A Little Light Reading

During my long, slow summer in Tennessee this year I spent lots of time reading books with cover art that usually involved high heels, bearing titles with cleverly altered classic rock lyrics, slightly nauseating puns or a combination of the two with a fashion designer’s name thrown in. Now I’m reading books with names like “Looking Inside the Classroom: Reflecting on the ‘how’ as well as the ‘what’ in effective reading and instruction,” and “Text Talk: Capturing the benefits of read-aloud experiences for young children.” I am disappointed to find that shockingly few of these works have anything to do with a juicy romance, an inspiring adventure or a wardrobe make-over and none of their covers are pink.

I’m reading these ultra-boring things in an attempt to devise a plan to improve the Language Arts program at the Soufriere Primary School. This, in even fewer words, has been my only job description for the next two years of my life. So, because I grew up with Jim Dyer as a dad, I just grabbed every single book I could find about reading and grammar and teaching and am desperately devouring them as if they were SAT prep books a week before the test. I have abandoned my vision of me (looking fabulous but not so fabulous as to scare people – certainly not sweating) gliding into a classroom full of happy, quiet children, sitting in a circle of bright and interested faces and singing the “Getting to Know You” song from The King and I. Closer to reality were my pre-Peace Corps fears of me (looking thrown-together at best – certainly sweating) stumbling into a raucous mess of screeching kids, begging the attention of distracted, apathetic faces and humming a funeral dirge. Real life falls somewhere in the middle but leans toward the latter.

On a happier note - only yesterday I was established as the CARE School (mentioned in an earlier post) Arts and Crafts Program Senior Coordinator (a title I made up and will definitely not tell anyone at the school about.) Now every Monday afternoon I will have craft hour with the 25 students at the school, starting with simple projects then working up to something they can sell at the national CARE School Craft Exhibition. It would be difficult to over-estimate how excited I am about getting started and have been furiously researching kids’ craft projects that can be done with little resources and recycled found objects (my specialty.) Any and all project suggestions are welcome, and thanks already to Robley Hood for the “Single Page Book” instructions, which I plan on using for our first session!

The Ant Trap

One Sunday morning in October I sat writing letters in the kitchen of my host mother’s house. I was waiting for an important phone call from the Peace Corps office about my future housing, so decided not to accompany Margaret Rose (host-mom) to mass. She was standing just a few feet away from me when a car horn honked and suddenly she shouted “COME, HALLIE. COME!” with such stern command that I wondered if she’d gotten a puppy, named it Hallie and forgotten to tell me about it. In confusion I just stood up and looked at her, waiting for a little clarification. She didn’t move and neither did I until she said “COME, HALLIE. PUT THE CAKE HERE!” and pointed to a set of bowls on the counter, a small one filled with water inside a larger, shallow one also holding water. I looked all around me and didn’t know where to come and didn’t see a cake but it was clear we were having an emergency, so I just calmly said “I’m sorry, Margaret Rose. I don’t know what’s going on.” At that she gave an exasperated huff and bolted out the door to the waiting car. I ran after her and was handed the mystery cake. Margaret Rose looked me square in the eye like she was about to tell me some seriously serious bad news, paused and said “Ants,” got in the car and rode away.

So here’s how the ant trap works – as with every morsel of unsecured food, the cake attracts the attention of all ants within a 12 mile radius. Because this is the Caribbean the ants would think of this distance in kilometers. The cake-hungry bugs crawl up the white bowl toward the prize and drown in the water. If the ants can swim (and some can) they make it to the second bowl but are usually pretty tuckered out and so cannot muster the strength to scale the cake-plate upside down. The few Lance Armstrong ants that do get to the cake are too exhausted to eat.

Post 1

To my great surprise, when I stepped off the plane onto the island of St. Lucia to begin my two years as a Peace Corps Volunteer I didn’t immediately join Princess Jasmine in a devastatingly touching rendition of “A Whole New World” and Lisa Ling didn’t pop out from behind a tree for a tarmac interview. I just stepped off the plane. And now here I am. I still haven’t had the big Peace Corps Freak-out Meltdown Panic Extravaganza of Anxiety I was told to expect.
In the month since my arrival I’ve been living with a host mother in a town on the Southwest coast called Soufriere (pronounced “Sue – fray”) where I’ll be living until October of 2010. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays I take an offensively long, gut-wrenchingly windy 1.5 hour bus ride of death (and I use the term “bus” loosely here) into Castries, the country’s crowded capitol, where I punch people and elbow little children in the kidneys to get onto another bus that takes me to the Peace Corps Regional Office. I leave my house at 6:40 to get there by 9 a.m. when training begins, and when I get there I’ve traveled a distance of less than 20 miles. It’s a fab way to start the day.
My training group is full of fun and interesting people (seriously – I like them) and together we study things like Fundamentals of Teaching, Safety and Security, Youth Development Strategies, Cultural Sensitivity and the Creole Language. If you know me at all you have already guessed how I feel about these classes and can imagine my obscene level of excitement at the prospect of training’s end. Four weeks down, three to go.
On Tuesdays I have a “School Internship” with the third grade classes at Soufriere Primary School just a short, nausea-free walk from my house. I spend the morning there observing and aiding the teachers and getting to know the students. Before I leave I always remind the kids that my name is Miss Dyer, I’m new to Soufriere and they should say hello whenever they see me outside of school. Now I hear at least one “Hello, Miss Dyer!” every time I go into town.
Thursdays are for “Shadowing” local community members and current volunteers. So far I’ve spent a day with a member of the St. Lucia Youth and Sports Council and another at The C.A.R.E. School (The Center for Adolescent Renewal and Education – it’s like an alternative school in the states but not exclusively for children with behavioral problems) with about 25 students ages 11 to 16.
Soufriere is the perfect size – small enough that I already know people on the street by name and can get around easily but large enough that I have a bank, grocery store, post office and cell company (no one on the planet needs more than that as far as I’m concerned) and can pay all my bills in town (not the case for lots of other volunteers on other parts of the island.) When training ends in three weeks (!!!!!!!!!) I’ll move just a few blocks down the road from my current home into the first floor of a two story house underneath someone called “Miss Lucy.” We’ll see how it goes. Soon after that I’ll start work for the Ministry of Education at my district’s office to improve their Language Arts Program and possibly implement other programs as well (read: ART. Also read: RIBBON.) The job description is still a little vague and I imagine it will take months to get a real idea of what needs to be done, but this is much more information than the two-word description of “Community Development” I’ve been living with for the past months.
I LOVE hearing from you, so email me at hallie.dyer@gmail.com or better yet, send me a real letter at:

Hallie Dyer
U.S. Peace Corps
P.O. Box 123
Barnard Hill, Sans Soucis Area
Castries
St. Lucia, West Indies

If I haven’t written you by now it’s because I don’t have your address. I want an update on your life, I don’t care who you are. I probably miss you.