista sobre el potencial del ecoturismo, participación en actividades ambientales, condiciones ambientales, educación, economía, y salud.

-Conversaciones.

-Brigada Verde para mejorar condiciones ambientales de la comunidad y participar en ecoturismo. 

Jarabacoa, centro-ecoturístico

-Asistir a reuniones del Cluster para conocer las otras empresas de ecoturismo y las circunstancias del ecoturismo en Jarabacoa.

-Curso de senderismo por una semana para aprender métodos en diseño de senderos y conocer los otros diseños de sitios de ecoturismo en el país.

 

Ya sabía cuando llegué a la Escuela Ambiental que Jarabacoa tenía la reputación de un centro de ecoturismo. Como parte de mi diagnóstico comunitario parecía necesario investigar los aspectos del pueblo, en cuanto a la cultura y recursos físicos, por lo cual Jarabacoa adquirió este nombre.

A la puerta de Jarabacoa está ubicada la oficina del Cluster, una organización que promueve el ecoturismo del pueblo. Cuando llegué La Escuela, ya tenía una relación con Cluster, pero había potencial para desarrollar este vínculo. He estado participando en las reuniones semanal de Cluster por dos meses, contribuyendo a la planificación de eventos ecoturísticos e identificando con otra gente que trabaja en ecoturismo en Jarabacoa y sus alrededores.

            Para mejorar mi propia habilidad de evaluar el potencial de los recursos físicos del Recinto Uno, Dos y el Salto de Jimenoa, asistí a un curso intensivo de senderismo. Por una semana aprendí métodos para evaluar y modificar senderos para mejorar la experiencia de los turistas y preservar la estructura física de los senderos contra erosión. Además, visité una serie de diversas áreas protegidas para aprender sobre los métodos de senderismo ya implementados en los parques de la Republica Dominicana.

Resultados / Organizaciones y Gente Clave

Lo siguiente es un resumen de la gente y organizaciones principales con quien estoy trabajando y la información sobre sus historias, habilidades, necesidades, y amenazas que he ganado a través de la diagnostico comunitario

 

La Escuela Ambiental, como organización.

La población estudiantil.

La comunidad de El Catorce, Piedra Blanca.

Otros actores.

 

 

La Escuela Ambiental

 

La Escuela Nacional Forestal fue creada en 1968 por la Organización de las Naciones Unidas para la Alimentación y Agricultura, con el objetivo de desarrollar técnicos en el área forestal.  Recientemente la Escuela Forestal fue convertida en la Escuela Ambiental para satisfacer las necesidades múltiples del Ministerio de Medio Ambiente, que incluye aspectos más diversos que forestaría sola.

A parte de ser técnicamente capaz, la escuela quiere desarrollar estudiantes que sean líderes, creativos, y trabajadores. Además, la escuela estaen camino a convertirse a una institución. Para recibir el certificado de institución la escuela tiene que construir laboratorios para clases de ciencias, entre otros.

A través de mi participación en las reuniones de profesores en la escuela y conversaciones con la directora de La Escuela Ambiental, Martha Fernández, me di cuenta que puedo ofrecer mas a la escuela en cuanto organización por contribución en desarrollo de currículo y normas. También, la directora de la escuela me dijo que voy a jugar un papel clave en el desarrollo de la relación entre La Escuela Ambiental y la Universidad Paul Smith en los Adirondacks, EEUU.  La Universidad de Paul Smith tiene una carrera en forestaría y quieren que La Escuela Ambiental sirva como centro para los estudiantes de Paul Smith para estudiar ecoturismo. Con mi compañero de proyecto, Héctor González, voy a diseñar un curso en ecoturismo para los estudiantes de Paul Smith para su primer intercambio con La Escuela Ambiental en Enero de 2012.

           

 

La población estudiantil

 

Los estudiantes de la Escuela Ambiental vienen de todas de las partes del país y  unos cuanto de Haití, con un gran diversidad de habilidades. A través de mi trabajo con ellos en mi clase, he visto que la mayoría tiene interés en aprender, responden a clase mucho mejor cuando la teoría está mezclada con dinámicas y prácticas y son capaces de pensar creativamente. Parece que hay muchos estudiantes a los cuales les falta destrezas en organizar y pensar de manera críticamente.

Muchos de los estudiantes tienen el deseo de seguir estudiando después de su tiempo en La Escuela Ambiental. Algunos quieren asistir a la universidad fuera del país, mayormente en los Estados Unidos. Para ellos lograr este punto tendrán que mejorar mucho en su estudio de inglés y también en sus habilidades de manejar tiempo. La universidad de Paul Smith ya quiere ofrecer unas prácticas en Los Estados Unidos para ellos. Imagino que el vínculo con Paul Smith podría ser un buen recurso para los estudiantes que quieren asistir a la universidad en Los Estados Unidos si ellos se enfocan durante su tiempo La Escuela Ambiental.

            Me di cuenta que para ellos ejecutar a un nivel más alto, hay que ser responsables con su trabajo. Sin embargo, es muy difícil hacerle a uno responsable cuando no tienen los recursos ni apoyo necesario. Cualquier trabajo que hago con los estudiantes adentro y fuera del aula tendrá que estar acompañada con inversión en los recursos de informática de la escuela. Hace un mes USAID donó un laboratorio de computadores a la escuela. Todavía este laboratorio no está funcionando. Lograr que funcione este laboratorio debe ser uno de las  primeras prioridades de la escuela.

