Isle of Spice and My Identity Crisis

It has occurred to me that I haven't really talked at all about Grenada. Allow me to introduce you to Grenada, "The Isle of Spice." A small island in the Eastern Caribbean (Windward Islands)about spitting distance from Trinidad and Tobago and a stones throw from Venezuela. My first impression about Grenada was. . .damn, it's hot. It is consistently between 80 and 90 degrees and there are only two seasons. . .wet and dry, (or tourist/non-tourist season.) If you were here you would see by my rat's nest that I call hair, that it is quite humid as well. I have gotten used to the constant sweating and have actually acclamated for the most part, or at least I think I have until I realize some random day that I am dripping beads of sweat down every undiscovered nook and cranny on my body even though I am doing absolutely nothing. Ha! Such is the life. Grenada is about 23 miles long or something like that and about uh. . .14 miles wide? The population is just about 100,000 which makes me laugh when I think about the fact that my entire hometown of Marysville, Washington was probably bigger than that. The terrain reminds me of a huge pimple. Big and rough in the middle but smooth and flat on the outer banks. Actually, the roads are pretty hilly and even though the island is only 23 miles long it takes me an hour and twenty minutes to get from one end to the other by bus, or as they are often referred to, coffins on wheels. Beautiful lush greenery and white sand beaches are something I never get sick of seeing.

People say that Grenadians are known for their hospitality, which in some cases is very true and in others, it's not true at all. I live in a town called Sauteurs in the parish of St. Patrick's. It is located on the northern tip of Grenada and is the furthest away from the tourist belt and capital of St. George's. I am said to be "Behind God's back," which means I am a country bumpkin. Who would've thought? I live alone in a two bedroom house that has a veranda overlooking the ocean and Grenadine Islands. Not bad at all. The closer you get to St. George's the more white people you'll see due to the tourists and St. George's University which is a medical school attended by a large American population. As for me, however, being in the country has come with it's own challenges but I wouldn't want to be anywhere else on the island.

Since I have lived here, I have been lovingly given a new nickname which is "Chiney." There is a sizeable Chinese population here and Grenadians are obsessed with kung fu movies. If I had a nickel for every "Ching a Ling" comment I received, I would be rich enough to fly around the world on my private jet filled with Shemar Moore look alikes, drinking bottles of Cristal. It used to really offend me and get me down, but it doesn't too much anymore unless someone is saying it to be malicious, which is most often not the case. People really can't figure me out. So far I have been asked if I am Italian, Czechoslovakian, Mexican, and Venezuelan. I get called "white girl" just as often as I get called Chiney so I suppose that I'll just keep them guessing. I used to try and explain that I am Korean American, but I found it took too much damn time and it was impossible for me to do a Geography lesson every ten minutes. To many Grenadians, there's three races; white, black, and Chiney. Some other interesting facts. . .I am CIA. There was a police officer who was a friend of a guy I dated here and he would ask all these questions about me because he sincerely thought I was a CIA agent. Then, on some random evening in St. George's, I was out at a club with my friends and a different guy came up to me and started pointing at me yelling, "CIA! CIA!" What gave it away? In any case, it's entertaining.

The one thing I do miss about Seattle is being surrounded by my female friends. It has taken me a long time to make the few female Grenadian friends that I have, but thank God even for those few. Although it has taken some time, I love Grenada. It has truly become my home away from home and the people I have met thus far have been amazing additions to the story of my life.

I'm So Paid. . .

I have been in Grenada since August of 2007 and it is now May of 2009. How the time flies! For the duration of my time here, I have worked at three different places, one place that I love, one place that I like, and one place that I really can't stand. I guess you could say that I have a little of everything. When I first received my community partner assignments I was thrilled, but confused as to what the hell I was supposed to do. To be quite honest, I didn't feel that my Sociology degree had really prepared me to do anything astounding and, truth be told, most of the work I've done here has been made up along the way. Peace Corps has been on the job training in every sense of the word. You need a teacher? Great. . .let me go online and figure out what curriculum I'll be needing. You need a social worker? Hmm. . .I guess I could give that a shot! You need a counselor? Well okay. . .I guess I'm a pretty good listener! Of course I am exaggerating a tad, but it is a bit like this from time to time which has forced me to become a jack of all trades.

