On The Final Month

I’ve left you out to dry for some time and perhaps have not been the greatest at blogging. So I apologize.

A week ago, Arthur celebrated two years in Peace Corps – and nearly two months ago, we celebrated his approval for an early, 30-day COS. Arthur will be home in only 32 days.

These final days of his service have been incredibly busy for the both of us and leave us exhausted come night fall. Arthur’s latrine project took off and slowed down and is now finally bursting once again to race to the finish and my professional career exploded immediately once I arrived back in the States. Needless to say, we are very happy to know we have only a few more weeks to trudge through without each other, side-by-side.

Our time together in the Dominican solidified our relationship and renewed our lust for travel, life, and exploring and growing in love and knowledge with each other. Spending the final four months of his service apart has been difficult. We were use to a rhythm beside one another and finding the rhythm of how to exist without being together was no easy feat.

Originally, I had intended to return for a two week trip for Carnaval in La Vega. Before heading back to the States together for Arthur’s job interviews in January, we took a two day trip to the beach. Nearly 12 hours before boarding the plane to arrive home, I received an e-mail with a full-time job opportunity at the school I had interned at for graduate school. While our two week vacation plans fell through, I was able to make a five day trip to collect the final pieces of my two year experience in the Dominican, say a tear-filled goodbye to friends whom became my family, and wave goodbye to the beautiful island that is the Dominican Republic. Perhaps more on this another time …

Over the past two years, our relationship has learned how to grow and expand in ways that we never knew. We learned how to love fully, but also be ready for constant shifts and change. Plans have a terrible way of falling apart just when you believe you’ve fully put them together. And just when you believe all hope is lost, something happens to make your heart full again.

As we venture into the final 32 days of this long-distance relationship, I would just like to thank you all for your love, support, questions, and stories. Your courage to keep on keepin’ on made me feel more empowered and less insane – I am forever grateful for this time of my life. And yet an incredibly excited for the next part of our life to begin – the one where we are together again.

On Learning, Three Months In

I’ve done my best to keep my personal blogging out of this blog – mostly because my experiences here are not related to be in a long distance relationship. After all, we are together for the time being. But I feel it important to write about this; I know it will change the way our relationship will work in the final months of Arthur’s service.

Now – my life here … Obstacles are mountains but happy moments continue to pour into the week. Bad news never comes alone but excitement sometimes electrocutes. Life here rarely has a middle ground, a point in which I feel steady on my feet and prepared for the course of the day.

I remember a point in Arthur’s service where days, sometimes weeks, would never go as planned. In the morning, he would be prepared to accomplish his work. In the afternoon, most of the work had been postponed. By nightfall, nearly half if not less of the ideal work goal was successful. Now, of course, this was not every day. But on these days, he would struggle on the phone with me to find the words that would capture how he felt.

Now I can understand those feelings in a way that can sometimes be so debilitating to my spirit. Other times, it can be a reprieve when a heat headache knocks me on my ass. The past few months have taught me quite a bit about education, myself, my relationship with Arthur, and the unfortunate pain dengue can bring about. While I will refrain from commenting on the state of education here, I will say I have learned so much more than I anticipated. One of the greatest difficulties of teaching I have faced in this country is the incredible, impossible achievement gap in my students.  Teaching here is a daily lesson, frustration, heartache, and accomplishment. My role as an educator here has made me appreciate the education my parents pushed me to pursue. Even when education was the least important part of my life as an angry and frustrated teenager, they continued to encourage and inspire me to love being an educated woman in society. Every morning I am thankful for that. I look forward to standing in front of my students in January and trying to instill that same gratefulness towards education. Though I know it may be years before any of my students see, or willingly admit, the changes their education has brought them, I hope they have a chance in their life to reflect and see what a difference education has made in their life.

A few weeks ago, I was bit by a dengue-infected mosquito, leaving me virtually writing the month of October off. The slow, creeping pain lingered through the weeks, leaving me out of my classes and stuck inside of my house. Dengue seems to choose which victims will suffer the least, and which will suffer the most. It is different for everyone. For myself, dengue robbed me of my desire to eat, drink, move, get dressed, and teach. For weeks, I struggled with mild depression and serious thoughts of education not being for me. I felt as though I had let down a great number of people. I thought of my students in the states regularly, fearing they would see me as a different person, less accessible to them upon my return. On my last days, my students went so far as to say I was abandoning them. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking that I had done just that. Over the past three months, I have grown incredibly close to some of the youth in this community, especially my one-on-one student, Rismery, and my six-year-old next door neighbor, Oliver. I struggled with what would happen to them when I was no longer a part of this community. The thoughts kept coming. What if teaching was not for me? What if I shouldn’t have left the States? What if six months here weren’t enough?

