Making Adjustments

This is the view from the balcony of my host family. It's the Atlantic Ocean - nice, huh?

Everything is different and this is why everything is hard. Getting a cell phone was hard. In the United States, I buy a phone, pick a plan and sign a contract. The carrier bills me monthly. Here I buy a phone and then buy time and when I run out I have to find a Digicell Store to buy more time. Outgoing calls to landlines cost more than outgoing calls to cell phones unless you are using a landline phone. In other words, I think the way they do it is that if you mix cell and landline there’s more cost. Make sense? I didn’t think so. Anyway, incoming calls are free to me. Go figure.

ATM cards are new and the Bank of Saint Lucia is the first to offer them. Only one supermarket chain accepts ATM cards so people carry cash for all their purchases. I don’t have a supermarket in my village. I must get on a bus and go to Vieux Fort for that. So it really doesn’t matter that Circle J or whatever the name of the market is that takes the card because chances are I wouldn’t be able to find it anyway!

Bills are paid at the bank – yes I said the bank…the electric bill, phone bill, cable company – consequently, the bank lines are very long. I’ve been warned by almost everyone not to get caught up in them. You can pay on line by waiting at the bank with your bills while they set it up but because it’s new almost everyone I’ve talked to said they don’t want to chance their electricity being cut off due to a system that may not work yet.

The water was shut off in my village this weekend. Half the village was taking bucket baths. My family said they suppose they were repairing a broken pipe. No one knew for sure and no one really knew how long they would be carting buckets of water to their homes either.

It’s hard because it’s new and unfamiliar. It’s hard because there are new rules to learn. It’s hard because there’s so much change all at once. It’s easy because the people are friendly. It’s easy because anyone on the street will become my new best friend simply because I say “Bonjour, nom mewn se Karen. Koumonnon ‘w?” They laugh and appreciate my courage. (translation: Hello, my name is Karen. What’s your name?)

Tropical Rain

I woke today to the pounding sound of rain. I went to the kitchen and made a cup of coffee. No one here on Saint Lucia drinks coffee and there is not a coffeepot to be had. Instant Nescafe is the only choice available. This is something that really surprised me. Many volunteers brought coffee and a small Starbucks Press. I sat on the porch and watched the rain come down in sheets of water. Tropical rain is so refreshing. The air cools, the rooster’s silence, and the pounding drops on aluminum roofs is deafening.

I tried to explain to my host family that when it rains in Los Angeles everyone stops what they are doing and rush to the windows. There we remain silent watching a phenomena that rarely occurs in our dry climate. It’s an event in Los Angeles that is talked about with enthusiasm. To my host family, it’s a hardship because the catering business will be slow and less money will come into their pockets.

I finished my coffee and decided to make another cup, I reached the kitchen to find Bea making a cinnamon drink…YUM! She boiled cinnamon sticks that she retrieved from her country farm and then added sugar to sweeten the hot drink. Hot Cinnamon is my new favorite drink.

Liming in the Village

Today was an exciting day for the family. Their two daughters and various other family members arrived back home. They have been on an extended holiday in New York. They brought back shoes, candy, aluminum foil, clothes, school supplies and suitcases of various and sundry items. There was something for everyone and as I watched, it resembled an American Christmas. Items here are quite expensive, so three tubes of toothpaste acquired at Costco is quite exciting.

After everything calmed down, one of Bea’s daughters asked me if I would like to go for a walk. A walk here isn’t like one that I’m used to . . . it’s actually a social activity rather than an exercise activity. Liming is hanging out. Nights are hot and people sit on their porches. We walk past them and greet them with “good night” which sounds so final vs. our “good evening” greeting. We stop at various homes and sit on their porches for a few minutes before moving on.