 

 

El Catorce, Piedra Blanca: Resultados de las Encuestas

 

            Antes del 1960 el ingreso principal de Los Catorce fue la siembra de café. En los 60s el turismo de las montanas se puso más popular. Con la subida de la demanda para terrenos en las montanas mucha gente vendió su tierra. Con el desarrollo de la industria de turismo la calidad de vida en general mejoraba porque los cambios llevaron inversión en el infraestructura, como la construcción de la calle principal entre Jarabacoa y las otras comunidades en su alrededor.  La construcción de la Escuela Forestal es un ejemplo de infraestructura que llevaba unos beneficios para la gente de Los Catorce y las otras comunidades cercanas. La escuela ofrecía trabajo para mucha gente en sus invernaderos, plantación de pinos, y mantenimiento general de los recintos. La mujer quien me contó la historia de la comunidad también hizo referencia a un beneficio que ella recibió a través de la Escuela Forestal. Cuando ella era estudiante tenía que asistir a escuela en el pueblo de Jarabacoa, a unos cinco kilómetros desde Los Catorce. Usualmente andaba estos kilómetros a pie, pero con la escuela vino un profesor, se llama José Antonio Guzmán, quien cuando fue posible llevó a los estudiantes al pueblo en su guagua.

Como parte de las entrevistas con la comunidad de Catorce, yo pregunte si los miembros de la comunidad sentían un tipo de relación de la escuela y si sentían que recibían un tipo de beneficio debido al cercanía a los centros turísticos con sus hogares.  Un 32% de gente del Catorce sienten un tipo de relación con la Escuela Forestal. Un 16% del gente sienten que reciben un beneficio de ecoturismo. 

            La Escuela Ambiental me solicitó específicamente para ampliar y mejorar las empresas ecoturísticas cercanas a la escuela; además me solicitaron para incluir las comunidades en estas empresas. Si el servicio mío es un éxito, esperaría que estos porcentajes crezcan.  Cuando la escuela nació parecía un beneficio a las comunidades. Puede ser que en este tiempo de cambio la escuela quiera re fortalecer estas mismas relaciones.

            En los 1980s había mucha inversión en cabañas y granjas. Las dos fueron fuentes de trabajo pero tenían unos efectos malos en el medio ambiente. Deforestación y contaminación de los ríos surgió. Paso que las granjas estaban echando los cuerpos muertos de las gallinas en los ríos. El ministro de Medio Ambiente tenia que intervenir y mandarles cambiar sus practicas. Parece que cosas han mejorado con los dos las cabañas y las granjas pero todavía mucha gente hicieron referencia de habían perdido tierra al mano de las cabañas y mucha gente quejaron del mal olor de la granjas.

El Cuerpo de Paz apoya un método de desarrollo que enfoca en los recursos que existe en la comunidad en vez de enfocar en las cosas que la comunidad falta. Por consiguiente yo diseñe mis encuestas subrayar las actividades que la comunidad ya estaba haciendo para mejorar las condiciones ambientales de su comunidad además de sus perspectivos de las problemas ambientales. De esta manera pienso que el proceso de las entrevistas les dio poder a los miembros de la comunidad. Por seguro la gente participo en mas actividades ambientales que habían pensado que participado al inicio de la entrevista.

En el 1994/1995 mucha gente vendió su tierra para comprar moto conchos para llevar turistas a sus destinos. Al mismo tiempo mucha gente empezó trabajar en construcción. Y en el 1999 ricos entraron al Catorce para comprar la tierra. Ellos adquirieron la tierra a precios muy bajos. Además, porque mucha de la gente vendiendo la tierra no fueron bien educado, los ricos fueron capaces de tomar mas tierra que fue del acuerdo, cambiando los contractos de maneras que los campesinos no entendían. Ahora muy poco de la tierra de El Catorce esta la propiedad de la gente del Catorce. Yo intente de mostrar esto a través del mapa de la comunidad que hice, por mostrar como fue dividido la tierra.

            En general la comunidad tiene mucho interés en mejorar las condiciones ambientales de la comunidad. Todos que fueron entrevistado dijeron con el medioambiente es sumamente importante. La comunidad está en necesidad de mas trabajos. Hay mucha pobreza. Había muchas hogares que no reportaban un mensualidad, solo comieron la comida que fue donada por familia o cosechada de un pequeño conuco de tras de la casa.

• 45 casas
• Construcción, moto concho, albañil
• 1/3 de casas no tienen trabajo fijo

 

 

 

            Cluster, Jarabacoa

 

Cluster es una organización de Jarabacoa que trabaja para promover el pueblo en cuanto a ecoturismo, a través de organizar y promover las empresas ecoturísticas. Además de promocionar las empresas ecoturísticas, los eventos que el Cluster apoya tienen el objetivo de educar el público sobre la importancia de la limpieza, aguas residuales, manejo de desechos sólidos, y capacitación.

