Life without street signs

Still haven't moved into my place yet.

I guess I haven't mentioned much regarding this topic in the ol' blog. Basically we were all supposed to move into our own places on October 18th, but because my house is still being built, my move-in date was postponed. While I have grown to love my host mother and I feel comfortable living with her, I am still eager to move into my own space and actually get situated and settled in. I was told I would move in on October 23rd, and I am still not in my house. I hate to personify the unescapable American stereotype of impatience and insensitivity, BUT I REALLY WANT TO MOVE INTO MY OWN HOUSE. Imagine everyone else being in their own houses with the freedom to listen to music that is not gospel radio and have their own refridgerator and bathroom etc. etc. It brings me back to the days of Christmastime in Richardson, Texas (just kidding!..sort of.) I feel like the only one not participating in the joyous fun.
This 3-week long saga that may seem like a sneeze in comparison to the hardships many people have had to overcome is truly sucking the life out of me. I probably sound very dramatic, but this has been a deterioration that has transpired for almost three months now. I'm trying my very best to maintain optimistic, though. It's really all I have. It is my universal armor against anything that comes my way, and it has kept me sane since I got here. Even if I'm optimistic and I'm let down, I can respond to said let-down with optimism. An optimism sandwich with a half full glass of optimism. It's a brilliant cycle, but paradoxically it is one of the most difficult to commit to and feel natural doing so. I hate to get all Mary Poppins on you all with my life lesson on the treasurous potentials of optimism, but I was worried this blog was veering towards a complaining whine-fest, and I really dont want to do that to you.
So because my land lady said I could move in last night, I brought over all my stuff, went to church with the promise that my bed would be brought in by the time I got back, then returned to no bed. I am now back to living with my host mom with..none of my things. I stopped by the new house this morning to gather some things and I was greeted by a lizard who had made a home out of my suitcase. At least someone's moving in!

Love and paz,
Alisa

POST-ELECTION STUPOR

A new chapter has begun in the chronicles of American history that will uplift and invigorate the souls of those who for so long have imagined today’s reality as something to strive for tomorrow. We are now living in a completely new age. No longer are the progressive ideals of racial equality and egalitarianism an idealistic notion that is pressed upon an unready and unwilling society. The country has come together to popularly elect an African American family into the White House by an undeniable majority showing that we are indeed ready to step out of the shadows of America’s past.

In efforts to feel American on this monumental occasion, a few volunteers and I decided to get a room at the Marriott resort so that we could stay over and see the full election with no power outages to inhibit us. We were also invited by a member from the embassy in Barbados to sit with him and the Prime Minister during the broadcast of the election which was an offer we couldn’t pass up. We spent the day lavishing in the luxuries of a typical American vacationer..basking in the air conditioning, utilizing the fancy gym equipment, and asking housekeeping for extra shampoo that we could hoard like the crafty Peace Corps volunteers that we are. Not to mention the extra roll of toilet paper that one genius volunteer decided to take home.

We spent the beginning of the night stuffing ourselves to our most gluttonous limits with free sushi appetizers. We knew we wouldn’t be able to afford such a delicacy during our time here, so we were pretty much ensconced by that area of the room for the beginning of the election. But when we finally realized that Obama was elected President of the United States, our excitement overflowed the already acoustically primed lobby of the Marriott like it was New Years Eve in Times Square. Tourists, Kittitians, Marriott staff, and students from the local universities were all crowded around the projection screen blanketed by our shared exhilaration for this revolutionary moment.

We woke up the next morning feeling like it was Christmas Day and there were presents waiting for us, wrapped so neatly and with such great care, alluding to the precious gift that waits inside. Barack Obama is that shiny, new, and exciting gift that our country needs in a time of such apathy and disappointment. He swept this election away with dignity and poise, and he will be the Neosporin to the still open wounds caused by the Bush Administration.

After spending a full 24 hours at the Marriott, I felt like I was crawling out of my own skin. I needed to get back to St. Kitts. The air conditioning was unnaturally cold, the hotel facilities were uncomfortably sterile, and the boozed up vacationers who were trying to escape the stresses of their everyday lives were becoming too much for me to handle. After hearing a handful of karaoke songs being sung by drunken tourists, I decided it was time to go home. As the taxi brought me to my bus stop and I boarded the crowded bus with reggae playing so loudly the seats rattled, I felt myself sinking back into my newly formed element.

Driving into my village, I noticed that the thunderstorm had caused yet another power outage. It was completely pitch black at the bottom of the hill I have to walk up, aside from the occasional blinding flashes of lightening that felt like someone was flashing their headlights directly in front of my face. I was without flashlight or umbrella, until I saw a beam of light moving in front of me. It was one of my neighbors, Basil, who I had only spoken to a few times. He was sitting on his porch with some friends, and they all insisted that he walk me up to my house, and that it would be crazy for me to walk alone in the dark during a thunderstorm. Because we live in front of a mountain, the water was cascading down the hill like a waterfall, but Basil walked me all the way to my door.

The genuine hospitality that these people offer is something that I am becoming increasingly attached to and comforted by. We were even told by Peace Corps staff that in St. Kitts, the first person you call when you hear someone breaking into your house is your neighbor, because they will immediately run over and scare the intruder away. In the states, my immediate reaction would be to call the police, because they are the only people I know would really risk their lives for me, but not here in St. Kitts. The people here don’t embody the offensively cheesy stereotype of West Indians that is shown in rum or sunscreen commercials, but they are real when it comes to their emotions and moods. There is no need to be fake or equivocating with their feelings; pretending to be joyful and carefree when something may actually be weighing them down seems unnecessary to Kittitians. Because of this, the frequent bouts of friendliness, the “good mornings” people issue to everyone sitting on the bus, or the smiles strangers exchange on the streets, possess actual value and are completely and utterly real.

At the Marriott, where people are supposed to be vacationing and relieving themselves of the stresses they’ve acquired throughout the year, the number of those pure and genuine smiles were few and far between. I knew that they weren’t genuine because they weren’t contagious, and I didn’t feel my mood elevated like when I walk the streets of my village. Maybe I am being too judgmental, or maybe I was just there on the wrong day. Maybe I am just not compatible with the resort lifestyle. But after being in St. Kitts for over two months, I can safely say that I am full of love for this place, and for I am noticing myself feeling completely comfortable living on this treasure of an island.