Live From Tomorrow

Parting is Such Sweet & Sour

2013-06-13T23:43:00.001-07:00

Memory is funny thing. Everybody’s works a little differently. Some people have those famous photographic memories, where recollections from past experiences are stored in images, like a big mental photo album. Other times, a smell or scent can be the trigger. For example, every now and then I catch a whiff of something that transports me right back to nap time in pre-school. I know, it’s a little weird, and I can’t explain it, but I’m absolutely sure that whatever I’m smelling is something that used to be served up in the kitchen at Lakeshore Children’s Center. Unfortunately, after more than two decades of trying, I still haven’t pinned down exactly what that smell is.

Many of my memories are actually linked to music—I tend to associate most songs with some time or place or experience. It could be the first time I heard a song, or the first time I actually listened to it. As I enter my final week of living and working in Colombia, I’m proud to say that this country has provided me with hundreds of memories, and thousands of songs to remember them by.

With that in mind, this post is the first in a two-part series about Memory and the Senses. The next post will be dedicated to audio, but before I get into that, I want to write about my other favorite sense—taste.

Over the past few years I’ve posted a few “fine” dining guides based on my experiences around the world. So, now that I’m getting set to depart from Colombia, it's time for me to look back on all the mouthwatering experiences that will keep this country near to my heart and belly. In no good order, here goes...

The Taste of Goodbye - Flavors of the Colombian Coast

Restaurante El Country - Let’s start with the basics. A working man in Colombia needs to know his way around the comida corriente* scene. These almuerzos ejecutivos are inappropriately named, as there is nothing “executive” about them—more like middle management, at best. The good news is that even on a Peace Corps budget, I can afford to eat out for lunch everyday, as long as I stick to corrientes. My favorite quick lunch spot in Barranquilla is Restaurante El Country. A simple sancocho, followed by pollo asado with rice, lentils, tajadas, and a metal glass filled to the brim with agua de panela. YUM!

Donde Angie - Technically, this restaurant is called Donde Angelica, or something like that, but that hardly matters. Just remember, when you’re on the main road entering Campo de la Cruz, pull over on your left just before the church and order lunch (they’re not open for dinner). Donde Angie is actually the best corriente spot I’ve come across, but since it’s an over an hour from my house, they have to share the honors with Restaurante El Country. The tastiest sancocho comes included with any of the almuerzos**, which are all well-seasoned and divinely-priced at 5,000 COP. WOO-HAH!

Patacón Relleno - Patacón, derived from platanos, takes many forms here in Colombia. My favorite style is smashed and fried and stuffed with miscellaneous goodness. The best patacón relleno that I’ve come across is at the food cart across the street from Uni-Norte. HANDLE IT!

Arepas & Arepas - Like patacón, there must be a dozen different food items that people call an "arepa." At the risk of pisisng off a whole bunch of Colombians, I have to admit that I find that vast majority of products in this food group to be mildly overrated. The major exception is the stuffed, hotpocket-esqe wonders at Arepas y Arepas in the Alto Prado neighborhood of Barranquilla. At about the size of a decent hamburger, 6,000 is truly a player's price. AND ONE!

Deli Hassan - I don’t hang out on the north (expensive) side of the city that much, but when I do end up near Calle 84 on a Saturday evening, I like to wrap up the night with a trip to this outdoor culinary gem. In Colombia “chuzo” can mean two different things—one good and one bad. The “bad” kind (in my humble opinion) is known as “desgranado,” and looks like a hot mess of horribleness (see pic below on left). The good kind (see pic below on right) is what you might recognize as a good old fashioned shish kebab. Deli Hassan serves up a mean chuzo en palito, and they’re still open when the club closes. HI-YO!

Empanadas - These things are more common in coastal Colombia than plastic chairs, and that is saying a lot! Unfortunately, most of the empanadas here are fried instead of baked. Luckily, I found a placed that bakes them—a little hole-in-the-wall located on Calle 76 at Carrera 38 in Barranquilla. GETITBUDDY!

Brasas Caleñas - A few months ago, a new eat-spot opened up around the corner from my house. Late one night I stopped by to see what I could line up for a quick and cheap fourth meal. What a find! Two pieces of “broasted” (fried) chicken with french fries—for 5,000 COP*... BOOM!

Cafe Bonzai - You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone, and sandwiches are something that we take for granted in the U.S. I’ve come across two excellent sandwich spots in Colombia. Unfortunately, neither one is in Barranquilla, where I live. Cafe Bonzai, just off the beach in Taganga, serves up some high quality, creative sammies on the best bread I’ve tasted in-country. SMACKTHAT!

Crepes & Waffles - You may have notices that vegetables haven’t figured much into the equation so far. As a transplant to the Colombian coast, I sometimes get a bone-deep craving for something green. My favorite place to scratch that itch is a the scrumptious salad bar that makes Crepes & Waffles the savior of so many vitamin-deprived Peace Corps Volunteers. TOUCHE!

La Placita - Thanks Dana and Allison for showing me the wonders of La Placita, located just off the Parque de los Novios en Santa Marta. UFFF!

Mazzino - There’s a whole lot of pizza in Colombia, but most of it is mediocre. Fortunately, there’s two spots in BQ that come through every time. The first restaurant, Mazzino Pizzeria, has seen plenty of love in this blog, because we play music there on Saturday nights. What I didn’t mentioned is that they offer tasty stone-oven artisan pizzas. My favorite? The simple tomate y albahaca. MUAH!

20 de Julio - This panaderia/pizzeria is a great late-night option. Real deal pizza by the slice at 2,5000 COP per portion. Also, this is one of the few spots that understand the importance of crushed red pepper flakes. BOOMSHAKALAKA!

Sushi+ - After some debate, I can confirm that this spot is actually called “Sushi Mas.” To be honest, as I write this, most of the blood in my body has been diverted to my gut in an effort to digest the maki I just treated myself to for lunch. I opted for the spicy tuna roll and the Emperador Roll, which is salmon and queso crema on the inside, unagi and durazno on the outside. ICECREAMPAINTJOB!

La Terraza Del Dragon - When I lived in Cape Verde, my house was just a few short blocks from the Chinese Restaurant (honestly, I think it was actually called “Chinese Restaurant”). This lead to my near downfall, in the form of a few dozen dumplings consumed per week. Well, La Terraza Del Dragon is not close enough, cheap enough, or good enough to eat there multiple times per week, but it is by far the best option for Chinese food that I’ve come across in the country. The title of this post was inspired by the pollo agridulce that I fall back on about once a month. I knew I had stumbled upon authenticity when an actual Chinese-looking person handed me an actual paper menu. YAHTZEE!

Agave Azul - While we’re on the topic of Santa Marta, I have to give some love to this spot—by far the finest Mexican food that I know of in Colombia. In a country where avocados are practically a dime a dozen, you’d think that good Mexican food would be easy to find—alas, it has proved to be elusive. Thank you Agave Azul for making the Colombian coast taste a little bit more like California. ORALE!

Babaganoush - My final selection is this recently-discovered restaurant in Taganga, billing itself as a “cocina internacional.”**** They live up to the name, with offerings that run the gamut of deliciousness, from the Mediterranean and beyond. I can personally vouch for the hummus, falafel, tom kai gai, and beef carpaccio. Not bad for the toughest job you’ll ever love, right? DON’T HATE!

Donde George y Suzy - OK, so this is not a restaurant, but the finest Italian food in the country comes straight out of the kitchen of our Country Director, George Baldino. You can take the boy out of Brooklyn/Napoli, but you can’t take the marinara sauce out of the boy! SALUTTI!

Patillazo - Two words: watermelon, juice. How did we not think of this before?! At least once a week I stop on the street to fill my cup, and the hotter it is in Barranquilla, the better this drink tastes. Recipe: Mix 1 part watermelon chunks & juice, 1 part hunks of ice. Let ice melt. Add sugar to taste. As far as I know, this is only beverage I know that you can eat and drink at the same time. In the spirit of the Peace Corps’ “Third Goal,” please believe I’ll be whipping up a batch of this at our family’s 4th of July BBQ this summer. YESSIR!

El Bistro - Rounding out the beverage category, we have the eye-opening (and sinus-opening) mojitos de gengibre found in this posh corner of Santa Marta. 2x1 Happy Hour only makes a good thing better. CHEERS!

Sparkies - Last but not least, all praises due to the best Colombian candy. Endemic to this beautiful country, these chewy treats should not be overlooked as a poor-man’s Skittles, although that doesn’t sound half bad. Available in several flavors, in different sized bags to fit the up-and-down budget of a Peace Corps Volunteer, I believe that Sparkies should be included in our government issue Med Kits. HOOAH!

My House - Many of you reading this may have gotten the wrong impression from reading this post. Honestly, my life here is not all peaches and cream and creme bruleé. The truth is, the backbone of my diet has been the consistently delicious home-cooked meals that Chavela serves up every evening. Even when I do eat out, I can count on my host-mama to guardarme my fair share for when I get home. Whether I eat it when it’s hot, or as a midnight snack, or the next day for lunch, it always hits the spot. We can to an understanding very early on in my stay about higado, riñones, ojos de vaca and all the other viscera that I have a hard time swallowing. Since then, it’s been smooth sailing on the culinary front, and for that, I am eternally grateful. Thank you Chavy!!!

It’s amazing how much food you can eat in a year, even when you’re balling on a budget. Thankfully, my taste buds will help me look back on my time spent in Colombia with the fondest of memories.

Pura Vida,

Drew

*comida corriente - very loosely translated as "short-order" or "quick" lunch.

**almuerzo - lunch

***1 USD equals about 1,850 COP, depending on when you're reading this.

****cocina internacional - international kitchen

Buscando La Cueva

2013-06-04T14:28:00.000-07:00

Like so many things in Colombia, I had never heard of La Cueva until after I got here. Last October I was blessed with a visit from my dad and stepmama. As I waited for them in the lobby of their hotel, I started flipping through a massive coffee table book to kill the time. It caught my attention because I recognized a younger-looking Gabriel García Márquez on the cover. I’ve been a fan of the Colombian Nobel Laureate since I came across a copy of The General in his Labryinth many years ago. Sometime after that, I struggled through One Hundred Years of Solitude—a true labor of love. Since then I've read just about every Gabo work of fiction I could get my hands on, but Love in the Time of Cholera and Of Love And Other Demons stand out as two of the most beautiful books I’ve ever read.

Márquez is intriguing for so many reasons—his role in establishing/popularizing the literary style known as realismo magico... his politics... his journalism... his reputation. More than most authors, the idea of Márquez has always seemed to loom at least as large as the body of his work. For someone who’s devoured most of that work, I still find myself feeling like there’s so much about him that I just don’t know.

Sitting in that hotel lobby last October, I stumbled upon some real cultural context. Like I said, I had never heard of La Cueva or el Grupo de Barranquilla, the group of writers, journalists and thinkers that would do so much to shape the literary culture and reputation of Colombia. My curiosity was more than piqued, and I immediately started making plans to visit La Cueva, the local restaurant/bar that served as the group’s watering hole during the 1950’s.

But, lo que había pasado fue... la cosa es que... well, I spent the next six or seven months almost making it to La Cueva. First it was Noviciembre*... then Carnaval... then my friends flaked on me once or twice. There was always some reason not to go... “so-and-so says it’s really expensive and the food’s not that good.”

Anyway, it finally got to the point where I had to draw a line in the sand. I felt like Jerry Maguire... “I am GOING to La Cueva this weekend... who’s coming with me?!” I was fully prepared to make a solo trip if it came to that. Thankfully, Tom and Yubi had my back, so a few weeks ago I finally got what I wanted.

With all the hype, I was a little prepared for disappointment. I was NOT disappointed. The music was badass... no stage, just a dozen musicians tucked/crammed in the corner of the restaurant, letting loose some raw, unadulterated salsa brava. The ambiance was also on point—sure, the restaurant has gotten a little classier than the days of El Grupo de Barranquilla. Fortunately, they’ve managed to clean up their act without losing their roots. The walls are lined with chock-full bookshelves and life-sized photos, showing a who’s-who of the Barranquillero literary scene—I admit, I didn’t recognize most of them, but I’m pretty sure that’s who they were. My favorite photo shows one man sleeping (passed out) on the bar, while his “friend” attempts to balance a shot glass on top of his head. Like I said—classy, yet down to earth.

At the time of writing this article, I’m about halfway through a work of non-fiction that provides a different perspective on the early influences on Márquez. In García Márquez en Cartagena: Sus inicios literarios, author Jorge García Usta makes the case that the two years spent in Cartagena (1948-50) were equally influential on the Nobel Laureate’s literary voice. It’s an interesting book, but not quite as intriguing as the idea or the experience of a visit La Cueva. Plus, I’m a ‘killa boy, so I’m biased.

But what’s most importantly, La Cueva is NOT really expensive. Sure, it’s not an everyday outing for a Peace Corps Volunteer, but the beers are three or four mil, the cocktails, at less than ten, are excellent, and the menu is reasonable. In other words: “GET THERE.” If you’re like me, then you wish that Barranquilla had a few more venues featuring live music. Fortunately, La Cueva lives up to the hype—something that so few places seem to do these days. So, next time you’re looking for a quality outing on a Saturday night in BQ, grab a friend or two and call it a cultural outing. You won’t be disappointed.

Pura Vida,

Drew

*Noviciembre is the hazy November/December period leading up to Christmas and New Year's when not a whole lot of anything gets done in Colombia.

