Beloved readers,

Sadly, the time has come for us to part ways.

It’s not you. It’s me.

In truth: it’s probably you and me. I am no longer DominicanMully but Looking-for-a-job-in-a-crappy-economyMully. There are millions of me out there. I am not offended by the fact that is not as interesting. You probably want to continue reading new blogs about the DR.

So let’s call the breakup mutual shall we? Our relationship has been one based on laughter, support and learning, hasn’t it?

Tales of computer labs, electricity and pests. Beautiful people, beaches and mountains. Cholera, earthquakes and development conversations. Poop stories.

Yes, it’s been wonderful.

You guys gave my experiences additional value by witnessing them and learning from them. Technology really is incredible, no? Thank you so much for your dedication and support during my two years in the Dominican Republic. It was wonderful.

Hasta luego,

L.M.

No worries! The blog will still be up in its current state so everyone can relive every awesome moment. You can search the archives by category or using the search bar found on the right of the site’s main page.

Enjoy!

(yes, this picture was hand selected to run with the survey)

Name: Lindsey Mullikin
DR nicknames: La Mango, American People, Liti, Lekis, La Barbi
Site: Cayetano Germosén (Guanábano), Moca, Espalliat
Program: Information and Communications Technology
Project assignment: Create sustainable labs within the local high school and community center by helping with administration and staff development.
Project reality: Teacher training, English classes, a computer club, prying open persianas to connect routers, a book club, removing insect nests from computers, several cholera charlas, computer classes, radio appearances and barrio shenanigans.
Most useful thing brought into country: Southern charm. Southern stubbornness. And also … my mini-Magnalight.
Least useful thing brought into country: Most of my business casual clothing.
Best “I-know-I’m-in-the-Peace-Corps-now” moment: What does this question even mean? Define “knowing-you-are-in-the-Peace-Corps.” If it’s living without money? I would say every time Entrena gave us an allotment and then told us how long it was to last. If it’s project stuff? The night I hosted a party for all of my English students´ families. They had made a video. We must have watched that thing four times in a row before we all left. If it’s realizing the enormity of development and the reality of my ability to contribute? It was every day.
I knew I was Dominican when: I not only sported the tubi, but I tubi-ed most of the female PCVs at Cameron’s wedding.
Most memorable illness or injury: My combo of upper respiratory infection, parasite and gastro-intestinal inflammation… oh, and then there was the root canal.
Most Dominican habit you’ll take home with you: Regrettably/honestly: Saying huuunnnhhh instead of yes. (I know, I know…)
Most beautiful place in country: Hands-down: Isla Saona.
Most creative way you killed time in your site: Making a game of guessing who was about to turn my street corner based on motor pitch.
How have you changed during your service?: I learned to care without the bounds of time. I have learned to accept things as they come and trust that what will be will be. Through this act of trusting, I’ve learned to accept myself, and for that, I am no longer my worst critic.
If your service was a book, what would its title be?: Esa vaina ‘ta ‘ta.
What books did you read during your service that you’d like to recommend to other Volunteers?: Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver, The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood, Why the Cocks Fight by Michele Wucker, Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder, Irresistible Revolution by Shane Claiborne.
What are you glad you did here?: Essentially gaining una mitad dominicana by becoming part of a family in my community. I am so glad that I moved in with them for my last few months and lived daily life with them. I wouldn’t trade any successful project for the relationships I built with them. I love them and will miss them dearly.
What do you wish you had done here?: I wish that I had recognized when my projects weren’t going to succeed earlier and got a site change, even though moving away from community relationships would have been difficult.
What will you miss six months from now?: I will miss community in the sense that life is a continuous flow of relationships here, of knowing one another, and of doing life together. We don’t do that so well back home.
What won’t you miss six months from now?: Chickens. Chickens everywhere.
What’s next?: I’m going home for a hot second then Austin for the summer: job searching, concert going, couch sleeping, hiking, biking… it’s going to be epic.
Big plans for your readjustment allowance?: Spend it?
Advice to a new Volunteer: Be honest. Be honest with Peace Corps, volunteers as well as Dominicans. Don’t be afraid to be honestly you, and use it to build relationships that last. Create community during your time here. Building those skills will be your most fulfilling and most sustainable project, I promise… Oh, and it pays to splurge for the more expensive toilet paper at the colmado.

A lot of Peace Corps people joke about the American perception of what we exactly we do. The banter usually results in inappropriately lofty expressions like “changing the world,” “saving the world,” “spreading peace,” “saving babies,” “shaking hands and kissing babies,” “magic” etc.

The truth is: I have kissed a lot of babies (not in a weird way), and I might have  spread some peace despite my boughts of sweaty frustration. And, although I never did this, I totally could have saved a baby if I had ever come across one that needed saving from drowning or touching a hot pot.

Seriously, if you’ve followed the blog, you know the glossy veneer of heart melting goodness is only as deep as volunteer organizations’ brochures hope it to be. Enough to get you involved.

The truth is the heart-warming gushiness is only part of the story. It’s not an incorrect perception entirely, just an incomplete one.

Peace Corps is, without a doubt, a great experience. Don’t get me wrong.

PCVs constantly say things like, “Those nine-to-fivers, the joke’s on them,” and “Can you really believe this is our life?” We know how awesome the opportunity is.

