By the Hair of My Chinny-chin-chin

A friend recently advised me that, if I’m having trouble blogging as often as I’d like to, I should try to focus my blog on something I do daily or almost daily.  I thought about it, and something that popped into my head was weightlifting.  Working out has become so much a part of my life that I’m sore nearly every day.  And I like it.  What I don't like is how long it takes to see results.  So now and then I've devised schemes to motivate me to work harder. 

I blogged a few months ago about trying to gain a few pounds by weightlifting.  I came within three pounds of meeting my goal.  That was in the summer.  Then, during the fall, I took about three and a half weeks off from the gym due to travel and a little bit of illness (related to the travel), and lost a lot of my gains.  Then, just before Thanksgiving, I made a little wager with my workout buddy.  One that I’ll probably lose because, just like before, I was a little too ambitious when I made it. 

The deal is, I’m not allowed to shave my face until I gain 10 pounds, beginning with the weight I was at when the bet started.  If I shave before I hit that mark, I owe my buddy $50.  It’s been nearly four weeks and I’m pretty sick of this beard.  It’s more physically irritating than I’d expected, and it cramps the style with the ladies.  I prefer my good old five-day shadow. (It’s a little longer than a 5 o’clock shadow, and it’s sort of my “look.”) Added to that, I’m having more trouble gaining weight than I’d expected. 

I thought that, because I was just getting over being sick, I’d be able to pack on the first few pounds easily.  That hasn’t been the case.  My body still won’t let me gain fat.  It’ll let me gain muscle, but that process is incredibly slow.  While the amount I’m able to lift at the gym has been steadily increasing, my body weight has only gone up a couple of pounds. I may have to accept two things: defeat on the bet, and the reality that meeting my goals will take a lot more time and effort. 

I’ll give the beard another week or so before I make my final decision on whether to keep it.  But as for the present moment, I’m going to eat a sandwich. 

Dominican Kids

I don't consider myself to be good with kids.  I don't usually know what to do with those little things most of the time.  With babies, I'm afraid I'll drop them and they'll shatter like a ceramic cat.  Grade-schoolers run around and wipe snot on me and jump on my back for piggy-back rides and scream and annoy the piss out of me.  Sometimes.

But for some reason, maybe because I'm calm, kids seem to like me.  So do animals.  Maybe I appear stable because I don't seem to vacillate between happy, sad, angry, etc.  Maybe they dig the even keel thing and feel safe with me.  You hear that, ladies?  Or maybe they see that I'm actually kind of a pushover, and I'll let them get away with crap without getting upset or punishing them.  Who knows?

Whatever the case, kids seem to like me more than I like them.  Although some of them can be cool.  And maybe if I have some of my own someday I'll warm up to the little buggers a bit more.

That being said, I did enjoy getting to meet the girl I sponsor in the Dominican Republic.  She was shy and calm, and probably a little awkward, so I could identify with her.  She wasn't annoying.  But she was extremely quiet and I wasn't sure what to say to get a timid 8-year-old talking, so she mostly just held my hand as we walked through her village.

A lot of the kids in the Dominican Republic seemed to love holding hands with white folks.  We would go to the schools run by the organization I work for, and kids would flock to our van and claim us as we got out.  "Este es MI Americano!" (This is MY American!) they would shout, if they were the first to grab one of us.  They would push the other kids away.

But Perla, the girl I sponsor, wasn't like that.  She was calm, not pushy.  Maybe she was too timid or unsure of herself to get into the scrum.  Or maybe she's just got a good, even-keel sort of personality.  I like people who can be quiet; extroverts talk too much and don't listen enough.  But then again, I'm biased.  Whatever the case is with Perla, she seems like a sweet girl and I'm glad to help her out.

Swarming around the "Americana."

Basquetbol

Perla, just chillin'

Interviewing Cristian, another calm kid.

Whatchoo lookin' at?

TMI Update

Update on the last post:  She never called, so she's obviously too inconsiderate for me.  Moving on.  Maybe I'll post some travel photos to cheer myself up.

No Phone, No Worries

I shut my phone off tonight.  My phone is always on when I’m inside the United States.  Seriously, always.  I can’t remember when the last time was, if ever, that I turned my phone off aside from being on an airplane or outside the country.  No matter where I am, who I’m with, what I’m doing, I feel like I need to be reachable in case someone calls or sends a text.  I put a very high value on clear and effective communication, so I feel obligated to keep the phone on.  I hate it when I try to call or text a friend and they don’t respond in a timely manner, or at all.  I think it’s rude and inconsiderate.  And I don’t want to be that guy.  But tonight it feels good to have the phone off. 