I spent most of my afternoons alone in the hammock during the second week of dengue. Here, I began to struggle with missing my family and friends. One morning, I received word from home that my childhood dog, Brooklyn, was not doing well and soon, the word came through he would be put down. My throat closed up and my heart broke. It was perhaps the straw that broke the camels back. I can remember now spending most of the rest of the week staring at the many trees surrounding me in my hammock and thinking about how delicate life can be. Losing my dog ripped the small whole in my heart into an even greater, more painful one. Thank goodness for technology. I had the chance to Skype for a couple of hours with Brooklyn – watched those huge eyes of love and understanding look back into the computer screen. Those final moments with him gave me some peace that I may never have had otherwise.

The days went slowly and my mind kept reeling. I could stare at the trees for hours on end, searching for birds and lizards to try and keep the thoughts from completely taking over. I had never before felt as though I were failing as an educator. Every morning and afternoon, Oliver would come over to ask if I were alive. Every day it got a little more important he spend time with me. He kept me from falling into the back of my mind, the place where I felt eating me away.  The dengue kept me from teaching for three weeks. It kept me from Rismery, my students at the school, and any other obligations I had. His presence next to me kept me connected to the outside world.

Arthur, through this whole situation, remained positive, insanely patient, and above all, loving and sincere. While his work kept him from staying at the house all day, he did as much as he could. There are times where the people who we love most in our lives remind us why we love them so much. Arthur, nearly hourly, pulled me from that space in my mind begging for me to give in and go home; give up on this idea of education here. Amongst all the wonderful things he did to keep me happy and healthy, he reminded me of the growing collection of art supplies here in the house. Suddenly, my every once in a blue moon class became the medicine to my heart and mind. The way the sea and salt air has always healed my aching heart, art class in my backyard redeemed me from the dengue hell. While Arthur may regret his suggestion as we have now run out of wall space in the kitchen, I know he appreciates having me back. And I must agree, it is nice to be back.

I have memorized the view of the sky from the space outside of my enramada, the covered back patio of Dominican houses. Spending two weeks on your back in a hammock can do that for you. I read books from cover to cover. I watched mango leaves fall from the sky and mango flowers bloom in the morning sunlight. I laughed every time a muchacho fell off his bike and cheered every time he rode it on one wheel. I have learned where the sun will hit the hammock at any given time of day. I know what it feels like to have feet in so much pain that even the thought of shoes makes me cry. I know what it feels like to lose faith in myself. I know what it feels like to have to gain the same faith back.

Once I felt better, Arthur and I took a trip away for a few days to visit a few of his friends. I drank beer, ate well, and soaked up the opportunity to spend a few nights with some incredible people. But most of all, I allowed myself to heal. Laying on my back in the ocean, I came to terms with my work here. While it has been nothing I anticipated, it has changed everything about how I see myself as an educator. And that itself is worth its weight in gold.

Upon our return home, I was greeted by my best friend in the campo. His six-year-old eyes lit up, and his older brother running close behind him. Perhaps they both are the closest thing I will have to a solid companion here. The first few hours here reminded me of why this place always felt like home. Those sad desires of wanting to run away and go back to the States seemed so distant from me. And then the rumors began to knock on our door.

Over the weekend, my English student ran away from home and got (campo) married to a boy she had only known for a few days. Her family cannot communicate with her. The police have tried to bring her home and she refuses. She is not going to school and has completely locked herself away in his home. If the chisme (gossip) holds true, she is drinking and possibly engaging in drug use.  Her mother has run off and her siblings are abandoned. Word got back to her father in the States who had promised to bring her there for a better life. He demanded the police and lawyers to find her and bring her home. He is coming here next month to bring her back with him. The family is destroyed. And if this beautiful, intelligent, and promising girl does not make the right decision, her life will be forever changed. And I suddenly feel myself back at square one. Laying in the hammock, writing this, I look up at the palm tree, the mango tree, the lime tree, and the breadfruit tree. I ask myself like I did walking away from my students in the States, did I abandon her? Could this have been avoided? I feel responsible. No one understands what happened.

Life here tends to be full of ups and downs, this I was ready for. But when did it all have to be so damn hard? I suppose I will resort to the comforts of my childhood and just keep coloring with the muchachos in my art class. Just as I was preparing to post, one of my students from the States sent me an e-mail. She wrote, “Things here are just not the same without you. I miss you and am counting the days until you’re back here with us!”

