I stayed up til 6 in the morn to see the results due to the time zone thing, and then I realized that Obama and I have parallel futures. He starts his training today, I start my training tomorrow. He does a crash course on being a president and swears in Jan 20; I crash course on being a Gambian supastar and swear in just a few days before.
As of post time, Indiana is still processing votes and has not become either red or blue. I'm still waiting... Hope the Hoosiers make me proud.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
The More Things Change, The More They Stay The Same
Intense learnings, followed by intense reflections. As of late, that seems to be my rhythm of life. So many new experiences and situations that I never would have imagined myself in, not in a million years.
I am one of two former Bolivia volunteers who chose to continue service in Africa. We had a range of choices- among them various countries in Latin America, plus Bulgaria, China, and a sprinkling of options in Africa. I have been asked numerous times why I would choose to go to the Gambia. Why of all places, if I was offered Caribbean islands or Costa Rica, did I pick a place that I myself had never even heard of?
This is especially mind-boggling for the Gambia’s volunteers who dream of being in Latin America and whose jaw-dropping reactions to my casual mention of living in the Amazon and Andes is quite comparable to my giddiness when directions to a friend’s house includes the phrase, “Just walk towards the ocean.”
My decision to leave Latin America and come to Africa, however naïve, was fueled by the desire to experience something different. I felt I had spent enough time in Central and South America that I had a good enough grasp of the language and culture that I wanted to travel and live in a part of the world that was completely foreign to me.
I also knew that one year ago when I received my invitation to be a volunteer in Bolivia, had the invitation been to Africa I would have had serious doubts on whether I would really make it. Bolivia provided the training wheels I needed to feel comfortable with an offer for the other side of the world. So of course, though I am about to be the veteran in a group of trainees that have not yet experienced Peace Corps life, I do have a very high level of respect for those who come in totally green and take the plunge without testing the waters. I don’t know that I could have done it.
My first week in country I went to visit a volunteer in an extremely rural site. I thought it would be so different. What I’m finding though, is despite the difference in modern conveniences and luxuries (ie. a toilet), the Peace Corps experience continues to be very similar. The details change but the ideas remain the same. Instead of being called a “chinita,” I now get “TOUBAB!!” Kids still love to talk to you and men still love to hit on you. Major infrastructure does not exist, roads are just sand instead of dirt, patience is of the utmost importance, and sitting around relaxing and talking is still a major past time.
There has been one notable difference that I can’t get over here in the Gambia, and that is the attitude towards Peace Corps volunteers. They love them. I remember one time at a taxi stand in Bolivia when some random Bolivian struck up a conversation with me and asked what I was doing in the country. I told him I was a Peace Corps volunteer and he responded by dropping his voice to a whisper and saying, “That’s not something you want to be telling strangers. I work for the Embassy…I know.”
In the Gambia, though, being associated with the Peace Corps is a sign of status, a badge of honor, a free pass through police checkpoints and an intimidation factor that brings shame and embarrassment to out-of-line officials looking for bribes. It gets discounts and warm welcomes into restaurants and clubs where DJ’s grandly announce the entrance of a group of volunteers.
Moving from an area where volunteer status warranted accusations of spying and sterilizing women to one where I am regarded as a superstar and a hero is quite a change of pace. Forget the changes in religion, politics, language, and culture. Just give me a second to get used to that one.
I am one of two former Bolivia volunteers who chose to continue service in Africa. We had a range of choices- among them various countries in Latin America, plus Bulgaria, China, and a sprinkling of options in Africa. I have been asked numerous times why I would choose to go to the Gambia. Why of all places, if I was offered Caribbean islands or Costa Rica, did I pick a place that I myself had never even heard of?
This is especially mind-boggling for the Gambia’s volunteers who dream of being in Latin America and whose jaw-dropping reactions to my casual mention of living in the Amazon and Andes is quite comparable to my giddiness when directions to a friend’s house includes the phrase, “Just walk towards the ocean.”
My decision to leave Latin America and come to Africa, however naïve, was fueled by the desire to experience something different. I felt I had spent enough time in Central and South America that I had a good enough grasp of the language and culture that I wanted to travel and live in a part of the world that was completely foreign to me.
I also knew that one year ago when I received my invitation to be a volunteer in Bolivia, had the invitation been to Africa I would have had serious doubts on whether I would really make it. Bolivia provided the training wheels I needed to feel comfortable with an offer for the other side of the world. So of course, though I am about to be the veteran in a group of trainees that have not yet experienced Peace Corps life, I do have a very high level of respect for those who come in totally green and take the plunge without testing the waters. I don’t know that I could have done it.
My first week in country I went to visit a volunteer in an extremely rural site. I thought it would be so different. What I’m finding though, is despite the difference in modern conveniences and luxuries (ie. a toilet), the Peace Corps experience continues to be very similar. The details change but the ideas remain the same. Instead of being called a “chinita,” I now get “TOUBAB!!” Kids still love to talk to you and men still love to hit on you. Major infrastructure does not exist, roads are just sand instead of dirt, patience is of the utmost importance, and sitting around relaxing and talking is still a major past time.
There has been one notable difference that I can’t get over here in the Gambia, and that is the attitude towards Peace Corps volunteers. They love them. I remember one time at a taxi stand in Bolivia when some random Bolivian struck up a conversation with me and asked what I was doing in the country. I told him I was a Peace Corps volunteer and he responded by dropping his voice to a whisper and saying, “That’s not something you want to be telling strangers. I work for the Embassy…I know.”
In the Gambia, though, being associated with the Peace Corps is a sign of status, a badge of honor, a free pass through police checkpoints and an intimidation factor that brings shame and embarrassment to out-of-line officials looking for bribes. It gets discounts and warm welcomes into restaurants and clubs where DJ’s grandly announce the entrance of a group of volunteers.
Moving from an area where volunteer status warranted accusations of spying and sterilizing women to one where I am regarded as a superstar and a hero is quite a change of pace. Forget the changes in religion, politics, language, and culture. Just give me a second to get used to that one.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Around The World, Around The World
Dates: Oct 23 - Present
Location: The Gambia, West Africa
I have lived in four countries in four weeks and traversed four different continents if you count a layover in Brussels. Yesterday I celebrated my one year in-service. That’s one year since I officially swore in as a Peace Corps Volunteer.
And I live in The Gambia. Who’d have thunk it?
So much to post, such a long hot walk to the internet. I know many of you are very anxious and excited to hear about my new life as an African-American!
Just kidding…I’m actually an American-African.
Alright, so for lack of knowing where to start, let’s try to start at the beginning. I left the continental U.S. in the afternoon of October 22, 2008 after a second round of goodbyes to friends and family and a feeling of déjà vu from having just done the exact same thing one year ago. After approximately 30 hours of travel I step down from the plane onto the soil of West Africa. Incredible.
The rapid transition without sufficient warning, planning, and mental preparation from country to country and continent to continent results in moments of confusion and/or panic from time to time. Sometimes I am a little disoriented and it takes a second to realize where I am. Exiting the plane was one of them.
I was on the same flight as the Foreign Minister of Taiwan, or some
Equally Important Individual. There was a huge crowd of Gambians gathered for this occasion and as I walk down the stairs and exit the plane, I see this group of people and I am seized with panic. Large crowd of host country nationals = strike, protest, blockade. My immediate response: Turn around and walk away slowly. As my eyes look for an escape route, I begin to realize that this that this crowd of people is not angry. In fact, they are singing and dancing! They’re not protesting, they’re celebrating! As I miss the shuttle to the terminal due to this incredible sequence of events that really all took place within my slightly unstable mind, I remind myself, “Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
I continue with my entrance into the country of The Gambia and wait
in line to pass through customs. The agent, the first Gambian I’ve met in the country, proceeds to take my passport, verify the information, and write down his cell number for me, telling me I “won’t regret it” if I give him a call. Some things never change.
I am greeted in the airport by four volunteers carrying a Peace Corps sign. Felt like home already. The driver takes me to the transit house. Unlike in Bolivia, where volunteers stay in hostels in their regional cities, the small country in which I am to live does not have even the same level of infrastructure as Bolivia. There are no hostels, and certainly no hotels within the budget level of a volunteer. So instead Peace Corps rents out a large house where volunteers stay. No more wireless internet of the Magdalena, the choice hostel in Santa Cruz, Bolivia. Goodbye to a pool outside your room, to social gatherings on the rooftop and cable televisio
n with CNN Worldwide. Gone to two people a room and welcome to dorm life. Up to six people per room, common areas downstairs with a lone television, a fully-furnished kitchen minus the microwave, and a nice little dining area outside complete with deafening power generator. Welcome to the Gambia.