One of the places I work is called NCH. It's a social work agency that is responsible for foster placements, parenting programs, and other matters related to children's welfare. When I initially began working here I was really excited since my specific assignment was to work with the youth group. Most of the youths are from Saueturs or the surrounding areas and they range in age from 13-20. Like most volunteers, I went in with all of these great ideas and I soon found that many of my efforts and ideas would all be in vain. There isn't funding to do anything, fundraisers are difficult because the kids aren't committed, and so on and so forth. My co-worker Mrs. Francis is great and she is really the one who holds the youth group together. While the kids are in school it is hard to plan anything, but we do try to have meetings at least twice a month. Yes. . .twice a month. Now you see my dilemma? What am I supposed to do with a youth group that is never around? I go into the office once or twice a week out of obligation and I use that time to work on other things or brush up on my Minesweeper skills on my laptop. The one useful thing I have learned here is how to write a grant proposal. Considering I did it without anyone's help, I would have to say that it was a very valuable and time consuming experience that I hope to never have to do again.

Aside from NCH, there are two other places that I work at throughout the week. The Grenada National Organization of Women is one of the most progressive NGO's on the island, thanks in large part to it's very driven and inspiring President, Elain Henry-McQueen. With this group I have been fortunate to gain many new skills and specialized training in areas related to gender based violence, sexual harassment, HIV/AIDS, etc. The women who I work alongside are incredible, strong, determined women and I am so thankful to play a small role in what is such a large movement for women's rights.

In July of 2008, I volunteered to be a camp counselor at a five day camp organized by a fellow PCV, benefitting the youths who reside at the Father Mallaghan's Home for Boys. The home is a church run facility where boys are placed when they have been removed from their family home because of abuse or neglect. Most of these boys have lived between various institutions and shelters for years and years and they have seen and experienced things that no child should. Over the course of the camp I became very attached to the boys and decided to begin volunteering there on a weekly basis. It has easily become my favorite place to work and it is the one place where I feel my passion for what I do has really come alive. It has been a tough and emotional roller coaster but the boys at this institution are amazing, vibrant, often troublemaking, but nonetheless delightful. The boys range in age from 8 to 18 years old and, until recently, I had been concentrating on remedial education and some life skills development. At present, however, my friend Annie Clift, (who also volunteers at the home with me,) and I are looking to build an entirely new home on some land that the church owns. We believe that we have located funding sources and now it is a matter of getting the okay from the necessary people. Aside from this, we have also been faced with some internal issues concerning the staff, the church, and the Child Welfare Authority. To make a long story short, there are a lot of things going on that shouldn't be and we are on the war path to make things right and hold people accountable. Enough said.

Finally, in December I was flown to St. Lucia by Peace Corps to attend a three day HIV/AIDS workshop facilitated by the ASHE Performance Group based out of Jamaica. It was the most entertaining and lively workshop I have ever been to and I was sad to have it end. Peace Corps has begun an initiative called "Men as Partners" and the goals is to prevent the spread of, and sensitize people about, HIV/AIDS by involving more men in the education and information sharing process. Throughout the Eastern Caribbean "teams" have been created consisting of PCV's and island nation counterparts. Each island is to take the training they received and create a plan that speaks to the goal of the Men as Partners initiative. In Grenada we are applying for grant funding in order to begin a series of train-the-trainers workshops with the obvious target being males. It has been a slow start thus far, but hopefully things will pick up once the grant is approved.

So yes. . .I do actually work. It's not all just about being a "beach corps" volunteer. Even though nothing I'm doing is necessarily monumental or even tangible yet, I know that I am doing my part to "plant shade trees that I will never sit under."