I suppose it will always be hard to feel as though it is all okay.

On New Directions

Over the past year and some change I have been blogging on this site, I have attracted readers from innumerable backgrounds. Some make it here through random searches. Others are looking for answers on how to convince their future Peace Corps significant other that a long distance relationship will work. Sometimes, successful partners in this crazy test of patience and love will swing through to share with me their stories. And every once in awhile, people who have zero connection to Peace Corps but wish to carry out a long distance relationship will find their way here. All of them searching for a story and a glimmering piece of hope that everything will work out.

John Lennon once sang, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”

Before you get too ahead of yourself, let me say that Arthur and I are doing swimmingly. He is projected to come home in May – and we have plans. Many of them. Just as we did two years ago. But life happens when you’re making plans.

I’m writing this blog today sitting next to the man of my dreams. Over a month ago, I packed up a few bags and relocated to the small concrete house to stay with Arthur. It was a bold move. I was offered a job through the school I did my M.Ed internship with. Turning down that job was not only hard, but it broke my heart. If a person could ever have a dream job, I had somehow miraculously been given two. And I chose the less traveled. At first, I wasn’t sure how my family and friends would perceive my decision to move here in the Dominican. But quickly it dawned on me that my happiness was not with their approval – something I suppose I should have assumed. 

Here, I am teaching English in a variety of ways to a variety of students with a variety of needs to know the language. I am happy. I am seeing the work I did in my middle school suddenly come full circle. There, many of my students were immigrants from other countries. Their new life in the United States was hard and continues to be a difficult journey for them. Regularly my students would escape the loud cafeteria and share lunch with me. We would talk about culture, music, religions, hopes and dreams, shattered dreams, and sometimes discuss why a white person like me would ever want to go back to the places my students and their families narrowly escaped. “Don’t you know you can’t save us all?” they would say.

 And now here I sit on the other side, working with a young girl moving to the United States, facing all the trials and tribulations my students talked about. Preparing to work with an entire family also preparing for the future travel and facing the ridicule and difficulties immigrant families must endure when relocating to any place new.

I see my work come full circle. Yet this time, I am seated beside my beau. “Left stateside” is no longer – for she has in fact left stateside. (English, you’re so tricky.)

As for my readers, the ones whom pop in every once in a long while to see how things are … here is the single greatest piece of advice I can share with you. Continue to make plans to see your love again soon and always know when that next time will be. But do not be alarmed when that next time suddenly becomes an extended visit. Life happens when you’re busy planning for it. So let it.

On Reaching Out

Feeling charitable? Arthur has a new project up for dry composting latrines. Your donation, even at a single dollar, can help make the difference in the life of Dominican and Haitian families. Click here to learn more about the project and how you can help out Arthur’s community!

On New Adventures

This time last year, Arthur and I were starting to talk some pretty big ideas and plans. He had just sworn in as a Peace Corps volunteer and I was full of so many different types of emotions. I was proud. Incredibly proud. How could the man I had waited for to waltz into my life be such a selfless man in addition to filling all the requirements on my “future partner” resumé. Only kidding, sort of.

I was also incredibly lonely during that month. Perhaps not quite as lonely as Arthur – during the month of May, he was getting to know his community. Some days he was very active in his diagnostic, while other days he preferred to not stray too far from his Doña. I felt loneliness in a way that I am not sure how I was able to overcome. Arthur’s absence suddenly felt real, permanent, and he was beginning to establish himself in his community. I felt lonely because I was not a part of this. I was here, working hard as Nanny Meena – and he was there, working hard as the Americano in cargo shorts and flip flops.

This time, last year, we made big plans. We made some scary promises. But we kept those promises. And in a few weeks, those promises will come full circle. Together, we decided it was best for us both if we could be in the same place on a regular basis. At the time, we didn’t know how it would all play out. But here we are, a year later with a final plan and only a few weeks away from being together for seven months.

We decided, after hours of phone calls, four visits, and a few parasites that I would put finding a job directly out of graduate school on hold and try my hand at a new found passion – teaching students how to read, write, and speak English. My time at my internship has showed me how much fun ESOL is – and now, I’d like to try it out on my own before I make a decision about what it is exactly that I want to teach.

Arthur’s time in the Peace Corps will end a year from now. If you do your math correctly, that means I will end up back home with less than 5 months to go before he comes home to decide exactly who and what I want to be teaching. 5 months to take Praxis tests, substitute teach, even try to find ourselves a new apartment – we laugh when we say this, but one of us has to know what they want to be when they grow up! 