I have been spending my days adjusting to the heat, traveling “upcountry,” living in the bush, or rural areas, and not understanding anything said to me- neither Pular, Mandinka, nor Wolof, not even the English. I am to do full training with the new group that arrives Nov. 6. Until then I have time to enjoy the country and the nightlife, get to know current volunteers, celebrate Halloween, celebrate the elections (or at least I hope it will be cause for celebration), and then lose my status as PCV- Peace Corps Volunteer- and return to the dreaded PCT status- Peace Corps Trainee. Put best by an RPCV- Returned Peace Corps Volunteer- still living in The Gambia, “It’s like going to the prom when you’ve already graduated.”
But, it was my decision to go through training and I am looking forward to the opportunity to learn a new language and meet another group of people who, in my heart, will never never replace my former Bolivian volunteers, but perhaps a group who will find a different corner of my heart to occupy, a space all their own. The new group will be a mix of health and agriculture/forestry volunteers. We will spend approximately 10 weeks learning one of three languages, plus Gambian English which, trust me, is nothing like the English I taught in Bolivia. There will again be culture training and technical project training, same as before. Many things the same, but I am different. Older, wiser, seasoned, at times jaded. More patient, more open-minded, more adventurous. The biggest change though is evident by looking at my luggage. Two fifty pound bags, one carry on luggage and one backpack. And almo
st all filled with food, including several pounds of Velveeta. Might as well bring my wish list with me.
Send me questions and I will send answers, and don’t you worry, more interesting stories with gory details still to come when I have the time. I believe I will lose internet access soon after the 6th for a period of time. Rumor has it that there is cell phone service in the training villages so perhaps I won’t be cut off from civilization after all. Contrary to the information that I received while still back in the U.S., I actually do not have a determined site. I may not be living on the beach like I thought, and though it is a bit of a bummer, great projects and great people beat out location any day. So I’m still optimistic about my options and I’m just waiting to see what this crazy life of mine decides to throw me next.
Signing off and sending love to all of you- my family, friends, and former PCVR’s, wherever you now may be.
Tammy Truong
PCV The Gambia
Location: The Gambia, West Africa
I have lived in four countries in four weeks and traversed four different continents if you count a layover in Brussels. Yesterday I celebrated my one year in-service. That’s one year since I officially swore in as a Peace Corps Volunteer.
And I live in The Gambia. Who’d have thunk it?So much to post, such a long hot walk to the internet. I know many of you are very anxious and excited to hear about my new life as an African-American!
Just kidding…I’m actually an American-African.
Alright, so for lack of knowing where to start, let’s try to start at the beginning. I left the continental U.S. in the afternoon of October 22, 2008 after a second round of goodbyes to friends and family and a feeling of déjà vu from having just done the exact same thing one year ago. After approximately 30 hours of travel I step down from the plane onto the soil of West Africa. Incredible.
The rapid transition without sufficient warning, planning, and mental preparation from country to country and continent to continent results in moments of confusion and/or panic from time to time. Sometimes I am a little disoriented and it takes a second to realize where I am. Exiting the plane was one of them.
I was on the same flight as the Foreign Minister of Taiwan, or some
Equally Important Individual. There was a huge crowd of Gambians gathered for this occasion and as I walk down the stairs and exit the plane, I see this group of people and I am seized with panic. Large crowd of host country nationals = strike, protest, blockade. My immediate response: Turn around and walk away slowly. As my eyes look for an escape route, I begin to realize that this that this crowd of people is not angry. In fact, they are singing and dancing! They’re not protesting, they’re celebrating! As I miss the shuttle to the terminal due to this incredible sequence of events that really all took place within my slightly unstable mind, I remind myself, “Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.”I continue with my entrance into the country of The Gambia and wait
in line to pass through customs. The agent, the first Gambian I’ve met in the country, proceeds to take my passport, verify the information, and write down his cell number for me, telling me I “won’t regret it” if I give him a call. Some things never change.I am greeted in the airport by four volunteers carrying a Peace Corps sign. Felt like home already. The driver takes me to the transit house. Unlike in Bolivia, where volunteers stay in hostels in their regional cities, the small country in which I am to live does not have even the same level of infrastructure as Bolivia. There are no hostels, and certainly no hotels within the budget level of a volunteer. So instead Peace Corps rents out a large house where volunteers stay. No more wireless internet of the Magdalena, the choice hostel in Santa Cruz, Bolivia. Goodbye to a pool outside your room, to social gatherings on the rooftop and cable televisio
n with CNN Worldwide. Gone to two people a room and welcome to dorm life. Up to six people per room, common areas downstairs with a lone television, a fully-furnished kitchen minus the microwave, and a nice little dining area outside complete with deafening power generator. Welcome to the Gambia.I have been spending my days adjusting to the heat, traveling “upcountry,” living in the bush, or rural areas, and not understanding anything said to me- neither Pular, Mandinka, nor Wolof, not even the English. I am to do full training with the new group that arrives Nov. 6. Until then I have time to enjoy the country and the nightlife, get to know current volunteers, celebrate Halloween, celebrate the elections (or at least I hope it will be cause for celebration), and then lose my status as PCV- Peace Corps Volunteer- and return to the dreaded PCT status- Peace Corps Trainee. Put best by an RPCV- Returned Peace Corps Volunteer- still living in The Gambia, “It’s like going to the prom when you’ve already graduated.”
But, it was my decision to go through training and I am looking forward to the opportunity to learn a new language and meet another group of people who, in my heart, will never never replace my former Bolivian volunteers, but perhaps a group who will find a different corner of my heart to occupy, a space all their own. The new group will be a mix of health and agriculture/forestry volunteers. We will spend approximately 10 weeks learning one of three languages, plus Gambian English which, trust me, is nothing like the English I taught in Bolivia. There will again be culture training and technical project training, same as before. Many things the same, but I am different. Older, wiser, seasoned, at times jaded. More patient, more open-minded, more adventurous. The biggest change though is evident by looking at my luggage. Two fifty pound bags, one carry on luggage and one backpack. And almo
st all filled with food, including several pounds of Velveeta. Might as well bring my wish list with me.Send me questions and I will send answers, and don’t you worry, more interesting stories with gory details still to come when I have the time. I believe I will lose internet access soon after the 6th for a period of time. Rumor has it that there is cell phone service in the training villages so perhaps I won’t be cut off from civilization after all. Contrary to the information that I received while still back in the U.S., I actually do not have a determined site. I may not be living on the beach like I thought, and though it is a bit of a bummer, great projects and great people beat out location any day. So I’m still optimistic about my options and I’m just waiting to see what this crazy life of mine decides to throw me next.
Signing off and sending love to all of you- my family, friends, and former PCVR’s, wherever you now may be.
Tammy Truong
PCV The Gambia
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
We're Pretty Much Famous
I'm sitting in a hut in Africa and pick up a random Newsweek the other day, and as I flip through I come across an article on Bolivia with a mention of the Peace Corps withdrawal. You just can't get away from it!
Ongoing media coverage includes a story appearing on the front page of the Washington Post last week on a fellow volunteer and his decision to return to the country. Link as follows.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/10/22/AR2008102203710.html
Also a photo journal:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/gallery/2008/10/22/GA2008102203342.html
Stay tuned for coverage on life in Africa. Coming soon.
Ongoing media coverage includes a story appearing on the front page of the Washington Post last week on a fellow volunteer and his decision to return to the country. Link as follows.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/10/22/AR2008102203710.html
Also a photo journal:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/gallery/2008/10/22/GA2008102203342.html
Stay tuned for coverage on life in Africa. Coming soon.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
I Love 'Merica.
In case you were only following my blog and did not see me, I actually did make it out of Peru and back to the US on my way to the Gambia, West Africa. Unfortunately during my whirlwind tour of the States, I did not take the time to blog and I hope it does not take you by surprise to hear that I am leaving for Africa in under twenty four hours.
Yes, you heard right. I am leaving this beautiful country with its McDonalds and Papa John's and sushi and hotdogs, with its indoor heat and hot showers and clean bathrooms and carpet, to go work as an agri-business volunteer in the Gambia.
To prepare, I did everything American. I ate disgusting quantities of fast food followed with my mom's amazing cooking and several visits to sushi and Vietnamese restaurants on the side. I went to a political rally. I celebrated my sister's 21st birthday and my own twenty-something birthday. I shopped, I clubbed, I partied, I sang, I learned all the new hip-hop and battled young bucks. I went to a party to welcome my brother back from his three month long motorcycle ride. I crashed friend's houses and invited people over, I learned to play guitar and drums after first learning what exactly Rockband was. I saw all my best friends (minus Viet), and even got to hang out with a fellow B46 volunteer. Add into that several tall iced caramel machiattos from Starbucks and my never-ending reveling in the fresh scent of public bathrooms and the soft feel of toilet paper and my US visit is complete.
