Why I'm Smiling

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 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 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 Peru

Cutaneous Larva Migrans

 

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

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

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

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