Hitchhiking, Easter, and Old People Races!

Few things on this great earth beat the cool, refreshing, and somewhat exhilarating feeling of the open air blowing in your face on a hot day while riding in the back of a truck. Since coming to St. Lucia, one aspect of the culture that I have come to wholeheartedly embrace is the use of hitchhiking as a means to get around. Despite the fact that the public transportation system actually does run fairly efficiently, there are certain times (i.e. after 7pm; Sundays) when buses are difficult to find, if available at all. Hitchhiking is also common no matter what the time because in a relatively small community (and island) where people know one another, it only makes sense that someone with a vehicle would give another person a lift. One day after flagging down a truck and hopping in the back, I gradually noticed a pungent odor. I started wondering what the source of the smell was, sheepishly checked myself to make sure I hadn’t suddenly gotten a bad case of BO, and then glanced around and realized that I wasn’t the only one catching a lift. I was joined by a medium sized pig lying in a dasheen sack on the other side of the truck bed, unnoticeable except for his snout sticking out of the end of the bag. Perhaps he was hitching to the slaughter?

In the world of volunteer work, I’m excited that the composting project with the Farmers’ Cooperative has started promisingly. After submitting a brief project concept form describing our general idea, we received word from the funding organization that they are really interested in the project and, granted that our project includes certain components, will fund a substantial amount of it. I’ve enjoyed working with the Cooperative because so far they really seem to have an invested interest in seeing the project come to fruition and are therefore dedicated to actually committing time to make sure it happens. Plus, the principal contact person from the Cooperative that I’ve been working closely with usually ends every phone conversation by saying “respect, positive, one love, Irie" (a common word people yell in passing at one another meaning “safe”). How cool is that? ☺

I’ve also had the opportunity to start teaching tennis to a group of kids down on the Southern part of the island once every couple of weeks. The previous coach apparently is unable to do it now, so another Peace Corps volunteer and I are switching off every other Saturday in the meantime. It’s been nice to be able to pick up my racquet again.

Because Fond St. Jacques doesn’t have a market or store of any significant size, oftentimes businesses from Soufriere will bring bread or fish up. The fish truck usually comes at nights and gets people’s attention by blowing a conch shell as it passes through. I personally think that it’s pretty sweet, but I’m not quite as big a fan of the bread van that usually slowly creeps by in the morning around 5:30 honking loudly for everyone to hear. I’ve gotten used to the roosters crowing ridiculously early, but as of yet I’ve been unable to tune out the noisy bread guy. "Pay la!" (keep quiet!)

My Easter experience in St. Lucia was quite different than previous years in the States. As with Christmas, some people celebrate by attending an all night party leading into Easter Sunday. After my Christmas experience I had enough foresight this time around to realize that wasn’t exactly my cup of tea and forego the party. On Easter Sunday the church had a Bazaar in the afternoon, which is basically a fair of sorts aimed at raising money for the church. I helped out at the “lucky dip” game, in which participants pay 2 dollars to reach in a bag and choose a number which has a corresponding prize. Of course some of the prizes were more desirable than others. I found it quite funny when grown men would come over with high hopes of winning a bottle of rum, only to end up with a not so coveted blue polka dotted women’s bra. Soon after yelling “awa!” (no!) and launching the bra out of sight, they would come crawling back to play once again, only to face the same undesirable fate. And in case you were wondering, no, the third time wasn’t a charm.

This past Monday I volunteered at the Senior games, which is essentially a track and field meet for older persons. It ran like any typical track meet, except they included a few additional activities like lime and spoon, sack races, three legged races, etc. One of the highlights was when one of the three legged race teams that had seemingly mastered the art collapsed about 2 feet from the finish line, only to watch most all of the teams pass them by. One of the relays was pretty comical as well, because after his teammates had gained an impressive lead over all the other teams, the anchor man on one team decided to slowly jog along, coaxing the other teams to try and catch up. After hopping on one leg about 10 meters from the finish line, the guy accidentally dropped the baton and ended up losing the race. I couldn't have been more thrilled...serves the little putz right.

Well, that’s all I’ve got time for now because I’m heading off to the airport to pick up good ole Donnie Stuart, a friend from Middlebury College who’s coming to visit for part of spring break. "Mwen pa sa espewe!" (I can’t wait!)