Wednesday 4pm. I spent the morning re-reading the bylaws of the local government. I am showered and in tow is my notebook filled with my presentation for the local government meeting. I haven't been to a meeting in months. There hasn't been a scheduled meeting in months. No one has shown up in months. But I am hopeful. Waiting. Waiting. A little less hopeful. Waiting. Leaving. Frustrated, angry, sad, apathetic. I head home, eat an early dinner and head to bed early. Write the day off, another failure, and try to focus on the potential of tomorrow.
Thursday am. Wake up and start in on my morning routine. Take down my net, feed Cricket, open the back door, open the curtains, make coffee, take a quick shower, check my email, and sweep the floor. A few hours later I discover a large rash (what I now know is hives) on my legs. Bummer. Cancel my meetings this afternoon.
Thursday pm. A church committee member has stopped by my house to drop of leaves that make a tea that will make me feel better. My neighbors have visited and offered me dinner and a few coconuts which should help. I get three text messages from concerned community members, to ask how I am feeling.
I am baffled. No one shows up for an hour long meeting, but six people will take unscheduled time out of their day to check on me or bring me something when I am sick. I am a community member, they obviously LIKE me, but they won't show up to a meeting to improve their own town. Baffling.
Long story short: I had hives that couldn't take a hint. Three days later I was still waking up with hives. So I got an all expense paid trip to the hospital and a month worth of medications. I am better, and silver lining- I got to spend a few days in the city to decompress, escape the magnifying glass (that is small town living) and to run a few errands.
Now for something completely different: Happy Thanksgiving to all my Americans. Enjoy your turkey, can-shaped cranberry sauce, indoor heating (and cold weather), fallen leaves (and changing seasons), sweaters, scarves, ovens (and baked goods in general), family, friends, four day weekends and the official beginning of the Christmas season. Know that I will be counting you and your support among the things that I am grateful for in this past year.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
what happens when the abnormal begins to feel so normal, you forget it was once abnormal
Yesterday, Thursday November 15th 2011, marked the completion of my first six months in my site. This is an important date in the Peace Corps Costa Rica world, its the date when all volunteers are officially allowed to move out, and its the date when we are able to apply for grants for external funding. It also means that I have 18 months left in Gallo Pinto. Which boils down to 1 year 6 months. A quarter of the way through. An accomplishment indeed!
How did I celebrate, you ask. Well- I scrubbed the floors in my house, went an entire day without eating rice and beans, attended my daily quota of town meetings, and chatted with a fellow volunteer. Nothing exciting, no balloons, cakes or confetti. Nobody sang, and honestly nobody really noticed. But it feels pretty big. It means for (6 months in site + 2.5 months of training) 8.5 months I haven't seen my friends or family. For 8.5 months I have lived in another country, spoke another language, eaten another traditional cuisine and accepted new ways of living. I have moved three times, I have become a member of a family and a member of a community. I have dealt with public transportation, medical issues, administrative conundrums and I have defined my job from scratch. I have done all this - more or less - alone.
I am overwhelming grateful for the support of friends and family throughout my journey. Which makes that last line- that I have achieved 8.5 months alone- quite a bit untrue. Your phone calls, packages, emails and thoughts have made my 8.5 months a million times more bearable. You have made me less homesick, less uncomfortable and you have reminded me too many times to count that I am loved and supported. Thank you.
But one of the realities of my Peace Corps experience (that perhaps I anticipated, but anticipated without fully understanding the reality) is that choosing to live in another country, in my case, in a very very small community, can be extremely isolating. I have made some wonderful friends here. My neighbors who invite to me dinner, taught me how to make rice and beans and take care of my home when I am away. The girls on the women's soccer team who always pass me the ball even though I am God awful at soccer. The little kids who invite me to go on bike rides with them and bring fruit to my door because they know that I like it. The women who runs the small town store who lets me pay her the next day when I am short a few hundred colones. The old bus driver who waited at the bus terminal an extra 15 minutes so that I could make it home. All of these people have become part of my new life. And I am grateful that in a town of 50, there are so many kind souls.
At the end of the day though, there is no one in town that I can tell how frustrating it is to plan meeting upon meeting and have two people show up. Or present a new idea to a group, only to be met with stares of confusion because no one understood my Spanish. Or to train a group in new organizational techniques, have everyone show up for the meetings, and then watch as they plan their next event or activity with maybe less organization than ever. Or how sad I am that my puppy got lost, and how much I miss his companionship. Or that I miss my family and friends so much sometimes it makes my heart hurt. All of these and many other challenges I can't confide in people in my town. Either because gossip runs rampant like wildfire here, or because there are cultural differences that mean I just wouldn't be understood.