Wish me the best as I embark on travels to a post with no electricity, no running water, no internet and no cell phone. If you would like to send me letters, I can receive them at the following address:
Tammy Truong PCV
US Peace Corps
And yes, the rumors are true. I cut off all my hair in preparation for bucket baths in the Gambia. Locks of Love now has the hair I had and I now wake up with major bed head. But it doesn't matter when you don't have a mirror!
Yes, you heard right. I am leaving this beautiful country with its McDonalds and Papa John's and sushi and hotdogs, with its indoor heat and hot showers and clean bathrooms and carpet, to go work as an agri-business volunteer in the Gambia.
To prepare, I did everything American. I ate disgusting quantities of fast food followed with my mom's amazing cooking and several visits to sushi and Vietnamese restaurants on the side. I went to a political rally. I celebrated my sister's 21st birthday and my own twenty-something birthday. I shopped, I clubbed, I partied, I sang, I learned all the new hip-hop and battled young bucks. I went to a party to welcome my brother back from his three month long motorcycle ride. I crashed friend's houses and invited people over, I learned to play guitar and drums after first learning what exactly Rockband was. I saw all my best friends (minus Viet), and even got to hang out with a fellow B46 volunteer. Add into that several tall iced caramel machiattos from Starbucks and my never-ending reveling in the fresh scent of public bathrooms and the soft feel of toilet paper and my US visit is complete.
Wish me the best as I embark on travels to a post with no electricity, no running water, no internet and no cell phone. If you would like to send me letters, I can receive them at the following address:
Tammy Truong PCV
US Peace Corps
PO Box 582
Banjul, The Gambia
West Africa
And yes, the rumors are true. I cut off all my hair in preparation for bucket baths in the Gambia. Locks of Love now has the hair I had and I now wake up with major bed head. But it doesn't matter when you don't have a mirror!
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Press Release
If you are interested...
http://edition.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/americas/09/16/bolivia.peace.corps/
Oh, and I sweet talked my way into a free new phone number. Let me know if you need it.
http://edition.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/americas/09/16/bolivia.peace.corps/
Oh, and I sweet talked my way into a free new phone number. Let me know if you need it.
Refugee Status
Mi Amor,
Do you know what you are doing to me? You break up with me. We get back together. You break up again. I take you back. You promise to be good. You promise it will be better. I believe it. I put my heart and soul into it and convince myself that it will work out. Things go great for a few weeks. Life has never been better!
Then you break up with me again. And again. And again. And now it’s for good.
How do I know? I’m sitting in a hotel in Lima, Peru, with a broken heart and broken spirit, picking at food, tossing about instead of sleeping, unable to believe how my life got to this point. I feel like I need to cry but I can’t make sense of any of the feelings I have.
You’re killing me, Bolivia. What do I do now???
With the saddest of goodbyes, and the fondest of memories, I wish you the best of luck.
Tammy
Word came in on Wednesday that Ambassador Goldberg was out. Thursday I get a call in the evening about emergency consolidation and the next morning I am out of Samaipata. I say bye to the few people I can as they are picking up their guns to go protest. Twelve frantic hours in a 4x4 with nine people driving the back roads in order to avoid the tanks, military, and unnecessary confrontations with protestors in the streets, I arrive in Cochabambaba, tired, confused, and sad.
Our sites told us to get out before the Indians kill us. Counterparts called Peace Corps and told them their volunteers were not safe. We watch as friends in our communities respond to the calls to take up arms and we don’t know what we should do. Is it that serious? It must be this time. I usually tell people Peace Corps is consolidating, and they respond with a wave of the hand and a “No pasa nada…” Nothing will happen. This time they respond with tears. Tears for their people, tears for their country, as they process feelings of total bewilderment and despair. After all, where will they go? They have no consolidation point, no evacuation plans.
After my arrival Friday night in Cochabamba, I sleep and wait. The longest hours of life. Waiting, without any idea with what might happen, without explanations. Saturday we move hotels. Sunday we get the message that we are indeed evacuating to a neighboring country. We are not told where. Then we move again. It’s for our safety, they say. Anti-American sentiment is high and no one can know where we are going or that we have even consolidated. We’ve only told our communities that we have to meet up for a minute and that we should be back. Yeah right.
Monday we are scheduled to get out of the country. It is an interminable wait. Half of the volunteers have already been evacuated to Peru. My group is still in Bolivia. No one is allowed to say anything to friends or family for fear that the military cargo plane that had to jump hoops to get clearance for a bunch of Americans to get into Peru will run into problems and that we will have no way out. American airlines has cancelled flights in and out of Bolivia til the end of the month. Private chartered planes have waiting lists of 20+ organizations and hundreds of Americans are waiting for a chance to get out.
During the eight hour wait in the airport for our military jet to get there, we receive more news. We are not going to just wait it out in Peru for things to get better. The decision has already been made that the Bolivia program is suspended. No returning there. Do you now want to close service early and go back to the U.S., or would you like to take another run at it in a different country?
It’s just too much to take in. Our minds are numb. There is a cloud hanging over us that makes for a subdued, depressed atmosphere. Not only did we leave our communities, now we will be leaving each other. That’s just something we can’t process yet, something that I will not allow myself to think about.
We jump on our military aircraft, strap ourselves in, and several bumpy, airsick hours later we arrive in Peru. The back hatch of the plane opens up and five or six men in suits walk towards us to greet us. It’s just like the movies. We walk out, a group of scraggly, tired, sleep-deprived volunteers and shake hands with the Embassy reps, the Peruvian Peace Corps director, and members of the U.S. Air Force who were responsible for our safe evacuation.
Minutes after my group lands on Peruvian soil, the press release goes out letting the world know that Peace Corps has suspended the program. Up til then, no one in Bolivia, minus the people involved in flying clearances, knew that we were on our way out.
I now feel like a refugee in wait. Waiting to see if Bolivia continues to blow up. Waiting to speak to people I care about. Waiting for that inevitable moment when things catch up to me and I fall apart. And waiting, and wondering, of what the future holds. This sucks. It all sucks.
Do you know what you are doing to me? You break up with me. We get back together. You break up again. I take you back. You promise to be good. You promise it will be better. I believe it. I put my heart and soul into it and convince myself that it will work out. Things go great for a few weeks. Life has never been better!
Then you break up with me again. And again. And again. And now it’s for good.
How do I know? I’m sitting in a hotel in Lima, Peru, with a broken heart and broken spirit, picking at food, tossing about instead of sleeping, unable to believe how my life got to this point. I feel like I need to cry but I can’t make sense of any of the feelings I have.
You’re killing me, Bolivia. What do I do now???
With the saddest of goodbyes, and the fondest of memories, I wish you the best of luck.
Tammy
Word came in on Wednesday that Ambassador Goldberg was out. Thursday I get a call in the evening about emergency consolidation and the next morning I am out of Samaipata. I say bye to the few people I can as they are picking up their guns to go protest. Twelve frantic hours in a 4x4 with nine people driving the back roads in order to avoid the tanks, military, and unnecessary confrontations with protestors in the streets, I arrive in Cochabambaba, tired, confused, and sad.
Our sites told us to get out before the Indians kill us. Counterparts called Peace Corps and told them their volunteers were not safe. We watch as friends in our communities respond to the calls to take up arms and we don’t know what we should do. Is it that serious? It must be this time. I usually tell people Peace Corps is consolidating, and they respond with a wave of the hand and a “No pasa nada…” Nothing will happen. This time they respond with tears. Tears for their people, tears for their country, as they process feelings of total bewilderment and despair. After all, where will they go? They have no consolidation point, no evacuation plans.
After my arrival Friday night in Cochabamba, I sleep and wait. The longest hours of life. Waiting, without any idea with what might happen, without explanations. Saturday we move hotels. Sunday we get the message that we are indeed evacuating to a neighboring country. We are not told where. Then we move again. It’s for our safety, they say. Anti-American sentiment is high and no one can know where we are going or that we have even consolidated. We’ve only told our communities that we have to meet up for a minute and that we should be back. Yeah right.
Monday we are scheduled to get out of the country. It is an interminable wait. Half of the volunteers have already been evacuated to Peru. My group is still in Bolivia. No one is allowed to say anything to friends or family for fear that the military cargo plane that had to jump hoops to get clearance for a bunch of Americans to get into Peru will run into problems and that we will have no way out. American airlines has cancelled flights in and out of Bolivia til the end of the month. Private chartered planes have waiting lists of 20+ organizations and hundreds of Americans are waiting for a chance to get out.
During the eight hour wait in the airport for our military jet to get there, we receive more news. We are not going to just wait it out in Peru for things to get better. The decision has already been made that the Bolivia program is suspended. No returning there. Do you now want to close service early and go back to the U.S., or would you like to take another run at it in a different country?
It’s just too much to take in. Our minds are numb. There is a cloud hanging over us that makes for a subdued, depressed atmosphere. Not only did we leave our communities, now we will be leaving each other. That’s just something we can’t process yet, something that I will not allow myself to think about.
