Barran10quilla

Nope, I didn’t come up with that name…that’s the name of the race that Jessica, Ashley and I ran on Saturday, along with a thousand or two other people in downtown Barranquilla. Since therace took place at 4:30 in the afternoon and none of the three of us have run longer than the rare 30 minute stint since we’ve been here, well, I was slightly worried we’d be having a mortal experience similar to the title of one of my favorite Hemingway novels. However, winter favored us and the sky clouded over and it rained just an hour before the race and then cleared up. Which meant that the streets were full of puddles and we splashed like duckies for the majority of the race, but it was also a doable temperature!

It started and ended at a park near Ashley’s house, replete with a giant, balloon covered arch to run through at the end, as well as water stations giving out bags of water throughout the race, and carts selling beer at the end. Gotta love Colombia!

We ran slowly, talked the whole way through, and luxuriated in the ability to run through the streets (they stopped traffic for the race) instead of circling the same one block radius over and over. (Here, due to the incredibly uneven sidewalks as well as safety issues, running entails going to a “park” to run, aka circling a single block—on the pavement—where there’s a small park and some playground equipment, and in my case, a truly hilarious jazzercise class with ridiculous American music mashups including “It’s Raining Men” and Celine Dion). Meanwhile groups of women cheered us on for being women and running together, which was pretty awesome.

Anyway, just to sum it all up, to quote the ever-appropriate but always cheesy MasterCard commercial…

Race Fee(Including awesome yellow shirt andwaterbottle)… 30 mil pesos

Bagged water during the race…Free

Mariachi bands to cheer us on...Free (almost priceless, not quite)

Raspao (shaved ice with passion fruit juice and condensed milk topping) post-race…1 mil pesos

Running for 10K with friends while supporting Barranquilla’s Red Cross organization….Priceless!

A before shot

Thanksgiving (oh and some site placements, too)

I’d been looking forward to this day for weeks. Not so much for the turkey, which I’d doubted very much would come to fruition in a satisfying manner here (since nothing can compare to family recipe planning, mock fights over the form in which corn will appear on the table this year, the annual stuffing ingredient battle, and sitting down to eat with people I love), but instead because this Thanksgiving, we were told which sites will be our homes for the next two years.

Not going to lie, I’d been dreading this day a bit as well, wondering how the selection process would go down. Would there be tears, when people got a city they didn’t want, or *gasp* were placed in a city two hours or more away from their new best friends (or lovers) of the past month?

But weeks of waiting are finally over…and drumroll please….

I’m going to be in BARRANQUILLA (the same city I’ve been in for the last month and a half)!

Ultimately, I think I got what I was hoping for. Although I will miss, well, nature in general (what? I’m going be living in a city of THREE MILLION people? am I actually in the Peace Corps?), out of the three city choices Barranquilla was my hoped-for location because even though it boasts the least tourist-y attractions and is not what you might call “pretty,” it  is a place I think will be most like a home. The other two cities, though they have amazing beaches and scenery, are tourist towns in the true sense of the term. They are filled with transient people, and don’t have the same sort of cultural offerings found in Barranquilla. Also, since Barranquilla is in between Santa Marta and Cartagena, I can spend weekends visiting the incredible beaches and breathtaking Sierra Nevadas in Santa Marta, or heading on down to Cartagena for some vivid nightlife, beautiful colonial buildings, beaches, and oh yes, a mud volcano.

In addition, Barranquilla has the second biggest Carnival celebration in the world. It officially happens the first week of February, but apparently the city celebrates from mid-December through February. Which means, oh hay there friends, that’d be a great time to visit. You’ve got a few years to save up…And because words don’t do it justice, look up Barranquilla Carnival. And then buy your plane tickets J

Other fun things about Barranquilla—it is made up of a grid of thoroughly numbered and marked streets. Which means that even yours truly (I am highly geographically challenged, to say the least) can set out walking from virtually anywhere and end up in the correct spot without adding hours of accidental detours. It has theaters that host affordable music concerts, universities with free movie series, amazing museums…well, I could go on for a little while longer. Oh, and, Barranquilla also hosts Colombia’s oldest and extremely functional airport. So if the theme hasn’t become clear yet…I’mextremely accessible to visitors, and if my happy face isn’t enough motivation, there are amazing, amazing things all over this coast to visit!