I suppose our decision is not the most conventional. But it works for us. Our families have been so incredibly supportive in our new adventure together and our closest friends have been nothing but positive. Of course, as with any major decision, there have been those who disagree with our choice. At the end of the day, we feel as though this is a new adventure for us to take on together! And just like every other adventure we have taken together, there have been moments of fear, frustration, and anxiety – yet I anticipate this adventure to come together just as the other adventures: the time of our lives.

On Potty Humor

This post may be a little graphic. It’s about poop. So faithful readers or Google stumblers, press on to previous posts if poop is not your forte.

There are lots of things I did to prepare myself for Arthur joining the Peace Corps. I’ve mentioned them frequently throughout this blog. There were of course things I could not do to prepare myself. Most of this was because they were country specific. What I experience while dating Arthur in the Dominican Republic will certainly not be the same as someone dating a volunteer in any other country. One thing, I think, is certainly the same. You suddenly become very honest about things.

And I mean honest.

Peace Corps Volunteers to other PCVs talk a lot about poop. It’s just something you do. Not as a favorite past time (you sicko). But there are weird things happening in that restroom. Or hole. Or toilet. Or latrine.

Somehow, Arthur roped me up into this level of comfort: The Poop Talk. We got caught up discussing what made us so comfortable talking about poop in the first place and  I think we diagrammed it fairly well.

For all you poop people, here are our before and after Peace Corps poop talks.

[Edit: May 27, 2013: This link here is even better than any poop conversation I could ever have.]

Before Peace Corps:

Me: Man, my tummy hurts.

Arthur: Do you have to poop?

Me: No, no. I’m fine. I think it’ll pass.

-A few minutes later-

Me: Erhsfldm.

Arthur: You should just go poop.

Me: I don’t have to poop. My tummy just hurts.

Arthur: It’s okay if you have to poop, Marie.

Me: I will just hold it. I’ll be okay. Stop talking about it.

During/After Peace Corps:

Me: Man, my tummy hurts.

Arthur: Do you have to poop?

Me: I think it’s worse than that.

Arthur: Are you sure?

Me: Parasite pain sure.

Arthur: Uh oh, are you sure?

Me: I am about to have diarrhea. Please walk with me to the latrine.

Arthur: Feeling that good, huh?

-After the massacre-

Arthur: What did it look like?

Me: Pretty normal. I think it was just poop.

Arthur: Awesome!

Poop. Bringing couples together, one trip to the latrine at a time.

On Spreading the Love

Feeling charitable? Arthur has a new project up for dry composting latrines. Your donation, even at a single dollar, can help make the difference in the life of Dominican and Haitian families. Click here to read more about the project and how you can help.

On Passing the Time

Time has passed by so quickly.

Nearly a week ago, Arthur crossed the threshold of his 1 year anniversary in the Peace Corps. I am so incredibly proud of all the work he has done in his community thus far. And I truly cannot wait for all the projects to begin in just a matter of weeks. His time in the Peace Corps has nearly approached the half way mark and the adventures yet to be had are beginning to come into fruition. Time is a tricky thing.

I am nearly finished with my graduate school program. All of my projects are in full swing. I am beginning to see the finish line and I am making concrete plans for the next school year. Things are incredibly exciting and I am very, very happy.

In just a couple of weeks I will spend another week and a half with my boyfriend, laying on the beach first and then heading back to the campo. I couldn’t be more excited.

Our relationship is blooming in ways I cannot describe. I couldn’t be happier – well, Arthur could be home. For sure. But for those of you frequenting this blog looking for the answers to your burning Peace Corps boyfriend/girlfriend questions … my answer is this: make a plan, make a few promises, make some plans, and give it a try. I have found this experience to be the most difficult, rewarding, and incredible experience of my life. And I am more in love with my incredible boyfriend every day. He is humble, handsome, and brave. And I am a sucker for good men. Just try. You’ll be amazed at how much the heart can hold, how many times it can mend itself, and how many ways you will love your Peace Corps volunteer.

Until next time.

On Needing Donations

Feeling charitable? By following this link, you’ll be directed to Arthur’s donation page to build dry composting latrines for Dominican and Haitian families. As always, your donation is entirely tax deductible – and the community guarantees to match your donation dollar for dollar with their own money and labor to create a sustainable, eco-friendly, and long lasting fleet of latrines!