It’s that whole ‘getting-pissed-off-when-someone-doesn’t-respond-in-a-timely-manner’ thing that made me shut off my phone, actually.  I was expecting a call or text from a young woman, but it never came.  I waited about an hour after she was supposed to call, and then I texted to ask what was up.  No answer.  I kept stressing out, wondering what was going on.  I tried to occupy myself with small tasks around the house, but kept glancing at the phone, expecting it to ring.

Ninety minutes later, I tried calling.  Nada.  The most likely explanation is that she got held up at work, which I sort of expected to happen.  But I didn’t expect the hold-up to last so long, so, as I mentioned above, I got pissed off.  I realize it’s not a very mature reaction, but hey, we all have areas where we need to grow.  And besides, I’m the rubber and you’re the glue, so if you say anything bad about me, well you can just suck it.   

Anyway, I refrained from leaving a scathing voice message or otherwise burning any bridges, and instead vented to a friend.  After my brief chat with him, I felt a little better.  Then I turned my phone off, and the stress dissipated further.  I quit worrying about whether she would call.  I couldn’t listen for the ringer anymore, so I was free to focus on other things.  In the back of my mind, I’m still hoping she’ll call and I’ll get the message in the morning, when I turn my phone back on, and I’ll forgive her.  But then again, if she doesn’t call, that would be pretty rude, and I wouldn’t want to date a rude girl.  So either outcome works.

Sitting here thinking, I realized how blissful it can be to separate myself from my phone.  And that made me realize being away from my phone is one of the things I love about traveling.  I don’t have an international calling plan, so whenever I’m out of the country I shut off my phone.  Just like it’s always on when I’m in the States, it’s always off when I’m away.  And it feels great, just like it does now. 

It seems like such a stupid epiphany to have, especially in 2011: “shutting off your phone allows you to relax and de-stress.”  Duh.  But it’s amazing how you can know something but not truly learn it until you experience it.  I thought I just loved travel because of the new, exotic places I get to see; the foreign tastes and smells I get to experience; the fascinating people I meet; and the pleasure of being free from work, the daily grind, and obligations to family and friends.  Now I see how much I also enjoy another aspect of travel: being out of reach.  I’ll always value good communication, but damn if a little solitude once in a while isn’t cleansing.

I’m going to have to try shutting my phone off more often.  Maybe a whole day sometime.  And if that pisses anybody off because they can’t contact me, well, they should really grow up.  

Recalling the Dominican Republic

The world is filled with ironies.  Every time I feel inspired to write by some event, circumstance or emotion, I’m too busy being wrapped up in that thing, or I’m too mentally drained by it, to actually sit down and type.  And then, when I actually have free time to write, I lack inspiration. 

At the moment, I’d like to say something about the Dominican Republic and my time there.  I’d like to write about the thick and beautiful greenery that billowed up from below the airplane as we descended into Santo Domingo on the way in.  I’d like to tell you about the warm evenings, when the mosquitoes would appear and begin biting at almost exactly the same time every day.  And that despite that, I loved the hot days followed by heavy, warm rain and thunder and lightning.

I’d like to say something about each of the slums we visited, and how there was such a marked difference between the physical appearance of those places and the rest of the city.  About how people shouldn’t have to live in wood-and-sheet metal shanties, with piss running through the muddy streets around them, simply because their parents were born on the wrong side of the island or because the sugarcane plantation owners could make a few extra pesos by letting someone else do the work.  I’d like to get a little angry at the Dominican government leaders, who deny citizenship to people of Haitian descent who were born in those slums, simply because their parents or grandparents overstayed their welcome. 

I’d like to talk about how glad I am that at least some of the people there aren’t willing to just let that kind of injustice go.  And that several of the kids from those slums are aware of the ways in which those people have helped them, and they see the continued need around them, and want to help others.  I’d like to say that, despite the depressing conditions of those slums, seeing that small ripple effect begin to grow gives me a reason to be at least a tiny bit optimistic. 

I’d like to say all of that, and say it well.  With flourishes and moving language and insightful observations and humor, laid out in a page full of engaging prose.  But unfortunately I’m two weeks removed from the Dominican Republic and I simply cannot muster the inspiration.  At least not until I sit and think for a while about all those banana trees, sugarcane spears, friendly faces, the bright sun overhead .... 