In the meantime, not going to lie, the fact that this is my post in the Peace Corps is still something to process. Who would have thought I’d have the opportunity to frequent museums and/or a plethora of huge shopping malls in my free time here?! That I would actually require a pair of wedge heels in order to not be shunned, and that I would be told by locals and Peace Corps staff alike that learning how to salsa, and then going out nights and doing it often, was an integral part of my cultural experience?

Anyway. Thanksgiving itself was amazing. If I’d had high expectations of it (which, unlike the work itself, I thought it was prudent to keep low), they still would have been vastly exceeded. After a visit to the wonderful Museo Caribe, we went to the Peace Corps office where with much tension but little fanfare, our site placements were announced. Then, still in the throes of announcement excitement, we gathered at the apartment of one of the Peace Corps staff, where the amazing Peace Corps staff folks brought more delicious dishes than I literally could count. Everything from turkey and stuffing to curry with tofu, broccoli salad, hummus, olives and cheese, peanut butter, fruit, pizza, pumpkin pie, chocolate cake, apple pie, brownies, cookies, sliced vegetables, enchiladas, fried plantains…and so much more. Six hours later, when I finally went to bed, my stomach was still stretched to the breaking point (because when there is a table full of delicious vegetables and another table full of chocolate, there are no substitutions involved).

Just a few other high points of the day before pictures—

I had an almost two hour conversation with my host abuela Thanksgiving night. I talked to the whole fam in the US all at once. And oh yeah—not a high point but a landmark—managed to break my first phone here (although to be fair it legit spontaneously combusted!)

View from the museum

 Wall of Coastal Words (that Im supposed to learn)

 Wall of fun Coastal Artifacts

 My favorite of the assorted comics featured at the museum

 Awesome peeps staying in BAQ with me

 Waiting anxiously for site assignments while our site director told ridiculous life stories instead of announcing the sites...

 AMAZING FOOD

Poolside Thanksgiving 

All in all, the day was fairly incredible. Among other things, I can finally accept the fact that our house and the city in general is draped in oodles of Christmas decorations. I can acknowledge that the pre-Thanksgiving “feast” of plantains fried to the point of literal plantain-evaporation my abuela adorably cooked and served with cheese and hot chocolate for me on Wednesday, while not the most climate-appropriate, was perhaps the first “cultural exchange” for which I can take responsibility. And, most of all, and finally, I have a little bit of closure.

One down, two Colombian Thanksgivings to go…



Robbery Attempt Numero Uno (or, the valiant little eggplant)

Let’s just say, using my grocery bag of recently purchased eggplants to fight off three men on motorcycles who were trying to rob me has vastly increased my appreciation of this particular vegetable.

It happened on Saturday, a block away from my house, on a smaller street that I’ve taken many times before. I was coming back from the vegetable shop where I’d purchased eggplants for the eggplant parm I cooked on my big Italian food cooking day on Sunday. Our Spanish classes had taken a joint field trip to the beach, so along with my bag of eggplants I was carrying a shoulder bag made bulky with my towel, water bottles, books, etc. 

As I came to the edge of the sidewalk on the corner, a man on a motorcycle (they’re called motos here) came up, too close, and said something to me in a somewhat conversational tone. I stepped back, since for a second I thought he was just trying to get by, but then another one came up on his motorcycle and grabbed at my bag, and then his third friend was there with his moto hemming me in.

When the second guy grabbed my bag I shouted something like, “Nuh uh,” and tugged back, but he kept pulling and trying to take off on his motorcycle with it. Which is when the adrenaline kicked in and I yanked it back and started yelling, “No! F*&#% you!” super loud and smacking him with the bag of eggplants…and then when the eggplant bag broke, I just went on hitting him in the shoulder and back area as hard as I could.  

Of course really all I had in my shoulder bag (although I do happen to be fond of this particular bag) was my wallet with about 10 mil (~ five bucks), my phone, my Spanish Harry Potter and a towel, and so even as I was shouting at the guys and swinging away I was thinking, “Hmm, this is a little bit dumb…”

Although I obviously didn’t hurt the guy, I succeeded in making enough of a scene that the guy let go and they drove off, leaving  me and my bag on the sidewalk (as long as they aren’t armed, the goal here is really to get in and out without any fuss and they’d stuck around way too long at this point). But then to top off the “American gets robbed in Colombian Neighborhood!” event, I succumbed to the adrenaline and screamed “F&*^# you!” as loudly as I could as they drove away and gave them the middle finger. 

