Gyal, mi luv yuh fat pumpum

Living and working in a rural community creates a very blurred line between work ethics and social fun. The common topic here constantly, every day, anywhere, all the time is sex. I used to get uncomfortable but now I just get annoyed or bored and make up stories about mind dicks and ovary goddesses. I don’t really know where I’m going with those, but they usually change the subject (for a while) because the other person gets frustrated with my stupid tangents about just wanting to dance. We are supposed to integrate and being a part of these conversations would be a great way to connect with people, but there is a little voice in my soul that wants me to stand up on my soapbox and preach about the unity of men and women and love and compassion and respect, that just won’t let me.  That voice usually doesn’t come out here because: one, I would just be called uptight and two (more importantly), that voice is usually accompanied by a more emotionally charged voice that wants to yell at men to quit being so disgusting and disrespectful to women and that talking about my pussy makes me want to punch you and spit in your face and not fuck you. See… that voice gets pretty worked up so I really try to find a balance.

Outside of the schools I work with a lot of men. The older men haven’t been toooo much of a problem, but I certainly have had to set boundaries with the younger men. I now have a bubble. No, you may not poke my belly. No, you may not grab my waist. No, you may absolutely not grab my ass. Yes, there is a time limit to how long my hand is in yours. I’m really trying to find a balance between being firm and not being a hardass that no one wants to talk to. Between having a fun or serious conversation and avoiding being uncomfortably solicited. Between being respected and being accepted.

Talking about sex doesn’t bother me. Get a group of PCVs together and most likely the conversation is going to be about food, sex or shits. What bothers me is how sex is talked about in this male dominated world and how so often I can be made to feel like a piece of whitey meat. Let me step on that soapbox to preach to the choir for a moment: I am a woman, I am a human being and I deserve respect and if you cannot provide that for me then I will still provide that for me. You are a person and you deserve respect and if you have trouble accepting it then you will have trouble giving it to others.

Bam! Thank you. I love you all.

P.S. I respect all you professional Jamaican women out there that have to put up with this stuff constantly and do it with your heads held high. 

A Fair is a Fair

Sunday through Tuesday was the annual Denbigh Agriculture show. It's a hot, dusty, smelly 3 day fair where each Parish shows off its talents and compete (for I'm not sure exactly what), government organizations show off what they can offer, value added products and arts and crafts are sold, and food... lots and lots of food (I'd rather not tell you how many smoothies I had). A bunch of the volunteers got together to help out JOAM (Jamaica Organic Agriculture Movement) by putting on a children's village where they could do activities and learn about the environment. Luckily we were placed in a shady spot so it wasn't waaaay too hot, but we all still ended up with a layer of grime on us by the end of each day. And even luckier, we were right by the sugar factory so when we weren't getting whiffs of the gully it would smell like warm sugar. Here are some highlights:

Creating "Barry Banana" to explain compost

How long does it take to break down?

Creative reuse

Plant, animal and insect painting

Adults joined in too

Value added product from the Portland parish

Big ups to everyone who put in lots of work to make things go smooth and many, many thanks to the Shagoury's (if any of you happen to read this) for hosting us.

      P.S. Megan and I (and my smoothie) made it in the local newspaper.

Seeking Stories

Living in a different country has put me in an almost constant uncomfortable and awkward state. I have learned to embrace these moments and do things that a friend of mine coined were my “social experiments.” Looking at the situation as a third person, just letting whatever comes to my mind flow out, greeting every person I pass (this is a good one when there is a big mixture of cultures), let myself get as awkward as I can get or see how the next person reacts if I just don’t lose eye contact (very different reactions doing this in Jamaica vs. doing this in America).These are things I’d never done in America and have adapted out of my discomfort (and growing self-confidence? growing boredom? growing “not giving a shit” ?  –refer back to ‘Everybody Seems to Think I’m Lazy’). My favorite is a mixture of making a new (usually) one time friend and going with the flow. Sometimes this turns out alright, but sometimes I end up on amazing adventures or listening to an extraordinary life story. This last one was my experience today.

