Week before moving in on my own

Dear friends,

I’d like to share a short story* with you about my “networking” event this week. I imagined “networking” to be much like it is in America- a bunch of people in business casual clothing in a generic hotel lobby being served Bud and exchanging business cards without any intention of ever contacting each other.

But first I’d like to address my use of asterisks. Sorry- I know there are a lot. Some would even say too many. I like them though.

Early Friday afternoon 8 of us in my training group were sent to the headquarters of the Boy Scouts of Dominica to “network” with the president of the organization. We were not given an exact location but told that it was near the youth computer center and Saint Mary’s High School. As we sweat and fought amongst ourselves in the parking lot near the youth center a very normal looking middle-aged gentleman approached our group and said that he was to take us to the Boy Scouts building. We blindly followed him down a path, away from the street, past a primary school to what appeared to be a partially inhabited open-air building with no sign. The doorway opened to a large open room with a large, navy, octagonal table in the middle surrounded by chairs and benches. Two Boy Scout signs and a chalkboard decorated the walls. After 7 weeks of training we all assumed we understood the drill and sat down around the table.

Completely silently, but captivating the entire group immediately, walked in a large man, with an entirely turgid belly that protruded about 10 inches beyond that rest of his body, wearing just a towel wrapped around his waist. He started motioning at us, pointing to his ears, to his lips, to us and gesticulating wildly. We (I think it was all of us but it may have just been me) began playing charades with him but he wasn’t helping at all. Then one of the culturally sensitive trainees informed us that he must be deaf. With that he left the room and we sat in silence contemplating what our networking session with a deaf and perhaps mute man would be like. Slowly the space around our table filled up with men who had clearly seen better days. At first it was just two men sitting on a non-working refrigerator behind us, and then two more leaning against the wall, until there were about 10 men surrounding us. I sat debating whether to feel guilty about the horrible assumptions I was making or be quite certain that we were going to get badly beat up in this abandoned looking building, far from the road, with a large motley looking group of guys surrounding us.

Then towel guy walked in. Fully dressed. Once he began talking it was even less clear what was going to happen. He introduced himself as a recovering drug addict and alcoholic and began his speech by showing us the math of how long he had been under the influence on the chalkboard. From that he moved into a rant about how Godless America is. He asked each person individually if he/she had prayed in school and was outraged when someone told him that was illegal to pray in public schools in the US. (I lied to him and told him I did pray in my school because I wanted him to like me.)

Through out his ranting I was able to piece together what was going on. He had been the president of the Boy Scouts of Dominica until he had gone too far into his addictions. While in rehab he decided that the rehab center was not doing enough and left with two other patients to live in this abandoned building and get clean on their own. That was 4 years ago and they are all still clean and have sent 8 others back into the community with jobs and homes and no relapses (they have a crisis hotline which is this guy’s cell phone). The men sitting around us are all living there currently as clients of this rehab facility. The facility receives no funding, has no outside staff and may not have electricity. It is also the headquarters of the Boy Scouts of Dominica.

He continued his rant telling us about his plans for the future, using a great many clichés (he would start them and then pause and wait for us to finish them, which I did every time), and mocking most of our group. He told one young man (who identified himself as an Eagle Scout) that he looked like he just wanted to lime (hang out), whine (dirty dancing) and dine around the island. Then he called on one of the girls in our group, “Phillipa” there was no response as her name is Wilmina, and again “Phillipa!” She then looked up and said, “My name is not Phillipa, its Wilmina” to which he replied, “You’re Philipino- right? Your name is Phillipa today.”

As the “networking” meeting ended and he was taking questions he stopped in the middle of a lecture about Native Americans and asked if anyone was from Upstate New York. I quickly interjected that I grew up in Buffalo. His daughter just graduated from the University at Buffalo and his son went to Daemen College. He went to Monroe Community College (in Rochester). We chatted at length about Western New York after. I’m pretty sure I’ve found my mentor. Also- he may be the President’s brother. Unclear.

Other exciting things that happened this week: I went to a doll making class excited to learn to make some kind of native doll to find out that “making dolls” is decorating “Chiney store Barbies” in crazy elaborate costumes. I joined the Miss Salisbury Pageant Committee and went to a 3-hour meeting about beauty pageants. The landlord of my apartment was wearing an “I am Canadian” t-shirt when I went to meet her (that is a shirt from a Molson Canadian Beer campaign).

Coming up: I move into my own apartment on Saturday! Look out for a video tour next week. I implement my first Peace Corps project on Tuesday starting a tutoring program for recent immigrant children who do not speak English.

Go get ‘em,

Erin

*This story is probably not going to be short. Like all my favorite stories it will end in a discussion about Buffalo.