I was a little pissed?

And then of course came the “helpful” neighbors who’d watched the whole thing retelling the story to the entire neighborhood, which turned into something like this, in a few different but in hindsight, hilarious variations—

First man: “There were three men on motos! They tried to rob her! They didn’t get her bag though, she hit them!”

Neighbor woman: “They hit her!? Is she okay?”

Me: “No, I hit them. I’m fine! I have everything.”

Second man: “Yeah, there were three men! She hit them!”

Other woman: “She got hit?! Is she hurt?!”

Me: “No no, I hit them! I’m fine!”

….etc. Until finally, using broken Spanish, I convinced the women I was totally fine and that I hadn’t lost anything to the moto robbers, at which point I collected my scattered eggplants and managed to scurry away home. 

…So, yeah. Take that, Colombian men, who think small white girls with large bags are easy targets!

Ahem. All I can say is, I super hope they don’t figure out where I live…Meanwhile, the eggplants turned out super deliciously!

Eggplants ready to be cooked :):

Mostly Pictures

After the excitement of marking our one month leveling-up, this week has been a fairly uneventful one, since we’re spending the entire thing at “school.” It’s pretty furiously boring, and since we have no respite from class this week, we’re all turning a tad bit rebellious. The fact that the vegetarian lunches (catered from a nearby restaurant) included only rice and boiled yucca a few days almost started a riot! But, watcha gonna do. (We’ve been promised we’ll get beans from now on with our rice EVERY day, woot!)

Anyway, this past weekend was my abuelo’s 74^th birthday, which meant that we had their two grown up children staying in the house for the weekend with their siblings, spouses, and kids…and also meant that I spent more time with small children in two days, one-on-one, than I think I ever have. Once I locked my bedroom door so they could no longer access my belongings in order to fit as many as possible in their mouths, our relations improved…

Sunday was the day of the party, which started with visitors around 4 and although food wasn’t served until 9, the evening got progressively more entertaining as my technical host brother served me multiple “shots” of aguadiente. (“Shots” because shots here mean taking a miniature plastic shot glass and filling it a third to half full for each shot. Aguadiente is anise flavored but clear; if vodka and jaeger had a baby, it would be this. I sort of really like it but for others it’s more of an acquired taste)

Highlights of the evening included taking this, my favorite picture from Colombia thus far—(my host grandpa):

Putting out Christmas decorations (up for good) included stringing flashing Christmas lights over every available surface inside the house. These lights all flash at different time intervals (epileptics beware):

 

My abuelo telling the entire party contingent how bad I was at Spanish multiple times…but then making all the people clear out at the end of the photo op time so he could take a picture with “his new daughter!”

 

The adults having the small children (yes, one still in diapers and holding her babydoll), show me how to salsa, and completely showing me up:

Meeting the extended the fam:

 Here's granddaughter Mary Louise showing me my favorite fruit here, a star fruit:

Celebrating Christina's bday Colombian style...aka getting Aguila and cake and hanging out on the patio for hours:

Meanwhile, we were the local entertainment for the night (all sorts of Colombians gathering outside the gate to see what all the gringos were doing in their barrio):

Here's Katie as we sample some more local fare, including “vegetarian” pizza, which once we made sure to exclude the tuna came with mushrooms, onions, and CUCUMBERS

 And here Tyler is eating "Salchipappas," aka frenchfries tossed with fried hotdog slices then topped with lettuce, fried cheese, grated cheese, ketchup, ranch sauce, thousand island dressing-esque sauce, and in some cases, pure oil drizzles as well (!)

Futbol!

Friday night was the long awaited match of Colombia v Venezuela in soccer. So, a group of us braved the torrential downpours and went out to 82^nd street, aka the happening part of town, and in the gringo schmob of norm, found a place (or two) to watch the game.

As gringos, we drew more than our fair share of stares, but fortunately the yellow-shirted Colombians for the most part had other, more important things on their mind. (I was vastly amused by the number of extremely hot women in sexy yellow Colombian jerseys also being completely ignored by the men who were glued to the game…sooo universal!)

Now, I legitimately enjoy watching soccer, but I have to say the highlight of the game was for sure when a lil snowy white owl swooped down to catch a mouse that for some reason had climbed on top of the goal post. The owl nabbed it, flapped around a bit, and then dropped the thing when it was almost out of the stadium (so tragic). But the camera work was pretty awesome…we got to watch the kill in slow motion a few times as well. Nothing like a bit of nature to liven up a sports event!