Luckily, I have a few very close volunteer friends that I do confide in, who are endlessly supportive. Because even though we all live in different towns, we all face similar challenges. We are best able to understand each other. I am grateful for their support. But on those really bad days, a phone call just doesn't do it. I need someone here, in my house, to tell me in person that it will be okay. That today is just today, and who knows what will happen tomorrow. Someone to distract me with fort-building, or no bake cookie making, or a movie and popcorn. And sometimes I am lucky enough to have my friends visit, and sometimes I just have to call them, and pretend like that's enough to make me feel better.
And sometimes I just have to remember that this is a choice I have made. And that the rewards (although sometimes hidden) are just as present as the challenges. I have to look around and appreciate the unique way of life that I get the privilege of living for two years. Being able to wake up at whatever hour I please. Having free time to exercise, cook, read and write. The beauty of spending an evening listening to a radio show and crocheting or a Saturday afternoon fishing down at the river. I have to stop thinking about how much I hate getting up at 4:30am to walk an hour to the bus stop, and stop and marvel at how beautiful the sun looks when its rising, or how serene it is to walk for an hour in complete silence and not see a single other person. Or remember how excited I was to have a job where I get to make the decisions of how I spend my days and what are the best ways to go about effecting change. The adventure - which means that after an all staff meeting I get to go bungee jumping with friends. Or spend the weekend at a Costa Rican beach.
For me, Peace Corps has been a combination of all of this. I am grateful for the people I have met, the people who have supported me, the lessons I have been given the opportunity to learn and the year and a half that I have left.
How did I celebrate, you ask. Well- I scrubbed the floors in my house, went an entire day without eating rice and beans, attended my daily quota of town meetings, and chatted with a fellow volunteer. Nothing exciting, no balloons, cakes or confetti. Nobody sang, and honestly nobody really noticed. But it feels pretty big. It means for (6 months in site + 2.5 months of training) 8.5 months I haven't seen my friends or family. For 8.5 months I have lived in another country, spoke another language, eaten another traditional cuisine and accepted new ways of living. I have moved three times, I have become a member of a family and a member of a community. I have dealt with public transportation, medical issues, administrative conundrums and I have defined my job from scratch. I have done all this - more or less - alone.
I am overwhelming grateful for the support of friends and family throughout my journey. Which makes that last line- that I have achieved 8.5 months alone- quite a bit untrue. Your phone calls, packages, emails and thoughts have made my 8.5 months a million times more bearable. You have made me less homesick, less uncomfortable and you have reminded me too many times to count that I am loved and supported. Thank you.
But one of the realities of my Peace Corps experience (that perhaps I anticipated, but anticipated without fully understanding the reality) is that choosing to live in another country, in my case, in a very very small community, can be extremely isolating. I have made some wonderful friends here. My neighbors who invite to me dinner, taught me how to make rice and beans and take care of my home when I am away. The girls on the women's soccer team who always pass me the ball even though I am God awful at soccer. The little kids who invite me to go on bike rides with them and bring fruit to my door because they know that I like it. The women who runs the small town store who lets me pay her the next day when I am short a few hundred colones. The old bus driver who waited at the bus terminal an extra 15 minutes so that I could make it home. All of these people have become part of my new life. And I am grateful that in a town of 50, there are so many kind souls.
At the end of the day though, there is no one in town that I can tell how frustrating it is to plan meeting upon meeting and have two people show up. Or present a new idea to a group, only to be met with stares of confusion because no one understood my Spanish. Or to train a group in new organizational techniques, have everyone show up for the meetings, and then watch as they plan their next event or activity with maybe less organization than ever. Or how sad I am that my puppy got lost, and how much I miss his companionship. Or that I miss my family and friends so much sometimes it makes my heart hurt. All of these and many other challenges I can't confide in people in my town. Either because gossip runs rampant like wildfire here, or because there are cultural differences that mean I just wouldn't be understood.
Luckily, I have a few very close volunteer friends that I do confide in, who are endlessly supportive. Because even though we all live in different towns, we all face similar challenges. We are best able to understand each other. I am grateful for their support. But on those really bad days, a phone call just doesn't do it. I need someone here, in my house, to tell me in person that it will be okay. That today is just today, and who knows what will happen tomorrow. Someone to distract me with fort-building, or no bake cookie making, or a movie and popcorn. And sometimes I am lucky enough to have my friends visit, and sometimes I just have to call them, and pretend like that's enough to make me feel better.
