My Life These Days

I have been living in the town of Pedro Santana with an astonishingly nice woman who gives me air kisses and defends my Spanish to any communication critics. My days have been rather full although not at all productive in the classical sense. My average day begins at six when I drink a tiny cup of strong coffee and eat breakfast which is usually a piece of bread with a hardboiled egg. Four days a week, I set out for the rural campos. On these days, I pack a notebook, pencil, water and sunscreen along with the awkwardly large umbrella and motorcycle helmet and head for the very long dirt road. Although I should be embarrassed about carrying the helmet, I can often catch free rides with motorcycles and watch some of the five miles wiz in either direction. I get a quite a few laughs because almost no one wears helmets here and carrying one without a bike is quite the walking joke.

I arrive sweaty to the campo at eight thirty in the morning (it takes me about an hour and a half to walk the five miles meaning I walk pretty damn slow). I always first visit a handful of my regular houses where I am expected to frequent. I find a spot in the shade and utilize my usual conversation starters: “How are things?”, “How are your kids (most people have grown children in the capital)?”, one question about the weather, either a recent strong rain or “It was really hot yesterday, huh?”. If these don’t get the ball rolling, I move on to their crops and animals which always seems to work.

Our conversations usually veer toward problems with health, money and always water. Unfortunately, I lack the social graces to be able to respond to comments about hardship. I would blame this on my language barrier but I am just as challenged with this in English. I try to ask relevant questions and always throw in my “How difficult.” with a sigh. These reactions become even more necessary when I do my interviews. I try to do four or five each day I do the walk and because I added to my interview questions, I interviewed fourteen houses twice, poor them! I introduce myself and explain that I am doing a diagnostic before asking a variety of mundane and invasive questions in imperfect Spanish. I thank them profusely and they tell me to come back and visit soon. I then head slowly back to town for lunch even more sweaty and disheveled after all the hot walking.

On days that I don’t go to the campos, I run to the next town over after breakfast, enjoy a cold bucket bath and use the fabulous generator in a communal office space where I type up my interview responses and, let’s face it, pretend like I am working. I am also always on the hunt for someone who is passionate about the inadequacy of the projects that come to this municipality. We talk about broken water filters and organizations that don’t implement their projects and I ask an excessive amount of questions.

Everyday, I eat a big lunch of rice and beans around noon and drink about two nalgenes of water. It is more difficult to fill the afternoon because everyone is sitting still inside or in the shade to avoid the raging heat. I have lucked into a few weekly meetings and was tricked into starting a small adult English class with people who work in the office. These have been good for filling my planner (feeling like I am doing something) and making friends, a work in progress. At six o’clock, I eat a small dinner before I go for a walk around town becuase it is cooler and there are always people in the streets. I am shouted at with “Americana!” or “Rubia!” usually accompanied by a laugh like it is just too hilarious that I live here. Although I appreciate the excitement to an extent, I prefer talking to yelling. I visit an old colmado (corner store) owner with nice eyes who has lived here his whole life. I sometimes go to the “park” where there is usually a little social crowd. The first time I went there, I was sitting on a bench trying to look busy and someone was repeatedly shouting something like “Virginia” but with Spanish pronunciation. I finally turned around to a group of people staring at me and I realized that I knew some of them from a youth club meeting. I joined them and asked them what they were saying. They answered, “Your name” and gave me my favorite “you stupid American” look. I have miscommunications like it’s my job and I am proud to say my embarrassment threshold has been drastically altered.

When I come home from my walk, I sit with my hostmom outside to watch passersbys before I set up my mosquito net and fall asleep to merengue. All day, everyday, I think (or rather, worry) about how I am going to be able to actually contribute to this community. I am daunted by the complexity of the needs here. The largest problems in the region seem to revolve around water. There are campos that don’t receive any from the aqueduct, don’t have functioning filters, and can’t save their crops or animals if it doesn’t rain. The communities could also benefit from more efficient cook stoves that use less wood and have chimneys to direct the smoke out of the kitchen huts. This list of potential projects could continue with cement floors, latrines, literacy, sex ed and nutrition classes. Right now, I am trying to take it one day at a time and prioritizing making friends and learning Spanish, two essentials to my two year stint here. I hope you are all doing well!