Party Time. . .Excellent

When I was accepted into the Peace Corps I thought, "That's it! My partying days are over. . .for now." I was sure that my new status as a representative for the United States of America would require that I be a mature, responsible, no flip-cup playing, no beer-bonging, no toga wearing individual. In order to compensate for all the non-drinking I would be doing during my two years as a volunteer I made sure to tie one on in the nights leading up to my departure from Seattle. It never occurred to me that people in the Caribbean, men especially, have no qualms about drinking rum at 8:00 in the morning. It never occurred to me that no matter where you are in the world, or what it is that you're doing, when you have a group of 20-somethings who are fresh out of college, it is inevitable that a rousing game of flip cup or kings will be played at some point in an effort to get completely and totally blitzed. Now, please don't misunderstand. . .most of us work very hard at the jobs that we do and we don't act like a bunch of college students on Greek row all the time, but like anybody else, we need fun too.

The first party we had was at my house for Halloween 2007. Fellow PCV and friend Lauren and myself planned this party for weeks in advance from decorations to costumes. It was especially important that this particular party be amazing since we were all feeling a bit nostalgic and sad about being in a country that doesn't celebrate this "holiday." Long story short, the party was amazing and a I do believe that some memorable moments were made during a game of farkle. Paul ate a grasshopper, Alex splashed her face with toilet water, and there were other things that would make a linebacker blush but I won't mention them here.

Since that Halloween party, we have had others such as the white t-shirt/graffiti/moustache/my 25th birthday party, a toga party, a Mexican theme party with the new E.C.79 volunteers, the Halloween 2008 party, and finally St. Patty's Day, Christmas, and Thanksgiving Day parties. All fanstastically great times with good food and good friends.

MoPo

For the first three weeks of my Peace Corps career, I lived in a village called Mon Repos (MoPo) in the beautiful island of St. Lucia. This was my first time in the Caribbean and when my feet hit the white sand for the first time I had one of those awe inspiring moments where, for a moment, you just want to run around laughing hysterically while leaping in the air out of pure joy. I imagined myself to be like Leonardo Dicaprio's character in the movie "The Beach" when he first found paradise. I was soon snapped back into reality, however, when I met my host mom Prisca. I was to spend three weeks under her roof and I was petrified.

The first time I saw Prisca I was surprised by how young she was. As it turns out she was in her early 30's and living in a home by herself, which I figured would either make it an ideal host family situation or it would be an awkward three weeks spent staring at each other should things not go well. Her home was small with barely enough room for the two of us and I got used to cold showers pretty quickly. Other things I got used to; cheese and carrot sandwiches, insects, spending countless hours sitting on the porch doing absolutely nothing. I was in training everyday so the only free time I really had was in the evenings and during the weekends. I met the rest of her family as well and every time I went to her mother's home, she tried to feed me. This is where I was introduced to the cup of sugar that locals sometimes refer to as juice. I remember tasting this "juice" impersonator and it became glaringly clear to me why type 2 diabetes is such a problem in the Eastern Caribbean.

All in all, the homestay experience was fantastic. Prisca and I didn't always see eye to eye. . .actually, we never saw eye to eye, but in comparison to the home stay relationship I have with my host mother in Grenada, Prisca is a saint. The most difficult thing was feeling as if I were a kid again living under my parents roof. I had to ask permission to do everything, but this was no fault of Prisca's. Peace Corps should really just implant tracking devices on us. . .it would be much more efficient.

MoPo will always hold very special memories for me, especially the karaoke nights at Rosemadin's BBQ/rum bar which was our Friday night hang out spot. Many talented Peace Corps trainees were discovered at this establishment and it is where we all hung out and played dominoes before being on lockdown in preparation for hurricane Dean. Yes. .. I experienced my first hurricane, but it wasn't all that exciting. Okay, it was kind of cool to hear the howling wind and pelting rain, but had I been allowed outside I would have tied myself to a tree and that would've made for a more interesting experience. But, I did read an entire book during the course of the storm and I took my first bucket bath so it wasn't a complete loss.