And sometimes I just have to remember that this is a choice I have made. And that the rewards (although sometimes hidden) are just as present as the challenges. I have to look around and appreciate the unique way of life that I get the privilege of living for two years. Being able to wake up at whatever hour I please. Having free time to exercise, cook, read and write. The beauty of spending an evening listening to a radio show and crocheting or a Saturday afternoon fishing down at the river. I have to stop thinking about how much I hate getting up at 4:30am to walk an hour to the bus stop, and stop and marvel at how beautiful the sun looks when its rising, or how serene it is to walk for an hour in complete silence and not see a single other person. Or remember how excited I was to have a job where I get to make the decisions of how I spend my days and what are the best ways to go about effecting change. The adventure - which means that after an all staff meeting I get to go bungee jumping with friends. Or spend the weekend at a Costa Rican beach.
For me, Peace Corps has been a combination of all of this. I am grateful for the people I have met, the people who have supported me, the lessons I have been given the opportunity to learn and the year and a half that I have left.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Ever wondered what a day in the life of PCV Chelsea is like...?
Follow this link and find out. I published some of the photos of my house already, but there are new ones about food, and daily activities.
http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.649121278915.2125480.32404648&type=3&l=57733d2daa
Monday, November 7, 2011
Sometimes I stop, take a deep breath, and think - "Really!?!"
Saturday morning. Cricket (my darling little kitten) was snuggling on my chest while I was knitting and watching Grey's Anatomy. There was hot tea, oatmeal with raisins and it was perfect. Then Cricket jumps off my chest and I look down. Morning ruined. Less than 1 second flat and my gorgeous morning was gone. Cricket had let two yellow diarrhea stains on my t-shirt.
Cut to three hours later. I am quarantining Cricket in my empty room and cleaning up little piles of liquid yellow diarrhea all over my house and personal items.
Two days later. Cricket is still sick. Weak. Not eating, not drinking and will not shut up. My thoughts: I cannot lose another pet. This kitty cannot die on my watch.
Later that night - call a vet whose number I got from a friend. Its 10pm, which is an inappropriate time to call anyone who is not a close friend or family in Costa Rica. Biiftu (thank God for her support) helped me call the vet who said to give Cricket fluids and bring her into the vet the next day. After emptying a eye drop bottle and force feeding her some water we go to bed. I am worried sick.
Next day the alarm goes off at 5am so that we can walk to the bus stop. The night before I had prepared a bag with a layer of plastic bags, followed by newspapers, which I was intending on putting Cricket in, and then sneaking her on the bus.
*A short aside on why that is the stupidest plan ever: Do you know why I decided to name my kitten Cricket - because my kitten in broken and never (never never never) shuts up. She loves to meow, to cry, to sing, to talk - anything that is loud and demands attention. Now she is also a baby - so you have to forgive her for her annoyingness - but I bet you are starting to see the flaw in my bus plan.
So I look out the window as the alarm goes off and I think "Why is it light outside?" I am still pretty hazy in my midwakingness but I am present enough to know that the sun doesn't rise until 5:15am at the earliest. "Why is it light outside..." "FUCK!" (excuse my language, but that was the word that came out of my mouth as I realized that my American alarm is programed to adjust for daylight savings times). Which meant that as the alarm went off at 5am, it was really 6am in Costa Rica and the bus would leave in 15 minutes from the stop which is an hour walk away. So we set off on foot, not so happy, but walking nevertheless.
We struck a goldmine, with a ride to town from only 25 minutes outside of Gallo Pinto. When we got in the car (of a man whom I know through my work with the water committee) his eyes just about popped out of his head when after driving for 2 or 3 minutes Cricket lets out a characteristic "MEOOOW." Luckily we did not get kicked out, but I know that we would have been kicked off if we had been on the bus. (Especially since the bus driver changed a few weeks back and the new guy is not yet my friend).
After arriving in Guatuso, getting Cricket dewormed, and getting some anti-diarrhea meds, we needed to run our errands. Let me tell you that I got some strange looks in India, but never have I gotten so many strange looks as carrying around a bag that was mysteriously MEOOOWING. Places I took my cat: bread store, government office, post office, bank, craft store, and grocery store. In other more entertaining words: places that I took a meowing bag and got strange looks - everywhere.
The man who gave me a ride in the morning offered to take me back at 10am. GREAT. Stellar. Perfect. Except...little to my knowledge he was planning on finishing his (and subsequently my) journey three hours outside of Gallo Pinto. Which means a three hour walk for Chelsea, in the bright mid-day sun, with a cat and all of her purchased items from town (of which there were many because I purchased them thinking that I was getting a ride all the way to Pinto). Bummer.
