Immaculate Conception

Turns out, December 8^th in Barranquilla is the first official festival day of the holiday season. Some say that after this day, it’s the start of the festival season…as in, festivals and celebrations start now and pick up until Carnival, which happens the first week of February. While I can’t vouch for that, I can say that I have never heard of a holiday with such a religious name comprise so much fiesta-ing!

Technically the day celebrates the immaculate conception of Mary..which involves the concept that in order for Mary to be a virgin her mother would have had to be immaculate as well…so apparently this transformation took place on the eighth. I could be quite wrong about this. But I’m pretty sure that was explained to me in English, so who knows!

The formal tradition of the night includes candle processions, where children and adults carry small candles in lanterns made of colored saran-wrap and wood through the streets. Perhaps not the most fire resistant materials, but they look pretty! Some women even dressed in beautiful traditional costumes, including white tops and full skirts embroidered with colorful threads and splashed with glitter.

The parties started the evening of December 7^th. Many families had parties that night for various things before the holiday festivities started; I ended up at a volunteer’s family’s celebration for a high school graduation where their uncle cooked chicken with mushroom and Jamaica flowers, carrot rice, and a mashed potato soufflé of some sort. Delicious. 

As a sidenote, I’ve finally figured out that there is a distinct difference between “reunions” and “fiestas,” even though they can be comprised of the same people, and both are almost always attended by family members and close family friends from ages zero to ninety. In case you were interested, turns out a “reunion” is the sitting thing, where everyone sits in a circle and has a progressive dinner with such delicacies as bologna wrapped dates and tuna rice. A fiesta is lots of drinking and dancing. Events such as birthdays or graduations can be celebrated with either reunions or fiestas. Both are considered highly important, both are full of family (as in, fiestas are not just for young people and/or friends) but they are very different, and the two words are never swapped, here…which leads me to believe my family thinks I’m a crazy partier, since I’ve told them I’ve gone to multiple “fiestas”…except sometimes these were “parties” of the American style…such as “baking parties,” where we made cookies.  And ate them. And ate some more. Anyway. Fun cultural distinction of the week!

But back to the Immaculate Conception--having thought that my abuelos had mentioned a family event, I went home around midnight to see what was going on. They were highly surprised to see me, expecting me to be traipsing around the streets all through the night, as apparently all the other normal, non-septuagenarian Barranquillans were. But with taxi prices shooting sky high, I couldn’t afford to travel solo to any other place in the city, so I took a catnap until 4am. After my senile grandpa got over his surprise that I was in the house for a second time, we lit candles underneath the lanterns, turned on our very own competing sound system, and sat outside our house to listen to the smorgasbord of Colombian music exhaling from each doorstep while the sun rose. We sat there until every last of the ten candles had burned to the tile, and I retired to my room around eight. 

A bit anti climactic after all the buildup for this holiday, but I guess I have a few more years to get this one right!

Pictures of our pretty candle row:

Sun has risen

Site Visit for Realsies

So, a few weeks ago we visited volunteers at their sites to see how a “real” school functioned; this week, we visited the schools that will be our very own for the next two years!

The week kicked off with a “conference,” where during Monday afternoon and Tuesday morning we all met with our Colombian teacher counterparts at a local hotel in Barranquilla to have introductions and go over expectations, project details, et cetera. The idea was that each school would send a teacher or administrator—the teachers from Santa Marta and Cartagena even traveled to Barranquilla for the meeting.

Of course, attendance got a little tricky, since the director of both my school and another volunteer’s failed to alert any teachers about the conference. Which meant that our awesome program administrator got on the phone with whomever it took to fix this issue—including, in the other volunteer’s school’s case, the secretary of education in Bogota. 

As for me, my school answered Olga’s call by grabbing the nearest English teacher they could find and sending her on over (interrupting her daily activities and not giving her any information, of course). However, Shirley, the teacher I got to meet and shadow, is wonderful. She’s 26, speaks incredible English, and is the newest teacher at the school, having started just this past September. The first things about teaching at this school out of her mouth included statements such as, “I think we can really improve things a lot. The curriculum isn’t very holistic and there isn’t enough focus on speaking and listening.” Which are only the subjects most emphasized for us volunteers to attack(!) She’s done amazing projects with her students and is incredibly sweet, as well. The only thing I worry about with her is that seems like they’re really dumping a ton of work on her, as her hours are long and she teaches English classes to grades three, four, five, six, seven, ten, and eleven (!) 

