Last St. Lucia Post

So I wrote this blog entry in my journal quite a long time ago and started by saying that it would most likely be my last blog entry here in St. Lucia, and now I can say that definitively as I’m scheduled to leave in 3 days.

It’s been a busy summer and seems to be getting busier (obviously, as it has taken 3 weeks to transfer this entry from journal to computer) as I’m trying to wrap up some projects and put certain measures in place to hopefully ensure that other projects continue smoothly in my absence. Also, thrown in the mix is completing Peace Corps paperwork, cleaning my not so spotless house, and trying to do a bunch of fn things with friends before leaving September 10th. Though its been a bit hectic, I prefer something to do over nothing at all, so I really can’t complain. The first 3 weeks of this summer were spent helping facilitate a bunch of summer camps. Like last year, I worked a fellow PCV to conduct a tennis camp. Fortunately we had a bit more help coaching this year. In between the tennis camp, I also helped with a youth camp for kids in my community. It was a bit haphazard and thrown together, but like most activities here, it somehow came together and the kids seemed to enjoy themselves. The last camp I assisted with was a summer youth development “Leadership through Sports and Service” camp that my friend Jen, a Volunteer in Soufriere, was organizing with a community youth group.

As I’m nearing the end of my service, I’m realizing that I don’t have man pictures, if any , of some of the people with whom I see on a regular basis in my immediate community. I’ve been trying to get a few more pictures of my neighbors, therefore, before I leave. Though this seems like simple enough a task, in some instances has seemed more difficult than Calculus 2 in college with Professor Olinick. Blast! For example, there’s a sweet little old lady who lives just higher up my house named Mary, husband Joseph, but surprisingly no carpenter son. She calls me “my darling,” “my love,” or “koko” (common affectionate nickname here) and nearly every time I pass she asks how I’m doing…twice. It goes something like this:

Ben: Good Afternoon, Mary!
Mary: Good afternoon, my darling. How are you?
Ben: I’m doing great, thanks. How about yourself?
Mary: I’m fine and how are you?
Ben: I’m good (not much has changed)

She also really loves it that I enjoy speaking Patois and is always up for conversing in it. So, she’s obviously on my list of people I would like to get a picture of before leaving. Unfortunately, however, every time I have a conversation with her about this we end up in the same place (even now, 3 weeks later)

Ben: Hey, I was wondering if I could get a picture with you before I leave to take back to the States and remember you by.
Mary: Eh, eh, koko. You want a picture of me?
Me: Yes, of course.
Mary: Oh, that’s nice. Anytime, anytime, my darling. But not today. My hair is looking a kind of way.
Me. Eh, eh, don’t be silly. You look great.
Mary: No. Look at it. I would need to fix myself properly.
Me: Alright, no problem. I’ll check you later about it then.
Mary: Of course. Yes, anytime is good. Anytime, but not today.

So I’ve had nearly the exact same conversation with Mary several times and always get the same reply of “anytime, anytime is good, but not today.” I’ve even tried to book a day in advance, but that doesn’t seem to be a fruitful venture either. ☺ Personally I would best like a picture of her as I know her, twisted hair and all. Sometime when people dress up here you can hardly recognize the person anymore as they might be wearing a wig, big hat, and who knows what else. I once thought I thought my host mom was taking me on a bank heist one morning instead of church…no joke. Oh, and a little update…the picture with Mary never worked out…will have to burn the mental image.

So, I’ve had some interesting/humorous conversations with kids here about the complexion of my skin. I recently bought some island sandals with bright Rasta colors (red, green, and gold) as my other sandals bit the dust after two years of faithful service. While I have gotten a bit less white in complexion,(I’m still not sure “tan” or “darker” would entirely be accurate, so we’ll refrain from those terms), my feet have remained as white as snow. Now that I’ve got my stylish, shockingly bright Rasta slippers, which have minimal coverage, the whiteness of my feet is accentuated to the nth degree. It’s kind of funny looking, and I’ve definitely got some interesting comments, but I could care less. I had a funny interchange with a 5 year girl a few days ago.

