This peace corps work is not your normal occupation. There are no office hours, no boss, no guidelines as to what we should accomplish on any given day, and no one watching, besides a few hundred curious neighbors. It’s a little unnerving to face the projects we came here to do without any of the structures we’re used to, but I tend to like it. Most days.
The first steps in our work as Basic Sanitation Volunteers are to meet people, get to know the community, and find out what sanitation needs we might be able to address in our two years here. Later we will ask someone important (local municipality officials or non-government organizations at work in the area) to give us money to carry out these projects. Once we have funding, we will find skilled laborers who are willing to work for next to nothing, decide which families are the most worthy of receiving a bathroom, water system, well, or worm farm, and then build something in hopes that it will make someone’s life healthier and happier. Where to begin . . .?
Today, I felt like I was on the right track when a woman I have met a few times invited me to the neighborhood mothers’ club. Mom clubs are common in Bolivia and are comprised of moms of all ages who get together to do something. Or not do something. Either way, they are well organized groups with elected presidents, treasurers, and the like, and they meet weekly or monthly to do an activity (knitting is a good bet) and chat it up. This is a good opportunity for me to get to know people, find out about the needs of the community, and enlighten a captive audience on my current favorite topics: the dangers of burning plastics, pooping in your yard, or eating without washing your hands.
A little before 3:00 I go out and sit on the log in front of our house to wait for my friend. At 4:00 she appears, no apologies or mention of the time, (an hour delay is pretty close to punctual here), and off we walk to the ‘club de madres’. The first to arrive, we find the host in the back yard at a table braiding her mother’s hair. The yard of swept dirt has a few smoke stained, grass roofed buildings, a fire pit, a concrete sink that drains into the street, and enough ducks, chickens, and dogs to staff a carnival. A rooster torments a small, half-haired, flea-carpeted puppy until a little girl comes to its rescue, picking up the pup by an ear and a leg. I think of the lucky dogs born in America –bags of lamb and rice kibbles, a bed in the house, baths, obedience school. Different world here.
After introductions the host shouts in a few directions, and soon other women appear. They invite me to a seat at the end of the table. I scrape the pile of fresh duck poo off the bench with my notebook before taking a seat. I just did laundry yesterday after all.
The women chat of this and that, show me the purses, dresses, belts, and blankets they’ve knitted, and explain that they don’t presently have money for more yarn, so there will be no knitting today. I watch a duck eat a bicycle tire while talking with the ladies about the projects I hope to carry out in Okinawa: bathrooms, trash programs, and the like. They seem mildly interested. I ask the host what she does with the ducks. “We eat them,” she says. “Ever eaten a duck?” Not that I can remember I say, and next thing I know a duck roasting party is in the works for next week. I am to bring nothing but a hungry belly and my husband, and they will kill their biggest baddest duck and roast it up for all to share. Awesome.
So this is my job. This is how we get started on the long, unfamiliar road of unfunded development work. We hang out with our neighbors, go to get togethers when we catch wind of them, and talk about bathrooms. If we ever come across some funds to construct one, the pace may change. For now, we will enjoy the newness of it all and eat the ducks when invited to.
The first steps in our work as Basic Sanitation Volunteers are to meet people, get to know the community, and find out what sanitation needs we might be able to address in our two years here. Later we will ask someone important (local municipality officials or non-government organizations at work in the area) to give us money to carry out these projects. Once we have funding, we will find skilled laborers who are willing to work for next to nothing, decide which families are the most worthy of receiving a bathroom, water system, well, or worm farm, and then build something in hopes that it will make someone’s life healthier and happier. Where to begin . . .?
Today, I felt like I was on the right track when a woman I have met a few times invited me to the neighborhood mothers’ club. Mom clubs are common in Bolivia and are comprised of moms of all ages who get together to do something. Or not do something. Either way, they are well organized groups with elected presidents, treasurers, and the like, and they meet weekly or monthly to do an activity (knitting is a good bet) and chat it up. This is a good opportunity for me to get to know people, find out about the needs of the community, and enlighten a captive audience on my current favorite topics: the dangers of burning plastics, pooping in your yard, or eating without washing your hands.
A little before 3:00 I go out and sit on the log in front of our house to wait for my friend. At 4:00 she appears, no apologies or mention of the time, (an hour delay is pretty close to punctual here), and off we walk to the ‘club de madres’. The first to arrive, we find the host in the back yard at a table braiding her mother’s hair. The yard of swept dirt has a few smoke stained, grass roofed buildings, a fire pit, a concrete sink that drains into the street, and enough ducks, chickens, and dogs to staff a carnival. A rooster torments a small, half-haired, flea-carpeted puppy until a little girl comes to its rescue, picking up the pup by an ear and a leg. I think of the lucky dogs born in America –bags of lamb and rice kibbles, a bed in the house, baths, obedience school. Different world here.
After introductions the host shouts in a few directions, and soon other women appear. They invite me to a seat at the end of the table. I scrape the pile of fresh duck poo off the bench with my notebook before taking a seat. I just did laundry yesterday after all.
The women chat of this and that, show me the purses, dresses, belts, and blankets they’ve knitted, and explain that they don’t presently have money for more yarn, so there will be no knitting today. I watch a duck eat a bicycle tire while talking with the ladies about the projects I hope to carry out in Okinawa: bathrooms, trash programs, and the like. They seem mildly interested. I ask the host what she does with the ducks. “We eat them,” she says. “Ever eaten a duck?” Not that I can remember I say, and next thing I know a duck roasting party is in the works for next week. I am to bring nothing but a hungry belly and my husband, and they will kill their biggest baddest duck and roast it up for all to share. Awesome.
So this is my job. This is how we get started on the long, unfamiliar road of unfunded development work. We hang out with our neighbors, go to get togethers when we catch wind of them, and talk about bathrooms. If we ever come across some funds to construct one, the pace may change. For now, we will enjoy the newness of it all and eat the ducks when invited to.
This is a pretty tree in a pretty field near Oki. All is flat here. Kind of like a tropical Oklahoma
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