Week One

Greeting from Montego Bay!

I have been here at CCCD's MoBay School campus here for 10 days now! I have experienced and learned so much that it seems like I have been here much longer, but on the other hand, the consistent excitement and enjoyment of my trip has caused each day to pass rather quickly. Reflection on the passage of time always seems to deliver this paradox for me. Weird.

To fully understand my delight to be in Jamaica as of January 31, I think you first need to comprehend my journey. Prior to my arrival on the island, I spent a few days in "beautiful" Chicago, Illinois.

I took the train from East Lansing to Union Station on Wednesday, January 27 in the early morning. Despite the train being delayed about an hour (which I found out was pretty good for AmTrak), I found my ride quite pleasant. After spending the last 16 months driving back and forth from Mason to Atlanta at 12.5 hours per drive every few months, it was nice to be able to relax for a change. Though I had about 5 different people I wanted to visit, my attempts (during my train ride) to find someone to pick me up from Union Station were unfruitful.

Union Station: Pre-Nap

So after arriving at Union Station in downtown Chicago, I dragged my luggage to the food court, grabbed some popcorn, and then proceeded to head to the Grand Hall, where I found a bench and inevitably fell asleep in public with 3 bags of luggage surrounding me.

This brochure says, "An Amtrak train can take more than 300 cars off the road."

I WANT TO SEE THAT HAPPEN.

Actually, its probably already been done in a Bruce Willis movie.

This would not be my only experience in Chicago looking and feeling like a homeless man. After a returned phone call ended my hour-long nap, I started toward the subway which would take me north to Wrigleyville. What I had not anticipated as a left Union Station to board the L's red line was the 20 minute walk through the freezing cold. That will be the last time I haul 3 months worth of luggage through downtown Chi-town in temperatures that must have pushed negative 17 F. Half-way through my trek through the treacherous tundra, I looked for a freshly-deceased taun-taun to use for shelter from the blistering cold. Using my light saber, I would slice open its belly and hide within the warm and inviting confine of the intestines and wait for Harrison Ford to save me. Well, I was unable to find a taun-taun, but I did find a Mickey D's to warm up in. After doing a kicking shuffle (that I have trademarked) to get my 50-lb. luggage bag though the revolving door in the same uh... compartment as me, I made straight for the restrooms. Needless to say, I was quite disappointed to find that the McDonald's restrooms were locked and were for paying customers only. Choosing to ignore my bladder rather than my wallet, I pressed on toward the subway. After arriving at the red line, plopping down the stairs, squeezing through the turnstile (mega-luggage in tow, let's remember), boarding the train, and accidentally hitting a girl in the face with my backpack during the ride, I was finally able to find a warm, socially acceptable place to lie down in Chicago. A special thanks to Mike Prashaw, Tommy Yamoakaocaoako, Koltar-Ruark Martin, Tara Henderson (and David Dethmers), and Emily Belle Scatterday for their hospitality during my short visit to Chicago. I am never coming back to your frozen wasteland. It is a terrible, terrible place. A special psssht to Seth Weener for being a turkey-bird and ruining our "friendship."

I apologize for the fact that you've spent three minutes reading so far and have not heard one word about Jamaica. You are all aware, however, that in my life, for every minute I spend in reflection, I trying to spend at least on hour laughing. Now on to the Caribbean! (I finally know how to spell that!)

Oh wait, one more story not related to actually being in Jamaica...

So I flew from ORD O'Hare into DFW Dallas where I would catch my flight into MBJ Montego Bay. Since my flight out of ORD was a bit delayed, it made for a tight squeeze to catch my flight to MBJ (the MBJ flight was supposed to be boarding as we taxied to our terminal.) While on the flight from ORD, I overheard an older lady say that she was going to MBJ. As I rushed of the plane to make my connecting flight I checked (very carefully) the display and saw that my flight was leaving out of gate D-36. As I was on the monorail from our terminal A to terminal D, I noticed the same old lady that was on my flight. At the top of a peice of paper she was holding it read in blue pen "B-36." This made me nervous. I casually asked her, "Hi, didn't I overhear that you were going to [MBJ]?" She said, "Yes I am." I continued, "Cool, I am as well. We are out of gate D-36, correct?" She replied, "No, I asked the lady when I got off the plane and she told me B-36."