My Happy Places

2013-05-06T13:17:00.002-07:00

Everybody needs a Happy Place. Your Happy Place is that space that nobody can touch, corrupt or ruin... that place that makes everything else that’s messed up seem temporarily OK—or at the very least, it makes you forget about that stuff for a bit. Your Happy Place can be a an actual location on planet Earth. For example, my sister’s happy place is New York City. My physical happy place is Jazz Camp West, nestled in the coastal mountain redwood forest of San Mateo county. I’m looking forward to getting back there for a week at the end of next month. Fortunately, I have more than one Happy Place, and many of them can be recreated on any continent, in virtually any country. Certain environments and certain activities have always made me happy, and I do my best to make sure they stay a part of my life—everyday, or as much as possible. I want to take a second to reflect on, and shout out some of the spaces and places that have kept me sane and happy during my time in Colombia...

A HAMMOCK AND A BOOK... I’ve been lucky to come across more than a few choice hammocks in this country. The back patio at Andrea’s (formerly Bob’s) house in Campo de la Cruz is always a welcome change of pace (and decibel level) from life in Barranquilla.

I recently (finally) made a trip to Parque Tayrona—one of the country’s true natural treasures. After a three hour hike through the park, not counting a few pit stops at the beaches along the way, I arrived at Cabo San Juan. I’ve never been happier to sleep outside in my life.

Another choice hammock-and-a-book spot is poolside, at the Drop Bear Hostel in Santa Marta. Love that spot.

THE KITCHEN... food is very special to me. In a few weeks I’ll be posting my list of favorite eat spots in Colombia, but that will have to wait until after my upcoming trip to Medellín and Cali. In the meantime, it’s worth mentioning that few things make me happier than working it out in the kitchen, whipping together a home-cooked meal for my family, my friends and/or myself.

(ginger-apple pork chops w/ stir-fried veggies)

THE TECHNICAL AREA... nothing makes me happier than coaching soccer to youngsters. In addition to my primary assignment with Fútbol con Corazón, I’ve gotten really involved with another competitive team in the last few months. Los Amigos de Fútbol have welcomed me to their coaching staff, and I had to pleasure of watching the boys play their first game of the tournament last weekend. Without a doubt, the technical area is my supreme Happy Place.

On a very related note, I want to take this opportunity to ask you for a little bit of help. Starting next weekend, the 600 kids that participate in the soccer program where I work in my neighborhood will be starting their tournament. We want to help them get fitted up right in some spiffy uniforms, and I am looking for support in helping their families cover the costs. The uniforms are VERY inexpensive—10,000 Colombian Pesos each, or less that $6.00 USD—but many of my neighbors could still use the help. If you are interested in sponsoring one or more children by covering the cost of a uniform, please click on the link today to contribute today!

My job as a Peace Corps Volunteer is not about fundraising, but this is a simple opportunity where I want to help out. I hope some of you will jump on board. From my Happy Place to yours...

Pura Vida,

Drew

Studio Time

2013-04-12T16:51:00.001-07:00

When I first got to Colombia I made it a point to forget about the comparisons with Cape Verde. That would have been premature and counterproductive—plus it just would have been picking a fight with one of my two host families. But here I am, about two months away from the end of my service as a Peace Corps Volunteer, and I can’t help reflecting a bit, and considering what it’s been like.

One thing about my life in Colombia that has been better—hands down—has been music. Now, before you jump out of your chair and cry disbelief, citing the ridiculous wealth of Cape Verdean music culture, just give me a chance to explain. I am NOT saying that Colombian music is better than Cape Verdean music. I love me some Cesária Évora and Mayra Andrade just as much as some Joe Arroyo and ChocQuibTown. What is drastically different is how much music I’ve been playing since getting here. In Cape Verde, it took me too many months to get off my ass and knock on the door of the local music school. Once I did, I ended up jamming a few times a week with Cachimbo, a cool teacher and great cavaquinho player.

I wasn’t messing around on my second chance—I got off the plane and started scouting out my options for where to purchase some percussion. After copping my first pair of bongos, I linked up with Mango Jazz, and have been playing with them almost every week since. Our drummer, another volunteer, recently moved back to the U.S., but the band plays on in his memory.

A while back I wrote about a special guest, Ricardo, who sat in with us playing bass for a couple weeks. It was great to play with him, and through Ricardo I got connected with a whole gang of young, talented musicians. A couple of months back I got to play with all of them at another local spot, Cafe de la Casa. One highlight was rocking the bongos with Doris Vespa, a Barranquilla-based reggae band—an irie breath of fresh air, for sure!

Last month was a whole ‘nother kind of party—sitting in with the Chev-Rays, a band recently formed by other Volunteers. Highlight of the night? Tough call, but it was neck and neck between the bilingual version of Neil Diamonds “Sweet Caroline” and the encore performance of “Blitzkrieg Bop” by The Ramones.

While playing live music has been crucial, the icing on the cake has been the chance to get in the studio to actually record some stuff. You know I’m all about a new experience, so I jumped at the chance when I was recently asked to do some voice-over work. Last weekend, Barranquilla turned 200 years old, and of course there was a massive two-day outdoor party/festival to commemorate the event. Unfortunately, I didn’t score any tickets, but I was there in spirit! That video that was blasting out across the plaza from the jumbotron—that was my voice! “Barranquilla, where the smiles shine brighter than the sun!” Did you recognize me?

Apparently, my work wasn’t that bad because I was invited back to The Chanclet Studio to do some more work for the same cause. So, if you’re in the States, or any other English-speaking country, tune into the Discovery Channel. If you happen to catch the commercial for Barranquilla’s 200th Anniversary, just close your eyes and imagine me as the guy with the sexy voice from the movie previews!

As a Peace Corps Volunteer, I can’t accept cash money for this kind of work (or any kind of work). Instead, I traded my services for some studio time, which I cashed in a few days ago. Thanks Julián... that was fun and I’m looking forward to more!

Pura Vida,

Drew

Big Time Decisions

2013-04-07T10:56:00.000-07:00

Our lives are punctuated by big decisions. Some choose to view their time on this planet as a series of events or moments, some more important than others. When I look back on the last few decades, I tend to view it as a series of forks in the road. For the most part I feel good about the choices that I’ve made. Sure, I’ve made some bad calls, but none of them have first or last names. I can also say that I have learned from those times when I’ve really blown it.

Many of the big decisions I’ve faced in life have been about my education. In 1996 I took the leap of faith to go to high school in a big new city, without any of my close friends. After high school I took an even bigger leap—this time across the country to enroll at Georgetown’s School of Foreign Service. Actually, that decision was tiny in comparison to the decision I took to leave Washington D.C. after a year and a half to return to California to chase my dreams as a musician and entrepreneur.

Other big calls that stick out to me: leaving the music business for a career in coaching and youth development... getting engaged, then getting unengaged—neither of which I regret... buying a round trip ticket to South Africa and taking it on faith that everything would all work out fine... joining the Peace Corps and serving in Cape Verde... not packing it in a going straight home when they decided to shut down the program in Cape Verde... accepting an offer to serve in Mali... not packing it in and going straight home when they decided to shut down the program in Mali... accepting an offer to serve as a Peace Corps Response Volunteer in Colombia.

Without a doubt, the biggest decision that has been hanging over me for the past months has been what to do with my life after Peace Corps. Last Fall I decided that it was time for me to head back to school, this time to pursue a Master of Education degree. I started with a list of about ten schools, then added some and dropped some others. Ultimately, I ended up applying to three different programs. Last week I found out that I got rejected from some stupid school with a stupid tree for a mascot (not bitter at all). Fortunately, I was accepted to the other two programs—UC Berkeley and Harvard! Both programs are awesome, each with its own pros and cons—I was blessed to have either one as an option. The program at Berkeley is an M.A. in Education with a concentration in the Cultural Studies of Sports in Education. The Harvard program is an Ed.M—Special Studies in Education.

After a week or so of chewing on it, I decided that the Harvard program is the right choice, and better fit of two amazing options. Working with an advisor, I’ll get to design my own course of study, including classes at the Graduate School of Education, School of Public Health, the Business School, and at other universities in the Boston area. I’ll also be looking to incorporate a lot of field work to keep it all real and relevant.

I’ve got less than three months left here in Colombia. The biggest decision I’m faced with now is how to spend my remaining vacation days! In the meantime, I’ll be doing my best to make the most of my time and finish up my projects in style! Wish me luck...

Pura Vida,

Drew

P.S.: All donations of winter clothing can be sent to my home address. Thank you!

Our Better Half

2013-03-08T09:45:00.001-08:00

It wasn’t until I started living abroad that I began to appreciate just how many holidays there are out there. As I write this, I’m sitting in front of Peace Corps Calendar that shows virtually every holiday celebrated by every country around the world. I kid you not, there are at least two for every day of the year—some have four! For example, March 1^st is Peace Corps Day, Independence Day in Bosnia and Herzegovina, Yap Day in Yap (wuddup Josh), and Martenitza in Bulgaria—take your pick. Eric, my whodi and colleague just hopped on a plane to Fiji, so today he’ll be celebrating their Youth Day.

But today, gentlemen around the world should be tipping their caps, holding the door, and throwing their jackets over mud puddles for a very good reason… Women. No matter what time zone you're in, March 8th is International Women's Day!

Last night, I got an early start on the celebrations by attending the Concierto Por El Dia Internacional de la Mujer at the Centro Cultural Colombo Americano. It was the first time I actually got to hear my friends Rosi and Mine work their magic on the strings, as part of the Cuarteto Quinta Esencia.

Later that night, I joined Javi & Co. at Café de la Casa to celebrate his birthday—clearly, he was enjoying International Women’s Day also.

Women make the world the go round—we all know it’s true. So today, on International Women’s Day, I want to give a massive hug, kiss, and salute to every woman in my life and yours.

Pura Vida,

Drew

Snapshot

2013-02-25T07:50:00.002-08:00

I try to make this blog a little different—hopefully, it doesn’t read like a laundry list of what I did this week. Sure, living in another country is interesting, but it doesn’t mean you want to read about what I ate for breakfast every morning, or look at pictures of what my bathroom looks like. For each post, I try to start from a small place—an idea, a question, or an event that I can build into something that gives you a real impression of what I’m living, or what I’m thinking.

That being said, sometimes I feel like my blog fails to answer a fundamental question: “What am I actually doing here?” So, this week I’m taking a different approach, in the hopes that I can give you a snapshot of what a day is like for me here. That’s not to say that this day was typical. In fact, I chose this day because it was a great one, and it happened to have a lot going on that could show several aspects of my life and work as a Peace Corps Response Volunteer in Barranquilla, Colombia. So, without further ado, I present to you... Thursday, February 21, 2013.

7:00 - My feeble phone alarm goes off (for the first time). Without actually opening my eyes (or even really waking up), I deftly reach out to activate the snooze mode. One thing has never changed in my life—the snooze period has always been an essential step in my wake up process. Some people do yoga, others need their cup of coffee. No matter how early or late it is, I need to cogela suave* when it comes to starting the day. I can afford to do that here because I work about three blocks away from my house.

7:30 - After a bit a snoozing, I was ready to transition into life. My breakfast, like most days, was a steaming cup of sugar with coffee and a banana. Then I got myself together—shower, dress, “deo” for my B.O., etc.

8:00 - Our first classes at the sede tend to get rolling around 8:15, after the kids have their snack. I don’t have my own classes to teach, so my morning responsibilities vary depending on what projects I have on my plate. At this stage, the core of my work at Fútbol Con Corazón involves working as a liaison between the sede and the surrounding community. Unlike the coaches and staff, I actually live here in the barrio, so I’m in a good position to help build that bridge. For the past week I’ve been doing a lot of in-person visits to houses to check in on kids and families, and to make sure the info is flowing in both directions. My first task on Thursday morning was to prepare a summary report of the 50 family visits that I had done the previous day.

9:00 - Of the 50 families that I visited on Wednesday, three children had been absent due to scheduling conflicts. At the beginning of the calendar year, many students graduate to a new curso, changing their school schedule from the morning to the evening, or vice versa. On Thursday morning I was able to move these three kids into different time slots at our program, then I went back to their houses to give the parents their new schedules.

10:30 - In addition to working with Fútbol con Corazón, I am doing a lot of work to identify and build relationships with other organizations that do Youth Development work. After my family visits I had a meeting with Fundación Oasis de Fé, a community center in the barrio that focuses on four areas of intervention: spiritual, cognitive/academic, social, and physical. We discussed our different work, and ways where I could support their activities. I am particularly interested in starting a conversation-based english class at their center, but the opportunities for collaboration are endless.

12:00pm - Normally, I eat lunch at the sede in the comedor, but on Thursday I headed home to make my own grub. I think I’ve mentioned that meals here tend to be light on green vegetables. So, I steamed some broccoli then worked it into the rice with meat that I had saved from the previous night’s dinner (I ate out at the restaurant we have our music rehearsals on Wednesday nights). I’m a man that loves his condiments—they’ve become that much more important in a world where 75 percent of virtually every meal is plain white rice. Thankfully, I had my Sweet Chili Sauce ready to complete my poor man’s broccoli beef.

2:00 - After lunch I headed north to the Peace Corps Office to tackle some admin work in a nice air-conditioned environment, complete with a table, chair and high-speed internet—three things that I cannot get in the same place at the same time in my barrio. My main task for the afternoon was to do a wrap-up report for a recently completed project. At the end of January, our team of Peace Corps Response Volunteers held a multi-sport camp at a high school in Campo de la Cruz, in the southern region of the Departamento Atlántico.

4:30 - My workday closed with a great meeting at the office. I had a chance to sit down with two representatives from PNUD (United Nations Development Programme) to discuss an abmitious Youth Development project that they are undertaking. After a thirty year absence from the country, the Peace Corps’ Youth Development program in Colombia is still in its neonatal phase—I am one of the first three volunteers to serve in this capacity. Since my arrival, I've appreciated being included in the process of building the YD program up from the ground floor. Just last month I got to participate in part of Peace Corps Colombia’s Integrated Planning and Budget Sessions (IPBS), a series of annual evaluation and strategy meetings. Our meeting on Thursday included our Country Director, our Director of Programming and Training, our Small Projects Coordinator, and little ol’ me. I’m looking forward to learning more in the coming weeks about how the project will develop, and what role Peace Corps Volunteers will play in it.

