Settling in

My second day here I woke up with the worst sore throat I've had in a long time. One of the adults made me go see a doctor. I initially refused for two reasons. First, I never go to a doctor unless I'm dying in pain in the United States, so the thought of going to see someone for the sore throat just seemed ridiculous to me. Second, people all around be here have much worse problems, I felt wrong taking a doctor's time away from them. Any resistance I put up was to no avail. Luckily I was able to easily communicate to the doctor in French, and shortly after received vitamin C pills and ibuprofen.

I'm really struggling with having zero schedule whatsoever. Anyone in my life knows that I also have a schedule that is packed with way more activities and responsibilities than one person can really handle. Here, I'm in a quasi-vacation land. Vacation in the sense that, for the moment, I have no real commitments, I'm priviledged to just be able to sit and observe what is happening around me. Being forced to slow down is probably one of the best things to ever happen to me after the past couple years, but it's still difficult.

Yesterday we went to the beach. I'm living about 100 feet from the ocean – unreal. In true American fashion, though we tried so hard not to, myself and the other girls here went to swim in the ocean. Because of this sore-throat-turned-sinus-infection I decided not to fully get in the water, which worked out so I could watch everyone's stuff. So I'm hanging out with my feeting in the perfectly warm, clear water and these three kids approach me. It takes me about a second to realize that they're all carrying machetes. Yep, machetes. I saw bonswa and all that, and the oldest girl points at my necklace and in Creole asks to have it. I explained it was a gift from my mother, but I've since taken off that necklace I've worn nonstop for the past nine years, a confirmation present from a dear family friend. The comfort of wearing that necklace does not outweigh the discomfort of increasing the distance between myself and those around me.

I'm still getting used to being stared at everywhere I go and being known as “Blan”. Tried to teach my name to some little boys yesterday and Maria because “More-via”.

Today I accompanied a girl that is here for ten days to do a mini-class with young kids on basic English words. Word has not been officially spread that the class would be offered today, so when we arrived at the classroom there were just four girls gathered on the steps. Luckily it only takes minutes to attract a crowd of children when you're a blan, so within ten minutes we had about a dozen kids. While my new friend led the group, I took a backseat to observe. My attention became focused on one little boy off to the side of the group. By American standards he appeared to be about two years old, but he was probably more like 3 or even 4. His oversized long-sleeved shirt was on insideout, covering his swollen belly. The sleeves were much too long for his little arms so I reached out to roll them up. I then held out my hand, but he didn't grab on like most of the other children are quick to do. He instead placed his hand in mine, and then slowly pulled back, all while staring into my eyes with his. Those eyes are still staring at me. They were the biggest, brownest, and saddest eyes I've ever seen on a child, even here. No matter what I did I couldn't get him to smile.

I can't wait to get back into a classroom setting. Tomorrow the plan is to go with another girl who has been here almost a year and is fluent in Creole to the high school to talk about my program. She also proposed the idea of offering to tutor any students or do some classes to help them prepare for exams which are next week. I'm dying to see what they're doing in French and English classes - I know my fellow teachers will enjoy hearing about that!