And sometimes there are babies. Just this last week, I went and painted an orphanage with a bunch of other PCVs for a bunch of kids that used to be babies (stop it, it totally counts).

I guess the point I am trying to make is that the perception and the reality of Peace Corps is something completely individual and unique to those affected by it. Community members here. PCVs. People back home. Me. We all carry this idea of what actually happened down here.

That’s the way life is, right?

I just hope I can get my perception into words for all of those jobs, dates, dinner parties, and hangouts I have waiting for me when I get home. An experience like this can definitely not be summed up with, “It was pretty cool I guess.”

Peace Corps recommends getting it down to three sentences. Two years. Three sentences.

Yeah, we’ll see about that.

I am developing some sort of separation anxiety from the life I’ve created here. In 28 days, I will board a plane and say goodbye to everything I have introduced into my life during the past two years: other volunteers, my Dominican family, frequent chatter about poop, long discussions about world politics and development by candle light… etc.

It’s enough change to make a girl freak.

My solution? I week-long beach tour around the country.

Food. Drink. Friends. Fun. Sun. And the prettiest blues you’ve ever seen.

Here was my itinerary (directions are from the capital):

1. Isla Saona. The most beautiful place in the country. Located on the small island off the mainland’s southeastern coast, its sparsely populated beaches are normally reserved for the rich and famous (and for Peace Corps people willing to hitch rides with the locals). To get there: In Parque Enriquillo take a bus to La Romana ($180 RD). Tell the cobrador that you want to be let off where you can grab a bus to Bayahibe ($60 RD). Negotiate the hour boat ride with some of the locals … ($250 – 300 RD). Tourists pay God knows how much to get out there…. suckers.

2. Najayo. This is a small beach near the capital that is mostly frequented by locals. It’s flanked on each side by rocks jetting out into the water. To get there: Flag down a bus to Palenque from in front of the Peace Corps Office on Bolivar. Tell the cobrador you are going to Nayajo. It will stop in San Cristobal (a disgusting, dumpster stop) before continuing ($80 RD). Get off the bus after you see the beach on your left.

3. Cabarete. This is a very touristy location on the northern coast. The day I went, winds were providing the best climate for kite boarding and wind surfing. There must have been hundreds of acrobatic men flaying around in the air out there that day. To get there: The fastest way is to take a Rio San Juan bus from Caribe Tours. Stay on the bus until the end and then grab cars to Cabarete.

4. Playa Grande. This name doesn’t lie. The beach is so wide! It is formed from a dip in the coast line, and  picks up some serious winds sometimes. You can get lunch right there on the sand: fried fish or chicken (chicken- $180 RD, fish-$250) RD. A man will actually set up a little plastic table and chairs. Loverly. To get there: Take a Caribe Tours bus to Cabrera and then grab a smaller bus to Playa Grande.

Now, I back to barrio I go!

Still trying to keep the freak out from happening… but at least I have a little color to me now?

A fellow PCV sits happy in one of our rides. We hitch-hiked boat style on the way back from Saona. This was taken at a natural pool on the way. Please note all of the drunk tourists swimming in the background... hilarious.

Doing laundry beachside in Baharuco. Photo Credit: Jackie Gilles.

Seco. Sin una gotita de nada.

Dry. Without a drop of anything.

The six barrels sat empty behind the house beside the rain tank that had been collecting dust for weeks.

Laundry. Laundry had become like this unspoken, yet ultimate fantasy for most of us. As if we thought, “Laundry, what a luxury! Can you imagine clothes that don’t smell like a Caribbean day’s sweat? ¿Eso será algo ricismo, no?”

What we mostly worried about was bathing. Eight people needed to bathe that night. Mom, Dad, three daughters, a son, a baby and (of course) the American.

The water hadn’t arrived in a good amount in almost three weeks.

Three weeks.

Think about how many things need water in daily life: dishes, bathing, brushing your teeth, mopping, washing your hands, laundry, etc. And even more is needed if you have a kid. More still if you are dependent on a working in-house hair salon to make sure you family eats.

My Doña worked the neighborhood trying to find anyone that could help us out. The answer came from the woman making empanadas.

She had access to water in an underground cistern that belonged to a doctor’s house that is currently for sale. (Yeah, complicated).

The cistern is about three blocks from the house.

Everyone grabbed a bucket and started walking.

Down the street around the corner, fill the bucket, free hand out for balance, walk.

Men carried two.

It was around 8 p.m., so the neighborhood in its entirety was outside as daily routine dictates. Before we knew it, others started hauling their own buckets.

When empanada lady (a sizeable woman who could probably wield a battle-axe as well as she rolls dough) caught wind of what was happening, she stomped out to supervise. She reminded the entire world that she, too, could run out of water and that permission had only been granted to a few.

Yet, she allowed everyone to keep dunking their buckets. I guess 1. because it wasn’t really her water and 2. it’s WATER! How can you deny your neighbor the right to clean water? She must have known that at some point she would need a similar favor and cut her losses. Smart lady.

An hour y pico later, we had enough water to get us through the next couple of days.

Five days later the water started to come. Apparently and ENTIRE tree branch had clogged one of the pipes.

What they pulled out of the tubes..........

It flowed Willy Wonka brown for a good hour before running crystal clear.

Me and the girls danced and jigged around the house saying, “AGUA! AGUA!”

My Doña filled everything from empty milk gallons to small bowls to large trash cans. There was no returning to seco for us.