'Lower Your Expectations'

For the first two weeks we were here, we had a woman from DC come and teach us who told us that the way to have a good tour of service was to “lower our expectations.” “Put this on your mirror and look at it every day,” she told us. “if you do that, you will be able to enjoy the next two years.”

It was said in the context of a discussion about classroom resources and school dynamics, but she instructed us that it would apply to pretty much everything.

It’s an interesting way to look at things, and certainly not the norm for most job approaches, but in some ways I’m sure it was to try and counteract the idealism that many Peace Corps trainees have upon entering service, who just end up jaded and sad because they aren’t able to change the world.

Well, I’m happy to report I never thought I’d be changing the world, and I had small ambitions about changing the school in big ways—although I definitely hope to make an impact wherever I am.

Still, it shocks me that, despite the age of some of our recruits, and despite their own teaching experience, rather than “lowering their expectations,” instead  get extremely frustrated with the “differences” between Colombia and the US.

For instance, during our field practicum, most of the schools didn’t have schedules ready for us -we had to sit and write down what teachers had classes when, or for some it was a constant battle to figure out when classes were. “Why!?” expostulated a few of my fellow trainees. “They had to have known this. Why couldn’t they have done this before we were here? In the US, this never would have happened.”

(To be fair, some schools failed to communicate the fact to the teachers they would be having Peace Corps Volunteers, but I heard these complaints over and over at my own school which was ready for us, welcomed us, and worked with us to have us observe and teach the whole week.)

Or, in terms of student behavior, people in my group will see terrible teachers trying to various degrees to teach a class and say something like, “I can’t believe the awful classroom management here. That NEVER would happen in the US!”

Or, “How does the principal and/or teacher just disappear and not do anything? In the US that’s just unacceptable.”

There was a school who had someone manually ring the bell for classes and sometimes they just forgot—which lead to the question, “Is there really no central organization here? What’s going on?”

Maybe these are logical questions, but the assumptions are grating; the fact that there are daily delays and changes in schedule not only in schools but often in our own training as well make some of the people here go into conniptions.

It sort of makes me want to shake a few people and say, Are you serious?! Have you never volunteered in an inner city school? Have you never seen the conditions our US schools are in? In Memphis (hey Nat), there’s a school where the teacher had something like a stroke in the first few months and they just didn’t have a principle for the year. In the US there are countless kids of every age who have no idea how to read, let alone speak a different language…and yet the fact that a sixth grade English class is taught in Spanish here is shocking?

I guess, ultimately, I’m disappointed at the illusions of some of the people in our group. I would have thought these conditions would have been assumed. I would have thought we’d all be so much more open minded instead of struggling so much with these ‘differences’ as well as the flexible schedule issues. And to hear that people don’t realize in what state so many of our schools in the US are…well that just makes me sad. How are we supposed to help the schools of another country without recognizing the limitations of our own?

Lowering expectations may not have been the motto we wanted to be instructed to hold, but it certainly makes sense. However, more than that, it seems like we should really increase our understanding overall—and widen that to a global sphere. We need to learn about Colombia from a historical as well as experiential perspective, but I think it’s important to also recognize that the US education system, especially in inner cities, is not necessarily superior. (An interesting dual concept to hold, since our presence here is perhaps predicated more on our Americanism than our teaching abilities.)

Either way, I know of myself that I don’t  have the experience or the skills that so many of my other trainees have that will help them quickly excel in the classroom. If only I had a few years of teaching experience! Then I could come in feeling like I was ready to make a bigger difference; I think this will be both a pro and a con—in that I may be able to have a more open mind about the education here and not have as many set expectations as some of my fellow volunteers will.  One month in, it’s certainly fascinating to see how much we all have to learn.

Strikes

Well, nothing like a little bit of déjà vu to make Colombia start to feel like home; today, the teachers at schools around the city went on strike to protest benefits and salary cuts. It didn’t affect the school I was teaching at, but some of the other schools with volunteers were affected.  Recall Scott Walker! Oh wait.

Meanwhile, there’s another, national movement going on because of higher education reforms, which meant that university students were also striking throughout the city.

As far as the university strikes, this has to do with a law the government is trying to pass that would privatize some of the public universities. Right now, the public universities—there’s one in each of the big cities—are close to free for the students who get in. They’re the best schools in the country; private schools are as good as your money can pay for, but none are as good as the public ones. However, it’s incredibly hard to get to a public university—you have to get a super high score on the IGFAS, they’re version of the SAT/ACT.