We jump on our military aircraft, strap ourselves in, and several bumpy, airsick hours later we arrive in Peru. The back hatch of the plane opens up and five or six men in suits walk towards us to greet us. It’s just like the movies. We walk out, a group of scraggly, tired, sleep-deprived volunteers and shake hands with the Embassy reps, the Peruvian Peace Corps director, and members of the U.S. Air Force who were responsible for our safe evacuation.
Minutes after my group lands on Peruvian soil, the press release goes out letting the world know that Peace Corps has suspended the program. Up til then, no one in Bolivia, minus the people involved in flying clearances, knew that we were on our way out.
I now feel like a refugee in wait. Waiting to see if Bolivia continues to blow up. Waiting to speak to people I care about. Waiting for that inevitable moment when things catch up to me and I fall apart. And waiting, and wondering, of what the future holds. This sucks. It all sucks.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Latest News
To avoid personal bias on the issues, here are some links for you to keep abreast of the news in country.
From the U.S. Department of State- Travel Warnings for Bolivia (with a great summary of the current situation):
http://travel.state.gov/travel/cis_pa_tw/tw/tw_bolivia.html
Recent Articles regarding Bolivia:
http://www.iht.com/articles/ap/2008/09/14/news/Bolivia-Protests.php
http://www.forbes.com/reuters/feeds/reuters/2008/09/14/2008-09-14T125035Z_01_N14392717_RTRIDST_0_BOLIVIA-PIX-TV-GRAPHIC.html
From the U.S. Department of State- Travel Warnings for Bolivia (with a great summary of the current situation):
http://travel.state.gov/travel/cis_pa_tw/tw/tw_bolivia.html
Recent Articles regarding Bolivia:
http://www.iht.com/articles/ap/2008/09/14/news/Bolivia-Protests.php
http://www.forbes.com/reuters/feeds/reuters/2008/09/14/2008-09-14T125035Z_01_N14392717_RTRIDST_0_BOLIVIA-PIX-TV-GRAPHIC.html
Friday, September 12, 2008
This is Not a Test. I Repeat, This is NOT a Test.
How I would love to be my happy-go-lucky self right now. How I would love to feel the way I did a 5 in the afternoon yesterday, right after I taught 10 ladies who MAKE tofu, but don´t know how to COOK tofu, how to turn their slab of compressed soy into deliciousness. You will appreciate the irony if you know that for two years after college I ate out every meal because I didn´t know how to cook. And here I am teaching it.
Right now though, the high feeling is gone. Instead my stomach feels like I may throw up any minute. I have a knot in my throat and I wasn´t able to sleep more than 2 hours last night. The situation in this country is deteriorating. Bolivians are killing other Bolivians. The people have revolted against the government, especially in the area where I live. Grandpas who sit in the plaza are now taking up arms and helping to ransack government offices and government controlled businesses. The U.S. ambassador was kicked out of Bolivia this week, and in return the Bolivian ambassador was kicked out of the U.S. as well.
News headlines read ¨The Nightmare has Begun¨ and ¨Bolivia- A Country in Mourning.¨ People are losing body parts to dynamite. Gas pipelines are being blown. Blockades are up in every other community. Even Samaipata a community known for never taking part has joined. Who knows how much worse this will get and where it will end. Chavez, leader of Venezuela and mentor to President Evo, said that he plans to make Bolivia into Vietnam #2 and that he and his people are ready to die for it.
It's gotten horribly ugly and at 5:30 yesterday I got the call from Peace Corps that they are again consolidating volunteers. Evacuation is the next step if necessary. However, like my dad says, there really is no reason to worry about me. The US government has to have a plan. What I ask, however, is that you keep the Bolivian people- my friends, my co-workers, my adopted family- in your thoughts and prayers. They are the ones who need it.
I will post periodically with updates. Let's hope for the best.
Right now though, the high feeling is gone. Instead my stomach feels like I may throw up any minute. I have a knot in my throat and I wasn´t able to sleep more than 2 hours last night. The situation in this country is deteriorating. Bolivians are killing other Bolivians. The people have revolted against the government, especially in the area where I live. Grandpas who sit in the plaza are now taking up arms and helping to ransack government offices and government controlled businesses. The U.S. ambassador was kicked out of Bolivia this week, and in return the Bolivian ambassador was kicked out of the U.S. as well.
News headlines read ¨The Nightmare has Begun¨ and ¨Bolivia- A Country in Mourning.¨ People are losing body parts to dynamite. Gas pipelines are being blown. Blockades are up in every other community. Even Samaipata a community known for never taking part has joined. Who knows how much worse this will get and where it will end. Chavez, leader of Venezuela and mentor to President Evo, said that he plans to make Bolivia into Vietnam #2 and that he and his people are ready to die for it.
It's gotten horribly ugly and at 5:30 yesterday I got the call from Peace Corps that they are again consolidating volunteers. Evacuation is the next step if necessary. However, like my dad says, there really is no reason to worry about me. The US government has to have a plan. What I ask, however, is that you keep the Bolivian people- my friends, my co-workers, my adopted family- in your thoughts and prayers. They are the ones who need it.
I will post periodically with updates. Let's hope for the best.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Paros y Bloqueos. Strikes and Blockades.
What you’ve missed, and what I’ve lived:
Aug 8, 2008- I am at a resort with TV in my cabin. Talk about luxury. Olympics start, I catch a few minutes of the opening ceremony then wait up several nights in a row til four in the morning hoping to catch some sort of coverage but to no avail.
Aug 11, 2008- It is announced that Evo is to continue as president, winning 60% of the vote. People get angry.
Aug 12, 2008- Peace Corps releases volunteers from confinement and I am on my way to Trinidad, Bolivia, to meet my brother who has ridden a motorcycle from the U.S. to visit me.
Aug 13, 2008- People are still angry.
Aug 14, 2008- I cruise down the Amazon rivers with four volunteers on
a sweet little boat that takes us away from civilization. I swim with river dolphins, look for monkeys and crocodiles, fish for piranhas, and eat turtle eggs as I wait for my brother to show up. Just as I give up hope, when the sky is dark and the search for a cell phone signal comes up empty, the sound of a motor puttering though the darkness emerges. I get so excited I howl at the full moon, run full speed towards the river without seeing the two horizontal wires attached to posts as a makeshift fence, and successfully knock all the air out of my lungs as I fall backwards. My brother makes it in one piece (the same cannot be said about his motorcycle) and he is greeted by a well choreographed Macarena dance, Peace Corps style.
Aug 17, 2008- I finish my cruise and and re-enter the city only to find that people are not done being angry.
Aug 18, 2008- Strikes. Blockades. No transportation. I get stuck in Trinidad indefinitely. The whole town shuts down. Only thing to eat are the snow cones a girl is selling on the street. I eat two.
Aug 19, 2008- People. Angry. I am stuck. Dirty hostels. Tammy. A little angry.
Aug 20, 2008- Reruns of female gymnastics beam final. I watch it four times. Tammy, now not so angry.
Aug 21, 2008- I eat friend alligator at a delicious Mexican restaurant where my friends and I have eaten every night we have been in the city. We finally get to take an overnight bus back to Santa Cruz.
Aug 22, 2008- I belatedly remember my one year anniversary in country. Those who are in the city go out with me and celebrate in style.
Aug 23, 2008- I finally get back to site. My brother gets to spend three hours with me in Samaipata, enough time to go to the bathroom, eat lunch, go to the bathroom, and get back in the taxi.
Aug 24-28, 2008- I spend five days in site setting up meetings for
my various projects. Find out the mayor has changed, and so has my counterpart in the mayor’s office. I am now on my third one in a year.
Timmy, my beloved landlord’s dog, follows me to the highway and is hit by a truck and dies.
Aug 28, 2008- I head out for rodeo, one of
the biggest and most traditional events in Bolivia volunteer life. However, the angry Bolivians do not rest. I get as far as Santa Cruz, two and a half hours away. Blockades close the roads and prevents travel, putting to waste the weeks of careful planning that has taken place to get the highly coveted Argentine steak into the mouths of beef-deprived volunteers.
Sept 2, 2008- I get an adorable new Boxer-Staffordshire bull terrier mix puppy whose name Liula (pronounced Lula) was inspired by my best friend Jing Liu.
Sept 3, 2008- I learn that to be a successful Peace Corps volunteer in my site, I really should have studied interior design rather than business. I am put in charge of decorating a newly built hostel in Bella Vista and the redecorating of the shop from my women’s group. Not to worry though. What I lack in artistic creativity, I make up in resourcefulness. So I go about doing what I do best: I network, and I outsource. Done and done.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Sneaky, sneaky.
August 22 almost slipped by me without notice. Tricky little one. Thank goodness I remembered just in the nick of time that it was my ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY in country!!!! Oh, how time flies.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
I'm So Good at this Game
I just got out of the Amazonian jungle where I spent several days camping, floating down a river, seeing crocodiles, eating alligators, and making friends with dolphins.