Hence, the battle in my mind began. First I decided I would just go with her, since she seemed pretty confident. Then, I remembered how carefully I had checked the display twice over to make absolutely sure I was right. If I were to go with her and be wrong I knew I would kick myself. I also knew that if I insisted she come with me and then be wrong, I would feel terrible and we would BOTH miss the flight. So as we came to terminal B, I decided the only reasonable solution would be to accept that one of us was right and one was wrong. One would make the flight and the other would be up the river. We arrived at B and I said, "Well.... I'm going to go ahead to D, but I may very well be wrong. Good luck!"

So then the old lady nodded and hesitantly shuffled off the monorail and as the doors closed, I knew I had done something waaaaay wrong. Hahah isn't that terrible? Just leaving an old lady like that? What a gentleman, right?! Wow. I never cease to amaze myself. I got to terminal D and like I had predicted, I was correct, but luckily and thankfully the flight was delayed, giving my old friend plenty of time to make it. Upon her arrival at the gate I apologized repeatedly and made conversation (she was actually going on a medical mission, interesting, no? A very cool lady) and she did not hit me with her handbag, for which I was grateful.

Now seriously, on to Jamaica! If you haven't noticed, I like to tell stories. I think they make it more interesting to read than just a puddle of facts about my experiences.

My first story in Jamaica takes place at the immigration desks in Montego Bay. After getting off the plane, I heading confidently toward immigration, customs, and the baggage claim as this was my fourth time on the island. Upon my arrival to the immigration desks, the lady asked the usual questions and I responded confidently: What is your purpose? Ministry; Where are you staying? CCCD Grandville, St. James; How long will you be here? Eleven weeks (For those of you who don't know, I am doing a 2nd trip of 12 weeks, beginning on May 8). She asked for some documentation to prove what I was doing, as she needed substantial evidence, since my stay here would be rather long. But then she asked for a contact number here on the island. I attempted to look at my right eyebrow, as I scanned my brain for the information. As much as I had prepared for the trip and worked hard on making sure all of my bases were covered, I had not written down any phone numbers of contacts on the island! "Uhhh, yes, I have the number in my cell phone," I proclaimed. I rummaged through the pockets in my backpack, as I was already visibly flustered and disorganized from retrieving the information she had previously requested. I finally found my phone and pulled it out, only to be reminded that it was indeed dead (It wouldn't even turn on). "Ummm, do you have a... uhhh power outlet behind your desk?" I proceeded to ask with a grin on my face. "Come with me," she snapped, unamused with my antics and apparent unpreparedness. She lead me into what seemed to be the waiting area for a set of interrogation rooms. The waiting room was a faded dark green shade and windowless with uncomfortable-looking chairs. The hallway leading away from this room seemed to have a number of rooms that also seemed windowless and uninviting. As I made it into the waiting room, I convinced myself that she wasn't buying my story of doing mission work at all and that I was going to be heavily interrogated regarding my purpose on the island. I just grinned and rolled my eyes as I waited for her to tell me to sit down and wait for my interrogation. "This is going to be a good story," I thought. To my relief, rather than sitting me down in one of the chairs, she pointed me to the power outlet near the front of the waiting room. I plugged in my phone, read off the number, went back to her desk, got my passport stamped, and was on my way to MoBay!

After being picked up from the airport, arriving at the school, and meeting some of the new work team (from Baltimore), I finally "moved in" to my new place here on campus. I say "moved in" with quotations because I will occasionally move back and forth between this campus and the Jamaican Deaf Village (2 hours across the island) during the entirety of my stay in Jamaica, though I will be here in MoBay for a majority of the time.

My place is actually really nice! I have my own apartment, with a kitchen/living/dining area, bedroom, and bathroom.