7:00 - After work I headed back to Mazzino—the restaurant where our motley crew of gringos and Colombianos plays live Jazz on Saturday nights. Thursday night is not our official rehearsal night, but I had a date to join a few friends for a beer, a pizza, and a couple of hours of listening to music and talking shop. It wasn’t the first time that I found myself in a deep, deep convo with Jaime, the owner of the restaurant and the trumpet player in our group. This time, the conversation** was sparked by a recently-surfaced photo of my maternal grandparents, courtesy of my cousin, Janet Foster.

Dr. Luther Hilton Foster, Jr., the fourth president of Tuskegee Institute (later University) from 1953 to 1981 with his wife, Vera Chandler Foster in the early 1950s. Dr. Foster was known for his “quiet but firm” leadership of Tuskegee during the turbulent years of the Civil Rights Movement. Mrs. Foster, a graduate of Fisk University and The University of Nebraska, was a social worker and a peace activist. Photo: The Abbott Sengstacke Family Papers/Robert Abbott Sengstacke/Getty Images.

When we weren’t discussing racial politics, or the myriad romantic differences and difficulties between men and women of all cultures, we picked out a couple of songs that we want play next Saturday. I’m really excited to give Fela Kuti’s “Gentleman” a go.

11:00 - I got back to my barrio at a relatively reasonable hour and decided to check my email before crashing. I got some great news: I’ve been accepted*** to the UC Berkeley Graduate School of Education—woooo-hoooo! After doing a short victory lap around my house, I resisted the temptation to get on Facebook to announce the news to the world. Instead, I sent one simple email—no doubt, the Notorious D.A.D. should be the first to know... and now that he does, I’m happy to tell you too!

Pura Vida,

Drew

*"Take it easy" - the unofficial motto of life here on La Costa.

** For more info on exactly what we were talking about, check out this previous post about an interesting story from my family.
***I have until April to make my decision about Berkeley, which is definitely one of my top choices. In the meantime, I'm waiting to hear back from two more schools...

UFFF!!!

2013-02-13T14:07:00.001-08:00

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. I say a good sound effect is worth even more. No sound effect captures the experience of living Carnaval in Barranquilla better than a good “ufff!!!”*

Over the past months, this great expression has crept into my vocabulary, to the point where it’s become one of my favorites. As in any culture, costeños** have tons of great, funny, and ridiculous ways to get their point across. So to put “ufff” into context, I wanted to lead off this post by sharing a few of my other favorite costeño communicationisms.

1. The Lip Point***

Next time someone asks you where something is, don’t waste your energy on any grand hand gestures or complicated verbal instructions. Just thrust your lips in the general direction you want to indicate, and your buddy will know exactly how to get where they’re going—"over there." If you’re having trouble picturing what this looks like, just give it a shot while you’re sitting at your desk in the office. It’s almost like you’re trying to kiss someone sitting next to you without rotating your body or face at all. Got it?

2. Miercoles!
You always have to be ready to censor yourself, especially when you work around little kids all day. My aunt Carmen back home in Oakland has a whole arsenal of almost-vulgar, but completely harmless exclamations. For example, “GOT-tobemorecareful”... or “SHUT THE front door.” In Colombia, with just a few extra letters, you can turn any poopy situation into everyone’s fourth-favorite day of the week! So next you get a parking ticket, just yell it out... “MIER-coles!”

3. The Triple Confirmation / C.F.U.

The costeño spanish accent is notoriously difficult to understand. I often joke that costeñol is just like normal spanish, except without any consonants. To get a better sense of what it sounds like, knock half your teeth out, spread peanut butter all over your tongue, then read a sentence out loud without closing your mouth... and read it REALLY fast. Perhaps because of this phenomenon, costeños tend to work a lot a confirmations into their everyday conversations. My classroom teacher friends would call this classic technique the “Check For Understanding” or C.F.U. This is what a simple story in costenol might sound like.

“Ayer, yo fui al centro porque quería comprar un pollo—me entiendes? Entonces, fui al Carrefour, porque no se vende pollo en la tienda en mi barrio—te explico? Pero, no compré nada cuando llegué porque cobran mucho en Carrefour, si o no?”

Translation:

“Yesterday, I went downtown because I wanted to buy a chicken—you understand me? So, I went to the Carrefour because they don’t sell chicken at the store in my neighborhood—do I make myself clear? But, when I got there I didn’t buy any chicken because they charge so much at Carrefour—right or wrong?

I could go on all day, but like I said, I really want to share my feelings about "ufff” and everything that’s it’s meant to me over the past week and a half. If you’re still having trouble with this one, imagine the sound a cartoon character might make when getting sucker punched in the gut. That’s the gist of it. So, when someone calls you on Sunday morning after a late night to ask how you’re feeling, the proper response is “ufff!” Or, "Did you see Mike Tyson knock out Trevor Berbick? Ufff!!!" Now, don’t get me wrong—this sound effect doesn’t necessarily have a bad connotation. In the context of Carnaval, I use it to communicate the extreme levels of healthy fun that was had by all. Everybody enjoys it in their own way. The few (crazy) people that don’t like Carnaval vacate the city to make way for the thousands of people that converge on Barranquilla from across Colombia and the world every February.

Personally, I take a more nocturnal approach to the extravaganza—getting most of my “work” done between the hours of 6pm and 6am. Some people might call me blasphemous for skipping out on some of the daytime parades. Others will call me soft—or something worse—for sleeping at all during the week. All I can say is do you, because I damn sure am gonna do me.

So, here’s a few pictures and highlights from week:

Friday (Feb 1) - La Guacherna

My Carnaval officially kicked off at La Guacherna, the night-time parade that functions as a sort of warm-up for the daytime desfilas that follow.

Saturday - La Nalgoteca

An electrocumbia extravaganza, featuring a guest appearance from Colombia’s own Systema Solar.

Wednesday - Cumple de Chavela

My host-mom—officially the coolest woman in Colombia—turned 35 last week (wink wink). As her daughter pointed out, she's been turning 35 for many years now, but that's cool. We celebrated in style at the house, not for the last time that week.

Thursday - Noche Del Rio

This was a excellent outdoor cultural concert, featuring beautiful music from the Coast. Cumbia, Tamboras, and more. It was held at the Parque Cultural del Caribe, one of my favorite venues and museums in town. Not a bad seat in the house, and as always, I was in the company of great peoples. The finale of the night was a performance by Barranquilla's own Colectro.

Friday - Tascas Club Colombia

The 12,000 ($6.67) pesos entrance fee to this outdoor party came with a bucket of five Club Colombias on ice for each person. That may sound reasonable, but consider that I was with four girls—two of whom were driving—which means I really had to carry the weight.

Saturday - Cancha Nueva Granada

This was the official go-hard-or-go-home night of Carnaval for me. Unlike a lot of American transplants, I don’t just tolerate vallenato music—I love it. But if I have to choose, I’ll pick salsa music any day of the week. Fortunately, I didn’t have to pick on Saturday. The “Los Mejores” concert was held at a massive sand soccer pitch, featuring just what it advertised—the best. Diomedes Diaz and Silvestre Dangond were in the “building,” with the later taking the stage to headline the concert at about 5am. After performing a song or two, Silvestre took a minute to give a shout out to everyone outside the concert that greeted him on the way in. Immediately, the barrio errupted in screams of love from what must have been a thousand people enjoying the music from outside the walls of the concert. That was powerful. Without a doubt though, the highlight of the show was hearing two legendary salsa groups: Richie Ray & Bobby Cruz, and Hansel & Raul. “Sonido Bestial” has recently edged out “Pedro Navaja” as my favorite salsa song.

Sunday - House Party

After a short recovery from la cancha***, we kept it moving en my barrio. From late afternoon into the night, la desorden**** reigned—maizena, kola****, salsa, vallenato, champeta, costeños, gringos, etc. The second phase of the night was an adventure to Berbetronik, the Red Bull Music Academy concert featuring electronic music, Reggaeton and Champeta. It was a relatively early night, which saw me home by 4am.

Monday - Tienda, Block Party, Block Party, Ice Cream

On monday I was treated to a new barrio experience, in a part of town where I’d never really hung out before. Really, it felt a lot like my barrio at times—lots of plastic chairs (where do they all come from), really loud and great music, and tons of great people taking care of us. From the neighborhood block party, we moved on to catch the end of another block party, then capped the night/day off by hunting down the first open tienda. The final highlight of my Carnaval was sitting on the sidewalk, eating ice cream at 8am.

Tuesday - Ufff!

In the bay we used to call it “luffin’.” Here, it’s “hacer locha,” “flojear, or "jugar rasquebol.”******* Either way, I spent all day Tuesday doing absolutely nothing, which is exactly what I needed.

Wednesday - Back on the Grind

Pura Vida,

Drew

* pronounced "ooof"

** people from the Caribbean Coastal Region of Colombia
*** When writing this post, I came across the blog of a volunteer who served in Nicaragua. Apparently, the lip point is common there too, and she had already written about it. Photo credit to Nicaraguan Lauren, thanks!!!
**** sirope de kola (red syrup) is one of many random substances that costeños cover each other with during Carnaval season. Other favorites include corn starch and spray foam.

***** soccer pitch

****** see my last post for an explanation of the term desorden.
******* rascar = to scratch. Thus, if sitting around scratching your ass was a sport, it would be called "rasquebol."

Onward

2013-01-24T14:48:00.002-08:00

Onward. That’s my battle-cry these days. The truth is that it’s January 2013, and I’m a lot closer to the end of my service than I am to the beginning. I’m not really thinking about the finish line, but I do feel like it’s the last leg of this relay. After a long end of year break, I’m back at work at Fútbol Con Corazón, anxious the make these next five months count. But beyond my work in my immediate community, I’m excited about some “secondary” projects that on my plate.

Peace Corps Volunteers around the world almost always get involved in secondary projects. While we all have a primary assignment, we are encouraged to tackle additional work, based on our interests and the resources available. In Cape Verde, my primary assignment was my work as a Business Advisor and English teacher at the Centro da Juventude. My secondary project was coaching the U-17 boys team at G. D. Amarante.

Here in Colombia, my primary assignment is my work at the Fútbol Con Corazón site in my barrio. I’m only now getting the ball rolling on some secondary projects. The interesting thing is that often times, a volunteer’s secondary project ends up being where we get some of the best work done—where we get that sense of productivity, contribution, or accomplishment.

Late in 2012 I took a trip south of Barranquilla to a community called Campo de la Cruz. The purpose of this trip—other than to score some pancakes and bacon—was to lay the groundwork for a secondary project. I’m happy to say that, barring any last minute fireworks, the project is actually going to happen next week. Over the course of a few days, a small team of Peace Corps Response Volunteers will be hosting a multi-sport camp for students at a local school. Our team of six includes young men and women with some great experience coaching and playing soccer, basketball, and volleyball. We’ll be working with the school’s Athletic Coordinator, and we’re looking forward to the chance to share ideas with each other and with the kids. I’ll let you know how it goes, but in the meantime, just wish us luck.

In addition to the Sports Camp, we are tackling a more ambitious project that will hopefully make a long term contribution to the Peace Corps program in this country. Colombia was one of the original Peace Corps countries, with a program that ran from 1961 until 1981, when they were forced to close because of increasing violence. The program reopened in 2010, with a handful of Peace Corps Response Volunteers. This small group was followed by a larger cohort of over 20 Volunteers, who launched the Teaching English for Livelihoods (TEL) sector. Last August, another batch of 29 TEL Volunteers arrived to work in local schools.

All this is to say that as of right now, the only official “sector” that operates in Colombia is the TEL program. The six of us Peace Corps Response Volunteers operate somewhere in the nebulous intersection of Youth and Community Development. In addition to our primary and secondary projects, part of our responsibility is to help the Staff lay the groundworks for an expanded Youth Development sector. In other words, we want to do work now that will make a future cohort of YD Volunteers have a more successful service. Right now, this work is taking the form of developing a Youth Development Archive that will serve as a resource for current and future volunteers. This Archive will contain profiles of completed projects as well as organizations that are working in Youth Development. In the short term, the Archive could inspire other TEL volunteers to take on Youth Development activities as secondary projects. Down the road, the Archive should facilitate the process of identifying Counterpart Organizations for YD Volunteers.

But enough about work. Like I said, I had a loooong vacation, and it’s been a while since I checked in on the blog. So, here’s a few highlights from the desórden.*

On December 31st, we had three reasons to celebrate. In addition to the new year, it was my host sister’s birthday. On top of that, my other host-sister made a surprise visit, after spending the last three years in Venezuela. There are a lot of things that are challenging about life in the Peace Corps... having these girls for host sisters is not one of those things.

Several of my friends had parents visiting from the States. Having enjoyed my folks company, it was nice to get to know the families, and to see what kind of tree those apples fell from.

We might have overdosed on La Troja**, if such a thing is possible. But in the words of the great urban poets, Chingy and Tyrese , “Everytime I try to leave something keeps pullin’ me back.”

I FINALLY made my first trip to Santa Marta, even though it was only for twenty-four hours. I knew the trip was going to be epic when I walked in the hostel and bumped right into Candace and Brett, my American friends who are living in Cartagena and Bogotá as Fullbright scholars. Quality dancing, quality beaches, quality people.

Mango Jazz is still rocking out every Saturday night at Mazzino Pizzeria. The last two weekends we were blessed with a visit from Ricardo, a Colombian bassist who now lives in Washington D.C.

In addition to being a beast on the upright, Ricardo’s also got some nice friends, whom I’ve now claimed as my own.