I really wanted to share this man’s certain story and I started and deleted what I wrote because it’s not mine to tell and I could never share it the same way he did. All I can share is my story of hearing his story. It was one of those stories that could be made into a novel, become a part of Oprah’s book club then become a movie based on the book based on a true story and then everyone would read and question if it was real. Seriously.

Jamaica runs on route taxis that go from point A to point B and it can take several taxis and buses to get anywhere. I was at one transfer point and walked around to find an ATM to get cash for the rest of the trip. I passed what I was looking for and a man on a ledge, that I had overlooked, called out “miss, a wah yuh look for?” There it was; I had to just turn my head. I went in, got just a little cash and when I walked out I laughed with the man on the ledge about how I had missed what I was looking for because I was looking in the other direction. He had a slight Canadian accent, he had a cast and crutches and he was dressed in ragged clothing. He asked me if I could buy him something to eat (normally I don’t give out money or buy things, but I won’t go off on a tangent) and there was something about how he held himself that I felt no pity for him, despite how he looked, and I agreed to buy him something. He seemed very honest, very self-aware, very un-self-pitying, again, despite the way he looked. He told me that an accident forced him to pee through a catheter and that he was writing a book about his life. I agreed to buy him lunch if he would tell me about his book and his life story.  

He was born in Jamaica, taken to Canada as a child, got into drug trafficking then scamming and made lots and lots of money. His best friend and girl fell in love so they ratted him out and he got sent to prison and deported. He had boats and money in Jamaica and would go scuba diving and spear fishing. His oxygen tank went out at 110 feet and by the time he got to the surface, to the hospital and into a decompression chamber he had lost the use of his legs. Several years went by before he could walk and several of his organs never recovered. He now lives day by day and doesn’t know where his next meal will come from or how he will get fare to make it to the hospital to change his catheter every other week. Just recently he got hit by a car and broke his leg and when he went to follow up on the report it turned out that the man had paid off the police to get rid of the report. His life now is getting that injustice cleared, going to the hospital and living at the beach.

He neither bragged about what he had had nor pitied what his life had become. He just accepted it as it is. He told me how had been begging money at a gas station and a white man noticed his slight Canadian accent and asked where he was from and then recognized him. He was the officer that had arrested him for scamming. The man on the ledge laughed. He laughed so hard at this incredible coincidence and said that he had no ill feelings towards that man because he was just doing his job and that he respected him for that because he deserved it and because of his own experiences with corrupt police in his own country.

I believe his story and even if it is all made up it doesn’t matter because it’s a good story. Years ago he’d probably have been a horrible person to meet, but now he has something more to share than money and material things. A fistful of humbleness punched him in the face and now he has an amazing story to share and he shares it in such a real way. If anyone sees this man in or around Discovery Bay I suggest talking to him. 

Confrontation

I hate confrontation. I’ve never been comfortable with it and my first reaction is always to tear up, no matter if I started the conversation or the other person did. It’s really annoying, honestly, and it does nothing for my argument. In the past I would try to avoid these situations as much as possible, pretend nothing was wrong so I wouldn’t have to face that embarrassing moment of crying in front of a friend (or worse, a stranger/co-worker/acquaintance). You feel sorry for a little girl crying and maybe even want to hug her. When you see a 26 year old young woman crying it’s just uncomfortable.

Oh, boy have there been a lot of tears. You want practice in confrontation and standing up for yourself; join the Peace Corps. If you are not sure of yourself; do NOT join the Peace Corps. What keeps me grounded some days is telling myself “it’s only 2 years and after you’ll have the freedom to do what you want.” I don’t mean work by this, I have a pretty awesome job with the most freedom I will probably ever have with a job. What I mean is the way that I live. Peace Corps watches me, my host family watches me, my entire community watches me. For the most part it is comforting to have that security, but sometimes I just want to scream and leave and climb a tree and hide and breathe. “I’m an adult,” I keep telling people. Keep telling myself.