            Durante una entrevista con un representante del Cluster me explicó la importancia de mantener la limpieza de Jarabacoa para sostener el ecoturismo. Primero, ella me contó que en el pueblo hay que apoyar la reputación de un sitio a donde la gente valore el medio ambiente. La reputación de Jarabacoa es uno de sus aspectos más valiosos en cuanto a ecoturismo. Además, si los ríos se tornan tan contaminados a un punto que no sean seguros para bañarse, todo del pueblo va a sufrir, tanto en la parte de salud y la economía.

            Para los objetivos específicos de la Escuela Ambiental, el Cluster tiene mucho que ofrecer. Hay una dirección en la puerta del pueblo a donde podemos ubicar nuestros materiales de promoción. Ellos van a coordinar eventos en que podemos participar. Y a través de participación en los eventos de Cluster vamos a formar mas asociaciones con las otras empresas ecoturísticas de Jarabacoa.

 

Otros Actores

 

USAID

USAID tienen mucho interés en desarrollar ecoturismo en Jarabacoa en general. Además, tienen la esperanza grande de capacitar la escuela para que puede servir como centro de estudio de ecoturismo en todo del Caribe. Mas recientemente recibí un mensaje que gente de USAID tienen interés en ayudar desarrollar un sendero de aves en la escuela.

Paul Smith College

La Universidad de Paul Smith en los Adirondacks ha firmado una sociedad formal con la Escuela de Medio Ambiente en Jarabacoa. A través de los intercambios entre los dos escuelas los estudiantes de la Escuela Ambiental tendrán una oportunidad muy buena para experimentar educación afuera del país. Además cuando vienen los profesores y estudiantes a visitar la Escuela Ambiental sin duda van a poseer un buen recurso para la escuela en cuantos perspectivos y energías nuevas.

Estudiantes Internacionales

 Estudiantes Internacionales es una organización de estudios extranjeros que lleva estudiantes de Los Estados Unidos a participar en proyectos comunitarios en Jarabacoa y su alrededor. Muchos de sus proyectos, específicamente los que enfocan en  la juventud y la salud pueden ser un buen recurso para la comunidad de Catorce.

Cuerpo de Paz

Hay otro voluntario del Cuerpo de Paz quien esta trabajando en juntos con la Escuela Ambiental y las comunidades alrededor. Paul Kenyon es un voluntario de tecnología apropiada. Además de su experiencia trabajando como ingeniero en la industria de energía solar, él tiene mucho experiencia trabajando para que su hogar en Vermont podía funcionar sin energía central de una fábrica. Es decir que muchos de los proyectos ecoturísticos en que yo voy a trabajar podrían estar acompañados por ejemplos de energía sostenible con colaboración de Paul. Ya yo se que la Escuela Ambiental tiene interés en desarrollar un sistema de abono orgánico y biodigestores. 

 

 

Recursos Físicos

El Pueblo de Jarabacoa

Recinto numero uno de la Escuela Ambiental

Recinto numero dos de la Escuela Ambiental

El Salto de Jimenoa

 

         Jarabacoa

 

Todos de los sitios a donde el trabajo mío estará plasmado tiene sus propios elementos que califican su potencial como un sitio ecoturístico. Como ya he dicho, el pueblo de Jarabacoa tiene la reputación de un centro ecoturístico.  Un representante de Cluster me dijo que Jarabacoa es “La parte del país más céntrica a donde se puede realizar ecoturismo.”  Esta reputación viene del terreno variable y el clima que ofrece la oportunidad para actividades diversas. Unos ejemplos específicos de los recursos físicos de Jarabacoa y sus alrededores son las montañas del Pico Duarte, El Valle de Tertero, El Magote; los ríos, como El Yaque del Norte cuya cuenca es la más grande del país. Aparte de los recursos físicos, las comunidades de Jarabacoa valoran las manualidades, lo cual pueden enriquecer la experiencia de ecoturismo.

                                                                                    

         Recinto Uno

El paisaje

Senderos

Presa

 

            El recinto numero uno tiene muchos aspectos que pueden contribuir a un buen experiencia ecoturística. El paisaje de la escuela esta muy bien mantenido y muy lindo. Los dos el paisaje y los senderos están manejados por los estudiantes de la Escuela Ambiental. Para el primer evento en colaboración con Cluster yo quiero que los estudiantes guían turistas por la escuela explicando los dos sobre la ecología y los métodos que ellos han utilizado para lograr la belleza del recinto. Uno de los senderos anda por una presa. Ahora mismo los estudiantes están participando en un proyecto de restoracion del cuenca alrededor del presa. Yo pienso que este proceso también puede ser incluido en un tour de la escuela.

 

[ Vea photo 2]

Recinto Dos

Sendero

 Rio Jimenoa

Alta biodiversidad

Plantación de pinos

Centro Hidroeléctrica

 

En mi propia perspectiva, el Recinto II de la Escuela Ambiental tiene el potencial de ser tan reconocida como el Salto de Jimenoa. Los senderos de Recinto Dos ya están bien desarrollados. Ellos andan por el río Jimenoa con una vista muy hermosa. En dos lugares hay miradores a donde se puede disfrutar de la vista de manera muy cómoda. Además, este recinto tiene las partes de una central hidroeléctrica que fue destruida, una plantación de pinos, y un sistema agroforestal con café. Todos estos aspectos podrían ser incluidos en una tour que sería muy interesante. Además, tenemos planificado desarrollar un sitio de camping en este recinto, lo cual será la única en esta parte de Jarabacoa. Quizás este también acompañada por una empresa de tubing en el río de Jimenoa. Este también tiene mucho que ofrecer en cuanto a flora y fauna, un nivel de biodiversidad muy alta.