Haiti in Photos

As I mentioned before, I didn't take many photos of the Dominican Republic and Haiti, since I had professional and semi-pro photographers with me and I was focused on other responsibilities.  Here though, are some of my favorite shots from the few I took during my three short days in Haiti.

One of many tent cities.

Back of a bus.

At the Respire site, where a school is being built by Americans and Haitians.

The foundation of the Respire school. 

The market set up by the Venezuelans (or the Hugo Chavez Market, as I like to call it). 

Mountains of used clothes, mostly donated from other countries. 

Underwear for sale in Port-au-Prince. 

View from one of the less-shabby neighborhoods.

A makeshift bus?

Filth in the canals.

A common sight.

Haiti in Hindsight

It turns out I'd built up my apprehensions about Haiti more than I’d needed to.  Don't get me wrong, Haiti is in a bad way.  But my anxiousness about going there was unnecessary.  The poverty and filth was similar to the kinds I've seen in other underdeveloped countries.  It was just broader in Haiti.  We saw it everywhere.  When we entered the country from the Dominican Republic, we did so on a dirt road.  The main highway leading west into Port-au-Prince – the Haitian interstate, as I called it – was barely wide enough for two cars, had no lines painted on it, and was speckled with holes, ruts, and bumps.  

In Port-au-Prince, so much still lay in disrepair.  The unemployment number I’ve heard quoted for the country as a whole is 80 percent.  Thousands of men and women in the city and in Gresier, the suburb where we stayed, shuffled through the streets or sat near their houses and tents with nothing to do, while scores of construction projects remained unfinished or not yet started.  The government certainly can’t afford to pay for the public works that are needed, and the international aid organizations that crowd the country aren’t hiring.  The Haitian economy was ailing long before the earthquake, and now it’s nearly dead.  Is there such thing as an economic defibrillator?  Our host, Daniel, asked what I thought.  I didn’t know what to tell him.  Set up a protectionist economy, to encourage local businesses?  I don’t know.  Ask someone else. 

In addition to the completely jobless, thousands more people displayed fruits, vegetables, DVDs, and clothes, enormous heaps of clothes, all along the sidewalks in town.  These people are counted among the unemployed, because this type of informal-sector hawking cannot be relied upon for income.  “In Haiti, there are more vendors than buyers,” said Daniel. 

Like other poverty-stricken cities, though, there were areas where systems and people were working.  Port-au-Prince is not all tent cities, potholes, rebar, and broken cinderblock.  It has a handful of clean, modern shopping centers and even a few restaurants.  Up on the hill, in Pétionville, the wealthy still have their comfortable houses.  Now and again, I even saw men dressed in suits.  Still, the poverty and brokenness tend to blot out the bright spots.  The giant market by the port, set up with help from the Venezuelan government, is a filthy mess of used clothing and discarded banana branches.  The city’s canals are filled with Styrofoam, plastic bottles, and sludge.  Hundreds of thousands of people still live in tent cities.  The UN and most of the other aid organizations that seem to be around every corner are only trying to patch up the country’s damages, not get to the root causes of poverty. 

After two days of seeing so much darkness in Haiti, I was feeling like the whole place should be scrapped and started over.  Then a couple of patches of light started to shine through.  Our hosts showed us a site where a school was being built by a nonprofit organization set up by an ambitious 24-year-old Louisiana girl who partnered with locals in the endeavor.  Later, I was encouraged even more when we visited with the board of directors for the organization I work for.  I was inspired to meet and hear optimistic words from this group of Haitian leaders who are sacrificing time and energy to set up and oversee the development of long-term initiatives that do more than merely put a Band-Aid on Haiti’s troubles.  I couldn’t stop their enthusiasm from rubbing off on me at least a little bit.

I know I’m biased, but I really do think my employers have set things up in the best way possible to bring about lasting improvement.  The only discouraging thing is that it will probably take a generation or two before any substantial change is visible.  The plan in Haiti, as it has been in the other countries where we’re more established, is to start small, by educating children and ensuring them a positive upbringing by providing food, medical care, and other necessities.  The hope – and we’re starting to see this become a reality in the Dominican Republic, where we’ve been working for over a decade – is that these kids will grow up to become doctors, teachers, etc., who find gainful employment and give back to their communities to help future generations out of poverty.  Maybe then, 10, 20, 30 years down the road, Haiti will have a crop of new leaders who can employ and educate others, creating a positive sort of domino effect.  It’s a slow process, but long-term change always is.