I continually joke that I have a nicer living situation here in a (comparatively) impoverished country than I did when I had a full-time job in Atlanta. Sorry, Jaime... It's great, though! I eat with the work team all three meals every day, there is no commute, no dishes and no cooking!

My bedroom looking into my bathroom

My kitchen/living/dinging room (AKA the hallway to my bedroom)

My first few days are on the island I felt a bit guity. Within 24 hours of touching down, I was floating on my back in the Caribbean looking up at the clear blue sky. The Baltimore team arrived on Saturday and did not work on Sunday. After chuuuuuuuuuuuuurch on Sunday (a bit longer than my American church), we took off for the beach. It was awesome. I don't want to rub in how nice it is here, and I know that most of America is blizzards so I will just stop now. As of Monday morning, I had been in Jamaica for a day and a half and I had learned three new games, swam, taken naps, juggled the soccer ball and done precisely zero minutes of work, hahah. And the weather was immaculate, but that is that last time I'll mention it.

Don't worry though, that would all change on Monday morning (Even though the sunshine was amaaaazing! And I'm done). Though I have since absorbed a substantial amount of knowledge regarding the projects underway here at the school and how they will be completed, and where the tools are to complete them, at the start of my first week here, I knew as much as any random volunteer. Hence, my role the first week, along with occasional pointers and impromptu lessons from my boss, Warren, was to help the professional mason that CCCD hires, whose name is David (or DAYveed mon! As I call him). David is not deaf, but has worked with CCCD for many years and knows plenty of sign language. While working with David during the week, I mixed up (or helped mix) around 10 wheelbarrows-full of mortar for use on the Vocational building near the back of campus. I estimate that I burned as many calories last week as during probably 5 weeks in Atlanta, hahah. Mixing mortar in wheelbarrows with shovels isn't THAT difficult, just very labor intensive, and I am quite a softie, as you well know. We have a concrete mixer on campus, but the amounts of mortar that we were using at a time were so small, that it didn't make sense to turn on the mixer, waste all that gas, and have to clean out out each and every day.

Regardless, I learned much simply from watching David work all week. The construction process is much, much different here from building houses in the States. All the walls are structured by cinder block, while the floors and ceilings are composed of poured concrete. The cinder-block walls are smoothed with a rough coat of mortar (using a marl aggregate) and then eventually finished with a smooth coat of mortar (using a sand aggregate), before being coated in paint. The only drywall-like material utilized in the process is for the ceiling of the top floor of each building. Though my experience in building construction is not substantial, it is interesting for me to learn different construction techniques.

Though David was able to teach me a lot in terms of masonry, he was much less successful in teaching me Patwa, the dialect of English spoken here in Jamaica. On my previous trips to Jamaica, I had come to the conclusion that Patwa was simply English sped up and spoken with a thick Jamaican accent. My more-focused attempt and understanding the dialect on this trip has given me an enormous appreciation for how much different it is from English. Along with the ridiculous speed in which words are spoken, combined with the accent, which often changes the which syllable is emphasized in a word, the dialect also has a certain ordering of words in many situations, which my slow brain can very seldom rearrange to make sense. On top of these complexities, the usage of many words altogether is completely different from English (ie. Original: Fla da' doe', Gunna! Take out accent: Fly the door, Gunnar! Take out Patwa: Open the door, Gunnar!) Though David spoke much Patwa to me during the week, the primary English phrases I was said to him were: "What?!" and "What... What are you saying?!" and also "What?! Wait...What?!!" Hopefully after five months of being here, I will finally pick up a little Patwa, but my expectations are low.

Though I am pessimistic about the amount of Patwa I am learning, I am most optimistic about the sign language I am learning! Since I got here, I have been working very hard to pick up every sign I possibly can. The ASL (American Sign Language) dictionary I got for my birthday has been very helpful, although the kids have been helping me make revisions to change it to JSL (Jamaican), as there are a number of differences between ASL and the signs that are used here. I like JSL better, but it's possible that I have a biased opinion and I have only been learning sign language for nine days.