 

[vea photo 3]

 

 

       Salto de Jimenoa

Sendero

Cafetería abandonada

El Salto II de Jimenoa

Alta biodiversidad

Sendero al Salto I de Jimenoa, en necesita

     de mucho trabajo

 

            El Salto de Jimenoa ya está muy bien reconocido.  El papel mío en el Salto estará incluyendo las comunidades en este proyecto. Ya hay un sendero al salto pero falta mucho en cuanto a interpretación. Ahora mismo hay casi nada. También hay un sendero al Salto de Jimeno numero I pero necesita mucho trabajo para que sea seguro para los turistas.

            El primer trabajo comunitario que he implementado en el Salto es un proyecto en la cafetería que fue abandonada. Ya yo tengo un grupo de muchachos de Brigada Verde que están tomando brindis a crédito de un colmado para vender en la cafetería. Han hecho muchos trabajos para mejorar la limpieza de la cafetería pero todavía tenemos que pintar.

            Uno de los primer obstáculos para este grupo es la transportación. Los Catorce están a casi 5 kilómetros del salto. Un miembro del grupo tiene una moto que está disponible pero la mayoría no tiene. Estamos pensando en conseguir unas bicicletas para el grupo.

 

 

 

Recursos Humanos

 

A parte de los recursos físicos disponibles de mis sitios de trabajo, hay muchos recursos humanos que son de valor muy alto. En la Escuela Ambiental tengo acceso a profesionales y técnicos ambientales. También la  población estudiantil tiene mucho ánimo de trabajar conmigo. Ya han ayudado con el trabajo comunitario. Me han acompañado en las encuestas, han participado en preparar comida para el proyecto en la cafetería del salto con el Brigada Verde de Los 14, y una estudiante hizo una charla sobre manglares para el grupo de Brigada Verde.

      La junta de vecinos “La Nueva Esperanza” tiene muchos años trabajando. Parece que falta un poco de ánimo ahora, pero yo tengo planificado trabajar con ellos en las etapas de grupos en el manual de trabajo del Cuerpo de Paz.

El grupo de Brigada Verde de Los Catorce es un grupo de jóvenes con mucho entusiasmo. Ellos me han mostrado que son capaces de trabajar independientemente para alcanzar los objetivos del grupo. Unos de ellos ya consiguió unos letreros para la cafetería los cuales fueron donados por un turista con quien habló.

            Como ya he dicho, USAID tiene mucho interés en Jarabacoa y la Escuela Ambiental. Estoy en contacto con una gente de allá y me ofrecen consultas cuando lo necesito.

 

Amenazas

 

            Las amenazas principales son la falta de agua potable, parásitos y la falta de limpieza ambiental en general. En el desarrollo de ecoturismo hay que considerar el sentido de seguridad de los turistas, en cuanto a salud e higiene. También, el falto de agua potable posee un peligro para la salud de la comunidad del Catorce.

            “Una falta de acceso a agua potable y educación sobre la importancia de tener agua limpia es uno de los problemas mas graves de la comunidad, en cuanto salud.”

-Medico de Estudiantes Internacionales

            En cuanto la infraestructura de los sitios de ecoturismo, la amenaza principal es erosión.

Otra de las amenazas principales que presenta el río Jimenoa, son las prácticas agrícolas intensivas que se practican aguas arriba, siendo visible la presencia de envases de agroquímicos dentro del agua, por lo que habría que hacer un estudio de la calidad de esa agua y sus consecuencias no solamente si se ingiere pero para el mismo baño de los turistas.

            Un peligro potencial que presenta el río, es que no se cuenta con un sistema de alerta temprana que alerte a las comunidades y a los turistas de que el río está creciendo en su parte más alta, lo cual significa un riesgo muy alto para las actividades que allí se realizan.

            Algo que debe ser tomado en cuenta como una amenaza, es el deterioro constante de las infraestructuras por el paso del agua constantemente, lo que puede provocar agrietamientos y posibles rupturas y desplomes.

            Para cualquier proyecto que se realice en la zona del Salto de Jimenoa y los recintos de la escuela, una amenaza potencial es que haya un cambio de partido político o de dirigente que cambie las prioridades de la escuela y haga que los proyectos se caigan.

                 Proyecto propuesto

Trabajar con las juntas de Vecinos en las etapas de grupos y métodos de facilitar para mejorar capacidad del grupo.

Seguir con Brigada Verde para promover interés en trabajo comunitario y pensamiento de temas ambientales.

Organizar una serie de charlas educativas con Brigada Verde y las juntas de vecinos para conscientizar la comunidad.

Organizar trabajos comunitarios para mejorar las condiciones ambientales de la comunidad.

Trabajar  con los estudiantes y miembros la comunidad para desarrollar los sitios ecoturísticos Recinto uno y dos de La Escuela Ambiental, y el Salto de Jimenoa.

Seguir trabajando con el grupo de Brigada Verde y los estudiantes para mejorar la cafetería del salto.