Hiding and climbing a tree isn’t a very adult thing to do and doesn’t solve anything if there is a problem. I’ve had to stand up for myself many times since I’ve gotten to Jamaica. Jamaica, yuh nah easy. From the moment we got to Jamaica they told us that Jamaica is a land of extroverts. Over and over in training we heard that and were encouraged to be loud and extroverted to be able to fit in. That doesn’t come easily to a quiet introvert like me. I thought about it (for a brief moment), that I could change who I was now that I was in a new country surrounded by no one who knows my past. That brief moment passed and I remembered that I liked how I was and that if I tried to be any other way that it would be insincere and I wouldn’t be happy. Of course, quiet-introvertness (apparently not an actual word) can be easily viewed as being uninterested, unenthusiastic, anti-social, rude… It can also be viewed as a weakness, but it’s not and I’m coming to see its strength more and more.

You are tested constantly in the Peace Corps and in a country like Jamaica where there aren’t as many physical tests there are more emotional and mental tests. Jamaica has a very high early termination rate (everything is an acronym in PC, so this is known as ETing) and it’s because it’s hard in a different way than not understanding the language very well or constantly have stomach problems due to parasites. Being in Jamaica, and possibly being in PC anywhere else, you either form tough skin or you fall apart. During a community meeting I got up in front of everyone to discuss the progress of the project that a few other community members and I had been working on and the discussion quickly turned to why didn’t I help them with planning a party, why didn’t I tell them sooner that I was going on vacation, why hadn’t I told them about the project sooner (although I was telling them about it then and had mentioned it several times…but we don’t have to get into that). I quickly answered every question as tactfully as I could despite all the negative comments and ended the meeting with my head held high and my insides knotted with anger, frustration and embarrassment. Old Autumn would have broken down and cried in front of a room full of people, but new tough-skinned Autumn kept her cool…until she got to her room and cried… just a little.

The Peace Corps and Jamaica has changed me in subtle and significant ways. I still cry at inappropriate times, but I take those moments to make my skin a little tougher and my heart a little more compassionate... or so I tell myself. 

California here I come!

I’ll soon reach California so I have been thinking about the things I want to do, people I want to see, things I want to buy and the foods I want to eat. Who wants to help me do these things?!

·   Hug and kiss and squeeze my nephew

·   Hug and kiss and squeeze my sis and mama

·   Hug and kiss and squeeze all my tias/tios, cousins, friends and anyone else that gets in the way

·   Eat LOTS of homemade Mexican food

·   Good beer! (nothing bad to say about Red Stripe, but it’s no creamy dark beer from the tap)

·   Cheeeeeeesseeee (I have everything bad to say about the cheese)

·   Night beach (don’t even try to take me to day beach)

·   Hiking in the mountains

·   Joshua tree

·   Thrift stores

·   Swapmeet

·   Bakers

·   DANCING!

·   Thai/Vietnamese/Korean food

·   Strawberries

·   Nail polish

·   Make up

·   In-n-out

·   Loooooong hot showers

·   Salad

·   Museums

·   Hair cut

·   Tortas

·   Food trucks

·   Elote man

·   Washing machine

·   It’s-It

·   Mexican restaurants

·   Bar with good music

·   Stocking up on chocolate/coffee/spices/snacks

·   Dodger game

·   Family get together

·   Pan dulce

·   GRE prep book

·   Replace earphones

I fly into Oakland and then go to SoCal and I’ll hopefully have my old phone with my American number so I can be contacted easy. If anyone can get discounts on anything and wants to help me out then I’d love you so much. I’m a poor PCV on a super tight budget. 

The death of an animal

In America we have pet shops, pet grooming, doggie daycare and so many pet products to spoil your parrot more than you’d spoil your child. We have an obsession with giving our pets human characteristics, baby talking to them, dressing them up in sweater vests and carrying them while we go shopping. We’d spend thousands of dollars if we found out our cat had a tumor and then spend years force feeding it medicine and changing its diaper. Does this seem normal to you? Well, go visit a developing country and be prepared to bawl your eyes out.