Little Girl: What’s your name?
Me: Ben. What’ yours?
Little Girl: Kiana
Me: How are you, Kiana?
Kiana: Fine. What happened to your feet?
Me: What do you mean?
Kiana: Huh?
Me: Why do you ask that?
Kiana: The’re white

I also fielded an interesting comment in my 4th grade recorder class a few months back that cracked me up. I was in the middle of teaching the recorder, having just recently established that I want seriousness for the remainder of the class, when one of the precocious ones, Phoebe, raises her hand. After calling on her, she boldly asked, “Mr. Wiechman…how come you so white?” I couldn’t help but laugh, and told her, as we had already gotten off topic a number of times, that we would have to discuss that later. In conversations with the other teachers about it, I was informed that I should have responded, “Phoebe, well how come you so black?” Kids really are curious about differences in appearance and certainly don’t have any reservations in making their observations or queries known. Good for them.

Jenny Schneider, this section is for you. As my close of service is soon approaching, I’ve had to undergo a number of medical examinations to ensure that I’m as healthy going out as I was coming in. One of these medical tests required that I deliver 3 consecutive stool samples to the lab to have examined parasites or any other friendly critter. So we weren’t given much information as to how this was exactly to be done, where exactly to take the samples, etc. So one day I called my medical director to find out more information. She told me the place to take the samples and advised me to go ahead and bring up the samples I come up to Castries. So with this info I assumed (you know that they say about assumptions) that I had to simply transport a few terds to Castries using whatever means, methodology, I deem fitting. So, after much careful forethought and planning (similar to the process of deciding to recycle mice glue traps), I solidified my collection methodology and the rest of the plan. I’ll spare you the details here. After wondering what to put to store the samples in , I decided to use a 1 kg Sunflower Margarine container, tinged with the light red stain of Del Monte pasta sauce. As my first sample was relatively petite, I decided not to waste containers but rather double down and store the 2nd sample in the butter tub as well, even though it was significantly larger than the first. I couldn’t produce a 3rd sample before going up to Castries (though the 2nd sample might have arguably counted double), as I had been enjoying the mango season to the full earlier in the week and was having some consistency issues. So, I traveled to Castries with my butter tug in a black plastic bag full of deliverables to drop for the doctor. Shortly after entering the doctors’ office, another PCV coincidentally enters, and after greeting me, tells the secretary that he’s here to collect the containers needed for his stool samples. I turn to him and surprisingly say, “eh eh? They have special containers for them?” He replied, “yeah, we’re supposed to collect the containers first to use for the samples.” Just then, the secretary whips out 3 containers, each no larger than a tiny restaurant sauce cup of BBQ sauce. Beginning to laugh, I turn to my friend and tell him, “I brought my samples together in an old butter tub and one of them is about 5 times the size of one of those containers. Shortly thereafter, the doctor emerged. Still laughing, I explained the misunderstanding to the doctor (except for the tid bit about the size of my 2nd deliverable) and asked him whether or not that will be ok. He paused, took the container from me, which was beginning to emit a foul odor, most likely due to the size of sample number 2, and replied, “well, it’s not ideal, but we’ll see if we can work with what we’ve got.” Little did he know the nature of the surprise awaiting within.

I’m starting to really process the fact that I’m leaving very soon now that I’m saying goodbye to people, doing certain things for the last time, etc. It’s been an interesting ride. I’ve honestly been looking forward to the completion of my service for a few months, as it’ll be nice to get off the rollercoaster, travel for a bit, and finally reconnect with family/friends, but now that the end is staring me in the face, I feel sad and a bit confused about the range of emotions I’m experiencing. I think that even though St. Lucia has come with its fair share of challenges, nothing can change that I’ve lived her for two years and it has certainly become a home.

I'm not sure how much internet access I will have while traveling in Central America, but I'll try and post a time or two about the trip. But for now, take care, and God bless.