Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Room for Improvement


Tuesday afternoon, the gym teacher at one of the high schools in town asked me if I would referee a soccer match.

The high school is in the middle of athletic competitions between the different grades. Each grade has a girls’ basketball and a male soccer team. They play against the other grades.

The school makes a big deal about this. Every team gets their own jerseys, and there is a special schedule (some schools cancel classes for the week)

I can only imagine how this would have gone over at my high school.

What is this rosh chodesh? It’s like it happens every month.

Considering how much people care about these games, I was kind of surprised when the gym teacher asked me to referee an actual game of consequence.

I mean, why would I be a suitable candidate to referee this game?

But then I looked at him, and he was pretty exhausted. Plus, he looked like he wanted to laugh a bit. That is where I come in.

As a North American, I don’t really know too much about what the responsibilities and standard practice is for a soccer referee. Franklin Baseball umping didn´t prepare me for this. Where am I supposed to stand? Do I blow the whistle every time is goes out of bounds? How do we decide who starts with the ball?

I know that it is commonplace in club soccer for the ref to wrapped up in some kind of match-fixing scandal. Is someone going to offer me a bag of mangos to call it in their favor?

I also don’t really know if I’m supposed to call a foul every time I see a kid flopping on the ground, or if I should let them play a bit. Well, as you may know, I am kind of bitter about all the flopping that occurs in soccer. So you might guess that I was a bit lax when it comes to blowing the whistle. One might even wonder whether or not I had actually swallowed the whistle. If it’s bleeding, that means you fell on the ground. If it’s black and blue or I can see bone, then there might have possibly been a foul.



I probably should have explained this policy to them before the game, because they were flopping all over the place. And, well, I didn’t see the need to blow the whistle.

So after about eight minutes on mute, the gym teacher was fed up with the silence and decided he should take over.

He called to the bullpen and finished the game for me. He said that I will get another chance. Thursday, they have basketball games. I will be sure to explain my “let the players decide the game, not the refs” policy.

Eight minutes wasn’t bad for the first time. We’ll improve next time (Can I make a “that’s what she said” joke? I noticed this when reading over the blog again, so I didn’t write it in real time

Monday, September 28, 2009

Liberated



When I finish reading a book, I typically add it to the “Reading List” on the right column and leave it unmentioned in other places on this blog.

That is enough for most books. But sometimes there is a story behind the story.

I would put my most recent conquest in the literary world in that category of book-reading experiences that deserve more than the title on the sidebar.

I have just finished reading “Liberators,” a history book by a former Parliament member about seven men most influential in the liberation of Latin America.

Last summer, I decided that if I was going to be backpacking through South America, that I might as well learn about the history of the countries I’m visiting. So I went to Borders on Liberty St. and bought what I thought would be a fascinating, can’t-stop-once-you-start book about South America’s liberation.

Before I give you a month-by-month timelime of my progress through the book, I have to tell you that the story of Latin American independence is one of the most remarkable I have read. The tactics and charisma of the Libertadores made for a worthwhile read.

Especially for someone living in Latin America for two years, it is pretty useful to know about the national history. Imagine living in the United States and not knowing about the Founding Fathers’ impact on the nation’s formation.

And now the timeline.




For the first eight weeks of my journey, I spent bus rides marveling at the countryside or moving through “One Hundred Years of Solitude.” Then, on the bus ride between Sao Paolo and Parati, I finally finished.

That means I finished fifty percent of my reading material for the summer (If I were to have read fifty percent of the assigned reading in my time at Michigan, well that would have been a significant improvement upon what I actually did. )

The only book standing in my way: Liberators.

It is full of detail, which makes processing all of the information quite difficult. I started reading the book on at rainy day at Ilha Grande. I told one of the other hostel guests that he could read the book when I finished (I wonder if he still wants it). So I got off to a strong start — maybe sixty pages in the first day.

Then the sun came out. Then I left the island and headed to Rio. For some reason, I found Brazilians much more interesting than Francisco de Miranda’s failed attempts at liberating Venezuela.

Then I got to Rio and brought the book with me to the beach almost every day. But every time I went to the beach, I found a nice group of Brazilians who was willing to help me with my Portuguese. Progress stalled. In fact the bookmark that I have been using for over a year is the map I got from the Rio tourist information booth when I was looking for places to learn samba or capoeira.