As you can see, there are too many reasons to enjoy the work and the life, so I say “bring it.” Onward.

Pura Vida,

Drew

*The direct translation of desórden is "disorder." In daily life it is how we refer to our nightlife activities in my barrio and out at our various favorite dancing spots.

** La Troja is the most famous Salsa club in Barranquilla. See definition of "desórden" above.

Turning the Page

2012-12-27T19:53:00.000-08:00

It's that time of year again. Before I look forward to next year, I have to take a moment to look back at the one we're wrapping up. It's been another year of movement for me—from Cape Verde to Senegal and back... home in the USA for a week, then onto my new nest in Barranquilla, Colombia. Peace Corps—and life in general—has been treating me right, so all I can say is "thank you."

Despite all the moves and changes—both expected and unexpected—I've haven't lost my sanity yet. That's largely due to the consistent things in my life being there for me. One of those things is writing—i.e. this blog—so thank you for reading and coming along on the journey with me. But if I had to choose between writing and reading, I would reluctantly through down my pen, pick up my book, and dig in. The book-a-week program continues through hell, high water, and Grad school applications. I'm happy to say that I just finished turning over the last page of book number 52 on the year... five days ahead of schedule... woo hoo! Here's a look back what I've enjoyed this year, in the order that I read them.

Bastard Out of Carolina - Dorothy Allison (1992)
The English Patient - Michael Ondaatje (1992)
Too Big to Fail: The Inside Story of How Wall Street and Washington Fought to Save the Financial System from Crisis—and Themselves - Andrew Ross Sorkin (2009)
Galápagos - Kurt Vonnegut (1985)
Africa United: Soccer, Passion, Politics and the First World Cup in Africa - Steve Bloomfield (2010)
Zone One - Colson Whitehead (2011)
Jazz - Toni Morrison (1992)
1776 - David McCullough (2005)
Down the Nile: Alone in a Fisherman’s Skiff - Rosemary Mahoney (2007)
The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America’s Great Migration - Isabel Wilkerson (2010)
Love Goes to Buildings on Fire: Five Years in New York That Changed Music Forever - Will Hermes (2011)
The Appointment - Herta Müller (1997)
Malcom X: A Life of Reinvention - Manning Marable (2011)
For Whom the Bell Tolls - Ernest Hemingway (1940)
Parable of the Talents (Earthseed #2) - Octavia E. Butler (1998)
An Equal Music - Vikram Seth (1999)
Steve Jobs - Walter Isaacson (2011)
Star of the Sea - Joseph O’Conner (2003)
Is Marriage for White People?: How the African American Marriage Decline Affects Everyone - Ralph Richard Banks (2011)
Bossypants - Tina Fey (2011)
The Dark Room - Rachel Seiffert (2001)
Boomerang: Travels in the New Third World - Michael Lewis (2011)
The Pickup - Nadine Gordimer (2002)
Blink: The Power Of Thinking Without Thinking - Malcolm Gladwell (2005)
Greaseless: How to Thrive Without Bribes in Developing Countries - Loretta Graziano Breuning (2004)
The Historian - Elizabeth Kostova (2003)
Drop City - T.C. Boyle (2003)
Creation: Darwin, His Daughter & Human Evolution - Randal Keynes (2001)
The Elegance of the Hedgehog - Muriel Barbery (2006)
Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil - John Berendt (1994)
The Two Gentlemen of Verona - Williams Shakespeare (1623)
Blood, Bones, and Butter: The Inadvertent Education of a Reluctant Chef - Gabrielle Hamilton (2011)
A Tale of Two Cities - Charles Dickens (1859)
Noticia de un Secuestro - Gabriel García Márquez (1991)
The Idiot - Fyodor Dostoyevsky (1868)
The Big Burn: Teddy Roosevelt and the Fire That Saved America - Timothy Egan (2009)
La Casa Verde - Mario Vargas Llosa (1965)
Major: A Black Athlete, a White Era, and the Fight to Be the World’s Fastest Human Being - Todd Balf (2008)
The Hobbit - J.R.R. Tolkien (1937)
Cuentos Chinos - Andres Oppenheimer (2005)
Bridge of Sighs - Richard Russo (2007)
Rebuild the Dream - Van Jones (2012)
La Casa de los Espíritus - Isabel Allende (1982)
The Next IQ: The Next Level of Intelligence for 21st Century Leaders - Arin N. Reeves (2012)
The Prophet - Khalil Gibran (1923)
La Revolución Perdida: Memorias III - Ernesto Cardenal (2005)
The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox - Maggie O’Farrell (2006)
The Tuskegee Syphilis Study - Fred D. Gray (1998)
Candide - Voltaire (1758)
Me Talk Pretty One Day - David Sedaris (2000)
El Síndrome de Ulises - Santiago Gamboa (2005)
The Time of Our Lives: A Conversation About America - Tom Brokaw (2012)

Since I'm ahead of schedule, I may not be doing too much reading in between now and the New Year. Instead, I plan on soaking up more of the sights and sounds of the holiday season in a what is still, for me, a new country. Here's a quick taste what it's been like so far...

An event for the children of Puerto Colombia, including gifts, a clown show, and a little Christmas cumbia from the Orquesta Sinfónica de Barranquilla...

Midnight Christmas Eve Dinner with the extended family...

Entonces... felicidades, desde el mejor familia, del mejor barrio, de la mejor ciudad, del mejor departamento de Colombia!!!

Happy New Year to everyone, and as always...

Pura Vida,

Drew

Why I'm Smiling

2012-12-10T20:19:00.001-08:00

I’ll tell you why I’m smiling. It’s easy to take things for granted, no matter how good you have it. During the last two weeks, I’ve had a more than a few good reasons to take a step back and appreciate the goodness. I’ll start with the relatively boring stuff.

At the end of November I headed to Bogotá to take the GRE. As I mentioned before, I’m knee-deep in the process of applying to graduate schools to chase a Master’s degree in Education. The test went really well—definitely well enough that I won’t be taking it again, and that’s a big reason to give thanks.

After taking the test, I had a few days to kick back and enjoy Bogotá, and a whole new side of the country where I live. Some highlights: enjoying the hospitality of Shay, a friend of Javi’s from waaaaaaay back.... Nick’s restaurant in Chapinero, including the Chapinero Porter from the Bogotá Beer Company... experiencing the madness of a Copa Sudamericana semifinal match between Millonarios and Tigre at El Campín...

Honestly, none of that compares to the pleasure of reconnecting with my brother from another, Mr. Taylor, who's recently relocated to Bogotá. We’ve done San Francisco, Oakland, Washington D.C., Costa Rica, and Mexico, so why not try to conquer Colombia?

After a strong week in the capital, I returned to the Caribbean Coast. The first thing I did was stuff my jacket back in my suitcase under the bed—won’t be needing that in Barranquilla. Then I set my focus on taking another huge step in the grad school process—I actually and finally turned in my application to UC Berkeley. If you’re one of the many people who think the job description for my current work was specifically written with me in mind, then you’ll probably feel the same way about this program at Berkeley’s Graduate School of Education. I just hope the powers-that-be in the ivory tower will feel the same way. It’s an M.A. in Education, with a concentration in Cultural Studies of Sport in Education. I’m applying to several other programs, but until I actually complete another application, this one will remain my top choice.

Sticking with the theme of academic milestones: my 11 year old host-brother graduated from ? grade, giving the grown folks another good reason to smile (and party).

As if the relocation of Mr. Taylor wasn’t enough, I was blessed this week with a visit from my cousin Rodger. Before I go any further, I should clarify something. I share absolutely no blood with Eli and Rodger, but they are still my family.* Mr. Taylor is my bruh bruh, and Rodger is my cuz-cuz.** Anyway, Rodger made a cameo in Barranquilla over the weekend before heading on to Cartagena to connect with some of our old friends from the high school days who are in-country for a vacation. A good time was had by all.

Honestly, the only low-point came last Friday during our weekly friendly football game. About twenty minutes into the game I received a pass and made a quick move to shake the defender. Just then I heard it, and felt it—the rip, the tear that every athlete fears. The sound of a career-ending injury. Fortunately, I have no playing career, and even more fortunately, it was only the sound of my turf shoes finally giving out. They’ve served me well, through six countries and billions of hours of coaching and playing. Luckily, I had just picked up my replacements from Eli, imported directly from the States. Hopefully, this pair will bring me as much joy as the last one.

Pura Vida,

Drew

* I do actually have a "real" cousin named Roger, but he spells his name without the "d" and he's probably reading this from Martha's Vineyard, MA, not Colombia.

** Not to be confused with the famous North African dish, or the small village in Chile.

Cutaneous Larva Migrans

2012-11-13T10:19:00.001-08:00

I started my Peace Corps service in Cape Verde, a tiny archipelago nation located 350 miles off the coast of Senegal. While there are plenty of things that don’t work well in that country, it is, by African development standards, doing very well. I could list statistics all day to back up this statement—infant mortality, literacy, and HIV/AIDS rates—but one milestone stands out as particularly important. In 2007, the United Nations upgraded Cape Verde’s status from a “Least Developed Country” (LDC) to a “Middle Income Country” (MIC). Botswana and Maldives are the only other countries to ever graduate from the lowest categories of the Human Development Index—by definition, this is progress.

Very High

High

Medium

Low

Data unavailable

The United Nations Human Development Index (HDI) rankings for 2011. For full details, see List of countries by Human Development Index (en.wikipedia)

So, if everything’s going so well in Cape Verde, then why is the Peace Corps there? Well, the short answer to that question is, “It’s not.” In January earlier this year, Peace Corps announced that it would be closing it’s operations in the country, in part because of the progress that country has made. As of last month, the last remaining volunteers have either finished their service or they’ve transferred to a new country to continue working. With the exception of my two buddies that transferred to Namibia, all of the volunteers now find themselves in nations that are on the UN’s list of Least Developed Countries.

And then there’s me. I ended up transferring across the Atlantic to live in work in Colombia, a country that has never been on the LDC list. In fact, Haiti is the only country in the Western Hemisphere that meets the unfortunate criteria. Like Cape Verde, my new home has its fair share of disfunction. But, once again, I find myself in a relatively well-developed country.

Why does this matter? Well, it should be no surprise that the level of development in a country can have a huge impact on the life—and happiness—of a volunteer. What may surprise you is the theory that I’ve been developing over the last year. It goes something like this: serving in more-developed countries can be a significant psychological challenge for volunteers.

Most aspiring Peace Corps Volunteers are looking for a challenge when they sign up for the job. Many of us develop an image in our heads of what this challenge will look like—pit latrines, water from the well, colorful native clothing, etc. In reality, the whole world has changed a lot since the Peace Corps was founded 50 years ago—even the poorest parts. This means that a household may have wireless internet, but no running water. More to the point, it means that many of today’s volunteers are having to recalibrate their psyche. In Colombia—and in Cape Verde—I heard many volunteers express doubts about the value of their own work. What am I doing here? Does this country even need me?

This phenomenon is even stronger for volunteers that serve in urban and peri-urban communities. In Mindelo, the “big” city where I made my home in Cape Verde, the bus system was cheaper and more reliable than AC Transit. During my shortened service in the islands, I had the privilege of hosting volunteers from several other African countries, and without fail, they were blown away by how good I had it. Surely, there were things about their respective countries that they would never trade it, but it was clear that in most areas, Cape Verde was simply more developed than the majority of its African peers.

Because of this, posts like Cape Verde—and Colombia—get labeled as “Posh Corps.” The first time I heard the term I thought it was hilarious. After a while though, it just gets annoying. It’s almost as bad as when people say things like, “Cape Verde is not really African.” Right, just like Uncle Phil isn't really black. Apparently, being successful is grounds for immediate disqualification. I don’t buy it. Africa is the sum of all its parts, not the constraint of its stereotypes.

Like I mentioned before, the world has changed a lot in the last 50 years, and thankfully, so has Peace Corps. The mission is still the same. There are still plenty of volunteers with more “traditional”—just ask the Water and Sanitation specialists in West Africa. However, in many cases, the work to promote peace and freedom will look and feel different—it may even come with running water and wireless internet. The important thing to remember is that there are still volunteers serving in over 70 countries around the world, and each one of those countries—and their partner organizations—asked them to be there.

The next time a volunteer is doubting the need for their work, they should remember that, like Africa, the Peace Corps is the sum of all of its parts—even the more developed ones. If that doesn’t make you feel better, then do what I did: go out and get yourself a nasty tropical disease. That’ll surely make you feel authentic. In my case, a feces-borne parasite in my toe did the trick. While you may call that gross, I call it a merit badge. I even emailed my friend Erin, who suffered from a much more acute case of worms while serving in The Gambia. As of the writing of this post, I have not heard back from her, which means she either hasn’t checked her email, is unimpressed, or both.

Instead of taking a picture of my foot, which isn’t pretty even under normal circumstances, I decided on a more artistic approach. So, I present the next installment in our series, Haiku Therapy...

What the hell is that?

Sandworms love rainy season.

Nothing "posh" 'bout that.

Thank you, Cutaneous Larva Migrans, for making me feel like a real Peace Corps Volunteer.

Pura Vida,

Drew

*This post is dedicated to my new, but dear friend, Yubi, who has been laid up in the hospital since Friday a more serious leg injury. ¡Que mejores pronto para que podamos seguir jugando!

Thoughts from The Prophet

2012-11-08T16:21:00.002-08:00

During a stretch of years that has taken me all over the place, it's been nice to have a few sources of consistency in my life. For the most part, I thrive on variety, but even the most antsy among us benefit from having some sort of anchor to remind us that our today has something in common with our yesterday and tomorrow. For me, one of the most important sources of consistency has been my reading habit, which has evolved from being a personal interest into a full-blown dependency.