Organizar taller de “guía de la naturaleza” con miembros de Brigada Verde.

Organizar eventos con Cluster para promover los sitios ecoturísticos de

Recinto 1 ,2 y el salto.

 

Muchas Gracias 

La Escuela Ambiental, Hector Gonzales, Juntas de Vecinos “La Nueva Esperanza,” y Brigada Verde de El Catorce, y El Cuerpo de Paz

 

 

 

 

 

Jarabacoa aka God’s Hammock aka Land of Never-ending Spring

When the afternoon thunderstorms roll in, first the clouds crest the mountains like vast black ships. “Here comes the rain,” warned two of my students, lounging in the cool of mountain dusk. “And you’re just going to lie there and wait for it?” I replied.  They laughed and bent their necks as they traced the sky’s spectral gray, from the chalk dust on the eastern horizon to the smoky clouds swelling from the west, descending with the night. I opened the door to “the big classroom,” where twelve students sat clumped together arguing over which hypothesis to explore. One of the girls asked me to come by and help. They are trying to devise a way to scientifically deduce the reason why the tap water on campus is non-potable. The school uses groundwater, so they had flirted with the idea of measuring the soil for contaminants. Unfortunately, it’s hard to do much in the way of chemistry without chemicals. I know how to do some minimalist ecology experiments but the group was set on getting to the bottom of the school’s dirty water issue. So, they opted to do more a sort of literature review, bolstered with a few interviews. And then the dark ships over head unloaded their cargo. The roof and the walls began exhaling long and hard.

The thing about the rain, especially in the Dominican, is that wherever you are, that’s where you’re staying.  I explained as best I could the plot of ‘A Mid Summer Night’s Dream’ in Spanish. I am helping the English professor organize the production for hopefully a Christmas time showing. Then three of my students asked me to practice English with them. So we all introduced ourselves to each other. I presented myself in English with painstaking deliberation and annunciation. The conceit of the moment made me feel a bit like a child playing with a doll, except I was both the child and the doll. I am Ekow. I am from Dracut, Massachusetts on the east coast of the United States. I am here because I am a Peace Corps volunteer.  I am going to live here for two years.

Since the end of training I have not had much time to step back and take a look at my condition. In a way, this classroom game of dolls brought on by the heaving rain was immensely therapeutic.

My Peace Corps assignment is to work in collaboration with the Dominican Republic’s National school for the Environment to expand the local ecotourism industry: provide jobs for the pockets of depauperate dirt road, zinc roof communities surrounding the school and teach the students how to apply Peace Corps’ method of community development to ecotourism.

I am teaching two 1 ½ hour classes a week. The rest of my time I divide between three pursuits. First, developing confidence with the student body, we play music together, make theater skits, prepare cream-heavy pasta dishes, and exchange slang across languages. Second, developing confidence with the communities surrounding the school, thus far this has amounted to attending the popular “union of neighbors” groups, which are typically composed of women who are very organized, very proud, but not particularly inspired. And third, developing a better understanding of the local ecotourism industry, Jarabacoa is the DR’s ecotourism capital, so there is a lot to understand.

Jarabacoa lies in a valley surrounded by the highest mountains on the island, the Cordillera Central. Three major rivers rush the creases of the valley, crafting sublime vistas as they bound and cascade, sinking in to feed the vast swaths of green that feed the grazing horses, the grazing cattle,  and the inquisitive goats, cooling down everything just enough to earn Jarabacoa the nickname: “Land of Neverending Spring.” On my preliminary visit to Jarabacoa before swearing in I was taken on a brief tour of one of the major ecotourism agencies. They run whitewater rafting, horseback riding, hiking, camping, and nature tours. So, there is plenty of “nature” potential. The school is already a member of the Ecotourism consortium of Jarabacoa called “Cluster.” The Cluster office is situated right at the mouth of Jarabacoa and has an appealing rustic décor, nice smelling unfinished post & beam, local artisan clay crafts on display, and a wall sized landscape of an afternoon at a waterfall painted by ten year olds.  I’ve visited Cluster twice, most recently to attend a meeting to plan the upcoming “EcoMarket.” The event is essentially going to be a fair, but those planning it want to avoid the ‘f’ word in hopes of culling the requisite rum that magically rains from the sky at most every fair in the Dominican. The six Dominicans, one Barcelonan, and one American could not come to consensus on whether or not tourists are going to expect to find organic produce at the “Ecomarket”, but I imagine the event will be a hoot nonetheless.

There are four target locations to consider for the community based- ecotourism projects I’ll be working on. The first and most promising site is Salto de Jimenoa numero dos, or the second waterfall of the Jimenoa river. The school has already invested in the infrastructure for the site. There is a well crafted wooden foot bridge that takes guests criss-crossing above the rapids to the base of the waterfall. Because the school footed the bill for the bridge, the 50 peso entrance fee, or about $1.25, goes back into the school’s budget. The idea is that the waterfall could be a good site for a few tag on endeavors, specifically a system of nature guides, self-composting toilets, a small food stand, a spot to buy local artisan crafts, maybe even a zip-line.