Unfortunately my cell phone decided not to come back with me. I again have a new number. Email me if you want it!!!
Unfortunately my cell phone decided not to come back with me. I again have a new number. Email me if you want it!!!
Saturday, July 12, 2008
José Can You See?
Nothing beats being a displaced American on the anniversary of your country’s independence. And certainly nothing can beat forty displaced Americans together in the Chaco of Bolivia, forty American Peace Corps Volunteers who took an oinking pig and made it their dinner, who woke up in the early morn to squirt milk from the teat of a cow and mix it with moonshine, who dressed in red, white, and blue, barbequed, played wiffle ball, built a bonfire, put on a fireworks show, and sang the national anthem loudly and obnoxiously in the middle of Machareti, Bolivia, population 400 (or something like that.)
How do you describe that sense of pride coursing through your veins as you sing the Star Spangled Banner for the third time that day, with an American flag (albeit with only 48 stars) hanging behind the beautiful pig who sacrificed his life so a bunch of Volunteers could celebrate their love and pride for their country? Never have I enjoyed the 4th of July as much as I enjoyed my first one in
All my life I have been acutely aware of the fact that though I am American, I am Asian- American. Vietnamese- American, to be exact. I’ve always realized that my cultural background has certainly had a strong influence. After all, how American American could I be? I attended the #1 party school and never drank one beer. Never played beer pong or flip cup or bonged a beer. Not that it makes you American or not, but I also didn’t like hotdogs, hated mustard, and I don’t play cards. I don’t like watching football or baseball or basketball. Guess I don’t fall into the stereotype. Up until now, I had never even noticed. After all, I am Asian-American. That’s my excuse.
For the first time in my life though, I realized that
here in
Sr. Chancho enjoying his last moments here on this earth
No one wants pork with hair on it
Paying homage to the homeland. And of course, Gracias Chancho, for giving yourself to us on a very special day.
A recap from the wonderful host (and my not-so-secret crush):
¨I'd like to thank you all for coming and contributing to the best 4th of July celebration in Machareti's history (and my life). We drank over 300 beers and 25 bottles of wine, over 10 kilos of cow and one whole pig, 50 sausages and 50 bagels, and we broke the record for most Gringos drinking rubbing alcohol and milk in a Chaqeño corral. My family was beyond impressed with the belly dance (gracias kasia!) and fire-on-the-end-of-the-bally-
I heart Gringolandia.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Toughest Job You'll Ever Love. Are You Ready???
My sister calls to talk to me quite regularly. That’s how I know she loves me. She also updates me on life in the U.S.- Obama won over Clinton; my brother was delayed in starting his motorcycle trip down to visit me; she is spending the summer working in a doctor’s office. Like all the other Truongs, she’s a bit of a go-getta and is currently job shadowing in a medical practice to ready herself for a career in medicine. I think it’s always a great idea to really get your hands dirty to decide if you would really like the work, and not just the work, but the other aspects of the job. Can you really make it? Will you really like it? Better to find out with a quick shadowing experience than to wait and make the dive only to find out you hate it.I just recently had my very own job shadowers here in Samaipata. Never did I think that at such an early stage in life- I would call it a career, but I can’t really say I have a career anymore- did I think I would have job shadowers. But lo and behold, people are interested in the Peace Corps, and a few weeks ago my first job shadowers arrived. Thuc Truong and Le Nguyen, better known to me as Mom & Dad. (They tried to disguise it as a vacation but I know better).
True, I have never heard my dad sound more disappointed in me that when I told him I was quitting P&G. P&G, who gave me a car and a cell phone. P&G, where I was on the fast track to a great career. P&G, who paid me more in a month than I now make in a year.
But I understand. My dad is an engineer. It is his job to worry about failures, about all the things that could potentially go wrong. I believe worrying gives me a big headache. So I take life as it comes and think about all the great things that could be. At any rate, my dad is a worrier but not close-minded. He spun a 180 and went from hating the fact that I was joining Peace Corps to declaring to my mom, “I’m going to join Peace Corps when I retire.” And her response? “Ok then, let’s do it!”So here’s the countdown: Two years til my Pops retires, 1.5 yrs til I get back, 1 year for the application process… I’d say we’ll have a good 6 month overlap.
I went to Peace Corps to get a better understanding of what life must have been like for my parents going to a country where they did not know the language or underst
and the culture. My parents want to go to Peace Corps to help out, but also to see what my life must be like jumping out of the world I grew up in to get lost in one where all was foreign. Talk about role reversal. But what more can you ask for in a family? Parents who inspire their children, children who (somehow) inspire their parents. A great quote from my dad after I left for Peace Corps and after my brother started his motorcycle trip though the Americas to come visit me: “I could not stop them from going, so now I just have to cheer them on.”For a little change of pace, I will let you read about their vacation and job-shadowing in their own words. Just keep in mind, even with everything they saw, my parents are convinced they still want to do Peace Corps. [Borat Voice] Great Success. [/Borat Voice].
Livin' on the Wild Side
By: Thuc Truong, Guest Columnist
We arrived at Viru Viru airport in Santa Cruz, Bolivia in the morning of Friday May 23. We were anxious to see Tammy, but had to go thru the in-process. We had to wait to obtain visas to visit Bolivia and it took a while, then picked up the luggage and went thru customs.
We were the last passengers leaving the air port and saw Tammy waiting outside. We were so happy to see her, but because of the
long wait she thought maybe she had come to pick us up on the wrong day. We were tired and sleepy, but very happy to see Tammy so we tried to stay awake to talk and see the country and the people.It took 3 and a half hours to travel from the airport to Samaipata. We felt like we were traveling in Vietnam, especially when the car traveled on the mountain pass. The pass reminds me a lot of the Bao Loc, Prenn, Ngoan Muc, and Dran passes that lead to Dalat city in Vietnam. And Samaipata is very much like my home town Don Duong.
Samaipata weather and scenery are very similar to my hometown, so we had no problem adjusting to it. The town people are friendly, and the town atmosphere is very laid-back.
We are happy that Tammy’s home is clean and roomy for one person to live in.
Tammy’s dog, Mia, was not in good shape. So we made soup to feed her hoping that she could become healthy again. She improved, but she could not make it. She died and we buried her in Bella Vista on a rai
ny, foggy morning just before we had to hike out on the hilly, muddy, slippery road to the highway.While we were in Samaipata, we hiked to El Fuerte to see the Incan ruins. It is a great place to see, and the steep-winding dirt road up and down the mountain is fun to walk.
We also hiked in a trail in Bella Vista. It’s steep both down and up the mountains, but it was beautiful, and fun to explore. It took 6 hours to complete this hike, and we planned to hike another four hours the next day, but it rained hard that night. So the hike on the next day was cancelled, and the SUV scheduled to come to pick us up could not come in because of the slippery, muddy dirt road. We did not want to miss our flight, so we decided to hike 20 km to the highway to return to Samaipata.
That was a 6 long hours of
walking on up and down the mountains on very slippery muddy road, and we had to cross streams resulting from the rain. This is the same road Tammy had to travel about four months earlier after a week of rain, landslides, mud-filled river beds that she and her friend had to walk out after getting stuck for one week in Bella Vista.We had a great time seeing Tammy, and seeing the places where she lives and works. We are happy that she is safe and healthy, but were sad when it was time for us to go home.
We took the taxi to go back to Santa Cruz to get ready to return home and got back safely just in time to see our oldest son, My, getting ready for his motorcycle trip on the Pan-American high ways to Bolivia to see Tammy.
We wish Tammy and her Peace Corps volunteer friends a safe and rewarding time while serving in Bolivia, and great future when they are back in the U.S. resuming their professional careers.
Bolivia: Cold Showers and No Blowdryers
By: Le Nguyen, Guest Columnist
My husband Thuc and I decided to visit Bolivia, a country in South America to see our daughter Minh-Tam who works there as a P
eace Corp volunteer. We also wanted to have some knowledge of this country. The trip was quite an adventure. It was a memorable “vacation” to spend time with one of our children as well as other Peace Corps volunteers.These young Americans possess a variety of backgrounds in education, culture, and skills are there willing to help other people in need. My husband and I really admire these folks for what they are doing, living in the areas where material things are no big deal to them. Staying in the rural sites of Bolivia, I appreciate more what we have while living in America where resources are abundant.
We arrived in Bolivia after a total of 12 hours of flights from Miami, Florida. Tam greeted us at the gate after a long wait due to flight delays. It was a warm and humid day. The weather, airport facility, the scenery with tropical flowers, banana trees, old model used cars, dusty roads, all kept reminding me a lot of Vietnam. If not for the Spanish language, I could believe that I was in Vietnam.