The government wants to double the amount of people who can get in, but also cut funding and try and make some of the funding private. The law is due to be put to vote very shortly. These protests started a few weeks ago in Bogota, and schools were vandalized and police were out in force.

In Barranquilla there isn’t violence but there was an organized march through some of the major parts of town. We’ll have to see how it continues.

In terms of the teacher strikes, there’s an interesting history to that as well. There’s a big teachers union in Colombia that has some fairly typical sorts of union scandals. About twenty years ago, the government didn’t want to hire new teachers who were eligible for the union so to save money they hired “temporary” teachers. Twenty years later, these temporary teachers are still teaching. Except, six years ago the government instituted reforms to try and give spots back to “qualified” teachers. The problem is of course that the temp teachers are very angry when they’re spots are taken since they’ve had the job for decades. And to compound matters, the way the new teachers are hired are by taking a test, and people with absolutely no teaching experience can get a teaching spot if they score high enough on the test.

And of course there are rumors of scandals, etc, and the union tried to prevent all the current teachers from taking the test but who knows. Right now there’s just sort of a mess going on with unhappy teachers, unqualified teachers, and the typical union woes.

All in all, we should probably just recall Scott Walker.

Field Practicum

This week was “field practicum,” which meant we observed and taught at a local school in Barranquilla. Along with seven other trainees, I went to Instituto Tecnico Maria Cano, which is an all-girls public school here in Barranquilla. It has the highest IGFA scores in the city—that’s the equivalent of the ACT in Colombia. The school teaches all ages, from 1^st-11^th grade. We won’t have a volunteer in their school this year, but next year someone from the second group will probably get to teach there.

For the first two days, all I did was observe, including two eighth grade classes, one first grade class, and one eleventh grade class. On Thursday Itaught the 11^thgrade class on my own, and co taught the 1^st grade class with another volunteer from Peace Corps.

We were supposed to “grade” the teachers we were observing (and then tell them their scores) but since that was probably the most awkward of propositions regarding interactions with local teachers yet, I decided to forgo this part of the day.

In terms of observing, the first grade class was amazing to watch. My favorite activity was whenthe teacher said things like “Give me three pencils!” (in English) and the little kids would scramble from their chairs to get her their pencils…which escalated eventually to “Give me one chair!” at which point chairs literally went flying. But no one was hurt, and in a minute she had them sitting down and quiet again! I want to grow up to be like her. Except, I don’t want to teach primary at all, but that’s another story…

The sixth grade class, however, was a whole different sort of experience. In two hours, the teacher not only was less than effective, but she had me wanting to run away as fast as possible because I was so bored; after endless, futile permutations of one single reading activity (I was so bored I don’t even remember what the point of it was), the class was finally over. And the teacher disappeared. Meanwhile, in class I refused to speak anything but English to the kids (for instance, I answered their Spanish questions in English) and apparently this English teacher complained to the coordinator afterwards because she was sent someone who “didn’t speak Spanish!” (So I was useless in her English class, clearly)

In terms of teaching, I co-taught the first grade class with another volunteer. It was sort of awful. The class was two hours long and we were stuck in a tiny classroom with thirty little chairs and no real wall between us and another really loud class next to us, so I almost lost my voice just trying to make myself heard. And, then, well, it’s first graders. They are certainly not my cup of tea, nor were they my co-teachers’, so we spent a lot of the time smiling and helping the children while saying to each other softly, “Man I hope I don’t have to do this for the next two years!”

Then, I taught 11^th grade alone. I was nervous about this class since when I observed, I learned about 10 times more English grammar than I’d ever been exposed to…ever. This was the more “basic” 11^th grade class; most girls didn’t speak or understand much if any English and the teacher didn’t teach conversation—she just focused on grammar because that’s what they need for the IGFA. So what do I do? I go in with listening and speaking activities!

The theme was “tag questions”—things like, “She has a nice car, doesn’t she?”Or, “You for sure can’t speak Spanish, can you?” Using everything from tongue twisters to jazz chants to Stevie Wonder’s “Isn’t She Lovely,” we traipsed our way through two hours of class. And you know what?Not gonna lie, I would have liked to be in my class! And since I had so much fun writing the jazz chant, here it is for your enjoyment : )

(and just FYI, a jazz chant is meant to teach pronunciation or grammar or words or really anything oral, and you practice saying it as a class and add snaps and say it in a rhythm out loud together)

“The Bored Fish”

Once upon a time a fish in the sea,

Said to his friend, “Are you bored like me?”