My books have been with me along every step of the journey—even before my "journey" was an actual journey. I haven’t been writing much about that side of the adventure in recent months, but rest assured, I’m still on the book-a-week program. One thing I love about reading-while-adventuring is that it seems like every book is relevant to something in my life, no matter what the book is about, what I’m going through that week, or where I’m going through it. It’s become a sort of side game for me while reading a book to see how long it takes to arrive at that “ah hah” moment, where I suddenly realize that what I just read is totally relevant to my life beyond the book. Admittedly, sometimes it's a stretch—but hey, it’s a game and I don’t like losing... not even in imaginary games that I play in my own head.

Every now and then—maybe once a year—I come across a special type of book that really is about everything. Books like these stand out to almost every reader, often becoming bestsellers, then classics, and in rare cases, sacred texts. To give you a better sense of exactly the type of book that I’m talking about, here’s a quick list of some of the books that have hit me in that sweet spot.

Tao Te Ching - Lao Tzu (6th Century BC)

The Old Man and the Sea - Ernest Hemingway (1952)

God Speaks: The Theme of Creation and Its Purpose - Meher Baba (1955)

The Giving Tree - Shel Silverstein (1964)

The Missing Piece Meets the Big O - Shel Silverstein (1981)
The Four Agrements: A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom - Don Miguel Ruiz (1997)

The Giver - Luis Lowry (1993)

Love in the Time of Cholera - Gabriel García Márquez (1985)

Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies - Jared Diamond (1997)

The Fortress of Solitude - Jonathan Lethem (2003)

These are not necessarily my favorite books—although a few of them are. They are just books that seem to have a universal application to life. If you’ve read any one these books—no matter who you are, or when and where you read it—my bet is that it spoke to you in a way that seemed beautifully, or creepily, relevant to your immediate life.

This week I was lucky to finally read another book that fits the bill. I recently snatched a fifty year-old copy of The Prophet off the shelf in the “library” at the Peace Corps office, and wasted no time digging into a classic that I probably should have read a long time ago. I highly recommend it to you, no matter who ore where you are. More than anything, I just want to share a few passages that gave me a new perspective on the life I currently live as a Youth Outreach volunteer in Colombia. Here’s the first:

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

A later section on the theme of “Work” offers this gem of a quotation:

Work is love made visible.

The last bit that I wanted to share pushed me to reflect on one of the most common sources of stress for Peace Corps Volunteers: the home-stay. Even though we all sign up looking for a challenge, almost all of us eventually come to a point where we just might kill a kitten for the chance to be a little bit more comfortable. In a section titled “On Houses,” Gibran’s prophet challenges his audience, asking:

... tell me, people of Orphalese, what have you in these houses? And what is it you guard with fastened doors...

... have you only comfort, and the lust for comfort, that stealthy thing that enters the house a guest, and then becomes a host, and then a master?

The Prophet, widely hailed as Kahlil Gibran’s masterpiece, gave me a fresh take on my day, my week, and everything going forward, and that’s a big part of what I’m looking for each time a pick up a new book. I hope you come across something today that does the same for you.

Pura Vida,

Drew

*If you are going to leave a comment to say that The Alchemist or Siddhartha should be on my list... please don't. Yes I read them and yes, I enjoyed them, but they already get plenty of shine so I left them out. Please feel free to leave any other comments, with or without book recommendations!

No Cover

2012-10-31T22:09:00.000-07:00

Luther Vandross and Janet Jackson once said, “The best things in life are free.” While at times I have questioned Janet's wisdom—for example, her decision to pick Jermaine Dupri over me—I think they nailed this one right on the head. I’ve never been a huge fan of “things” and I hate paying a cover charge just to hang out with people. This may explain why I’ve always been slightly allergic to Los Angeles.

Don’t get me wrong—sometimes you have to shell out some dough and it can be worth it. Way back in July, Javi and I jumped on the opportunity to buy pre-sale tickets for two Colombia World Cup Qualifying matches against Uruguay and Paraguay. That proved to be one of the best decisions I’ve made since coming to Colombia.

That being said, my motto is still, “If it’s for free, then it’s for me, and give me three.” A good thing is only that much gooder when you don’t have to pay for it. Last weekend we hosted a Jornada de Salud* at my worksite, offering vaccinations, dental and medical appointments, and even a yoga workshop—all for free! The only tough part was getting to work by 7:00 am on Saturday morning.

Luckily I had the rest of the afternoon to rest and recharge my batteries for the Halloween weekend festivities. Being a big fan of “free,” I’m always looking for a bargain when it comes to social outings. For that reason I was dragging my feet last Saturday as I left the house to meet my friends at Trucupey, a club in Barranquilla. Rumor had it that the cover charge for the Halloween party was 20,000 pesos—almost ten dollars. Goodlordthatsalotamoney, especially when I’m balling on a Peace Corps budget. I decided to suck it up because I hadn’t hung out with the conejitas* for a couple of weeks.

We had a pretty good time waiting in The Line (another thing I hate doing), checking out the local costumes—Señor T, mummies on stilts, Mario & Luigi. Eventually, we got the word that due to spontaneous inflation, the cover charge had doubled to 40,000. Fortunately, I wasn’t the only one in our group that wasn’t havin’ it. Natally made a good faith effort to sweet-talk the cashier, then she tried getting ugly—at one point I think I heard her say, “Look honey, I can count.” Surprisingly, neither strategy worked, so we all stepped out of line with heads held high and began to plot out a Plan B.

The first suggestion was to head to Calle 84, a neighborhood with a strip of clubs and lounges. It’s not my favorite place to hang out in Barranquilla, mostly because the drinks are expensive and it feels a little fancy. The last time I found myself there was back in September on Dia del Amor y Amistad, the Colombian equivalent of Valentine’s Day. After searching around for a place with an available table that wouldn’t charge us just to step inside, I decided that I had to make my move. I talked some of the crew into heading back to my barrio, where the (free) party never stops—literally. That September night (and morning) turned out to be nothing short of epic. When I went to bed at 7:00 am the party was still going. When I woke up at 11:00 am the party was still going. Yes, that is the sun rising in the background.

If it worked for Amor y Amistad, why not give it a shot for Halloween? This time we showed up in my barrio with two taxis full of folks ready to party. Unfortunately, when we got to my house the neighborhood was dead... just my host-mom, Chabela, and three friends chatting on the front patio. We greeted them, got the guests comfortable, then I made a beer run. When I got back from the corner store, Chabela had already borrowed a stereo from the neighbors and had it hooked up and bumpin'. The night warmed up pretty fast but the tipping point came when Chabela reemerged, freshly showered, dressed in all black and ready to get down.

If I had a dollar for every time one of my friends told me that my barrio was their new favorite place in Barranquilla, I would have enough money to pay the cover charge at Trucupey next time. But I still wouldn’t do it—I would pile into a taxi, head back to my hood, and hope to have half as much fun as I did last weekend.

Happy Halloween and Pura Vida,

Drew

*Jornada de Salud = Health Day

** Conejitas = Extra Cute Bunny Rabbits

And We're Back

2012-10-21T20:03:00.002-07:00

It’s been about a month since my lost post, which is by far the longest I’ve gone without checking in since I started this blog—not counting the chunks of time that I’ve spent back at home in the Bay Area. Like any good excuse, I’ll start off by saying, “See, what had happened was...”

See, what had happened was, I was really busy because my dad and his wife came to visit me here in Colombia for a week at the end of September. Before you get all riled up by my reference to Lita as my dad’s wife, you have to understand that it’s exactly how I introduced her to folks here—and in Cape Verde when they came to visit me there. When I first described her as my madrastra, or stepmother, people wrinkled up their faces and told me that it was a little feo* to call her that. I guess Cinderella has tarred the image of stepmothers across the globe, because I’ve always thought the word had an ugly ring to it in English too. So, I reverted back to introducing them as mi papá y su mujer to my friends and colleagues during the course of a great weeklong visit.

Having the folks in town was excellent for so many reasons. Spending time with them is always a treat—we enjoy each others company, whether trekking around town, or sitting around reading. Plus, it was a great excuse for me to do a lot of things that I've been wanting to do anyway. In between meals in Barranquilla, we checked out the Casa del Carnaval and Museo del Caribe. One highlight of the week was sharing dinner with my closest friends here. It was particularly fun to watch and listen to them digest my dad's sense of humor, eventually realizing that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I have to give a special shout and many thanks to my friend and fellow volunteer, Kaspar, who volunteered to be our tour guide for the afternoon during our overnight trip Cartagena.

Why has it taken me so long to write about their visit? See, what had happened was, I had broken my camera just before they got to town. And, see-see, I was so busy hosting them that I never got around to replacing it. Naturally, with no pictures to document my adventures I was slightly less motivated to update my blog. Why did it take me so long to get my camera replaced? See, what had happened was, I’d been trying to get me some nice white linen plants ever since I’d arrived in Colombia and realized that I could actually get away with wearing them here—before, during, or after Labor Day. I finally took the plunge, but the purchase put a small dent in my finances that made replacing my camera a little more difficult.

Fortunately, I finally I did get paid, and I took my debit card straight to the camera store where I picked up a new one—the exact same model that I had just broken. But, see what had happened was, when I tried to use the camera about a week ago, it wouldn't turn on. I tried every possible approach I could think of to troubleshoot the problem—I swapped out the battery, swapped out the USB cord, etc, but I couldn’t get the thing to charge up. Like the professional American consumer that I am, I had saved the receipt, so I headed back to the store, fully prepared to cause a scene like Willie getting fired. Fortunately for the clerk (and for the glass display cases), she was able identify the problem as a defective memory card—the one component I did not think to swap out. I left the store happy with a new working camera, without even having to Cap'n Crunch on anybody.

I promise you though, everything has been golden, even though I haven't taken the time to share as much as I normally do. Work is going well, and I've settled into a role where I feel like I'm contributing to the quality of the program by supporting the coaches and administrative team.

It's also been rewarding to be involved with the Pre-Service Training process for the group of future TEL Volunteers that arrived back in August. Right now I'm working with Eric and Javi—the two other Peace Corps Response Volunteers who work with Fútbol Con Corazón—to lead a training session on designing and implementing Youth Development projects.

Speaking of Youth Development projects, I just rolled back into town after a long weekend in Campo De La Cruz and Suan, two small towns located a two-hour bus ride outside of Barranquilla. Currently, there are three Peace Corps Response Volunteers working in that region, doing different types of community development and disaster relief/reconstruction work in an area that was inundated and devastated by flooding in late 2010/2011. I was there to meet with local community leaders to discuss the possibility of organizing sports clinics for local youth, for whom there is a dangerous lack of activities.

Of course I took some time to enjoy myself and get to know a new part of Colombia. To cap off a fun and productive weekend, Bob went to work in the kitchen, serving up a Sunday brunch of French toast, scrambled eggs, bacon and fresh papaya. After knocking down a few plates, I hit the hammock and dug into my book, La Casa de los Espíritus by Isabel Allende. I'll spare you yet another one of those reading-in-the-hammock-god-life-is-hard pictures.

So now I’m all set. Fresh off a great visit from my folks and a couple of trips out of town, with a new pair of white linen pants and a replacement camera to document it all. Now if it would just stop raining for one night, I could those put pants to use and implement my master plan to achieve flyness.

Pura Vida,

Drew

*feo = ugly, rude

Looking Forward

2012-09-24T20:59:00.000-07:00

Last week I was blessed with a new “first.” For the first time in my life I had a surprise birthday party! In truth, I was the first to show up—but I was still surprised, and it was still a party, so hah!

Now that I’m 30 I feel pretty much the same as I did at 29. But since I have a view from the third floor I thought this would be a good opportunity to take a second to look forward. While making plans for life can be intimidating, the thought of having no plan at all is even scarier. No, this is NOT a bucket list—there’s plenty more I that I want to get into before I call it quits. Instead, I hope these can serve as landmarks or milestones for the next decade, which I expect and hope will still be as full of surprises as the last three. So, without further ado, I present…

“10 Things I Want to Do in the Next 10 Years”

1. Peace Corps Colombia

For me, it’s always been important to balance looking forward with living in the present. With that in mind, I thought the first thing on this list should be what I’m working on right now. In addition to my work with Fútbol Con Corazón, I've gotten to help out a little with the Pre-Service Training of the new batch of future volunteers that arrived in country last month. I still have a full nine months left in my service in Colombia and I’m looking to squeeze all the juice out of this experience and finish it in style next summer.

2. M.Ed (Master of Education)

I recently started studying to take the GRE, and will be taking the test at the end of November in Bogotá. It’s been six years since I finished undergrad, and I’m feeling ready to hit the books again.

3. Get A Jobby Job

I’ve always loved my independence and mobility, especially in the work world. Still, I’ll be looking for an opportunity to contribute to an organization over a "longer" term. I want the next job that I take to be one where I stay for at least three to five years.

4. Visit 10 New Countries

I don’t look at the map of the world like a checklist to be run through. I’m more like a chubby kid with a sweet tooth standing in front of the candy wall at Sweet Dreams. If you asked me if I would rather have jelly beans or sour patch kids, I would answer “yes.” That’s pretty much how I feel about getting to see and experience new places. The number ten is a little arbitrary, but I’m thinking that one new country per year is doable. Here’s a snapshot of the possible destinations at the top of my list*: Cuba, Czech Republic, Egypt, Ethiopia, Israel & Palestine, Jamaica, Morocco, Philippines, Puerto Rico, Turkey.

5. Visit 10 New Cities in USA

The more I travel, the more I appreciate just how huge and beautifully diverse the United States is. I’ve seen a lot of it, but there is still so much more left. Here’s the short list of American cities I would love to visit: Anchorage, Austin, Cary, Chicago, Detroit, Houston, Memphis, Nashville, New Orleans, San Antonio.

6. Learn a New Language

French? Arabic? Cantonese? Swahili?

