Ship 'em out

Saturday, January 14 was the last full day we would spend in the houses we were staying in for training. The night before, we got together for a potluck-type get together. I believe I made the best thing there: a bean dip with tomatoes, onion, garlic, and plenty of cilantro. I originally planned to make guacamole, but of course the grocery store, out of the 50 or so avocados it had in stock, had no ripe ones. So I had to think on my feet and come up with something else given that grocery stores here have horrible variety of, well, anything, and that this was last minute, of course. So I whipped together this bean dip and it turned out great. Pretty much everyone left on that Sunday, including myself. But unlike many people who had to take a bus three hours or more to get to their sites, I took a taxi for about ten minutes to get to mine.

The neighborhood where I currently live in is considered one of the most neighborhoods that Peace Corps volunteers live in. It is actually included in a list of barrios around Barranquilla that we should avoid. So, that really put me at ease. In my packet of information about the barrio, it had a long list of security rules for living there. Here are some highlights:

• "At least the first month the PCV should be accompanied by a local counterpart, from home to workplace and on the way back." I live only about seven blocks away from my school and none of my school counterparts live in this barrio.
• "Transportation to and from the site can only be done by taxi." Taxis can range from 5000 to 10000 pesos. Buses are 1500 pesos. I was originally told I would be given extra money to make up for this, but then I was told I would only be compensated for travel to secondary projects. Great.
• "Never return to your community after 10 pm, if it is not possible, PCV should stay the night in some place previously arranged in Barranquilla."
• "PCV must steer clear of estaderos (bars) and avoid weekend festivals" in addition to "PCV must steer clear from pool halls and other shops where alcohol is [being] consumed." My next door neighbor is a pool hall and the street that I live on is littered with bars and tiendas where alcohol is sold and consumed.

 One interesting detail about my living situation that may or may not burrow itself into my subconscious and infiltrate my thoughts until I lose all touch with reality altogether. I am talking about the dos mil store across the street from my house. The exchange rate here is usually 2000 pesos (dos mil) to one American dollar, so it's basically a dollar store.  What's so harmless about some dollar store you ask? Well, it has these speakers out front that play a running loop of some man frantically saying "todo dos mil, todo dos mil," and lists off various things in the store "vasos dos mil, medias dos mil, burros dos mil, etc." And these speakers play all day, from 9am to 9pm, every day. My family plays loud music out of their own speakers to combat this. It is never quiet in my house.

Where do I begin about the school I work at? Well, I found out the first day or so that it's basically a Catholic school, run by a nun, that was founded by a priest. Holy cow. I picked up on this when, on the first day, we spent half of the administrative meeting singing religious songs, including one to the tune of The" Sound of Silence," and engaging in long, meditative prayer sessions. I just kind of twiddle my thumbs or hatch schemes to destroy the dos mil store's speakers during these. I was somewhat fearing the moment when teachers would ask me about my religion, since I'm an atheist. That moment came up the first week. I was in a group of teachers and one asked me if I was Catholic. I said no. They looked mildly surprised, then asked cautiously if I was Protestant. I said no. This brought substantial surprise and then they asked if I was Jewish. I said no. Then there was kind of an awkward silence. To break the silence, I put two fingers above my head and said "I'm the devil," and started laughing at my joke. No one else laughed. Thank Satan that the nun came in right after to gather everyone together again.

I don't even know why they had me come to those administrative meetings for the week and a half before school started. I couldn't understand most of the things the people said, and even if I could, it's not I had any say in anything at all. Although, I was semi-amused by the way teachers "discussed" topics. Someone would say something and then everyone in the room would start screaming and arguing at the top of their voice. Sometimes I would just make random guttural noises to blend in. It's like British parliament or a group of chimpanzees throwing feces at each other. Uh oh, did I just do political commentary? Probably not. I have no idea what I'm talking about.