 At times the ecotourism course that I’m teaching serves as a well needed platform to ponder any ethical murkiness stirred up by my project.  On my first visit to the waterfall, which is gorgeous, I felt like a nature pimp. “Add a little glamour to this rocky shelf right here and the family type will feel right at home; string a little gear across the river and the adventurous tourists will go gaga,” was my inner monologue. And deep in my gut, the conservationist in me- awarded a degree in environmental studies barely a year ago- sat a dark bar and whisky washed away his shame as I sized up my site for the market. But ecotourism really isn’t as grimy as it can seem at first glance. During Peace Corps environment training in the north we dedicated some time to discussing ecotourism. We developed our own definition, a sort of ‘in an ideal world’ thought experiment. We decided that an ecotourism project had to directly benefit the local community, be sustainable, and serve to conserve the natural resources at hand. I placed this same assignment before my students: define what ecotourism should be. They came up with much the same. The reality is that in many places, if it were not for an ecotourism industry, local sites of natural beauty or cultural significance would be paved under the wave of more traditional development enterprises. The waterfall used to be under private ownership but the government placed it under the purview of the National Environment School specifically to ensure that the natural wonder was handled with care. The school then asked the Peace Corps to send a volunteer to help make sure that the financial benefits gleaned from the fall are spread out among the local communities. So, here I am.

Thus far my work with communities outside the school has been a mixed bag. On Wednesdays at 3 o’clock anywhere between six and twenty women meet at the meeting house to, well, meet. So, unless I can catch a ride on the back of a co-workers moped, the preferred means of travel in the DR, I start walking a bit after 2. Its about forty minutes of puddle jumping and buenos tardes greetings along muddy dirt roads, past the local elementary school and the vast ranches of grazing horses. Last Wednesday I went to the meeting by myself (on my first visit to the meeting house I was accompanied by my Dominican project partner, a professor of natural resources at the environment school). I reintroduced myself and asked the women if they had any thoughts about the project since the previous meeting. A woman sitting next to me said that she was of course interested in participating in the sculpture workshop, as were most all of the women. I started to explain that selling local art work at the site was certainly a possibility; it had been mentioned the week before. I continued to explain that if this was something that the group wanted to focus on then we could start by surveying the community to see who has artistic ability or consider raising funds to send a few women to a workshop in town, and then work on the logistics of transport and other resources. I was met by blank stares. The same woman who first spoke asked me, “If you’re not going to pay for the workshop, then what exactly are you going to do?” I smiled as best I could and started to explain the Peace Corps model for development, that volunteers are trained how to integrate into a community, identify resources, and then work with the community to increase the community’s capacity to help itself. More blank stares. Silence. Then this same woman literally laughed in my face. She told me to leave and come back when my organization has some money to give. That hurt. For a moment I was speechless. Then I swallowed my pride and explained the idea of the Peace Corps, starting with President Kennedy in 1961. Somewhere in my description I mentioned that volunteers work in 77 countries and the same woman again stopped me. She swooned as she reiterated my words to the rest of the group in a more intelligible accent, “he’s a volunteer.”  Apparently I had glazed over this detail before, but to this woman at least, it made a world of difference. She directed all of the women in the group to treat me with love, because, she suggested, my work here is an act of love. “Every action in life,” she continued, “she be an action of love.” This woman later volunteered to lead the ecotourism cafeteria project. I walked home feeling pretty good, stopped by the horse ranch to watch a young cult find his legs, then, like every afternoon since my arrival,  it started to rain.

I can already tell that my work with the communities around the school is going to be a long, long process. I went back to the women’s group yesterday to find an almost entirely different group of women. They had heard about the project from the others but were not very excited. “Walking across three wooden bridges can be very dangerous for older women,” said one. “Four bridges!” said another.

 “My God!” 

“People fall in all the time!”

               Etc, etc.

Fortunately for me two out of three of the Peace Corps goals are only concerned with the process: Improving Americans’ understanding of other cultures & Improving understanding of American culture in foreign cultures. I’ll get to the, Providing skilled labor to communities in need, part once I’m certain that we’re all on the same page.

I recently started to refer to the students at the school as my students. I am challenged and rewarded in the most satisfying ways while working with my students. There are currently 48 students, from all across the county and a few from Haiti. Most come from poor families, the government pays the tuition for every one of them.  Each had to pass a series of tests and then a trial period at the school to see if their attitude fits the school’s liking. I can bear testament to a very wide range of academic abilities; some of my students have substantial difficulty writing a series of connected sentences in Spanish, others speak four languages.  However, all of my students seem to radiate fraternal warmth.

The highlights thus far have been a karaoke themed spaghetti supper birthday party for one of the women at the school, (The students range in age from 17 to 32 by the way. I believe they just have to have completed high school.), the participation in my class after I reorganized the seats around a series of tables organized into one large discussion table- as apposed to the typical lecture seating arrangement-, evening taekwondo lessons from one of my students- who it turns out is an international champion-, and landscaping duty this morning with my students. Putting your hands in the dirt has got to be one of the most satisfying ways to greet the morning.