This morning, while I was drinking my coffee, I overheard my host dad telling my host mom that he found the brown dog dead. The brown mawga dog that just had puppies? She tried jumping over the fence but her chain was too short and she hanged herself. What a way to go. It does make me sad. I’ve never been much of a dog person and I can’t say I’d spend thousands on pet surgery, but I do want to give her human characteristics and so I think about the loneliness, fear and regret she must have felt during those few moments between jumping and losing consciousness. I often reflect on things with other PC friends and one friend asked me if I thought she did it on purpose. Could a dog plan her own suicide? I couldn’t go that far. I don’t want to believe that she was so aware of her suffering that she figured a way out.

 In Jamaica, dogs are not often treated as family but more as alarm systems. Feeling empathy for a dog isn’t the norm. Coming from bi-racial family I can understand both sides. My Mexican mother (who spent most of her youth on el rancho) never let us keep pets inside (while she was looking) and when she speaks of my dog back home she talks about him as a dog, doing silly dog things. My American father encouraged us to sneak the pets inside and will talk about my dog as if he were another person in our family with a quirky personality. In a lot of cultures pets are viewed as tools rather than family and a dog’s loyalty makes them great to guard things. When you don’t have a disposable income you don’t want another mouth to feed, so if a dog didn’t have a purpose then why would you have it? I’m not sure where I fit in. A dog is not a human, but it does obviously express simple emotions.  

I’m trying to find an ending to this post, but I don’t know what my point is here. I’m just reflecting on the nameless, brown, mawga dog and wanted her remembered. 

Everybody seems to think I'm lazy...

“Everybody seems to think I’m lazy, I don’t mind to think they’re crazy, running everywhere at such a speed, till they find there’s no need.” Wise words from The Beatles.

The day that I graduated from high school my older sister handed me our house phone so that her friend (who I never did like) could congratulate me. He said congrats and good luck and then said “welcome to the ‘real’ world.” I didn’t like it. I didn’t accept it. His words upset me and I don’t know if it was the words, the way he said it or the fact that I never did like or trust him. I decided that I didn’t have to worry about it quite yet because I wasn’t entering that “real” world for at least another 4-5 years since I was going to start college. I’ve since graduated from college, worked odd jobs for a bit and then flew to Jamaica to serve in the U.S. Peace Corps. My world is real. It may not be “real” the way that he had meant it, but I don’t think it would have been a good fit for me.

Jamaica and Peace Corps has allowed me to form relationships on a very real and honest level because I have had lots of time to become very real and honest with myself. Who am I? What do I want to do? Who do I want to be around? How can I truly be helpful and happy? This is as real as my life has ever been.  My facebook pictures may make it seem like my life is a party, but hard times call for fierce dancing (na so?). My (seeming) idleness may make it seem like I’m lazy, but my next step is being planned. Life doesn't have to be constant movement and it doesn't have to be so serious all the time.

But, anyway, I think my point here is that everyone has their own version of “reality” and how life should be lived and sometimes some people really want you to conform to their version and can’t and don’t want to even try to understand your version.  It can be really frustrating for them. I am a very quiet and introverted person and I try to say and do things with intention and so it can be a really slow process. I have now realized how extremely frustrating that can be for those who are not like that. I used to internalize other’s frustrations and get upset (and I mean breaking down and bawling on the floor upset-PC friends know what I’m talking about here) until I started to realize that I didn't have to and it has since made my life sooo much easier. “Here, these are your frustrations, you keep them.”  Basically, I've been practicing a lot of “not giving a shit.” Ok, that sounds harsh, but I like the way it sounds because it’s actually not that blunt or easy. I do give a shit, but certainly not about everything.

 Living in a different country has made me realize how human it is for others to want you to conform. Life here is different from life back home, but there are still people that want to welcome me into the “real” world (the view of the way life should be lived) and get frustrated when I don’t accept. I want to be adaptable, but I also want to hang on to my identity, my goals, and my morals. I know I sometimes border on the line of being comfortable and confident in who I am and being a stubborn jerk. Sometimes. But honestly, I can’t conform to everyone’s “reality” because it’s simply, completely impossible.