Onwards to Grenada!!

I'm Back. . .

I have neglected my blogging duties. . .I apologize profusely to my thousands of followers who religiously read my blog entries. Haha. Well, to be honest, when I first thought about blogging it seemed like a great way to keep track of my experiences in the Peace Corps but it soon became a daunting task instead. Here I am, about four months away from what should be my close of service date and I haven't written hardly anything about my time here. I am a later bloomer and I'll be damned if I'm going to try and catch up on every detail of the last two years. . .not that I don't probably have the time to do it. In any case, I am going to back track a bit and pick out the memorable pieces of the last two years and attempt to piece them together humpty-dumpty style.

Bienvenido a Miami!

At the end of July 2007, I was on the plane to Miami for a three day, two night staging event for the new Peace Corps trainees assigned to the Eastern Caribbean. The good-byes were not nearly as hard as I thought they'd be and I didn't have as many panic attacks as I thought I would have so I was off to a good start! Upon arriving in Miami, I was absolutely starving, but if you've ever been to Miami International Airport, it is truly the toe jam of airports. Nothing to eat, nowhere to shop, and on top of this my luggage was lost. Great. It's late in the evening, I'd been flying all day and now I had to wait in this line with the million other people who hadn't received their luggage. Did I forget to mention that I had packed my entire life into these two suitcases that the airport couldn't find? I stood in the lost luggage line for at least two hours trying to suppress the urge to chloroform the person in front of me just so I could move up the line a little faster. Finally after making it through the line I hailed a taxi, had him take me to the nearest fast food restaurant, and finally checked into my hotel.

The hotel was swankier than any place I'd ever stayed before and it sure beats the Travelodge. Of course, it was mostly amazing because I wasn't paying the $500 a night rate. I knew that we would be assigned a roommate and I was anxious to see who my first Peace Corps co-volunteer would be. Let me just start off by saying that I was very very concerned that all the people I'd meet in the Peace Corps would be hippie types who I'd have nothing in common with. This, I realize now, is a complete stereotype. We do have the occasional tree huggers but for the most part, there is a very diverse mix of personalities. Anyway, back to the roommate. I opened the door and there sat Amy on the bed and next to her on the nightstand. . .a rum and coke. Yes!! I loved her already. After telling her my whole lost luggage fiasco, we got to talking about her boyfriend that she'd left back in the states and all the usual get to know you banter. The night was late already so we eventually called it a night.

Day one of staging had arrived and still. . .no luggage. No clothes, no clean underwear, nothing except for some toiletries I'd brought in my carry on. Peace Corps is all about dressing "business casual" so wearing the dirty outfit I'd worn to fly in the previous day was a no no. I knew that they would understand the circumstances, but still it wasn't the first impression I wanted to make. Bless her heart, Amy offered to let me borrow some clothes which I did. Since I didn't have clean underwear I was able to get a head start on the hand washing. Have you ever tried to hand wash a thong? Well, it's hard to do because there's not much material to work with. On the bright side though, it only took a few minutes to dry with the hotel blow dryer! Yes. . .this was the rugged Peace Corps life I was waiting for.

Staging is basically Peace Corps' way of giving you a last chance to bail out before dropping you in your region of assignment and some people took the opportunity to change their mind. Meeting the other volunteers was exciting but really nerve wracking. There were some people who I met and I didn't understand how Peace Corps would have accepted them. I wondered if maybe they were lost and wandered into the staging event by accident. It sounds judgemental I know, but I figured that social skills were kind of an essential trait for a volunteer to have and some people just didn't fit the bill at first. "Oh he/she will never make it," crossed my mind a couple times. Knowing these people a little better a year and half later, I am glad to say that I was wrong about them. One can't help but judge and if you say you don't judge people, you're lying. For the most part, however, I was really pleased with the group of people I met. The nice thing was that there was an immediate sense of commonality amongst the trainees even though the personality types were so different. We were all going on this adventure together and we all came into this needing to make new friends. Also, you realize that it is a certain type of person who will go on an endeavor such as Peace Corps, and in that there is an automatic amount of respect that is given and received.