Arrive in Gallo Pinto three hours later. Hot. Sweaty. And with very little ganas to do anything. Except go the to pulperia and treat myself to a cold drink. Because I don't have a refrigerator, cold beverages (water, juice, an occasional soda pop) are a rare commodity. But today I was ready to treat myself. Guess what- BOTH (I repeat both) of the pulperias in town were closed. That has never happened to me.
At that point in time (with thoughts of cleaning up (read: hand washing) seemingly endless cat diarrhea-ed items in my house, missing buses due to time changes in other countries, insanely heavy groceries, sunstroke, and an insatiable desire to break into the pulperia to steal a cold beverage) I looked to the heavens, took a deep breath and said "REALLY?!?"
Now this is by far not the most difficult day that I have had during my Peace Corps experience. But it was definitely a day where I felt that someone up there was looking down and giggling at the hoops I was jumping through.
Well I never got my cold drink. But I got home, sat in front of the fan for 20 minutes with my eyes closed (dreaming about air conditioning) and then I got my butt up and cleaned the house. Cause that's what you do- you may need a moment- but eventually, you just have to do, what needs to be done.
Cut to three hours later. I am quarantining Cricket in my empty room and cleaning up little piles of liquid yellow diarrhea all over my house and personal items.
Two days later. Cricket is still sick. Weak. Not eating, not drinking and will not shut up. My thoughts: I cannot lose another pet. This kitty cannot die on my watch.
Later that night - call a vet whose number I got from a friend. Its 10pm, which is an inappropriate time to call anyone who is not a close friend or family in Costa Rica. Biiftu (thank God for her support) helped me call the vet who said to give Cricket fluids and bring her into the vet the next day. After emptying a eye drop bottle and force feeding her some water we go to bed. I am worried sick.
Next day the alarm goes off at 5am so that we can walk to the bus stop. The night before I had prepared a bag with a layer of plastic bags, followed by newspapers, which I was intending on putting Cricket in, and then sneaking her on the bus.
*A short aside on why that is the stupidest plan ever: Do you know why I decided to name my kitten Cricket - because my kitten in broken and never (never never never) shuts up. She loves to meow, to cry, to sing, to talk - anything that is loud and demands attention. Now she is also a baby - so you have to forgive her for her annoyingness - but I bet you are starting to see the flaw in my bus plan.
So I look out the window as the alarm goes off and I think "Why is it light outside?" I am still pretty hazy in my midwakingness but I am present enough to know that the sun doesn't rise until 5:15am at the earliest. "Why is it light outside..." "FUCK!" (excuse my language, but that was the word that came out of my mouth as I realized that my American alarm is programed to adjust for daylight savings times). Which meant that as the alarm went off at 5am, it was really 6am in Costa Rica and the bus would leave in 15 minutes from the stop which is an hour walk away. So we set off on foot, not so happy, but walking nevertheless.
We struck a goldmine, with a ride to town from only 25 minutes outside of Gallo Pinto. When we got in the car (of a man whom I know through my work with the water committee) his eyes just about popped out of his head when after driving for 2 or 3 minutes Cricket lets out a characteristic "MEOOOW." Luckily we did not get kicked out, but I know that we would have been kicked off if we had been on the bus. (Especially since the bus driver changed a few weeks back and the new guy is not yet my friend).
After arriving in Guatuso, getting Cricket dewormed, and getting some anti-diarrhea meds, we needed to run our errands. Let me tell you that I got some strange looks in India, but never have I gotten so many strange looks as carrying around a bag that was mysteriously MEOOOWING. Places I took my cat: bread store, government office, post office, bank, craft store, and grocery store. In other more entertaining words: places that I took a meowing bag and got strange looks - everywhere.
The man who gave me a ride in the morning offered to take me back at 10am. GREAT. Stellar. Perfect. Except...little to my knowledge he was planning on finishing his (and subsequently my) journey three hours outside of Gallo Pinto. Which means a three hour walk for Chelsea, in the bright mid-day sun, with a cat and all of her purchased items from town (of which there were many because I purchased them thinking that I was getting a ride all the way to Pinto). Bummer.
Arrive in Gallo Pinto three hours later. Hot. Sweaty. And with very little ganas to do anything. Except go the to pulperia and treat myself to a cold drink. Because I don't have a refrigerator, cold beverages (water, juice, an occasional soda pop) are a rare commodity. But today I was ready to treat myself. Guess what- BOTH (I repeat both) of the pulperias in town were closed. That has never happened to me.