So I managed to get about 100 pages done before the end of my summer and returned home with a resolve to finish the book.

Then came covering Michigan football for the Daily. Then came school.

Combined progress over those four months: 8-11 pages.

So I graduated and took the book with me on my roadtrip through the South. Obvious opportunity to knock out a good chuck of the book.

Wrong. I read three paragraphs over the 3,000-mile ride and didn’t sleep once. (I did manage to drive us off the road in Paoli, Indiana, though.)

Between the end of the roadtrip and my departure for the Peace Corps I had a couple of weeks. Plenty of time to knock out a good portion of the book. I should be extra motivated to learn about South America if I am going to spend the next two years there, right?

Well, Tony Soprano got in the way. I watched the entire series; no book progress made.

I read a couple pages of the book the night before leaving for the Peace Corps with all intentions of bringing the book with me. Well, somehow, it got knocked under the bed the next morning, and I kind of left it behind.

Five months later, my brothers came down to visit me and brought the book with them. I was in the middle of another book at the time, but put Liberators next in the queue.

When I finished the other book, I picked up from where I left off in “Liberators” and realized that I have no idea what is going on. I decided to start from the beginning and re-read the first 146 pages.

Between rides to and from Machala, the town where I’m working on the community bank, and sixteen hours on the bus last weekend, I can confidently say that I am free of this burden.

The battle lasted more than 15 months. Sometimes, it appeared the two sides were at a stalemate. Even when I was reading the book, it was so dense with information that I couldn’t go more than 15 pages without falling asleep.

But I marched on — kind of like how Bolivar marched across the supposedly unpassable Andes to surprise the Royalist forces.

This book had no idea who it was dealing with – much like how the Spanish navy in Lima had no idea that Lord Cochrane attacked with such a small force.

And then, tonight, I can declare myself free from the oppression of this book — much like Dom Pedro’s Cry of Yrapringa.

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Frank “el Tanque”

If “Old School” were made in Ecaudor, I’m pretty sure I have found my Will Ferrell.

He lives down there street.

And, let me clarify my previous statement (actually two statements ago, but who’s counting). I have not actually met him.

His legend has travelled through the neighborhood.
Now, I spent a shade under half a decade at college.

And while I didn’t actually drink, I witnessed my share of drunken exploits and heard of countless others.

[Here is where I would put the list, but I’m not going to embarrass you like that. Just know that I started to write said list, but deleted it because, well, 'tis the season of reflection and I try to be a nice guy...]

So I thought I was prepared in being able to listen to a drunken escapade story without rolling over laughing and peeing my pants.
I’ll set the scene.

Sunday night.

I am shooting the shit with my landlord.

We are talking about some of our neighbors when the subject changes to someone in town who I don’t know yet.

Then my landlord’s wife chimes in.

Landlord’s wife: Remember that time when he rode around naked on his donkey.

Landlord: Yeah, that was pretty funny.

Ian: Wait. Did I understand that correctly? Naked donkey riding?

Landlord: Yeah, he was a little over-served and started riding his donkey through town.

Ian: Just in the neighborhood?

Landlord: No all over town. It took a lot of us to contain him.

Ian: A lot of us? You had to stop the naked man riding his donkey?

Landlord: Yeah, he hasn’t been able to live that one down.
Now, before going on, reflect on the story you just read.
Well, if he ever lives that one down, I want someone to give me a detailed account of what he exactly he did to live that down (preferably in video form so he can become a YouTube legend).
Continue reflecting.
"Estamos desnudos y montando el burro. Woooooo. Vamos al parque central. Y despues vamos al gimnasio. Todos estan viniendo en sus burros."

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Shana Tova

First off, I would like to wish each and every one of you a shana tova u’metukah (A happy and sweet New Year).

This is my first Rosh Hashanah away from home. Even though I wasn’t with my family, I spent the holiday with 20 of my closest friends in this hemisphere.

Last week, I had a Reconnect meeting with some of the other volunteers in my training group. Then, we all decided to go to Riobamba for the weekend to catch up with most of the rest of my training group.

I wasn’t with my actual family, but with my Peace Corps family.

In the words of the immortal Buzz McCallister: OK. Enough of this gooey show of emotion. All right, everyone. Let´s dig in.