“Yes,” said his friend, “I’m bored in the sea.

But we can have more fun, can’t we?”

“Yes!” said the fish, so they jumped into a tree!

“Now we’re having fun,” he said, “Aren’t we?”

I even drew a picture of fish in a tree. Yeah, that’s right.

After everything class was cut a little short because the 11^th graders were off to the university to learn more about what they could study there.

Sadly the Peace Corps folks weren’t there to watch me teach this class (they observed the first grade class instead, ugh) since I feel like (especially as opposed to 1^st grade) that’s somewhere I can actually bring something to the table. Also, if I get to teach secondary I wouldn’t have to spend the next two years singing “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes,” either. Always a plus!

Beached

Today, my host grandma and Heidi’s host mom decided to take us to the beach. Barranquilla’s beach—Puerta Colombia, is an old port and the original reason Barranquilla is such a large city. So, around noon (only about two hours after our planned departure time, since everyone here operates on “coastal” time), we headed out. Taking the cheapest bus meant getting a taxi to a bus stop and then standing on a crowded bus for the next 45 minutes or so, until we reached the beach.

As far as beaches go, and especially Caribbean ones, it wasn’t hugely impressive-- it’s rather small and the water is full of giant seaweed plants that curtailed enjoyable swimming. However, the breeze was wonderful and the water warm, and Heidi and I strolled the small beach front while our host parents sat under our rented cabana. 

We packed a picnic—as you can see, perhaps not the typical beach picnic! It included fried fish (as in, cut a whole fish, with scales and head still attached, in half and dunk it in a giant pot of bubbling oil), a few boiled potatoes and boiled pieces of yucca, an avocado to split, and some cooked bananas.

I’ve yet to see any other beaches in the area, but I hear they’re fairly amazing…can’t wait to see them…meanwhile, thinking about the fact that it’s actually November is pretty ridiculous! 

 Pretty much the entire beach

 The small children enjoyed the seaweed

 Lunching in the cabana

 Colombian-style picnic

 Wading time!

 beach!!

Salsa!

On Friday night, I finally experienced some Colombian-style dancing firsthand(!)-- a group of us went to  La Troja, which is a historical place in Colombia to go and dance salsa. Contrary to my initial assumption, this is not a “club” or dance place of generic style; we arrived at 10:30 to an open seating style location replete with blaring music and tables overflowing over the sidewalks—not many walls involved in this place. People—Colombians and as many tourists/foreigners as I’ve ever seen in Barranquilla—sat at their plastic tables and shouted to be heard over the music. 

So where’s all the salsa at this famous salsa place? Welp, turns out La Trosa is perhaps the only established dancing place I’ve ever been without a dance floor— dancing here meant finding space on the patio between tables and, under glaring lights, (attempting to) dance Salsa. Avoiding the gaggle of foreigners in one corner, our group of volunteers (complemented by two of our host fathers) positioned ourselves directly in an uncomfortably central location and began our clumsy imitation of salsa.

Now, I couldn’t tell you all the music played was salsa, or if salsa was all people danced, since I think there might have been a few different dances going on throughout the night. However, I’ve learned that I’m pretty sure the act of doing salsa, or any of its dance cousins, is potentially physically impossible. At first glance, it doesn’t seem to have many steps. However, turns out actually dancing it basically necessitates dislocating your legs from your hips in order to simultaneously shimmy the entire limb while traipsing back and forth in short double-time steps, flicking your ankles, and provocatively swaying your ass, all while keeping your shoulders fairly still, although a shimmy and shake or two up there is apparently desirable as well.

This is what I learned first from observation, and then from when the friendly Colombians (male and female) sitting near us, after watching our painful gyration attempts, began to give us helpful hints from the peanut gallery. “More hips!” and “Relax!” were followed by the women getting up to demonstrate the aforementioned impossible moves…and then their boyfriends hopped in to try and guide us girls through a song or two, to various degrees of success…

Meanwhile, the poor guys in our group were just completely given up as a loss. At least as girls you can usually follow the direction of the knowledgeable guys, if not the complicated foot patterns. Guys, well…handicapped already by genetics and a lifetime of getting away with the “I’m jogging in place while bobbing back and forth!” style of dancing...as one guy in our group was bluntly told by a native, “You’re bad at this.”