At that point in time (with thoughts of cleaning up (read: hand washing) seemingly endless cat diarrhea-ed items in my house, missing buses due to time changes in other countries, insanely heavy groceries, sunstroke, and an insatiable desire to break into the pulperia to steal a cold beverage) I looked to the heavens, took a deep breath and said "REALLY?!?"
Now this is by far not the most difficult day that I have had during my Peace Corps experience. But it was definitely a day where I felt that someone up there was looking down and giggling at the hoops I was jumping through.
Well I never got my cold drink. But I got home, sat in front of the fan for 20 minutes with my eyes closed (dreaming about air conditioning) and then I got my butt up and cleaned the house. Cause that's what you do- you may need a moment- but eventually, you just have to do, what needs to be done.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
And the critter adventure contines...
This is the second time I am typing this post. The first one got lost because of the internet connection. I guarantee the first one was better. Sorry bout that.
Termites have infested and begun eating my library. Yep. You read that right the first time. But if you want you can go back and read it again. Infested. Ate. Books. Its a bad situation, let me tell you.
First of all, termites ate my beautifully weathered and worn pages and transformed what could have been hours of pleasant pass times into poop. They dug and tunneled and ate through the entertaining text and left behind an enormous amount of feces. So not only did I have to clean up thousands of dead termite bodies (they became dead after I sprayed them with ant killer, then doused them in bleach, and the eviscerated then with cockroach killer) but I had to scrub that wood to remove the ungodly amount of excrement that they left behind. Thanks termites, you made me day.
What was the damage. Well three books are dead. A Thousand Splendid Suns (from the Peace Corps library), 501 Spanish Verbs (borrowed from Peace Corps language staff) and Trauma Stewardship (brought from home). And every time I itch now I think that termites are crawling on my skin. They aren't, but knowing that doesn't help.
What does one do with a thousand dead termites, an overwhelming amount of poo and a standing pool of mixed chemicals. Well after I finished my freak out disgusting gross yucky dance, I gathered up my gumption, marched my butt down to the pulpe, bought paper towels (because although I know that now I will have to burn more garbage, I just couldn't bring myself to clean the mess up with a rag, that I would then have to hand wash in the sink that I was my dishes in) and spent an hour scrubbing the wood walls, the wooden shelf and the floor to erase any trace of termite.
So what can you do about this? Well if you have any advice on getting rid of termites, feel free to send it my way. Also, if you have any ideas of where I can put my books, please let me know, because my house is wood, all the shelves are wood and apparently books are like termite bait (I think we can assume at this point that the house is termite infested). Finally if you have an extra atta girl sitting around the house, it would be appreciated.
And now here is photographic evidence. Enjoy.
PS. My bed is also made of wood, it is no infested currently, but still...
Termites have infested and begun eating my library. Yep. You read that right the first time. But if you want you can go back and read it again. Infested. Ate. Books. Its a bad situation, let me tell you.
First of all, termites ate my beautifully weathered and worn pages and transformed what could have been hours of pleasant pass times into poop. They dug and tunneled and ate through the entertaining text and left behind an enormous amount of feces. So not only did I have to clean up thousands of dead termite bodies (they became dead after I sprayed them with ant killer, then doused them in bleach, and the eviscerated then with cockroach killer) but I had to scrub that wood to remove the ungodly amount of excrement that they left behind. Thanks termites, you made me day.
What was the damage. Well three books are dead. A Thousand Splendid Suns (from the Peace Corps library), 501 Spanish Verbs (borrowed from Peace Corps language staff) and Trauma Stewardship (brought from home). And every time I itch now I think that termites are crawling on my skin. They aren't, but knowing that doesn't help.
What does one do with a thousand dead termites, an overwhelming amount of poo and a standing pool of mixed chemicals. Well after I finished my freak out disgusting gross yucky dance, I gathered up my gumption, marched my butt down to the pulpe, bought paper towels (because although I know that now I will have to burn more garbage, I just couldn't bring myself to clean the mess up with a rag, that I would then have to hand wash in the sink that I was my dishes in) and spent an hour scrubbing the wood walls, the wooden shelf and the floor to erase any trace of termite.So what can you do about this? Well if you have any advice on getting rid of termites, feel free to send it my way. Also, if you have any ideas of where I can put my books, please let me know, because my house is wood, all the shelves are wood and apparently books are like termite bait (I think we can assume at this point that the house is termite infested). Finally if you have an extra atta girl sitting around the house, it would be appreciated. And now here is photographic evidence. Enjoy.PS. My bed is also made of wood, it is no infested currently, but still...
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