OK. I somehow lost all my old journal entries that I was going to post...so here is a quick re-cap.

- Moved to my new site to the mountainous region of Manchester. I'm in Christiana working for a farming co-op who are trying to implement the use of greenhouses and protected agriculture throughout Jamaica.

- it's freaking freezing up here...seriously it gets cold.
-I've moved up in my social status....from whitie to brownie...it's a nice compliment.
- Oh I went through Hurricane Dean sealed off in the bomb proof/sound proof US Embassy. It was really uneventful.
- I was sworn in as a volunteer in the embassy....some people wore pjs, some dresses. I opted for jeans and high-heels. had to fulfill my image of a girly girl, right?
- Then we got put up in a "posh" hotel.....that subsequently caught on fire. Did I mention our hotel caught on fire? Yeah.
- Then I got a tease of being able to stay at the Hilton, eating lobster and sushi....didn't last. I went to the Nuttsford and had intermittent power.
-Since then it's been the day to day lessons of living in Jamaica.

the rest of this soon come.....

I know it has been a while since I’ve written because I’ve been having some site issues that must be addressed by the Peace Corps. The first is my housing situation. Due to the rush to find housing and lack of housing in Revival, they have placed me with two men in their 40s and their “comatose” mother who is in her last stage of Alzheimer’s. Momma is not coherent at all. She does not open her eyes or move her body parts and she can’t sit up on her own. Every day around 10 am they take her out of her bed and bathe her then place her on the couch in her night gown and diapers. They prop the poor woman up with pillows as if this was a scene from Weekend at Bernie’s. I try to find humor in the situation, because there is plenty available but when it comes to writing about it, I realize how disturbing the reality is and give up on humor and rely on the cold hard facts; this just isn’t working out for me.
Problem number 2. I can’t get out of here! I live on top of a really big hill and to go shopping or just get out of revival takes a long 45 minute hike up the hill. Well how do the locals get up, you ask? Motorcycle taxi. Riding one of these death machines is simply prohibited according to Peace Corps. And I can see why! Since I’ve been here I’ve seen the results of three motorcycle accidents, one of which happened in my yard causing a guy to be put in a neck brace. The other two I did not see, but certainly heard about. In fact there was a fund raising party held to help raise money for a victim’s hospital bills.
And lastly, my final bone of contention. My counterpart is leaving. She’s moving back to Canada. Leaving me alone in a community center that hasn’t any funding, no pens or paper, no source of income, and no community participation. I don’t understand if this project was her baby why she would leave it. She says it is because she is out of money, but for crying out loud if you care so much about something and your hometown; get a job here, in Jamaica, where they can use some one with an education. It is just very disappointing. You can’t just leave a Peace Corps volunteer who is not even out of training to take over your dream. Crazy.

Life in Jamaica isn’t as peachy as one would expect; at least not for this Peace Corps Volunteer. Although I’ve finally started to settle in and find my place, the beginning was less than to be desired. With my group, group 78, Peace Corps has implemented a few new policies. We went through what is called Site Based Training (SBT) instead of the traditional Community Based Training (CBT). In SBT we find out our sites two weeks in! Great! Less Suspense! Well, we also go to our sites two weeks in. Not so great. We are thrown into the deep end without knowing how to swim. This is not to scare you now, because I am fine, we are all fine, those of us who stayed. I was just in a state of shock whenever I got to my site. We were left with no support system. No other volunteers around, no Peace Corps staff, some of us with crazy host family situations, some of us without a clear sense of our jobs, and some of us who’s job sites thought that we were already trained and rearing to go. This just wasn’t so. Almost none of us were prepared for the real Jamaica- the poverty around us, the severe lack of time management, the interesting food (including the constant consumption of bones and spare animal parts), the cold showers and bucket baths, the massive amounts of ants; at any given moment you would look and see what you thought to be a large crack in the wall running from the ceiling to the counter and then in a gasp of shock, you notice that’s not a crack at all but several hundred ants marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah. If the ants aren’t enough to test your patients the mosquitoes and grass lice must be. During my first month of service, I thought that I would need to be committed from the constant itching, pussing and bleeding that comes with 67 bites on one leg. But it is at this time you realize that you are serving in a third world country. This is why you joined the Peace Corps. This is your motivation.