The view of campus from my front door.

The buildings from L to R: Dining Room, Infirmiry, School, Vocational Bldg., Dorms

Though I have used my dictionary often, the kids have been the hands down best teachers, and the highlight of my time here. Every time somebody comes, they make the statement that the kids are the highlight, but as corny as it sounds, it's always true. It just is. Period. Making more of a focused effort on getting to know the kids during this trip, I have found that they (obviously) have many different abilities, personalities and faults. I am continually amazed, however, by their collective joy, love for life, and their enthusiasm to not only interact with each other, but also with the hundreds of outsiders that come into their lives every year.

I have never seen someone so excited to teach something as they are excited to teach me sign language. When I ask one kid for a sign, or am looking at my dictionary, it is not uncommon for 2 or 3 to join in showing me signs, and discussing signs amongst each other. Sometimes the younger kids even teach me the wrong signs (much to the older kids eventual amusement when I try to use said signs), but their enthusiasm to teach thoroughly impresses me. Along with my young deaf teachers (students at the school range from 6 to 20) I also have Glenford, the keeper of the tool trailer, to help me out. Glenford is an deaf man that lives at the school as the "groundskeeper", I'll call it. From him I have learned the signs for tool, rake, shovel (spade and flat head!), hammer, screwdriver (Phillips and regular!), chisel, trailer, paint brush, cement, and broom. Glenford is my hero, very funny, and also very enthusiastic about helping me learn JSL.

Along with the signs I have learned these past 10 days, I have also learned a bit about myself. My first couple days on campus, I found myself being very nervous to be around the kids and even avoiding them at times. This was very troubling to me. I had been here before and even recognized many of the kids from my previous trips (and they all recognized me; not too many black Americans come down, I don't think), but this time was different. I knew that I was staying for a much longer time, that I would almost always be without an interpreter, and that I would have to push myself to learn the language and make real friendships with these kids based on real interaction and real conversations, not just joking around playing soccer as I had done on previous trips. I realized that the pressure to have to change myself and face the initial awkwardness of sitting amongst deaf kids, not being able to communicate anything beyond "hi" and "thank you" caused me to temporarily put off starting any relationships altogether. I recognized that I intially felt a bit alienated from the community because I didn't know how interact with them. After I noticed this feeling, I raised the question that if I, a well-educated, outgoing, independent American could feel alienated from a group of the most playful, inviting, and interactive children that I know, how much more alienated a lone deaf person or a lone [fill in the blank] person must feel in this world.

Regardless, after my intial shy period, I forced myself to be amongst the kids. Once I did this, I gained immediate approval, attention, and affection from nearly all the kids. The little kids liked me because the little kids like everybody taller than 5 feet (yes, I'm taller than five feet you clowns) and the big kids like me because I have big muscles (even though I explain that they're inflatable) and because I'm good at soccer. Though it is a good feeling to receive positive attention from the children, I can't help but feel a bit guilty for barely having earned any of their admiration yet. My guilt is minimal, however, as I can already feel the intial baseless infatuation with me that many kids had begin to fade and give way to them liking me for who I really am; a complete goofball who will just hang out all day.

My favorite thing to do (but could also be perceived as evil) is to tap kids on their opposite shoulder. Since they are deaf (and very easy to sneak up on), this is their primary mode of getting eachother's attention. The should tap works EVERY time. Without fail. And then I always look the other way, and with a overly serious face give the sign "NOT ME!" when accused by the grinning youngsters. It's great. Many also enjoy mock boxing matches with me, which I always inevitably lose, in dramatic fashion, I must add. My favorite connection with the kids, however, has been and will always be the soccer ball. I have learned as many signs while juggling the soccer ball with a few of the older kids as I have anywhere on campus. I'm lovin' it, mon!

Sorry for the long post! Thank you if you have somehow made it this far! I promise future posts will be more consise, but I cannot promise they will be more entertaining. Take it easy and keep warm! Much Love.