After a long 3 hours by taxi cab, a used car fueled with natural gas- standard Bolivia operational vehicle- the three of us got to Samaipata. Traveling on dusty, winding highways, a warm sunny day without air conditioning in a car, Tammy explains that the cab we are in is carefully selected. She had tried to have one that was nicer so we would not be overwhelmed. Since most taxi cabs there are operated to serve the needs for transportation and not for leisure, so either having a radio, air conditioner, or a clock is a luxury. Overall what Tam wanted was a newer cab that wouldn’t give us carsickness or back pain.The car brought us safely to her place. The cab driver who drove the two lane divided mountain pass at speeds of 45 miles per hour or less was passing other taxi cabs, buses, motorcycles , animals and even pedestrians. Not all the mountain roads are paved. Some of them are rough, full of rocks because of land slides a couple of months ago. They are tough to travel but to Bolivians it is nothing. It seems there are no safety standards there, traveling here and there is at your own risk. It reminds me of traveling in Vietnam in the 1970’s. I guess it could be the standard of traveling in third world countries.
From the airport, we went through Santa Cruz city in mid-afternoon, passing by open markets crowded with people, honking vehicles, cattle on the street, and our taxi cab was trying to go through this maze. My heart kept going up & down at sudden stops or when people crossed in front of moving vehicles
. Such things do not bother them. I just prayed that there was no accident so we could get to Tam’s home as early as possible. I enjoyed looking out the car windows and seeing beautiful rows of mountains, cliffs of waterfalls, and bright nectarine and orange trees. Along the hills were gorgeous colorful wild flowers as the villagers’ strolled down the dirt roads avoiding huge spots of horse manure. In contrast to Vietnam, Bolivia lands are huge and uncultivated with less population. The country is peaceful and in no rush.We got to Tam’s home late in the afternoon. Tam’s little cottage is homey. Greeting us was her neighbor’s dog, Timmy. This fellow is Tam’s guard. He follows Tam anywhere she goes. We also tended to Tam’s puppy, Mia. She was very sick. Tam took really good care of the puppy with many nights getting up to feed and take Mia outside to the bathroom. Unfortunately, Mia is no longer with us on this earth.
After a long rest the next day, we visited the town and the people. It is a small community. Surrounding business areas are mom and pop stores, a market, a museum and a central park.
The park is the main center where festival events are held and townspeople hang out. People are friendly, greeting each other as they pass by. Life is simple and laid back. Business hours are different. It varies from 8 am to 12 am and from 3 pm to 6 pm. Business activities are suspended from 12 pm to 3 pm because of nap time. Bolivians do not work on holidays or Sunday. We were in Samaipata while its anniversary date was celebrated. We could not get anything done since stores and markets were closed. Tam commented that time is irrelevant there. Business people do not keep appointments to clients as arranged. An appointment change without advance notice is not new. Tam warns us not to get uptight when the taxi cab driver is not there on time.Tam had invited three of Peace Corps friends who were working near Samaipata to her home for dinner. These folks were hungry for any dishes except the Bolivian ones. Per Tam’s request, I made some authentic Vietnamese dishes. They enjoyed PHO, which is chicken noodle soup
garnished with cilantro, fresh basil and lime juice. They also liked the shredded cabbage salad, mixed with shredded boiled chicken and crushed toasted peanuts. But most of all these folks enjoyed spring rolls served with mixed hoisin sauce and peanuts. They had fun wrapping a piece of pork, shrimp, and shredded lettuce with thin rice wrapper. [Editors note: My mother must be hallucinating. There is no shrimp to be found here.]While having dinner with these fellows, they shared with us their assignments in these country areas. Britta‘s project is helping the villagers to set up ponds to raise fish. Kilo’s is teaching English. And Yolanda is helping the town people become aware of environmental issues such as trash on the roads and animal waste on the streets. Tam is guiding the local small businesses in marketing ideas, such as how to set up products to appeal to buyers, and to make a recent profit after fixed cost is incurred. To us the projects that the volunteers are working on are not new but the town people actually have no knowledge of these areas.
Just want to share with you about the living quarter of Britta, one of the volunteers. We had a
chance to visit her place. The hills where she lives are surrounded by mountains and winding dirt roads. These paths are muddy because of landslides or rains. There are no street lights, no hot water, no kitchen or washing facility in the house. It seems like she is living the life of Americans in the pioneer days of “Little House on the Prairie”. I asked Britta how she takes a shower or washes her clothes. She just said she just has a cold shower and washes clothes by hand. She mentioned that she just has a warm shower when visiting Tam’s place. What a good adjustment she has made!!While in town, we took a hike to El Fuerte. From Samaipata, we walked up and down steep-
winding mountain paths to El Fuerte to see the Incan ruins. It took us about 6 hours of hiking to visit such a historical place. Mountain after mountain, surrounding views are gorgeous. Passing steep hills and little creeks we came to examine the towns and tombs ruled by the Incans hundred years ago. As we were heading back to Samaipata, we were coincidently accompanied by a local tour guide. His family members, the founders, had set up the tourist site at El Fuerte. He shared with us the history of sites and traveling seasons. The man stopped us in the middle of the hike pointing to the mountain up high. There were human faces carved on them. Without this gentleman, I am sure that we missed such unbelievable carvings.
Mountain Side- Take a good look
"Incan Face"- In case you couldn't see it
We had another day of adventure in Bella Vista. This is the site where Tam works as a co-op touris
t planner. The roads to this area are rocky, narrow and curving to mountains, but the SUVs made it through. Guiding our adventures was the local tour guide. We hiked in Bella Vista trails of the Amazon. Winding through mountain tracks, passing several eco systems, we were up to the mountain tops of over 1000 meters high, and down to the flowing rivers exploring the greatness of nature as well as the devastation of landslides. It was sunny and cool. The winter of the southern atmosphere was approaching. We could feel the chill of it. At mid-day, we rested at one of the waterfalls for lunch while listening to the sounds of running water, wild life and looking at different kinds of wild flowers and giant old trees around. We completed this hike in about 6 hours and looked forward to another one of the following day. At sunset, we stopped at Tam’s host family to chat and eat evening snacks. It was dark as we headed to the hostel. There was no light, nobody around except
three of us and the tour guide couple. We felt the silence of the night and desert mountains. Rain and rain, it poured all night long and continued the next day. We canceled the hike and decided to go get out of the hostel. From Tam’s experience, because of bad weather and landslides, the roads would be blocked for several days. There is no means of transportation to get in or out of Bella Vista except walking. Stepping in and out of slippery muddy mountain roads, sliding down the hills, crossing the mud filled river beds, the three of us were exhausted as we arrived at the highway. It was a memorable six hours of wandering along the mountain paths. Though our shoes and clothes were soaked with mud and water, we still had moments of enjoying the marvelous views of rows of mountains. We indeed made another hike of 20 km to the highway to return to Samaipata.
Finally, we left Samaipata to Santa Cruz, getting ready for flights back to U.S. Here we met Tam’s other Peace Corps friends for dinner. These volunteers shared with us their ups and downs trying to get their projects to a satisfactory stage. Their living conditions are tough as well as traveling. It is very exhausting to get from one place to another and is either by bus or by taxi. Though coping with unpleasant conditions, these young ones still dedicate a part of their life to help the people of Bolivia. They are willing to live and work in an effort to make a difference in the life of the people in need. It is an admirable sacrifice.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Word of the Day
In an effort to help others keep up with the Spanish language, let me share with you the word we looked up today.
Esposa
Def: Spouse. Wife. Handcuffs.
Esposar (the verb from which "esposa" is derived):
Def: To shackle
Coincidence? You decide.
Esposa
Def: Spouse. Wife. Handcuffs.
Esposar (the verb from which "esposa" is derived):
Def: To shackle
Coincidence? You decide.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Business 101
Lesson #1: Your time IS worth money. And that money is more than just 50 cents an hour.
Lesson #3: If you learn a skill, if you work in skilled trades, your time is worth more than what a maid makes. Punto. End of story.
Lesson #4: Just because one frugal tourist said your soap is too expensive does not mean you have to lower the price. Remember the other 100 who bought that soap at list price and didn’t say a word?
Lesson #5: Value yourself. Value your time. Value your product. You have a right to try to make a living. You’re not here to do everyone a favor and give away your goods. Your work is worth money, so charge for it.
I’ve moved on to working with a women’s group. ASOPEC, they call themselves. It’s a group of women who got together to produce ecologically friendly goods. They sell organic food products such as yogurt, peanut butter, and tofu, all made by hand and from all-natural sources. They also sell other handmade products including shampoo, soap, candles, and articles of clothing. They have all the training to make the products, but are missing the skills to actually sell them for a profit. Hence, Tammy Truong, micro-business expert, was invited to help out with classes.I now teach computer classes to women, some of whom just recently received electricity in their homes and are now taking huge strides into the modern world and touching a mouse for the very first time. When I tire of reminding them how to use the backspace and enter buttons, we move on to the business consulting part of the day.