Although people have known other Peace Corps Volunteers, meeting a new one is a curious opportunity in the village. We stopped at a relative’s home and were invited in for some conversation and a rum and coke. As I sat at the dining room table the woman of the house said, “Come, I want you to meet my father”. I walked into a bedroom as she turned on the light. There lays an elderly man sleeping. She shook him and said, “Daddy, look! wake up! Look, there is a white woman in our house”. He opened his eyes and turned over. He reached out for my hand and I placed it in his and he stared at the contrast of skin. This was an interesting encounter to say the least. Curiously, I wasn’t irritated or uncomfortable. If I had to describe an emotion, it would be amused.

Taking Time for the Rainbow

Jay’s advice was good. When all becomes overwhelming tune out…put the music on and take some time to be by yourself. So as I listen to Crosby Stills and Nash this is precisely what I’m doing this afternoon. No bus, no training, no talking . . . just being present. As I take this time, I glace over to see a beautiful rainbow over the Atlantic Ocean. At this moment there’s no place I’d rather be.

Differences – Start with Basics

One evening when Brendan, my second son, was three years old, a man from work stopped by our house. His name is Harland Celestine and he is African American. We sat around the kitchen table talking and sharing a bottle of wine. He brought BBQ for us to share and I suppose the cultural differences were in the back of his mind as well as ours. He was kind and gentle and Brendan must have sensed this because he climbed on his lap.

As we talked Brendan began to explore his hair. His tiny fingers were stroking Harland’s head and we all began to notice and smile. No one said anything as we watched Brendan discovering human difference. Harland smiled and enjoyed the experience as we did. It was a bonding moment for all of us.

Last night as I sat on the porch with Bea she looked over and said, “you have very nice hair”. I thanked her while continuing to look straight ahead. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her staring – she had the same questioning look in her eyes that Brendan did so many years ago. I knew she wanted to touch it but she dared not ask. She is a woman in her fifties. Brendan was just three. As we age we apply rules. I wanted to give her permission to touch it, but knew she would be embarrassed so I refrained.

Unspoken rules keep us from understanding one another. Perhaps if our cultural norms didn’t get in the way the world would be more tolerant. Small things get in the way of real understanding.

By the way, Nina, Bea’s daughter wants me to braid my hair in corn rows. . . humm. . . I will have to think about that!

Taking the Bus – A Little Rocky Music Please

This is my host families house. I am living in the top left area. the bottom is rented to a business. The building to the right houses the host family restaurant and an apartment they rent is on top.

My first day taking the bus by myself. I did it! My biggest fear conquered. I didn’t do it perfectly but I got to training a half an hour early and home before dark. Only those that really know me will understand this accomplishment. I did cheat a little. I paid the driver to take me directly to where I transferred to my final bus.

Getting on the second bus was really funny. There were at least 200 people waiting . . . I thought it was a line but not so. The first bus came and all 200 people tried to get one of only 14 seats. I was pushed aside and left standing there wondering what just happened. The next bus stopped and I witnessed the same results. I began planning my strategy for the next bus. I pushed my way forward to the curb, elbowing my way through the mob. As the bus approached, I was determined. . . I shoved . . . I pushed . . . and then I sat in the prized seat I had won. This time they were left standing by the curb wondering what just happened. This was my “Rocky” moment. I achieved the knockout!

Snack it Up

I spent the day with Bea, the matriarch of my host family. She rises around 4:00 a.m. to make food she will sell during the day. She does the cooking downstairs in her kitchen. She has chicken to prepare along with side dishes of rice, beans, macaroni, and salad. Around seven she heads out the door and loads the family truck to start her day. She has two points where she sells her food; both are in Vieux Fort. She drops food at the school where a woman waits to be told what she will sell. Then she quickly drives over to her truck, Snack It Up and begins organizing for the locals who will soon be there. Snack it Up is a catering truck permanently nestled under trees and surrounded by horses, pigs, and cows that are grazing on the land. I had the occasion to speak with many customers, all of whom say Bea’s is their favorite place to eat. People come here for not just the food but for the good conversation that comes with it.