Riobamba is a town in the Sierra. It has a reputation for being very cold and being very high (in altitude). It is surrounded by four volcanoes. One of the volcanoes, Chimborazo, is the closest place to the sun of anywhere on Earth. The city has a pretty colonial center, although not nearly as big as Cuenca or Quito. It is famous for the Nariz del Diablo train that leaves from a station in downtown Riobamba, although it is frequently out of order or out of season.

During my South American adventure last summer, I spent the night in Riobamba as I traveled from Baños to Cuenca. I didn’t actually see daylight in Riobamba that time because our bus got in at 10:00 PM and left at 5:00 AM.

I brought my mahzor with me and did my own thing in the hotel while the rest of my friends recovered from a night out. Then in the afternoon, I went to a river in town for tashlikh and invited whoever wanted to share in the experience to join (Tashlikh is ceremony that you do by a flowing body of water. You throw some piece of food into the water, traditionally bread crumbs, as part of the process of repentance).

After musaf (I'll ask for new chazzan next year), I spent the rest of the morning procuring apples and honey. This took me to an organic farmer’s market and then to a store that specializes in supporting small farmers (the size of the farm, not the people).

I had Chinese food for lunch. Nothing says Rosh Hashanah like Vegetable Lo Mein. I hadn’t had chifa ("Chinese food") since getting to Ecuador.

After resting for a bit, we went down to the river. The thing about Riobamba is that there isn't a big river that runs through town. The woman at our hostel said there was a small river about a kilometer away. If that didn’t work out, we would have to settle for the man-made paddleboat pond in the children’s park or, if we really wanted flowing water, the shower.

We set off for the river. We asked some people for directions. Before showing us the way, they gave us the “I have no idea why you would want to go to the river. It’s kind of dirty” look. Following the standard rule of asking five people for directions before actually arriving, we were able to find the river.

From afar it looks pretty pleasant.



Right on the outskirts of town, surrounded by mountains, trees, and some farmland. Well, if you want to keep that image of the river, don’t click on the image to see it in full size. It´s not exactly the mighty Huron or the mightier Franklin branch of the Rouge River.

Either way, it’s a flowing body of water.

I explained to my friends that throwing the breadcrumbs in the river doesn’t actually cleanse your sin palette. It is a personal event, part of the process of repentance. That you are thinking about your actions from the previous year and how you can improve in the upcoming one.



Hooray, floating bread crumbs.

Then I broke out the apples and honey.



You might not be able to see it in this picture, but a certain overly-excited Ian did manage to get honey all over his shirt and pants.



Hemispheres might change, but some things don’t.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

There are no pineapples in Piñas



Even though my town has a reputation for its fertile soil, it doesn’t really grow a variety of vegetables here. I like to joke that you can grow anything but apples down here.

It’s just that nobody really takes advantage of these possibilities.

It is mostly banana, cocoa, corn, or fruit trees. Hence, there isn’t much demand for the vegetable seeds in the agriculture stores.

So Saturday afternoon, I got back from visiting a farm and didn’t really have any plans for the rest of the day. My friend saw me on the street and asked me if I wanted to go to Piñas, which is about two hours from here, where the stores carry a large selection of vegetable seeds.

The town is located at about 1,500 meters above sea level and is situated on a mountainside. It is at the altitude of a cloud forest, which means that nearly every day is foggy.

Also, the city is much more developed than my town. It is pretty common in Ecuador that the towns that are more in the sierra (mountains) are more developed and better organized. So Piñas, being in the transitional zone between coast and sierra, could also be described as being in the transitional zone in terms of development, as well.

It was a great change of pace.

At first, we searched for the seed store. Relying on my friends who had been there before, I just went along for the ride. Our search was fruitless. All of the seed stores were closed. Although the search could also be described as fruitful, I guess, because the seed stores are located near the produce market. Either way, disheartened, we continued with our day.

We spent the afternoon climbing the up the stairs of the hilly pueblo. The town is full of staircases, which always make for fun wandering through cities. We passed by an orchid garden that was Peace Corps volunteer’s project in 2003. Only a few of the flowers were in blossom, but it was very cool to see the impact that a Peace Corps volunteer has left behind.

Then we went to a restaurant in town that is apparently a community institution. They had really good humitas (mashed up corn in log form) and coffee (Actual coffee. I don’t really like coffee, but this was pretty good.). We stuck around to eat another humita, which turned out to be the best decision we made all day.