The absolute worst of all of Shirley’s situation is that Shirley shared with me that she has had to lessen the amount of English she speaks in class. Why oh why would she have to do this? Because her students don’t understand? Nope. Because she finds it too difficult to do? Nope. Beeeecause, the other teachers and her boss became resentful of her language abilities and thought she was trying to show off when she taught her classes mostly in English. As the new teacher, she couldn’t risk her boss holding a grudge, so she took it down a notch. She tells me she hopes things will be better this coming year, and she can speak more English, because, as she said to me, “how else will the students learn the language?”

I got a little more clarity on the subject when I briefly met the head of the English department. (She’s the one to whom every teacher has to submit lesson plans for approval, and has designed a highly restrictive, grammar-oriented curriculum everyone is mandated to follow). Her English is…not so good. I think she was partially nervous trying to talk to me, but the differences between her English and Shirley’s were staggering. After speaking a few broken English sentences to me, she gave up and spoke instead in rapidfire Spanish while Shirley translated…So we could be in for some awkwardness on this one. 

In terms of my school itself—it’s both a primary and secondary school with grades K-11. With a total student count of just under 800 students, it’s pretty small, in Colombian public-school terms. There are four English teachers with various degrees of English proficiency who all hold at least one other job.

In addition, from what I’ve gathered, it’s been a difficult school in general because there’s seemingly not a central push from the director to make the Peace Corps presence anything of great note, and the teachers are so busy that they are certainly not planning to change the structure of their days around me. (I actually heard a rumor that the last volunteer recommended that my school be taken off the list of PC-patronized schools for something of this reason. Hrrmm.)

As for the visit itself, there’s not much more to say. This week wasn’t exactly the typical school week for students. As in, the vast majority of students (as well as teachers) simply weren’t around; regular school finished last week, and this was the week to deal with grades and students in danger of failing. Grades were due on Friday, but before grades can be given, the failing students have to be passed. In Colombia, only a very small percentage of students are “allowed” to fail, by law. For students who currently have failing grades, this was the week these students are supposed to be “caught up,” and then given a second test so they can not-fail. But, if the student is failing three or more subjects at the end of all this, he is held back a grade. While I was visiting, there was a small boy in absolute tears being comforted by a math teacher. Turns out he’d failed not only math, but English and something else as well. Shirley comforted him—“Tranquila, mi amor,” and the teachers all rallied to try and help him pass at least one subject. 

I don’t know how that all turned out, however, because turned out that afternoon was my first and last day visiting the school. In a twist not unlike some of my other fellow volunteers’, I wasn’t invited back for any sort of follow-up visit, since during this week no one at school was really around and no one had communicated about or planned for my visit. I have to say, it was a little disappointing. However, since the teachers were either on vacation or just doing grades, I’m hoping this was more about the timing of the site visit, and less a harbinger of things to come.

Meanwhile, the only other interesting thing I was able to see at school was Shirley prepping for her review. Since she’s new at the school she’s on “probation.” Here in Colombia, under the new reforms, the newest teachers have reviews each year. Shirley had collected samples of her material from the last few months she was at school, made copies, burned CDs, and generally had an impressive portfolio assembled. She had to “prove” that she’s taught effectively, which meant lesson plan examples, grades, tests, other project examples, etc. Certainly not a project for the disorganized! It was clear she should do amazingly on her review, so hoping that all goes well for her.

Whew. Long update! Anyway, in other news, having only one afternoon at the school meant…free days for Emily! 

Since I have no pictures of the school (thinking I’d be back during the week meant I didn’t bring a camera on Tuesday), here is a sampling of how I filled my days:

Strolling the streets and catching up on Barranquilla fashion:  

Making a delicious pan of brownies out of the mix my wonderful parents sent me in my very first care package:

 …And devouring it all in one sitting with two other obliging volunteers(!):

(As a small sidenote, chocolate here, to my great dismay, costs a PREMIUM. This brownie session was the culmination of seven weeks of chocolate frustration. It was amazing.)

The Barranquilla volunteers recorded a podcast on Chance’s awesome technology (yes, he somehow managed to fit those microphones into his suitcase…and you can catch the broadcast on peacecorpspodcast.com if you’re so inclined)

And taking a turn downtown at El Mercado, the city market that sells just about everything you’d ever want or need, where I purchased the Divinci Code in Spanish because I wanted a taste of great literature. Just kidding. (Turns out reading translated fluff is super good for learning Spanish!)

 Anyway, this is the statue outside the little city library near the market commemorating Barranquilla’s independence:

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.