Melfiquine is my I-sure-hope-I-don't-get-malaria-but-if-I-do-this-medicine-should-help medicine. I take it on Tuesdays.
Two months is a long time for me to try and sum up in a few words. I will try. This post could quite possibly be a lot of rambling, but I'm not totally sure of what people are interested to know about my new life. Life is so different for me now. I do not know that I would have come here knowing all of the changes that were awaiting me, and I am thankful everyday that I am not writing my life's story. Thankfully my God is more creative than me, and knows better than I do what I can handle.
The last time I posted I talked about
how terrified I was to move to my site. That feeling had not changed
by the time I got in the car to leave the city. The Suriname River
folks left about 6:30 a.m. on July 16. I was tired and I just really
did not feel mentally prepared for what I was about to do. After
about a four hour car ride we made it to Atjoni, where we would get
on boats to go up river. We unloaded the moving truck and grouped
everything based on villages and who was going in which boat. Despite still being
in a funk, the whole process of moving beds and other furniture, food
for 3 months, and everyone's personal belongings was pretty humorous.
Everything had to be taken up river by boats. And when I say boat, I
mean dugout canoe. I paused for a moment to capture the picture of it
all and remind myself that I was going to be just fine. I had another
three hour ride until we reached Malobi. On the boat ride I was
consumed with the thought of getting off the boat in my village and
what it meant for the next two years. I knew that getting off of that
boat in Malobi would be (and is) one of those defining moments in my
life. I still get chills when I think about it.
When we reached Malobi, as soon as I
had gotten off of the boat, about ten kids showed up to help carry
everything (including my full size mattress and bed frame) to my
house. It was quite the kodak moment. My neighbor, Kayen, helped put
my bed together and hang my mosquito net. I spent the next couple of
days getting everything organized in my house and trying not to cry
so much.
Here are some things (in a really disorganized order) about my life and daily routines that folks may like to know:
My house is about 10'x15' and has a
half wall in the middle of it to separate my bedroom from the
kitchen/sitting area/dinging room. My walls are planks, so I can hear
everything going on outside all the time. There are also cracks
between the boards, some of which I filled or put duct tape over, but
most are left open so that I have a little more ventilation. I have
electricity for a few hours every night, usually 6:30-10:00. When the
light goes off, it is darker than dark in my house. I cannot see my
hand in front of my face. I sleep with my head lamp.
I cook on a two burner gas,
camping like stove. My water comes out of my duro tank (rain water
catching tank) and goes through my PC issued water filter if it's for
drinking or cooking. I don't think I have to mention that I do not
have refrigeration, but I don't. My milk is powder and my butter is
vegetable margrine, so obviously really healthy. Ha.
I bathe in my
wash house with a bucket and cup, or in the river. I usually wash my
hair in the river to conserve water, especially now since it is the
dry season. I wash clothes and dishes exclusively in the river. I
count on the sun to kill a lot of the germs on those things.
The sky is so blue during the day. It
is also very hot. I have never wished for a gloomy day over a
gorgeous and sunny one, but it will be ok with me when the rain
starts to fall again and cools things off a bit.
I always
thought rain falling on a metal roof was soothing, and while maybe in
some cases it is, when a storm comes in the jungle the rain is
terrifying falling on my zinc roof.
Stars
fill the sky at night and it is absolutely beautiful.
I can walk to two other volunteers'
sites from mine. One is about a twenty minute walk away, while the
other is about forty. I walk on a path through the jungle to get to
them. There are five creeks that I have to walk through on that path.
When I run, I run between the first two creeks and on the sports
field in Malobi. I have to carry my tennis shoes with me and put them
on after I cross the first one.
As soon as I open my door in the
mornings, which is usually shortly after eight o'clock, my porch is
flooded with children wanting a coloring book or a jump rope or
something. The kids are great, but they have rules. They are not allowed to hit each other at my house. They aren't allowed in my house, it's too small. They are not allowed to stare at me while I eat, that's just weird. Writing that, I realize how strange it is that I have to have that rule, but I am the white girl and for whatever reason that makes me worthy of their stares.The are a few kids that hang around my house pretty
regularly and help me do lots of things, like get the weeds out of my
dirt yard. I share popcorn and tang with them a lot. One day they
brought me flowers and sand “Happy Birthday” to me. I'm still not
sure why, but nevertheless it was really sweet.
To toddlers and babies I am either the
greatest thing they've ever seen or they are terrified of me. I am a
celebrity or a monster. Obviously, I like being the celebrity better
because no one cries at the sight of me. There are some kids that I
am convinced will never get used to my white skin and they will cry
every single time they see me.
I get out of bed about eight o'clock in the
mornings and usually walk around the village about ten o'clock. Some
days I sit with a lot of people and some days the village is really
quiet because the women have gone to grounds (farmland). I try to go
to the river before noon, so that my clothes and dishes can have
plenty of sunlight. In the afternoon, when I have shade on my porch,
I usually sit and read a book. I am usually back in bed by 8 o'clock
at night. Yes, I realize I spend twelve hours a day in my bed.
I have bats and rats that live in my
ceiling. I was ok with it for a while. I would listen to my ipod and
pretend they weren't there. Then one night while my light was still
on, I saw a rat running across a beam about five feet from by bed.
Another night a bat fell out of my ceiling. I watched it crawl up the
wall for a minute. I was already in bed on both of these occasions,
so I did what anyone in my position would do, I rolled over and went
to sleep. Right? Everyone would do that. I put out rat poison and the
noises stopped for a while. I have new rats. The bats I just have to
live with.