Maybe the most unexpected and pleasant lesson that I am learning from my students is a lesson in belief. I learned a lot of things in college, how to observe, breakdown, view from a new angle, critique, and create. I would be hard pressed to find a place where belief fit into this process. I suppose that you need to believe in the value of education to endure the long hours in the library, but in general I think I developed a pretty strong aversion to believing in things during my collegiate years. There didn’t seem to be much point to believing in anything. Beliefs are I suppose beyond question, and the whole point of college is to question. But here, in the D.R., at the Environment School and everywhere else, people believe. God and romance wash through the streets like a great crimson tide. Everyone is “great, thanks be to God” and greets with a genuine smile. Love ballads course through the airwaves, played from the dinky cell phones lodged in every pair of walking pants. And in the rare moments when cell phone merengue is not in earshot, people sing, like this morning as I raked leaves in the grove of fruiting trees and my mostly female work team started singing the soundtrack to ‘Titanic.’

I’m not ready to place a stamp on what I believe or what I don’t. But it seems that belief, in a general sense, can lead to more smiles, or at the very least, more joyous raking.

Last Leg of Training

Most mornings I get up a few hours before Spanish class to run the dirt road up into the hillside. About four Kilometers from my homestay there is a tile and cement monument dedicated to the Mirabal sisters. Because of their courageous opposition to the Trujillo dictatorship their faces became the flag of the resistance and their names its mantra. Before Trujillo was killed he orchestrated the brutal murder of the sisters. Today the monument stands at the cliff side where Trujillo’s men put the sisters’ bodies into a car and sent them careening over the edge into a verdant oblivion of ferns, palm trees, and sweet smelling flowers.

            Today, the busts of these three young women gaze placidly from the base of three tall columns. The youngest of the sisters, only 25 when she was murdered, was etched into eternity with butterflies braided into her hair. The monument is framed by an arcing mural of green forest, grassy hillsides, the ocean and whimsical butterflies. It mimics the actual view from the monument, down into the valley and out to the northern coast of the island. On very clear days indeed I can see to the ocean from my morning hideaway, and I have seen butterflies twittering along in the wind, but not today. Today is one of the rainiest yet. Before leaving the monument for the second part of my run I was caught off guard by the gaze of one of the stone faces. The rain drops pooled in her eyes, coursed down the side of her nose, traced her lips, and slowly fell from her chin. It was all too real.

           

            My time here in the northern mountain range, the Cordillera Septentrional, is coming to a close too soon. I have Spanish class in a palm roofed palapa at the bottom of a steep, time worn set of stone steps. The palapa is at the edge of yet another stunning view of the wide green valley and the stark brown peaks windswept of their foliage. The palapa is the property of an older couple. The man of the house often walks the brief path from his home to tell my classmates and I tidbits of the town’s history, that and dirty jokes. My Spanish teacher refers to him as the ‘Biblioteca Ambulante,’ or walking library. The name fits. The man is certainly some kind of genius. Without pause he can rattle off events of the town’s history with the precise date and he quite literally is a self taught meteorologist. Necessity, he told me, is the greatest catalyst for learning. The town’s industry is agriculture so they needed a greater mastery of weather patterns. I am particularly fond of the way that he carries his gardening tools, over his shoulder while swinging his other arm back and forth like a metronome, very soldier like. His daily routines clearly give him great pleasure because he always has a sly smile on his face. After the day of weeding and walking, walking and weeding he often brings a bunch of flowers home for his wife, who is always thrilled at the gift. She is equally as wonderful as her husband and often brings us coffee in what seems to be a doll house tea set, tiny porcelain cups, a porcelain pot, a porcelain sugar cup and a long silver spoon.

            The couple’s son, Kelvin, lives on the other side of the palapa down a steep stone path. Outside his house is a species of tree whose name I can’t recall; it produces a fruit which I could only describe as a mix between a radish and a pear. The flavor is tart and sort of refreshing but the flowers that accompany the fruit are absolutely exquisite. When they’re on the tree they look like bright pink urchins; when they fall they fall in mass and drape the small stony front yard and the tree side stone bench in bright pink needles maybe an inch and a half thick. It’s the stuff that only the mind of Dr.Suess, or nature, could produce. Kelvin lives there with his young wife and often comes up the path during our coffee breaks to ponder on any number of philosophical, political, or religious topics. Like his parents he is very intelligent.

            I met Isaac when I was doing an investigation of the local education system. Isaac teaches theater to underserved youth in Santiago. He agreed to an interview and had a great number of insights. It turned out that Isaac and Kelvin were long time friends. Kelvin and Isaac are the first Dominicans I’ve met that feel like real friends. I say ‘real’ friends because here essentially everyone in your community is your amigo but Issac, Kelvin and I actually hang out. I joined them for lunch one day at Kelvin’s place and they told me about their long history of mountaineering and exploring in the many nooks and crannies of the Dominican Republic. Adventures are music to my ears so we hit it off right away. Also, it seems that the three of us all consider ourselves to be, “developing artists.” We pass lazy afternoons lounging on the stone bench in the lake of pink needles under the pink urchin tree composing Spanish love songs for my Spanish teacher, who blushes and does her best to pretend that the songs were not written for her.