I love it. Well honestly, at first I hated it, mostly because I suck at teaching and after 3 weeks of classes and ladies still didn’t understand how to use the space bar, my patience ran thin. However, they’re getting more used to me and I more used to them. I must admit that one of the biggest appeals to working with this women’s group is right there in that phrase. Women. Women don’t hit on me. I can’t even begin to explain how big that is.
Women are also teachable. Women want to learn new skills. Women shape the household and are the biggest factor in a successful future for the next generation. They’ve done many studies on this. If you want to have an impact on a community, you have to work with the women. Men make more money and men then spend it on more alcohol. Women make money and invest it in the family. I know I am generalizing a bit and there are certainly examples to the contrary, but like I say, there are studies to back me up on this one.
One thing you notice in a male-dominated macho society is that women severely lack self-confidence. This results in many of them being super shy as I saw with the entire group. I found out though that they are actually really sweet and a lot of fun once you can get them to come out of their shells. Being that most of the women in the group are of indigenous descent, I accomplished this one day by word vomiting in Quechua. If you don’t know what a word vomit is, it’s saying every word you know in a language. For example, a typical English word vomit looks like this. “Hello-how-are-you-I-love-you-see-you-later-yes-no-one-two-three.” I get these from time to time. I also get Japanese word vomits and then Chinese ones as well, to which I respond with a blank stare until the person sheepishly looks away or asks me if I am indeed from
Anyhow, I have successfully word vomited Quechua twice, and twice I have effectively utilized it as a tool to make friends (and gain a certain superstar standing, because how many times have you seen an Asian Gringa speaking Spanish and then doing a beautiful transition into an ancient Incan language?)
But back to the lesson at hand. I was trying to convince the ladies that their work was worth money. I tried to put a price on what an hour of work was worth, and we went around in circles on this one. First we tried to estimate with minimum wage. (No one really knew what it was). Then we used the salary of a maid as a guideline (5 Bs/hr). Then I tried saying that the average wage in the community was 1900 Bs. a month (or just under 12 Bs/hr. That’s what I make. Exchange rate is about 7.2 Bs per dollar). Then we figured out what a skilled trade made (10 Bs/hr).
The ladies decided among themselves that they were worth a maid’s salary, or 5 Bs/hr. I kinda had a problem with this. These women have been trained, they have spent endless hours learning how to make new products and producing things that the average Joe, or in this case, the average maid, could not produce, and here they were saying that they shouldn’t be paid any more. So I asked them, “Why do government workers make more? Why do people with a degree make more? Are they actually working more hours, or are they getting paid more per hour? Why would people go to school to come out and make the same salary as before? Why did I spend 4 years going to college? Why do people invest time in learning new and useful skills?” And finally, “IF YOU GUYS SPENT SO MUCH TIME LEARNING NEW SKILLS, WHY THE HECK DON’T YOU CHARGE FOR IT???”
And somewhere in there, a light came on. One woman looks at me and says, “I get it! You went to school because with an education you are worth more! When you learn new skills your work is worth more!” And she was so giddy with excitement and says, “Oh my goodness, I never understood that before. Now it is so clear. I need to charge for my work and I think I am worth 10 Bs. an hour.”
Monday, June 23, 2008
Q: How Many Peace Corps Volunteers Does it Take to Unclog a Toilet?
Breaking down gender stereotypes, one clogged toilet at a time.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
If You Would Like to Make a Call, Please Hang Up and Try Again
Due to high volume of unwanted calls from unknown numbers and unidentified individuals, I have now changed my cell phone number. Please send an email to truong.tammy@gmail.com if you want it!
I love Bolivia and Bolivia loves me! Cool Runnings!!!!!!!
There are good days and there are bad days, but overall I think Bolivia and I have finally come to terms with each other. What a relief.
When I first got to Bolivia I used to have this recurring dream. It was in the US before I had received my invitation to serve in Peace Corps. I would be dreaming about shopping at Target or eating out with friends and contemplating the perfect Peace Corps country when suddenly I would wake up and find myself inside my mosquito net. I’d have that moment where you feel lost and have no idea where you are, and then I’d realize that I had actually already started service and I was in Bolivia. I’d get panicky and feel really claustrophobic. When I remembered these dreams during waking hours the same thing would happen and I wanted to be home again so badly, even if for just five minutes.
The dreams happened a lot during training and then more sporadically once I got in site. Then I dreamed the same thing after May 4th passed and we didn’t go home, despite all the dire predictions of how the country would fall apart and that we’d be evacuated. The idea that I would get to be back in the States had been planted in my subconscious and then it didn’t happen. I don’t know exactly if I was disappointed or relieved, but the following week was one of the worst in-country. I missed my family, I missed my friends, and all the little things about Bolivia that used to only annoy me I began to loathe.
I would sit in my room and go from laughing out loud to myself to bursting into tears. By myself. I talked to myself. I sang to myself. I tried to think of happy times, and then that would only depress me more. I began to plan a vacation back to the States even though I had never thought I would return during the two years. Needless to say, I was a little worried about my mental health and sanity.
Fortunately I had friends to distract me during the days. The nights were a little long, and they still can be. But last week I had a major breakthrough. I had the dream again. I was in the U.S. and this time I was riding in the car with a friend. We were driving on the highway. In the last 10 months I think I have hit 40 mph in a vehicle one time, and that was terrifyingly fast. In my dream we were flying at 70 mph and I was certain we were going to crash. Before it could happen though, I woke up with a start. Heart pounding, trying to figure out what was going on, I woke up and opened my eyes and saw that awful green mosquito net.
But this time all I could think was, “THANK GOD I AM IN BOLIVIA!!!”
When I first got to Bolivia I used to have this recurring dream. It was in the US before I had received my invitation to serve in Peace Corps. I would be dreaming about shopping at Target or eating out with friends and contemplating the perfect Peace Corps country when suddenly I would wake up and find myself inside my mosquito net. I’d have that moment where you feel lost and have no idea where you are, and then I’d realize that I had actually already started service and I was in Bolivia. I’d get panicky and feel really claustrophobic. When I remembered these dreams during waking hours the same thing would happen and I wanted to be home again so badly, even if for just five minutes.
The dreams happened a lot during training and then more sporadically once I got in site. Then I dreamed the same thing after May 4th passed and we didn’t go home, despite all the dire predictions of how the country would fall apart and that we’d be evacuated. The idea that I would get to be back in the States had been planted in my subconscious and then it didn’t happen. I don’t know exactly if I was disappointed or relieved, but the following week was one of the worst in-country. I missed my family, I missed my friends, and all the little things about Bolivia that used to only annoy me I began to loathe.
I would sit in my room and go from laughing out loud to myself to bursting into tears. By myself. I talked to myself. I sang to myself. I tried to think of happy times, and then that would only depress me more. I began to plan a vacation back to the States even though I had never thought I would return during the two years. Needless to say, I was a little worried about my mental health and sanity.
Fortunately I had friends to distract me during the days. The nights were a little long, and they still can be. But last week I had a major breakthrough. I had the dream again. I was in the U.S. and this time I was riding in the car with a friend. We were driving on the highway. In the last 10 months I think I have hit 40 mph in a vehicle one time, and that was terrifyingly fast. In my dream we were flying at 70 mph and I was certain we were going to crash. Before it could happen though, I woke up with a start. Heart pounding, trying to figure out what was going on, I woke up and opened my eyes and saw that awful green mosquito net.
But this time all I could think was, “THANK GOD I AM IN BOLIVIA!!!”
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Who Loves Me???
My brother does! And because he misses me so much he decided to jump on his motorcycle to come visit. From Lafayette, Indiana to Samaipata, Bolivia in 3 months, más o menos.
Watch his progress and follow the madness here:
http://www.whcaware.com/blog/
Watch his progress and follow the madness here:
http://www.whcaware.com/blog/
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Too Pretty to Camp
Lovin’ life. That’s what it’s about. Just lovin’ life.
School, check. College, check. Money for food, check. Money to travel, check. Kids and husband, no check. Perfect…
Ok, so after May 4th passed very much like Y2K, with tons of build-up but then no blow-out, I have now allowed myself to believe that I will actually serve out my service right here in Bolivia. It was very much a tentative process before, starting projects I wasn’t sure I’d be around to work on, trying to grow roots but feeling like I could be ripped away at any moment. It’s been so much better now that I feel like I will be here awhile. Who knows if it’s true, but I need the feeling of stability at least.
So here I am, livin’ the dream, as we volunteers are fond of saying. Livin’ the dream.
Life has never been more confusing, contradicting, challenging, and bizarre yet breathtaking, surprising, and wonderful at the same time.