My mosquito net is my protective bubble.
I had a tarantula on my ceiling one day (aside from all
the other gigantic spiders I encounter on a daily basis). My neighbor
came and sprayed it with bug killer. While we were standing talking,
the tarantula fell on my hand. Hello? Does anyone reading this know
me? I screamed really loud in my neighbor's ear and laughed. As soon
as he left, I cried uncontrollably and called my momma.
Just the
other night, after it was dark, I looked on my porch and thought one
of the kids left a dirty towel or something there. I pushed it
with my shoe and it didn't move. It was a toad the size of my head.
That's just nasty.
All the volunteers on the Suriname
River have village names. Most of us are named after our villages.
The volunteer before me was Malo Mai, and the call me Lobi Mai. Lobi
is also the word for "love" in Saramaccan, so it's kinda cool to have such a
pleasant name. There are no Rs in Saramaccan, so when they ask what
my American name is and try to say it, it always comes out as “Blooke.”
I am getting pretty good at Dutch oven
baking. One of my neighbors brings me plantains so I will make banana
bread with them. She loves it.
I have not bathed in hot water in almost six months.
I have white fungus growing on my back and shoulders. Woooo Hoooo
The women carry things on their heads. The things I have seen them carry include: water from the river, dishes and laundry, a case of soda, suitcases, huge buckets of rice, and a four burner stove. Seriously. I carry my laundry and dishes on my head to the river. I have actually carried wood and a hammock on my head without using my hands, each for about forty-five minutes through the jungle. Just the other day, I took about twenty-five steps with my bucket of dishes on my head without using my hands. It was a really exciting feeling. The villagers are not impressed. Why shouldn't I be able to carry things like that?
There is a woman in my village that cannot look at me. She is apparently allergic to white people, but I am told that if she see me I am the one that gets sick. I saw her one day and she did a triple take before running away. I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. I mean, come on.
I talk to my family a lot, which is no surprise to those of you that know me. However, there are some days when I would like to call them, but know that if I did I would totally break down. Some days I just really do not feel like crying alone in the jungle.
Not having other Americans around all the time is hard. Unless I text another volunteer or talk to my family, I do not speak English. To say the least, this has been an adjustment. The hardest adjustment by far, however, has been my lack of laughter. If you know me, you know that I laugh. A lot a lot. My funny movie quotes and sarcasm do not translate into Saramaccan humor, so that is hard. I have been asked by folks back in the States if I am happy here. My answer is that I am not unhappy, but the things that make me extremely happy are not in Malobi. I attribute a huge part of who I am to my humor and the people that I surround myself with. My personality is not something that the people in my village with ever understand. I am quite content and I have no doubt that as I adjust to the new parts of my life, however different and strange at times, will start to make me happy. I would not be happy if I had to leave Malobi and never return at this point, so I think that says a lot.
Things I've learned:
Three jars of peanut butter is not
enough for two months. All my peanut butter was gone within four
weeks. And no, Bethany, most of it did not make it onto anything but
a spoon.
That pork I ate that one day was a pig's tail.
Spoons are slippery when wet and I will (and do) lose them in the river.
Dried fruit is good. Dried fruit that rehydrates itself in the humidity is ok.
I can indeed survive two months without air conditioning, fast food, eggs, internet, nothing colder than (jungle) room temperature, and a real shower. And I can survive it all while battling stomach ailments.
Most importantly, I learned that when this twenty-seven month gig is up I NEVER again want to have to use both hands to count the number of months it has been since I have hugged my mother.
I cried a lot in that first week. Most of the time because I was overwhelmed with what I was experiencing and where I live now, but sometimes over silly things. I remember talking to one girl and telling her that I had a big brother and a little sister. I followed that with, “They live in America,” and had to excuse myself to cry a little. They do live in America, and I do not at the moment. Reality hits at strange moments.
We received word in June that Peace Corps Suriname would not receive a training class in May 2011 because of government budget cuts in America. A few weeks ago, we were told that after my group completes our service, Peace Corps Suriname will close. Suriname is not the only post closing because of financial crisis, but it is still a little disheartening.
On August 26, I celebrated what I called, "One year of Peace Corps." I submitted my application on August 26, 2010. I remember very clearly finally completing my application and essays, and praying before I clicked the button to submit them. I spent the next few months stressing over what had to be mailed by when and how fast I could get information sent to D.C. It goes without saying that the majority of my stress came from wondering whether or not Peace Corps would even choose me and ask me to serve. I dreamt of what this experience would be like, the people I would meet, and the lessons that I would learn. And now, after a year of PC, and almost six months in to my twenty-seven month commitment, I am consumed with thoughts of my fellow volunteers and how much my experience is being enriched by their friendships and encouragement, as well as moments of pride in myself for living with and learning from my new community while speaking their language. I am also encouraged and overwhelmed by the fact that regardless of what kind of day I have had, or by all that I still do not know how to say in Saramaccan, every morning is new and every morning I am going to be greeted by a the most precious, smiling faces I have ever seen. That is a Peace Corps moment.
I do have a lot more to write about project work that I am gearing up for and the cultural and traditional aspects of Saramaccan life I have experienced. I promise to do that soon(ish). I will spend the next couple of days running some errands and will make the seven hour trek back to my site on Thursday. I will actually be back in the city in a week for Early Service Training, so hopefully I will have time to update everyone then.
I spent this past Friday in the Peace Corps office and was blown away, yet again, by the love I received in the mail. Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks. I cannot say it enough.
Peace. Love. Suriname.