            Last Sunday I went on an all day trek with Kelvin, Isaac, and two other volunteers to explore a cave that Isaac had told me about. We left at 7:30 in the morning with our light packs and headed down the road. We hitched a ride, ‘a bola,’ to the trail head. It followed a slight stream and was very muddy. After hiking for about 20 minutes I sincerely wished that I had followed the director of environment training’s suggestion to always wear pants when hiking. There are these really nasty plants that have bumpy leaves with serrated edges, ‘Pring Hermosa’ I believe. If you touch them it immediately feels like you’ve been bitten by some kind of awful insect. After a steep section in the trail we passed into a smoky haze. Some campesinos were working an illegal charcoal operation. They had cleared the trees for nearly a half football field all around and were slowly smoldering them under heaps of dirt in what looked like a big smoking garden. Isaac quietly told us that he had seen them run off as we approached.

            We continued up the steepest section of the trail yet. It got to the point where we were more rock climbing than hiking. Then the trail was no more, so off into the wild we went. As we ambled through the jungle of porous volcanic rock the only word that came to mind was prehistoric. The ferns arced forty feet overhead, what seemed a rabbit hole extended deep into underground caverns. Kelvin handed the other volunteers and I each a purple looking banana that he had found in a bunch. They came from a tree called the turkey palm which was absolutely massive. The fruit tasted great.

            The cave itself looked like the open mouth of the earth. The entrance was a gothic cathedral, black and ragged. Stalactites and stalagmites reached from the dark spaces in the eeriest of fashion. Were it lead was darkness. But our guides assured us that this darkness was our path home. We had been hiking for roughly four hours. The cave would eventually lead us to an opening to a field that we could follow to another town where we could catch a hitch back to our community, back to the summit.

            The way down into the cave was treacherous. We crawled down backwards to hold traction in the thick slippery clay that made up the cave floor. Halfway down the pitch the thick slippery clay turned into dunes of slippery ashen bat shit. Looking up from where the cave leveled out back to the light and bright greens of our entrance was surreal. What was even more surreal was leaving that light to head through a black tunnel to a somewhere that I had never been. We each had headlamps and Kelvin found a glass bottle of alcohol with a cloth stuffed in its mouth which served as a great torch. We took our time. I studied one of the rock features. It glinted with calcium that had dripped down from the cave ceiling with the water droplets over the millions of years of the caves inception. It was cool and damp. My mind was blown thinking on the processes of water creating such a space, such an alien world, time beyond comprehension.

            And then we emerged, maybe an hour later, much muddier. On the way back we stopped on a grassy hillside and soaked in a hallelujah view of a snaking river and breaking waves on a beach many miles away. We each picked up a rock as we sneaked through a barbed wire fence and crept past some disgruntled bulls. We got lost. We backtracked. We found a new trail. We passed by a group of children bathing and laughing in a swift flowing river embanked in pale stone. We came to the road, got our victory beers, and waited for our ride to appear around the bend.

           

These weeks in the mountains have been absolutely abundant.

While working on a research project about the major industries of this small town I became enamored with the local amber mines. Nearly every scrappy kid that I play baseball with has put time in the mines. Some of them work the mine like clockwork, most weekdays, from dawn till dusk. Then another group of young men work the night shift, standing guard at the mine’s entrance to make sure no thieves wander in. On a hot afternoon I hiked to the mine’s entrance with some of my fellow volunteers. We fraternized with a kid of not more than then nine years who showed us his bundle of fractioned amber shards collected neat in a bundle of cloth. None of the pieces had sufficient girth to warrant a trip to market, but he held them as if they were diamonds.

            We squatted down into the wood braced mine. It was crawl space most of the way and very wet.  We crawled through the darkness into pools of light that emanated from the small candles melting away into the muddy walls. The miners helped us cross the under ground pools and streams that ran through the mine. Seventy feet in we reached the end of the line. A team of four men in their twenties hunched over, sweating, and covered head to toe in dirt took turns chipping away at the rock. The other volunteers and I took our turns as well. We took hammer to chisel as they told us about the work. The entire mine had been made by hand, only hammer and chisel, and no salary. What you find is what you get. A local guy owns the rights to the mine, so he is the ninth worker. If a team of eight finds a solid piece of amber they split its worth between nine men. At first this deal seemed very unappealing. You could work for months and come away with nothing. But on the other side of things, you could work a day and hit the jack pot. Plus, as the miners assured me, it’s honest work. The more hours you work the more likely you are to find the bands of glossy rock that signify amber on the horizon. Because of corruption, frequent strikes, and shaky government, even those who do have a salaried position are not guaranteed the fruits of their labor. In the mines you work a tangible job: picking at the rock, for a tangible cause: the chance to make it big. Plus you set your own schedule and take vacations whenever you want. This perk meshes particularly well with celebratory nature of Dominican culture.

           

Grief does not need translation.

Five years ago a daughter of one of the host families died in a motorcycle accident. I think she was fifteen. I went with a handful of volunteers to her ‘Hora Santa,’ or memorial mass. The mass was at the family’s home a few miles from my host family’s place. Family, neighbors and friends overflowed the sherbet orange home, spilling into the street. I sat with a handful of volunteers in plastic chairs just outside the front porch. A melodious acoustic guitar accompanied the preacher’s rhythmic words. As women began to wail from within the home a young father soothed his mind by intently dusting off his toddler’s pants. Outside the foyer, under the beating sun, giving hugs for peace’s sake as the mass came to a close, I felt a reassuring and unexpected harmony amidst such sadness. We’re all here and we’re all just human.