8. Coaching Badges

I started my coaching “career” at a relatively young age, getting my first job at age 19. Since then, I’ve completed hundreds of hours of professional training and gotten years of experience in different settings. Looking forward, my goal is to continue to upgrade my coaching badges, aiming for a UEFA A License and the NCSAA Premier Diploma.

7. Financials

Money isn’t everything, but it damn sure helps. One of my goals for the next ten is to keep doing what I need to do to live good. Specifically, this means taking my credit score from "not bad" to "good," and saving a little piece of every paycheck, whether it comes in pennies or pesos.

9. Stay Healthy

This one needs the least explanation—basically, I want to stick around to make another one of these lists in ten years. Stay active… limit the stress… everything in moderation (including moderation).

10. Become a Daddy

Obviously, this is the big one. No specific plans yet, but I know that I'll be needing some juniors and/or juniorettes in my life. Now accepting applications for suitable candidates. In the meantime, I'll settle for being Uncle Drew.

And just in case you're worried that I'm all grown up now, I leave you with this final picture to put your mind at ease.

Pura Vida,

Drew

*I did not include France, Germany or Portugal on this list because, technically speaking, I’ve been there before. But in each case I spent less than one day in the country and did not stay overnight, so they hardly count. I would jump at the chance to get to really experience these places, just like I’d love to return to almost every country I’ve ever visited.

Lethal Weapon

2012-09-15T13:09:00.003-07:00

Disclaimer: this blog post does not refer to the Bay-Area based Hip Hop duo known as "Lethal Weapon" (Bumbalo & Menace Meat), but I do really like their music.

Next Tuesday marks a couple of important milestones in my life. First, I will be hitting the 3-month mark of my service in Colombia. So far I feel really good about how I’ve spent my time so far here, professionally and otherwise. It’s a big contrast from my service in Cape Verde, where I was a “regular” Peace Corps Volunteer. Nine out my first thirteen weeks in Cape Verde were spent in training. Then I relocated to a whole new island, city, and community, so I spent most of the next month settling in. As I approach the 3-month landmark as a Peace Corps Response Volunteer, I am completely settled in my community, at work and at play. I've got a great group of friends—whether I'm looking to kick the ball around, go out dancing, or play some music.

The second milestone that approaches is my 30th birthday—or as my Colombian friend calls it, “the third floor.” As Tuesday approaches, I find myself quoting Lethal Weapon more and more, even when it’s not completely appropriate. What can I say? There are times in life—especially life in the Peace Corps—when the only thing you can say is, “I’m getting to old for this sh*t.”

I’m not complaining—in fact, I’ve never wanted to be any age other than what I am. Granted, some birthdays are a little more exciting than others. On my twenty-first birthday I got kicked out of Ben Nick’s for peeing in a bucket—not my finest moment, but I still maintain that the management overreacted. After all, it was a mop bucket in the supply closet, and the line for the traditional bathroom was exceptionally long.

In 2004 we threw the first “Official Virgo Birthday Party” at Club Q in San Francisco. The turnout was poor that year, but it laid the ground work for an annual event that would produce some very memorable evenings for me (and others). I spent my Birthday in 2005 DJ’ing the Sol Rebelz album release party at the Shattuck Down Low with J. Espinoza, Lunar Heights and The Attik.

2006 was both the high- and low-point for the “Official Virgo Birthday Party.” That year I co-hosted a party with Bumbalo and Asa at 111 Minna Gallery—a sold-out affair billed as "Hella Fun Guaranteed" that ended a little prematurely and unfortunately. Ultimately, nobody was arrested—only temporarily detained—and nobody was (permanently) injured. Suffice it to say, it is NOT a good idea to pick a fight with a person or persons when everyone at the club has that person's back.

But, like I said: I’m too old for [that] sh*t. Since then, my life and my birthday parties have been a lot more peaceful. The 2007 edition was a nice little show with Bumbalo and Live Audio Explosion (L.A.E.) in Berkeley.

Honestly, I’m not sure what I did for my birthday in 2008, but I’m pretty sure I enjoyed myself. 2009 was dinner for thirty and cocktails at Vo’s Restaurant in Uptown Oakland. In 2010, Lita treated me to tickets to see “Fela” on Broadway. In 2011, I turned 29 at midnight, just hours after I swore in as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Cape Verde. That was the night I adopted my doggy-daughter, Mia, whom we smuggled onto the plane the next day for our flight to São Vicente.

I may be getting too old for some things, but I’m still not too old to celebrate. The plans for this year are still in the works, but they should involve some combination of bongos, Club Colombia, salsa dancing, and friends. Pray for me!

Project Lover

2012-08-31T14:28:00.000-07:00

Disambiguation: This article does not refer to the song "Project Lover" by Guce featuring Juvenile, although I do really like that song.

I love projects. Not the projects—but the discipline known as Project management. I got my formal introduction to Project management while working on a Certificate in Business Administration through the University of California Extension Program in 2003. Since then I’ve been hooked, constantly weaving this approach to work into my approach to tackling the world around me. Admittedly, there are times in life when the tools of Project Management are utterly useless (cough, cough, failed relationships). After all, life is not a project, it’s a process. Still, I find it helpful to break it down into bite-sized pieces whenever possible, setting goals and hitting them (or not). One of the best parts about a project is that when it’s over, it’s over. You take a look back to evaluate, but then you get a clean slate to move on with it, whatever “it” might be.

Project Management has been the backbone of my work as a volunteer for the last few years. One of the challenges of getting inserted into an organization as a volunteer is that your exact role might be a little... well... fuzzy and undefined. Organizations run smoothly when their processes run smoothly—defined roles and systems that work efficiently and repetitively. As volunteers, we can’t expect the train to change course or rearrange the order of its carriages just to accommodate us. Instead of trying to force my way into processes that are already in place, I’ve found some success by tackling projects that contribute to the overall flow.

Yesterday I handed in a final report for a month-long project that we just wrapped up at our site. In late July we kicked off Los Olímpicos Kokoro, a mini-extravaganza to parallel the real deal going on in London. You can put your Spanish-English dictionary down because you won’t find the word “kokoro” anywhere in there. “Kokoro” is the Japanese word for “heart,” and the name of our program. I work at Fútbol Con Corazón, an Colombian NGO—but more specifically, my work falls under a program called Kokoro that is jointly funded by the World Bank and the Japanese Social Development Fund. But I digress...

When we were asked to come up with a theme for August’s activities at our site, I suggested we do something to get the kids tuned into the Olympics (and the world beyond their barrio). I got the green light to design the project and I jumped at the chance—the rest is recent history. For the next month, the kids at our site participated in new sports, workshops, and other activities. My favorite part of the project was assigning each of the 34 groups of kids to a different country, which they would represent for the duration of the project. Some of you reading this blog from your corner of the world—New Zealand, South Africa, Senegal, Mexico, Chile, Brasil, Canada, Venezuela, etc.—will get a kick out these pictures.

The project culminated with La Clausura, the closing event where the kids got a chance to show off everything they’d been working on. The Saturday morning affair featured a mini-parade, the finals of several different sporting events, a homemade kite competition, and an awards ceremony.

Carreras / Sprints

Relevos / Relay Races

Salto Largo / Long Jump

Cometas / Kite Competition

Fútbol / Soccer / Football

Premiación / Award Ceremony

Ultimately, I was really proud of the kids, our team of coaches, and the project in general. Now I’m on to the next project, this time of a completely different variety. Over the next couple of weeks I will be taking the lead on putting together an Emergency Action Plan for our worksite. Like the flu shot that our nurse just stuck me with, I guess it’s better to have it and not need it than the other way around.

Pura Vida,

Drew

Happy Camper

2012-08-16T21:00:00.001-07:00

The great Chris Tucker once said, “You can’t be everywhere at once.”* Well, he didn’t exactly say it in those words, but that was the idea. I’ve been lucky enough to be in many places, but always one place at a time. The downside of this big adventure is that I’m always missing out on something back home. I’ve missed Christmas with my immediate family two of out the last three years. As for weddings and babies, let’s just say that my friends are dropping like flies and I’ve been absent for these special occasions more often than I care to admit.

After breezing through the Bay Area for ten days this summer, I arrived in Colombia in mid June. It was great to be home for my brother’s birthday and Father’s Day, but I did miss out on something that is near and dear to my heart—JazzCamp. No regrets, but while I was settling into my new home, a piece of my heart was back home in the woods, where I knew my friends were rocking out for the week.

The good news is that ther's no shortage of great music here in Barranquilla. The city seems to have its own soundtrack, feeding my ears a steady stream of Salsa, Vallenato, Champeta, and the occasional unfortunate bit of Reggaeton or Banda. Half of the folks in the U.S.A. couldn’t clap on 2 and 4 to save their lives; but here, old ladies tap out clave rhythms on their bus seats while whistling a Joe Arroyo classic and balancing a bag of groceries in their other arm.

By day, I play in the Orquesta Tránsito Publico**... by night, I get my salsa fix at the various nightlife spots. The best known joint in town is La Troja, a two-floor open-air club, designated as cultural landmark. I was a little surprised to find that Salsa dancing here is pretty different than what I’m used to, but I’m doing my best to get in where I fit in. The bad news is that after two months, I still have not touched a piano. I know, I promised myself I wouldn’t do this again ("Notes" April, 2012).

Don’t worry, I haven’t been slacking completely. With the constant music in my ears, I found myself drumming on whatever was in reach—tabletops...my lap... my friends. They were starting to get annoyed so I decided to hunt around for some real percussion—either a caja vallenata or a pair of bongos. I started studying percussion—mostly congas—in elementary school with Mike Margolis. I never lost the love for it, but since high school my percussion education has been limited to my annual week at Camp. While this is no recipe for becoming a master, I’m still grateful for all the hours I’ve spent since 1998 soaking up knowledge from two of the greats, Carolyn Brandy and John Santos. Over time I adoptem them as my unofficial Percussion Parents—no they are not a couple, but yes, we have been mistaken as an actual family.

Unfortunately, percussion skills cannot be inherited via imaginary genes, so I guess I’ll just have to practice. No worries, I’m up to the task. After a healthy hunt, I purchased a new pair of bongos last week, and I’m already practicing. I hope I don’t disturb the neighbors... wait, they’re already blasting music.

Pura Vida,

Drew

* A very inexact quote from movie, Dead Presidents.

** The Public Transit Orchestra. No, this is not an actual group.

Death To Mayonnaise

2012-08-05T15:02:00.000-07:00

As my journal, hobby, and therapy, this blog has often carried my reflections on food in my life as a volunteer abroad. In “Now We’re Cooking” (October, 2011) I mapped out the direct link between my sanity and having access to a kitchen to cook my own meals. In the very next post (“Sugar and Spice,” October, 2011) I celebrated the arrival—via care-package—of spices, marinades and what should have been a year’s supply of Sour Patch Kids. “Commitment and Canned Meat” (December 2011) was a study in will power, and what it means when canned hot dogs actually start to sound tasty. More recently, before leaving Cape Verde, I reflected on the different eat-spots that I had grown to love in São Vicente (“Restaurant Quality,” May 2012).

Here I am—again—seven weeks into a new adventure in a new country, in a world of culinary opportunities... and obstacles. The good news is, I’ve been here before. I won’t get into whether I like Cape Verdean or Colombian food more—they both have the potential to be absolutely delicious or utterly disappointing. What matters is that it’s not what I grew up eating; therefore, I have to get my mind right, get myself a game-plan, and work the plan.

I live with a host-family, and eat two meals a day at home. Normally, this is a small breakfast—coffee with some combination of arepas, empanadas, papa rellena*, deditos, bollo or eggs. A typical dinner might be arroz con pollo or carne** with a sopita ("a little soup") on the side.

I am blessed to work in a program with a nutritional element. In addition to playing soccer and doing workshops, our students also eat snack and lunch at the center—which means, so do I! I was recently singing the praises of my Peace Corps dental insurance, but free lunch is easily the second most valuable work benefit that I enjoy. The meal is different everyday and it’s always served with fresh squeezed juice—patilla, melón, mora, maracuyá, tomate de arbol, guayaba, and more. Plus, since it is brought to you by Nu3, you know it’s tasty and nutricious!

I’m not big on sweets, but I do love to get my snack on in various ways. Since there are no Sour Patch Kids to be found in-country, I’ve had to be more creative. Luckily, in Barranquilla I’n never more than 100 yards aways from a delicious avocado, available at your local street vendor or market for the equivalent of 50 cents (lime and salt optional).

When I’m not eating at home or work, I’m exploring new spots around town. My friend Emily has turned me onto some excellent pizza at Panaderia 20 de Julio. Even better is when I’m lucky enough to enjoy a home-cooked meal at a friend or colleague’s house. Fourth of July was a great excuses for us to gather around and celebrate the fine cuisine of the American Melting Pot (pasta, watermelon, chips & salsa, Budweiser).

I can still taste the tastiness of the authentic Italian meal that my Country Director (boss) and his wife served up over a week ago. Thank you, Napoli, for brining Signori Baldino into our lives.

Overall, food has been no problem here in Colombia. According to the plan I mentioned before, I have taken a few steps to keep it kosher. One of the first things I did was buy a bottle of hot sauce to keep near. My host-family wants no part of it, but they see that I love it and they respect that. Now I find that bottle waiting next to my plate of food when I sit down to eat. One can never underestimate the importance of condiments when it comes to food sanity. With that I mind, I recently made a trip to the big grocery store in the city to grab some olive oil and balsamic vinegar. But sometimes it’s not about what condiments you put on your food—it’s about what you don’t put on it.