Hunting

Every evening I go hunting. It’s really not an option; it’s a necessary tool for survival in the bush of Jamaica. I couldn’t believe how quickly I became a skilled marksman. But here, the saying rings true, either hunt or be hunted. For the first three weeks here, I was the hunted. Every morning I would awake with dozen of bites all over my body. In Kingston, it was ants but here in Revival it’s mosquitoes. The Jamaican mosquito army is the best I’ve ever seen. These little suckers create a whole new meaning to blood suckers. The venom they inject leaves quarter size puffs of itch on my still lily white skin. Marks that are impossible to hide, marks that simultaneously draw sympathy, laughter, and a wide variety of home remedies from the local towns people. My legs seem to be the starting point of conversation upon meeting a new person.
“Hi, I’m Carla, I’ll be working at the community center here in Revival.”
“Ya know what you kyan do? Put some alcohol on da leg afta da bite.”
“oh okay thanks, I’ll try that. Now will you be using the community center? I’ll be teaching adult literacy and computer skills.”
“But ya know, you should really take vitamin B. Yu’v got da fresh blood.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s sweet.”
“Do you use Off?
“Yeah, three or four times a day.”
“Aigh’t use da alcohol. Makes dem pain go-way quick.”
“well, you’ll get used to it. Lieta!”
“Later.”
And I have tried vitamin B complex, rubbing alcohol, vinegar, and rum (thinking I miss- heard. Don’t try rum), “Off Deep Wood,” the Peace Corps variety of bug repellant, I’ve lit Citronella, I light highly toxic mosquito coils daily. So what I’m left with is hunting. It’s becoming a sadistic sport though. I leave my dead targets mounted (splatted with my fresh red blood) on the wall out of pure satisfaction that it’s dead. I’ve mastered the mosquito clap, it must be flat palmed. Any cupping at all allows for the highly skilled Jamaican mosquito an escape route.

Hunting

Every evening I go hunting. It’s really not an option; it’s a necessary tool for survival in the bush of Jamaica. I couldn’t believe how quickly I became a skilled marksman. But here, the saying rings true, either hunt or be hunted. For the first three weeks here, I was the hunted. Every morning I would awake with dozen of bites all over my body. In Kingston, it was ants but here in Revival it’s mosquitoes. The Jamaican mosquito army is the best I’ve ever seen. These little suckers create a whole new meaning to blood suckers. The venom they inject leaves quarter size puffs of itch on my still lily white skin. Marks that are impossible to hide, marks that simultaneously draw sympathy, laughter, and a wide variety of home remedies from the local towns people. My legs seem to be the starting point of conversation upon meeting a new person.
“Hi, I’m Carla, I’ll be working at the community center here in Revival.”
“Ya know what you kyan do? Put some alcohol on da leg afta da bite.”
“oh okay thanks, I’ll try that. Now will you be using the community center? I’ll be teaching adult literacy and computer skills.”
“But ya know, you should really take vitamin B. Yu’v got da fresh blood.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s sweet.”
“Do you use Off?
“Yeah, three or four times a day.”
“Aigh’t use da alcohol. Makes dem pain go-way quick.”
“well, you’ll get used to it. Lieta!”
“Later.”
And I have tried vitamin B complex, rubbing alcohol, vinegar, and rum (thinking I miss- heard. Don’t try rum), “Off Deep Wood,” the Peace Corps variety of bug repellant, I’ve lit Citronella, I light highly toxic mosquito coils daily. So what I’m left with is hunting. It’s becoming a sadistic sport though. I leave my dead targets mounted (splatted with my fresh red blood) on the wall out of pure satisfaction that it’s dead. I’ve mastered the mosquito clap, it must be flat palmed. Any cupping at all allows for the highly skilled Jamaican mosquito an escape route.

So here I am in my new home….at first it was so exciting because it’s not a shack, you can see the stars, and the family seems sweet….but I guess the nervousness and homesickness is kicking in, I guess it’s the shock that’s settling in and I’m kind of scared. I know it’s normal but I’m a little overwhelmed. It’s very rural here, like one street that is dotted with homes, very small modest homes on a rough windy road that reminds me of very rural Washington pa. Scary. I’m also slightly nervous because they expect so much from me at this community center, like to be the saving grace and teach kids how to read and write and play sports, get in shape, take entrance vocational exams, computers (with one computer btw) so I don’t want to let anyone down. It seems like, from first impression, that the boys here are having a very difficult time getting jobs and such because they’re so behind in their education. I don’t know if I can be a teacher though….yikes! I thought I was coming down for environmental work this is not even close. …not even close, this community can barely get by, let alone care about recycling and bio fuel. Erg. Also it seems that I am supposed to create the community center. I thought that it was created. But I guess not. It’s going to be tough.