One of my best friends, Colleen, whom I used to bartend with in Seattle had moved to Miami a few months prior to my arrival and I had arranged to meet up with her on my last night. The two of us, along with a group of other volunteers hopped on the bus and went to a shopping mall in South Beach. I had heard from Colleen that the people in Miami were beautiful but I had no idea. I got to South Beach and felt like the ugly kid at the school who no one wants to play with. The men were way too metrosexual for my taste, but nonetheless, so pretty! The women tan, tall, skinny supermodels. . .God bless plastic surgeons. There was much eye candy to be had and it was then and there that I decided that I would never move to Miami. After ordering far too much pizza and drinking some well deserved beers, we all went back to the hotel and I said good bye to Colleen.

The next morning I was on a plane to St. Lucia to begin phase one of my training. . .

The Isle of Spice and Knockin Boots

When I joined the Peace Corps I had to have a consultation with the PCMO (Peace Corps Medical Officer,) and without skipping a beat she asked me what I planned to use for contraceptive. "Abstinence," I said. HA! In retrospect I'm thinking that perhaps I should have been insulted by the fact that the PCMO didn't seem to believe me. Without judgement, but with a look on her face that said, "Yah f*ckin right," she said, "Well, just in case. . ." and sent me on my way with a new supply of birth control.

I don't know why, but I really did think I could go 27 months without sex. Granted, not without much frustration and several batteries. For some reason I had this idea in my head that the men here wouldn't interest me or that being in volunteer mode would leave no room for hanky panky. Now, don't get the idea that I'm whoring around down here because I would have to say that quite the opposite is true. Most of the men here have girlfriends, a wife, and/or children. If they tell you they don't have anyone, they're lying. Now, I know this may just sound like a typical girl thing to say, "I hate men, they're all lying dogs." But, truly. . .they ALL have girlfriends. It is as though being single in the Caribbean is a contagious disease that no one wants to catch and for which there is no cure other than to snatch up the first man that tries to mark his territory on you. I figured this out the first few times I was hit on in Grenada, in which I would reply, "No, I don't have a boyfriend and no thanks, I don't want one." Men would sit there puzzled trying to dig into my psyche and figure out what was wrong with me, I mean. . .who takes care of me? And most importantly. . .who do I have sex with? Men would offer to be my boyfriend as though they were offering a free sample of hot pockets at the local Costco. No thanks, I'm full.

Now, with all of this being said I know that there are people in Grenada who have monogamous relationships but no one under the age of 40. I am usually not one to generalize, but men in the Caribbean are not known for their monogamous ways. Don't try to disuade me because it will be a futile effort. I have found this out the hard way a couple of times as I have been "the other woman" on more than one occasion, (unbeknownst to me at the time.) It is also usually the case that just when you may have thought you found one of the only decent, faithful, good men in Grenada; you find out about his girlfriend. I used to think that it was only a matter of time before one of these drunk make out sessions turned into an angry girlfriend coming to deliver a personal "welcome to Grenada" with a swift punch to the face. Yes, an ass whoopin was surely on the way. The more and more time I spend here though, it seems to me that a lot of the women know their men are cheating but as long as they are the girlfriend, they turn the other cheek. Hmm. . .interesting. Who am I to judge? Maybe it works for them? Really it's only a hop, skip, and a jump away from partner swapping, right? And I know that swinging has worked well for many couples. I just hope that while their men are out sowing their wild oats, that the women are doing the same, mind you with protection and discretion.

It is not as though I am blind to the fact that cheating happens everywhere and American society is certainly not the poster child for monogamy, this I know. I suppose the difference here is that people seem to have no shame about it. It is just what the men are expected to do and that is what bothers me. You should at least show you care about the other person's feelings by having the courtesy to lie and hide your affair. Haha. Okay, that was a joke, but really. . .