Earlier this week, I felt the time was right to make my first foray into the kitchen at home to cook a meal for myself. I chose the simplest thing possible: pasta. I grabbed a pack of spaghetti from the corner store and almost bought some “tomato sauce” before remembering that it was really ketchup. Instead, I grabbed a few fresh tomatoes, garlic and a bell pepper from a street vendor and went to work. As expected, a could feel a few members of my host-family start to creep in close over my shoulder as I started to boil the water. “Stay calm,” I told myself, “just stick to the plan.” I positioned myself between them and the stove, boxing them out of the paint just long enough to get the noodles al dente.*** Then I threw in the chopped tomatoes and a little butter, and began to plate it up. Reaching over the pot, my cousin immediately started to reel off a list of everything that my pasta was missing. Actually, I agreed with some of his suggestions (bell pepper, garlic), but explained that I was too hungry and lazy to sauté them up—plus, he was using the only pan at that moment. But then he told me that what my pasta was really missing was mayonnaise... and that's when I lost it. I pivoted, clearing him out—possibly a loose-ball foul—made it clear that my pasta DID NOT FALTA MAYONESA! He backed down, and we all laughed about it, agreeing that there were a hundred different ways to make pasta. Plus, I reminded them that there were plenty of things (like hot sauce) that I love that they wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.

The was pasta turned out fine, although it was admittedly bland. The important thing is that I survived the process without pissing off or offending my host-family. Like I've said before, cooking a meal brings me peace of mind, even when it's just boiled noodles, tomatoes and butter. After I knocked down two bowls and retired to my bed to enjoy the rest of my lunch break, my host-mom popped her head in the door.

“Baby, can I finish off the rest of the spaghetti in the pot?” And nothing could have made me happier.

Pura Vida,

Drew

* "Papa rellena" literally means "stuffed potato." Not to be confused with the better-known Peruvian papa rellana, the local version is more like a thinner-skinned samosa, without the heavy spices.

** Carne = meat

*** Yes, they were appalled that I did not cook the pasta for another 30 minutes.

The Key

2012-07-29T23:16:00.000-07:00

Language is key. Over the past few years I’ve written a few times about how words can open doors. “Finding My Way” explored the vocabulary of the streets of Johannesburg. “BULA!” shared my thoughts from Fiji about how every culture seems to have a magic word that means everything and nothing at the same time. I’m still not exactly sure what that magic word is here in Barranquilla, but one possibility might be “listo.” Technically, “listo” can mean “ready” or “prepared” (estar listo) or “smart” (ser listo). But here in Colombia, “listo” seems to be a word that gets thrown around in so many different situations that it is near-impossible to define it. By my count, it can mean “great,” “OK,” “word is bond,” and a few more things for starters.

Admittedly, “listo” has not seeped into my vocabulary, so the jury is still out on how magical this word actually is. Instead, another word has captured my imagination in the last few weeks. As a child of the Bay Area, I've always appreciated the beauty of slang,—the good, the bad, and the outlandish—and in my mind there are a thousand ways to call a friend a friend. Just in case you think I’m exaggerating, I’ve compiled a short list to give you a taste...

A - Amigo, Ace

B - Boy, blood, Brother / Bro / Brohan / Brah, Bestie, Boo

C - Cousin / Cuz / Cutty

D - Dog / Dawg

E - Ese

F - Family / Fam / Fam-bam

G - Guey

H - Homie, hermano

I - Igloo

J - Jump-Off, Joker

K - Kemo Sabe

L - Loc

M - Main Man, Mate

N - Nupe, Ninja, Nizzle

O - O.G.

P - Potna, peeps

Q - Queen

R - Rellie / Relish, Roll-dog

S - Sister, Son

T - Team

U - Umbrella

V - Vato

W - Weebles, wingman, whodie

X - Xylophone

Y - Youth

Z - Zebra

Unfortunately, the vast majority of these terms of endearment would fall on deaf ears if I tried to use them here in Colombia. Luckily, I’ve come across a new one for the list—one that just my be my favorite to date. Here, my main man is “mi llave”—my key. Think about it... isn’t that perfect? Plus, since there is no letter “ll” (double-l) in English*, there was an open slot on the list!

I’ve been in Colombia for about six weeks now, and as of today there are two folks who I would (and do) call “mi llave.” The first is Javi, another Peace Corps Response Volunteer who works with Fútbol Con Corazon. So far he has been key—a solid work colleague, soccer and basketball teammate, wingman, and overall P.I.C.** Can I get a chest bump?

“Mi otro llave” is Alberto, my counterpart at Fútbol Con Corazon, the organization where I work. To clarify, every Peace Corps Volunteer is paired up with a counterpart—a host-country national with whom we work side-by-side during our service. Our counterparts are not our bosses or our subordinates, they are our teammates. Our primary responsibility as development workers is capacity-building, and ideally, that process starts with our counterparts. As you can imagine, this is a lot easier said than done. Establishing and managing the counterpart relationship may be the most complex, sensitive and challenging aspect of Peace Corps service—for the volunteer, for the counterpart, for Peace Corps Staff and for the host-country organization. In a word, the counterpart relationship is key. In this sense, I have been blessed.

Last week I had the opportunity to attend a weeklong workshop on Leadership and Project Management with my counterpart. The workshop was facilitated by the Training Staff from Peace Corps Panama, who flew in from across the border to work with us for the week. I’ve long had an interest in Project Management, so I was happy to attend. While I took some practical nuggets of wisdom away from the experience, what I really appreciated was the opportunity to develop the counterpart relationship.

I won’t bore you with a summary of what we covered. What I will say is that it was obvious that my counterpart was pleased to participate, and that he got a lot out of it. On the second day of the workshop we all designed envelopes for ourselves and posted them on one of the walls of the conference room. Over the course of the next few days, we all wrote short, positive notes to other participants and slipped them into their envelopes. At the end of the week we all took home our envelopes and had the pleasure of reading what people had written to us—sometimes anonymously, sometimes not. Corny? Yes. Effective? Definitely. The idea is that everyone needs some love, even at work. I’ll be the first to admit that I loved reading the notes, even the ones that were downright ridiculous. For example, Javi “thanked” me for not inviting him to hang out with me and three young ladies. Perhaps my favorite note was an anonymous one, with just two words scrawled on it... “Mi llave.” I see you, Alberto.

Pura Vida,

Drew

* In Spanish the double “l” is considered a single letter, and is pronounced like an English “y.” Or, if you’re Argentinian, you would pronounce like an English “y” with a mouth full of peanut butter. So, “mi llave” is pronounce “mee yah-veh.”

** Partner-In-Crime... please do not take this literally, we have been extremely well-behaved.

Occupational Hazards

2012-07-17T20:43:00.000-07:00

One of the best parts of serving in the Peace Corps are the benefits. And I’m not talking about the fluffy, sense-of-accomplishment, I-feel-like-I’m-changing-the-world-while-learning-a-new-language kind of benefits. I’m talking about full medical and dental. In recent years, Peace Corps has unfortunately made some headlines due to some of the dangers associated with being a volunteer. Fortunately, I still haven’t been mugged, assaulted, or anything of the sort. BUT, there are times when I find myself thanking my lucky stars that I’m more or less covered should something ever go down. Case in point...

Midway through last week I overheard my coworkers saying something about what we were going to be doing on Saturday. Wait up... hold the phone... I think I heard a “Saturday” in there somewhere in a conversation about work.

“Ohhhh, nobody told you? We’re doing a group clean-up on Saturday morning from 8am until noon!”

Yay, right? Well, I wasted no time reviewing my contract, and believe-it-or-not, there is no I-don’t-work-on-Saturdays clause in it. No surprise... par for the course when you work with kids... especially in the wonderful world of youth soccer. Besides, this would hardly be the first clean-up campaign that I’ve been a part of, and The last time I got my hands dirty like that was with the University of Johannesburg as part of our Mandela Day initiative. This would certainly be another worthy cause, as the soccer fields in my barrio have been crying out for some love and attention.

So, when saturday morning rolled around, I stumbled out of bed, scarfed down an arepa, and headed out the door, ready to tackle some trash. But, on my way out, my host-mom stopped me with an unexpected question. “Don’t you need a machete?” In my infinite naïveté, I looked at here like she was a little nuts.

“No, no, don’t worry.” After all, I was planning on picking up some bits of trash, not hacking it into even smaller bits. So I strolled over to the field, feeling ready to do my part. The first person I saw when I arrived was my co-worker, Danilo, hunched over a stone, grinding his machete in preparation for battle. All of the sudden, I had a flashback to Cape Verde. In any standard portuguese dictionary, the definition of the word “limpar” is “to clean.” BUT... in Cape Verdean Creole, “limpar” often refers to the annual arduous process of clearing your land of all vegetation in preparation for planting a new crop... as in "Nos ten ki limpar lugar."* It’s kind of like weeding, except you do it with a panga and it takes a lot longer. So, I connected the dots, albeit a little late. When they said “limpiar / clean-up,” they weren’t just talking about the trash. Instead, we were all scheduled for a date with the bushes surrounding the two soccer fields (one big and one small). So, I tucked in my lower lip, walked back home, and took my host-mom up on her previous offer.

As I headed out the door, my host-mom offered a casual warning... “Watch out for the snakes.” I flinched, but only on the inside. On the outside I smiled and replied, “It’s better they bite me than the kids.” You see, this “clean-up” wasn’t just about aesthetics... this was about workplace safety... Every time a ball goes of the field, one of the kids has to chase it down. Obviously, we'd rather not have them dodging snakes along the way. Which brings me back to the topic of full medical. There’s nothing to make you thank your lucky insurance plan like a few hours of weed-wacking through snake-infested super-grass.** Honestly, the thing that scared me the most was not the prospect of a snake bite. In face, by the time one kid shouted out, "Hey look, snake eggs," I was already in the zone. What really had me on edge was working in close proximity to a bunch of machete-wielding preteens. It reminded me of something i used to say back home when kids would do really stupid things with themselves while under my care... "Hey, their parents signed the waiver."

The sad truth is that these kids were much, much more effective and experienced in the ways of the machete than me... as their snickering constantly reminded me. So, after about an hour of hacking away at the grass, I surrendered my machete to an eight-year-old, donned the rubber gloves from my Peace Corps-issue medical kit, and went in search of some loose trash to pick up. Last week I showed my counterpart how to use some essential functions in Excel, but when it comes to machete-work, there was no capacity-building to be done.

Thankfully, I made it through the morning without getting accidentally shanked. The only health-related consequences were the blisters on my first-world hands and the extreme water loss suffered as a result literally sweating buckets. I headed home, ate lunch, and scratched my body incessantly until the water came back on in the house.*** Thankfully, I was able to squeeze in a quick shower before heading out for my weekly game of soccer in the city. Which brings me back again to the theme of coverage.

Eleven years ago, while playing pickup basketball in Washington, D.C., I took a forearm to the kisser, which broke my front tooth in half. After a root canal and a porcelain crown, I went on with my life without further incident... until last weekend. Just a few minutes into our soccer game, a(nother) flying elbow caught me square in the grill. Seconds later, I was spitting out the back half of “my” tooth**** and nursing a swollen lip. I was understandably pissed off, but by the end of the game I was just thankful that I didn’t knock the whole thing out. After all, I remember what it was like to walk about for a week with a missing front tooth... talk about prejudice. It’s hard enough to catch a cab as it is.

Being no stranger to soccer-related injuries, I bounced back in time to go out dancing later that night. Because of my swollen lip, I volunteered to be Javi’s wingman for the night, and assumed responsibility for making him look like the more attractive option. As of tonight, my tooth still hasn’t completely fallen out, and hopefully I can visit the dentist next week before it does. Like I said, I’m just glad I’m covered.

Pura Vida,

Drew

*Translation: "We have to clear/prepare the field."

** Yes, I am embellishing for added effect.

*** It doesn’t happen often, but every now and then the water “disappears” from our barrio. It’s kind of like a rolling blackout, but with water, and since I’ve been here, it’s never lasted for more than a few hours.

**** If your mama can call that hair and those nails "hers," then I can call my porcelain crown "my tooth." I paid for it, so it's mine!

What's My Name?

2012-07-10T20:03:00.002-07:00

There’s so much in a name, and over the years I’ve had so many. My first name, given to me by my older brothers, was "Apple." I still have few cousins that call me that more than anything else. Thankfully, my parents decided that Apple wouldn’t fly on my birth certificate, so my government name ended up being Andrew Foster Williams. I love having my mom’s maiden name as my middle name—it’s not exactly sexy, but it makes me feel connected that half of my family, both dead and alive. For example, when my Colombian and Cape Verdean host families look at me like I’m crazy for dumping hot sauce all over my food, I can blame it on my Southern blood.

I once got called "Andy," but I shot that fool in the kneecap and it hasn't happened again since. My only other nickname as a child was Gizmo... I was the cute one, but legend has it that if you get me wet or feed me after midnight I will spawn two larger, uglier version known as Barry (Gremlin #1) and Jaime (Gremlin #2).*

Fore some reason, the only person that ever got away with calling me Drew as a youngster was my Godfather, Maurice. And then high school happened. Among many bad habits, teenagers are obsessed with calling their friends by anything but their real names. So one day I looked up, and I was Drew, just like that. Around the same time I started deejaying, but I was more focused on honing my craft than coming up with a cool name. My brother's friend, Dwight, had taken to calling me "Ref," which was short for refugee.** Being a fan of self-deprecation, I decided to adopt the moniker as my DJ name, so my first semi-crappy mix-tapes and parties were brought to you by DJ Ref.