Take last weekend. I woke up with no plans on Friday morning. On Friday night I find myself with a group of volunteers enjoying a delicious steak dinner (very rare on my salary), and then later at a karaoke bar helping out a friend in a very off-key rendition of “Hero” by Mariah Carey. Luckily I am an expert at this song since my sister and I grew up practicing Mariah throughout our childhood.
Then I’m invited to go camping by a bunch of boys the next day, and after verifying several times that it was not just a boys-night-out, (and after recruiting my best girlfriend to come with), I track down a sleeping bag and a tent to borrow from some friends, we go get “provisions”, and we’re set to go.
Who knew that in the same day we would film scenes from Braveheart, find out I am strangely attracted to men galloping on horseback, and then go on a hike that turns into a photo shoot for a friend’s new beautiful white Siberian husky pup.
Ok, quick question. Let’s just see how Peace Corps minded you are. When I said I had to “track down a sleeping bag and a tent to borrow from some friends,” what was your reaction? Did you keep reading to see what nutty story I had to tell next, or did you completely stop, do a double take, and ask yourself, “Did Tammy just mess up speaking English again? Or did she just say she doesn’t have a sleeping bag and tent? Like the most fundamental Peace Corps gear, right next to Chaco sandals?”
Well folks, you heard it right. I don’t have a tent or a sleeping bag. In fact, before I came to the Peace Corps I hated camping. I did it once with my brother and in five days I didn’t get a wink of sleep because I was so cold despite the sleeping bag and six layers of clothing. Add to that the fact that there was only one port-a-pot with a perpetual line of at least 20 people outside, and the fact that I get stage fright, and we’ll suffice to say that by the time I got home after five days my brother was seriously concerned that my lack of bowel movements had surely poisoned my body and I would be in the hospital soon.
Accordingly, when I was invited to camp I certainly thought about turning down the offer. But the question these days is not “Why?” but “Why not?” So, why not go camping?
What I love about my Peace Corps friends is that we totally accept the fact that we are from different worlds in the US. The closest female volunteer to me actually is from the Twin Cities, and we joke that we never would have been friends if we had met back home. She is horrified by the fact that I had no idea how to spend a $150 REI gift certificate (REI is the outdoor lover’s paradise) and I am equally baffled by the fact that she hates clubbing (How can anyone hate blaring music and dancing??)
So yes, I was teased a little for not being a camper. But I can hang. I carved my own roasting stick. I cooked my own sausage over the campfire, and I only had to wipe it off a little from bumping it into all the ash a few too many times. I ate my own slightly burned marshmallows until I found a guy who was willing to roast perfect melt-in-your-mouth marshmallows for me, probably cause he thought I was cute. (I’ve learned, after all, that when living in a macho society, you just gotta work what your mama gave ya. It is especially useful when hitch-hiking).
After having dinner around the campfire (which amounted to only snausages and hot dogs since some animals took off with all the bread while we were hiking), chillin’ and listening to music, spitting pure alcohol and making the fire explode, and then a shockingly amazing group performance of “Regulators” a capella, I retired to the tent and settled down on the ground with my down jacket on top of four layers plus some thermal underwear.
I was totally making progress and gaining respect as a camper. I won a few points for knowing how to pitch a tent. And then for helping one of the guys pitch his tent, a brand new fella that we christened “The Beemer,” because as far as tents go, it was pretty fancy. I finally was able to ignore the cold in my body and fell asleep to a symphony of “Peace Corps Boys Hacking Wood with their Machete, Just Because They Can.” I was doing so well playing the part of a camper up until my tentmate entered, woke me up, and asked me how I was doing. From somewhere in my sleepy haze I jokingly mumbled, “I’m freezing, parts of my body are numb, and I’m laying on a rock. I think I’m too pretty to camp.”
And so after all the work and all the progress, in a moment of weakness when my mouth ran without being attached to my brain, that is what they take away from Tammy’s camping experience. She’s too pretty to camp.
Well, I’ll show them. There’s this major solstice camping event coming up in two weeks. And I’m doing it. Cause if there’s one thing I know, and if there’s one thing that Peace Corps has taught me, it’s that I am NOT too pretty to camp.
School, check. College, check. Money for food, check. Money to travel, check. Kids and husband, no check. Perfect…
Ok, so after May 4th passed very much like Y2K, with tons of build-up but then no blow-out, I have now allowed myself to believe that I will actually serve out my service right here in Bolivia. It was very much a tentative process before, starting projects I wasn’t sure I’d be around to work on, trying to grow roots but feeling like I could be ripped away at any moment. It’s been so much better now that I feel like I will be here awhile. Who knows if it’s true, but I need the feeling of stability at least.
So here I am, livin’ the dream, as we volunteers are fond of saying. Livin’ the dream.
Life has never been more confusing, contradicting, challenging, and bizarre yet breathtaking, surprising, and wonderful at the same time.
Take last weekend. I woke up with no plans on Friday morning. On Friday night I find myself with a group of volunteers enjoying a delicious steak dinner (very rare on my salary), and then later at a karaoke bar helping out a friend in a very off-key rendition of “Hero” by Mariah Carey. Luckily I am an expert at this song since my sister and I grew up practicing Mariah throughout our childhood.
Then I’m invited to go camping by a bunch of boys the next day, and after verifying several times that it was not just a boys-night-out, (and after recruiting my best girlfriend to come with), I track down a sleeping bag and a tent to borrow from some friends, we go get “provisions”, and we’re set to go.
Who knew that in the same day we would film scenes from Braveheart, find out I am strangely attracted to men galloping on horseback, and then go on a hike that turns into a photo shoot for a friend’s new beautiful white Siberian husky pup.
Ok, quick question. Let’s just see how Peace Corps minded you are. When I said I had to “track down a sleeping bag and a tent to borrow from some friends,” what was your reaction? Did you keep reading to see what nutty story I had to tell next, or did you completely stop, do a double take, and ask yourself, “Did Tammy just mess up speaking English again? Or did she just say she doesn’t have a sleeping bag and tent? Like the most fundamental Peace Corps gear, right next to Chaco sandals?”
Well folks, you heard it right. I don’t have a tent or a sleeping bag. In fact, before I came to the Peace Corps I hated camping. I did it once with my brother and in five days I didn’t get a wink of sleep because I was so cold despite the sleeping bag and six layers of clothing. Add to that the fact that there was only one port-a-pot with a perpetual line of at least 20 people outside, and the fact that I get stage fright, and we’ll suffice to say that by the time I got home after five days my brother was seriously concerned that my lack of bowel movements had surely poisoned my body and I would be in the hospital soon.
Accordingly, when I was invited to camp I certainly thought about turning down the offer. But the question these days is not “Why?” but “Why not?” So, why not go camping?
What I love about my Peace Corps friends is that we totally accept the fact that we are from different worlds in the US. The closest female volunteer to me actually is from the Twin Cities, and we joke that we never would have been friends if we had met back home. She is horrified by the fact that I had no idea how to spend a $150 REI gift certificate (REI is the outdoor lover’s paradise) and I am equally baffled by the fact that she hates clubbing (How can anyone hate blaring music and dancing??)
So yes, I was teased a little for not being a camper. But I can hang. I carved my own roasting stick. I cooked my own sausage over the campfire, and I only had to wipe it off a little from bumping it into all the ash a few too many times. I ate my own slightly burned marshmallows until I found a guy who was willing to roast perfect melt-in-your-mouth marshmallows for me, probably cause he thought I was cute. (I’ve learned, after all, that when living in a macho society, you just gotta work what your mama gave ya. It is especially useful when hitch-hiking).
After having dinner around the campfire (which amounted to only snausages and hot dogs since some animals took off with all the bread while we were hiking), chillin’ and listening to music, spitting pure alcohol and making the fire explode, and then a shockingly amazing group performance of “Regulators” a capella, I retired to the tent and settled down on the ground with my down jacket on top of four layers plus some thermal underwear.
I was totally making progress and gaining respect as a camper. I won a few points for knowing how to pitch a tent. And then for helping one of the guys pitch his tent, a brand new fella that we christened “The Beemer,” because as far as tents go, it was pretty fancy. I finally was able to ignore the cold in my body and fell asleep to a symphony of “Peace Corps Boys Hacking Wood with their Machete, Just Because They Can.” I was doing so well playing the part of a camper up until my tentmate entered, woke me up, and asked me how I was doing. From somewhere in my sleepy haze I jokingly mumbled, “I’m freezing, parts of my body are numb, and I’m laying on a rock. I think I’m too pretty to camp.”
And so after all the work and all the progress, in a moment of weakness when my mouth ran without being attached to my brain, that is what they take away from Tammy’s camping experience. She’s too pretty to camp.
Well, I’ll show them. There’s this major solstice camping event coming up in two weeks. And I’m doing it. Cause if there’s one thing I know, and if there’s one thing that Peace Corps has taught me, it’s that I am NOT too pretty to camp.
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