Waking up with ears still ringing and a cramp in my foot did not exactly sway me towards going back to La Trosa the very next night, as some people in our group planned to do …I think perhaps it’d be advantageous to find a place with less revealing lighting to get some practice in before repeating that exercise quite yet!

Decisions

Just a little bit on the “where am I going to end up?” question that, although we’re only three weeks in, has been the looming question on everyone’s minds.

On Thanksgiving day, Peace Corps will announce to us whether we will be spending the next two years of our lives in Barranquilla, Santa Marta, or Cartagena—in the city-proper or somewhere outside of it. Most placements are directly in the cities, but there are a few rural ones—there’s one on a mountainside outside of Santa Marta, and there are rumors of a placement on an island off of Cartagena. Even the Peace Corps folks haven’t made the final decisions of what schools will receive Peace Corps volunteers. (And just as a point of reference, these cities are all on the coast, 1-3 hours away from each other).

In order to decide where we’re placed, members of the staff interview us on our “strengths and weaknesses,” listen to our Spanish skills, watch our “field practicums,” or teaching examples, and evaluate us day by day. We can sort of voice, or at least hint at, our hopes and desires as well, although the Peace Corps does everything with the injunction to its volunteers to “be flexible.” After all of this, they make like a sorority and vote on where we’ll end up.

Needless to say, there’s been a great deal of hullabaloo over the process, as well as over where people want to be. Barranquilla is traditionally the least popular destination, since it’s really an industrial city without the history or beauty of Cartagena or Santa Marta. And yet, everything has its pros and cons—Cartagena, outside its historical center, is dirty, hot, and mostly urban sprawl. Santa Marta is a tourist resort destination, filled with beautiful beaches and scenery, yes, but without any real cultural activities and with the transiency of a tourist town. Barranquilla is blocky and plain, but with the best resources both Peace Corps and otherwise. And then to compound the basic destination thing, there’s the fact that although most spots will be urban, there are a handful “peri-urban,” or more rural school placements out there, and there are quite a few people in the group ready to fight tooth and nail over them.

And of course, under everything is a rumbling of disquiet from many in the group, since the fact that most of us will be in highly urban city settings for the next two years is really starting to sink in; most of, if not all of us, were basically expecting to spend a couple years of our lives doing the classic living-in-a-hut-pumping-water-never-shaving-and-loving-it Peace Corps thing. In Colombia, however, our placements will almost all be completely urban. We’re talking, high-heels, full makeup, skirts, tourists, and discotecs sort of urban. 

Awesome, some might say…but after eschewing city life as often as possible, for me it’s a little odd to be in this scene, living in the biggest city I’ve ever been in, in an extremely odd mix of poverty and development—of unheated showers and streets without sewers, cinder-block schools and huge shopping malls and American prices. And even after packing basic professional clothes, I really did not come close to being prepared on the fashion wardrobe front, which is really just another issue entirely. 

It’s not just the supplies/city living aspect, either. Ensconced in this city atmosphere is an important, totally different aspect to our jobs and lives, and that is fundamental role that Peace Corps has in this country; Peace Corps is in Colombia to do a specific task as set by the Colombian government—to improve the quality of its English education. Unlike the classic Peace Corps routine of reaching out to towns and villages that otherwise might never hear a word of English or have an English teacher, or might never been connected to other countries or even bigger cities, our job is much more corporate, and potentially much more governmentally shaped. ( I don’t know enough about all posts to completely generalize this way, but I haven’t heard much to the contrary)

My job in the Peace Corps is going to involve fitting myself into an established school hierarchy, working with teachers to help them improve. I am not a lone bringer of English—I am a status-laden classroom aide, a tremendous resource armed with materials and knowledge and native speaking abilities to help bring the English level of this country up.

I am certainly not saying we shouldn’t be here. I’m absolutely not saying that this country, with its incredible dichotomy of rich and poor, of children who take English from teachers who can’t speak it, but can only dictate grammar, of people so poor they don’t have running water and live in classic squalor because half of this country is at or below poverty level, should not have the Peace Corps presence.  I’m simply saying that this is much different than I ever expected, from way back when I first contemplated the idea of doing Peace Corps after college…a decade ago at least!...and I am still trying to wrap my head around it.