As a freshman in college I crossed the burning sands and became a Nupe. The name I was given by my Kappa Chi brothers—the name that I earned—was Sokrates. I thought that was a significant upgrade from refugee status, so I became DJ Sokrates in 2001. I've always been a proud Virgo, so I began recording music under the name "Sokrates The Virgo" after my mom—also a Virgo—passed away later that year. It looked kinda cool when I wrote it out, but it sounded a little ridiculous/pretentious when you said it out loud—as in, "Hi, my rap name is MC I'msuperprodoundandspiritual"—and that just wasn't the look that I was going for. Besides, everyone in the music community had already started calling Soks or Sok, so I decided to roll with it—and so I became Sok The Virgo.***

Then one I woke up one day in 2007 and realized that the music business was a horrible and awful lifestyle that was sucking my life-force dry. Actually, that’s a little extreme. Really, I fell out of love with the business over the course of a year or so, and eventually decided that I had enough cool stories to tell my future grandchildren. What I really wanted to do was coach and play soccer, so I threw myself into it, and became Coach Drew.

So, what am I trying to say? As I've evolved through a few different stages of life, and moved through a few different time zones, my name has always been an important reflection of what my mission is. I can be as simple as the difference between André (portuguese) and Andrés (spanish). Or it can be as huge as the difference between Sok the Virgo and just plain Drew. I still answer to any of these names, but I cherish the difference between them all. When someone calls my name, the name they choose to call me speaks volumes about the relationship that we have. Did we meet backstage or at the studio? Have we known each other since the diaper days? Did you pawn your kids off on me every Saturday morning for a few years?

Since we never stop growing, it’s only appropriate that I now have another new name—"Profe" (pronounced "proh-fay"). Profe is short for Profesor, which in spanish just means teacher. Ironically, I hated it when my Cape Verdean students would call me “Teacher." But “Profe” has a classy ring to it, and “coach” sounds funny when you say it with a Colombian accent. Every day I wake up and walk to work, and in just a few short blocks I hear little voices yelling “Profe, Profe” from inside houses and behind bushes. A little boy looks up from a game of marbles to greet me with a beaming smile... “Profe!” An old woman in a rocking chair gives me a nod while rolling out a handful of bollo... "Profe!"

It's not just a name, it's my responsibility and my place in the community. Our center serves over 400 kids, age 5-15—a good size for any program.**** Now consider that our community only has about 8500 people living in it, and you can imagine the impact of the program. Being Profe puts me at the center of it all, and it is the most rewarding thing that I can imagine. For the last few weeks I've had the challenge of working with a young boy who needs a lot more than a little extra attention. Just to be clear, I've never met a 6 year old that didn't have "special needs," but this boy makes me rethink my skepticism about drugging kids with attention deficit disorder. Today was a particularly challenging day. I spent most of the two-hour session in negotiations with my little buddy—being ignored, punched, kicked, bitten, spit on, and occasionally hugged. I'm not gonna lie—at one point I looked at him an thought to myself, "If you were my son, I'd spank the sh*t outta you."

I'm not proud to admit it, but I had given up, and was secretly praying that his family would just decide it wasn't working and would keep him home from the next class. It really got me wondering what kind of discipline, if any, this boy receives at home. Last week his mom was so late coming to pick him up that I walked him halfway home before meeting her in the street. Today I told him that we were going to have a nice, long talk with his mother and grandmother about his behavior. As we walked home hand-in-hand, he started to drag his feet, and his eyes teared up. "Profe, please don't tell them," he pleaded.

"Why shouldn't I?" I asked.

"Because they will beat me," he sobbed. Well, what do you say to that? Obviously, it stopped me dead in my tracks, literally and metaphorically. For the next few seconds, my head swirled with thoughts about my responsibilities as Profe. Wasn't I the one who was silently advocating a swift kick in the ass just a few minutes before? But really, it was a no-brainer—of course I wouldn't rat him out. Instead, we made a pact. He promised me he could and would do better, and I promised him that as long as he did, I wouldn't be knocking on his mama's door. We walked on for a few minutes until we came to a house with an open front door. "This is it! Ciao, Profe!" He was clearly anxious to see me on my way.

"Hola?" I called in to the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of an adult—no luck. We slapped high fives a few times, then I started to walk away. After a few steps I turned back to check him out. After checking to make sure that I wasn't looking, the little man scurried a little further down the black and slipped in the front door of a little white house—the one he actually lives in.

Pura Vida,

Drew

*At age 14 I was about 4’11”, 98 lbs (1.50m, 44kg)—do the math.

** My older brothers still deny that there is any truth behind this legend... but have you noticed how you never see them and the gremlins in the same room at the same time? I’m just sayin’.

*** I still deejay under the name DJ Sokrates.

**** Fútbol Con Corazon serves 2,000 kids in the Barranquillaarea, and is part of the Fútbol por la Paz network that serves 25,000 kids throughout Colombia.

Apples And Oranges

2012-06-30T12:20:00.000-07:00

The King is dead... long live the King! Twenty-two days ago, I officially completed my service as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Ten days ago, I once again rose my right hand, swearing my allegiance to the United States, and officially started my service as a Peace Corps (Response) Volunteer. After almost two weeks in this new country, with this new assignment, I finally feel ready to reflect a bit on what it is like for me here. Of course, so much is new... but some things are pretty much the same.

The first thing I'll say is that my reign as the Luckiest Man Alive continues, uninterrupted. I had some doubts about the streak continuing when received my travel itinerary... not exactly lucky. In their infinite wisdom—an frugality—Peace Corps routed me from Oakland, California to Seattle Washington, to Miami, Florida to Panama City, Panama, to Barranquilla, Colombia. Did I lose you there? For those of you who are not sure how ridiculous this flight plan is, I have prepared ap map, using a mural painted by a former Peace Corps Volunteer in Colombia. Like I said, some things are the same. This itinerary was eerily similar to my odyssey back home from Cape Verde—also a four-leg, thirty-hour journey.

After the first three legs of my journey, I met two other soon-to-be Response Volunteers at the boarding gate in the Panama City Airport. Jarrett (Massachusetts), and Eric (North Carolina) are also working with Fútbol Con Corazón as Youth Outreach Specialists. I knew my lucky streak was still in effect when I found my seat on the plane... 1A! This time, when we landed, our Country Director and the Director of Programming and Training had cleared security, customs and immigrations and were waiting for us on the catwalk, just on the other side of the plane's door.

Last summer I flew to Cape Verde with twenty-four other Trainees, then spent much of the following nine weeks with them in training before being sworn in as Volunteers. Even after that, I lived in a community within walking distance of six other Volunteers, and worked and lived with one of them (wuddup Rory?!). Last week I arrived with two other Candidates, and after a one-hour meeting with the Country Director, we swore in as Volunteers. After a few days of orientation sessions and administrative nitty gritty, we were installed in our respective communities and I didn't see them (or any other Americans) again until last night (a week later).

I felt another big difference the first time I stepped foot inside Carrefour, a gigantic all-you-can-buy style store with a produce section unlike anything you could scavenge on the ten islands of Cape Verde. Granted, this store is nowhere near my house, and we normally buy our produce from random sellers who walk through town with a bucket full of avocados, or a donkey-pulled cart full of mangos.

Perhaps the biggest similarity is that once again I have a beautiful host family that has has made me feel like I’ve finally come back home after being away for a long time. Once again, I have a ten year-old sidekick/brother, whose name, ironically, is Jaime*. My host mother, Chabela, is the unofficial Godmother of the town, and serves as an elected member of the Junta Comunal.** We live with her son (Jaime), her nephew, his wife, and their baby, who happens the be one the most tranquilo and bazofo*** infants I have ever met.

Unlike Cape Verde, I will be living with my host-family for the duration of my service in Colombia, as opposed to just during a nine-week training period.**** My new community has more than a few things in common with the first communities where I lived in Assomada, Cape Verde. Twenty-four hour music blasting on the weekends—except now it is Vallenato, Salsa, Reggaeton and Champeta, instead of Funaná, Zouk and Reggae.

Once again, I’ve been blessed with a work environment full of competent folks who love what they do, and who are excited to have me join their team. Once again, I am working with youth... the difference is that in Cape Verde, youth means 18-35 year olds, whereas here, I work with 6-15 year olds.

Perhaps the biggest difference this time around is that I don’t feel like I’m in the Peace Corps, whatever that means. Or, maybe it would be more accurate to say that I rarely think about Peace Corps here. With all due respect to the powers that be, I think this is a good thing. It just means that instead of thinking about paperwork and protocol, I am immersed in my work, and at home in my community. If I close my eyes at work (and pretend that it isn’t a billion degrees Farenheit with 101% humidity), and listen to the sounds of a hundred kids chasing soccer balls and each other around the pitch, then I could easily imagine myself back home. It just feels so much like what I’ve been doing—what I’ve grown to love, and what I’ve become pretty good at. Call it Child Development using soccer as a vehicle for blah-blah-blah... or call it herding cats. Either way, it’s my thing—something that I have no trouble rolling out of bed to do everyday. Which is fortunate, because my workdays here a long, plenty and hot, and the kids don’t cut you any slack.

Pura Vida,

Drew

* One of my real brother's name's is Jaime... except, at 6'6" he is a little two big to be my sidekick.

** Community/Town Council

*** Bazofo - Kriolu Kabu-verdianu... meaning well-dressed, fresh-pressed, GQ, so-fresh-and-so-clean, fitted and kitted, etc... observe the mohawk.

**** Did I mention that there was no nine-week training period?! Hah!

***** Map of Colombia by Rubén Barios... Map of the World by Anderson Oliveros, Jean C. Pacheco, Matthew Callagan (RPCV) & Carolina Buitrago (RPCV)

As The World Shrinks

2012-06-23T13:54:00.001-07:00

I can’t tell if the world is actually shrinking, or if I am just learning to appreciate how small it has always been. No matter how far away from home I travel, I rarely feel like it is far away. Even better, I’ve been lucky to have so many homes away from home over the years. Some of these second homes have been just minutes away from my real house in Oakland. At other times I have been taken in by people and families in Costa Rica, Guahan, New Zealand, South Africa, Cape Verde—and now, Colombia. There will always be those awkward moments, but they are heavily outweighed by the moments that can turn any four walls and a roof into home base.

After leaving Cape Verde earlier this month, I got to spend a week back home in the Bay Area. It was pretty much perfect. I spent a lot of time with some of the very people who have provided me with a home away from home over the years. Dinner at the home of Chuck and Paula Collins, where I was a quasi-perpetual boarder while going to high school in San Francisco. Thank you for the fish, and thank you for sparing me so many long commutes home after soccer practice and other "extracurricular activities." Also, there was a long-overdue meal shared with Eddie and Helena Wasp, who would open their home at Lake Tahoe to my family every winter when I was little. Thank you for every snowball fight, ski lesson, and fireside game of Pictionary. Sidebar: I think it's time for a cultural renaissance centered around the revival of old-school board games.

I also got to spend a few hours with my "music mama," Ayana. From age two, Ayana was my first piano teacher, and so much more. Thank you for opening your home, filled with student-sized instruments for me to explore: the piano, the drums, the guitar, the trumpet, the violin.*

I was surprised to realize how I was not spending my time. For example, I never once stepped foot inside the Bladium—in fact, the only soccer I played was during an impromptu "Intro to Kicking Things" clinic with my nephew on the back porch. He is showing promise. Also, I never really "went out." No concerts, no dancing, no late nights at the bar. I am a little surprised that I didn't put more energy into eating at all of the places that had been causing my home-sickness inducing food cravings during the past year. We started off strong with a Zachary's pizza party for the family on Sunday—in fact, I was eating leftover deep dish pizza for breakfast lunch and dinner well into midweek. I did make it to one of my favorite restaurants in the world, Tamarindo, where I shared Mexican Tapas and assorted tequila-based beverages with my friend, Alex.

After living for a year without direct access to a grill, you know I had to take advantage of being home during the BBQ season, which, in the Bay Area, lasts from June until the following June. We managed a modest three grilling sessions during an eight-day stretch. The first was courtesy of Bumbalo and Sara. You may remember them as the proud parents of Charlie and Chance, two of "My Favorite Dogs in the World." Now they have an actual real live human baby named Tyler, so David has become the first member of my immediate rat pack to be a daddy. The chicken was juicy and the baby is a cutie. Good luck at the wedding next month, and I'm sorry I can't be there for it.

The second BBQ was in honor of my brother’s birthday. His menu request: grilled steak, grilled asparagus, potatoes and corn. Two Webbers and six hours later, everyone was stuffed, and almost everyone had gone home. Happy birthday, Jaime, and our most sincere apologies to the neighbors.

The final BBQ was truly the Coup de grâce, hosted by my sister and her boyfriend at their house in North Oakland. I do feel bad that I didn’t get to socialize a little more while there—I spent the first hour destroying my brother, Barry, in a too-easy game of bones. When he finally got in line to domino, and “won” a round, he set a new world record for the sorriest collection of dominoes collected from the hands of your opponent. Literally, when he went out Trevor, Unity and I coughed up six of the most worthless dominoes in the game. His bounty: a grand total of 13 points (yes, we let him round it up to 15). Please enjoy his expression of non-triumph, be we enjoyed it so much that we took pictures. He handled it all with amazing grace. Truthfully, the real reason that I slacked on the socializing is that I took a nap at 9pm—the kind of nap that lasts until the next morning.

When I wasn't scarfing down grilled goodies, I was doing my best to see all of my peoples. Of course I missed a few folks due to time constraints, but I'm not worried because I know I will be back. The more I travel, the more I feel the world shrinking. But each time I come back to Oakland, I become more and more convinced that you can only have one true home.

On Tuesday I arrived in Barranquilla, Colombia, and all I can say is... chevere. Unfortunately, security precautions prevent me from posting the name of my barrio, but trust me—it is a beautiful place filled with beautiful people. Well... that’s all I have to say about that.***

Pura Vida,

Drew

* No, I cannot still play all of these instruments, but I'm flattered that you would even consider that possibility.

** No, that is not his real name.

*** No, that is not really all I have to say about Barranquilla. I guess I just felt like quoting Forrest Gump, plus I need a few more days before I start processing it all. Next week I will be writing more about life here in Colombia, so please stay tuned.