On Coming Back, but Ready to Turn Home

Whenever I talk to people about the Dominican Republic, they always
ask me how the beach was. This time, a small part of me was even more
angry than the trip in August because I spent my full vacation time in
Arthur’s campo site. We both wanted to experience a Dominican
Christmas celebration and opted to stay in site rather than travel.
This proved to be an incredibly wonderful idea. We celebrated our
Christmas by roasting a 74-pound pig in our backyard and invited as
many neighbors as we could to come and enjoy the feast. We drank
Presidente and blasted a mixture of Christmas music, bachata, and
merengue. Arthur and I shared a private Christmas morning with
breakfast, stockings, and gifts before breaking out into the afternoon
and evening festivities with the campo.

Thinking back to my ten days in the campo, I can only smile. I love
the people in his community. On Christmas Eve, Arthur took me to the
home of his host mother’s son, who was hosting a dinner of Sancocho.
As soon as I arrived, I realized I was surrounded by people who loved
Arthur as though he were their own blood. They joked with him in ways
that might be otherwise inappropriate out of a family circle. They let
him eat first. And when Arthur left to use the restroom, Hipolito
turned and looked at me and said, “Arthur is a very good man. I love
him as though he were my own son.” Hearing these words made me feel so
happy. I know Arthur’s life is most certainly no cake walk. I know the
struggles he faces as I hear them in his voice, read them in his text
messages, and see them when we go for walks in the campo.

Knowing my boyfriend is well loved and respected in his community
means the world to me. When I can’t be beside him to help see him
through an obstacle, I know he has the support he needs right beside
him. There is nothing more important to me than knowing my boyfriend
is supported and loved. And I saw this from almost every major face in
his community. People lit up when they saw me beside Arthur because of
how highly he talks of me. They had all be dying to see me again and
talk to me about future plans of visiting. Many have already requested
our presence at their dinner table, demanding to spend time with the
both of us.

Arthur’s community makes me feel as though I am home. There are times
when I struggle to understand the Spanish. Sometimes it is too fast or
sometimes it is a completely new word I’ve never heard before
(Dominicans like to make up words). But they smile even when I look to
Arthur with a very confused face. They hug and kiss me. They request
my presence at dances and dinner tables. They tell me how wonderful
Arthur is and how wonderful that must make me. They treat me like
family. Now, being treated like family can go one of two ways. The way
the muchachos treat you and the way everyone else treats you. But
that’s all for another time.

Knowing these people, spending time in their homes, and eating until I
want to explode into a million pieces has taught me a lot about
Dominican culture. Every family is different. Some are a little more
“well off,” while others struggle to find the food for the next meal.
Some are legal, card-carrying citizens, while others have a Haitian
mom or dad and are undocumented. Some families are simply Haitian,
living next to the fields where every morning I can hear the mournful
singing and chanting of the Haitians working in the field.

It is here that I have started to feel most at home and alive. There
is a lot to say about being beside the one you love most in the world
and feeling that sense of home. It’s a completely invigorating
feeling. Waking up in the campo, the sun from the window hits just the
right spot on my body to make me feel warm. When I open my eyes, I see
him already looking at me with a smile on his face. And every new day
leads to a brand new lesson or adventure. I feel most at home right
there in that little country campo.

It perhaps then goes without saying that leaving this time around was
incredibly more difficult for me. I didn’t just cry, I wailed. I felt
like such a child. Leaving this place that I accepted as home felt
like I was being torn away from a life source. Turning my back on my
muchachos, reassuring myself and them I would return for Easter, was
too hard. One of them said to me, “Please don’t leave.” When I asked
him why he said, “Because I just don’t want you to.”

I didn’t want to either, Nene. I feel so torn apart from where I want
to be and where I have to be. But trying to explain this feeling to
someone who has never seen the things I have seen, or even bothered
trying to read information about the countries I’ve been to beyond
their beach report is like trying to talk to a wall. I feel so empty
when I come home sometimes because I feel like there is no one I can
relate to, no one who understands.

I had lunch the other day with one of my students. She asked me why I was so tan. I told her I had left the country for a little while to visit someone in the Dominican. She immediately asked me, “you mean the beaches, right?” I smiled and said no. She is from El Salvador and immigrated around the age of 10. She remembers what it is like to live in other kinds of conditions and she shook her head.

“I don’t understand you sometimes. Why would you want to go there? Or to any of the places you have been? Go to Italy.”

“But I have been to Italy. It was okay. I liked Venice the most, but I felt like I was missing something.”

“If I told you I would take you with me to El Salvador, would you go?”

“Of course.”

“I wish more people thought like you do.”

I do too.

So here I am. Stuck in limbo. Forced to be here in the States, but
knowing my life, my heart, and my pure happiness is resting in the
campo.