As we were leaving the restaurant, my friend recognized the owner of one of the seed stores. We went with him to his shop, and I had a field day.

Then, as we were leaving the seed store, I received a text message that said Michigan beat Notre Dame, and everyone was happy. (Obviously, I wore my Michigan jersey yesterday.)

Overall, a pretty outstanding trip, and I will definitely be making my way back toward Piñas.

Monday, September 21, 2009

All of our problems are solved

World banana capital.

Just imagine the millions of things you can do with the banana.

Banana shirts, banana salsa, banana leaf plates, banana salad, banana gumbo, banana soup.

Hell, you could open a store called the Banana Republic.

Whether or not a store already has that name, there are a lot of things you could do with the banana.

One of the myriad possibilities of things that someone could do with bananas that hasn't already been done here is [insert drumroll] banana bread.

Now, I’m not saying that banana bread will revolutionize that bakery industry in southern Ecuador. All I’m saying is that it gives the people another option of what they could do with the banana.

And any revolution starts with one person.

My coworker’s mom runs a bakery out of her house, and I told her that she could offer this as another project. We could make some free samples at the market and give them out to the people so that they realize how delicious it is, and then they will come back for more.

Am I a bit ahead of myself? Maybe.

Last week, I shared my mom’s banana bread recipe with my friend’s mom, and we started mixing.









One restriction of computer technology is that you can’t taste the food that is on your monitor.

It was delicious.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

Machetes and Frisbees don´t mix

So you might read the title of this blog post and think “who the hell would think of using a machete while playing with a Frisbee?”

Then you have to realize that a lot of things that occur in this country don’t really mix very well, but they happen anyway.

I let my friend borrow one of my Frisbee discs a couple of months back and told him that he could have it as long as he kept playing with it. I have checked in on him every week since then, and he and his brother are still fascinated by the Frisbee — even if they still can’t get the whole wrist-flicking thing down.

I came by this week to check on the disc.

Ian: Are you still playing with my Frisbee?

Ian’s friend: I can’t play with it anymore.

Ian: Why?

Ian’s friend: My brother chopped it up with a machete.



Ian: Why?

Ian’s friend: He really likes the machete.

Ian: Is this the first time he has machete-ed something like this?

Ian’s friend: No, he really, really likes the machete.

Bear in mind that my friend’s brother is three and has his own machete.

His own machete.

Last time I stayed in that community, I was shmoozing with some of the residents at 9:00 p.m. when I saw the three-year-old run own of the house with his yellow workboots, looking for his machete.

He really, really, really likes his machete.

Now, I was afraid of knives until the age of ten and didn’t get over my fear of the vaunted machete until …. well, there’s still a shtickel of trepidation every time I see someone wielding one of them.

Three-year-olds with their own, regulation-sized machete with unregulated access to the tool is just another cultural difference I have to get over and take into account when I’m letting people borrow my Frisbee.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

My new obsession

Compost is my new obsession.

Every time I see organic material on the garbage that isn’t going to be composted, I think about the lost opportunity. This is mostly because of a book recently read called “Let it Rot.”

It is a home composting guide from the 1970s that explains, in plain English, what compost is and how to make it as effectively as possible. More or less, it has become a new philosophy.

Have I caught myself picking up fruit and vegetable peels on the side of the road? Maybe.

Have I been seen lugging huge bags of vegetable skins from the central market to compost piles throughout town? I can neither confirm nor deny said accusations, but I will say that there are very few Jewfro-sporting compostniks in this town.

Do I spend time at the slaughterhouse for the manure and blood meal? I will not answer that question.

For me, the book has changed the way I think about compost. Instead of thinking about it for the end product, I have started to think about the process. And in reality, all you are doing when you make compost is providing the optimal environment for the microorganisms and macroorganisms that break down the food.

So you have to start thinking about what these organisms need to thrive. (This is more or less a summary of the book — or any conversation I have had in the last three weeks)

1. Oxygen — the organisms need to breath. So you need to expose them to oxygen. There is a notion around these parts that the only way to make compose is to dig a hole in the ground, cover the sides with cement, pour organic waste in the hole, and then cover it up.

The material will decompose, but it will stink and take a long time. You got to put the compost above ground so that it can breath (Otherwise, you get anaerobic decomposition, which smells like death)

2. Water — When staring your compost pile, you want to make sure that the entire pile is nice and moist. From then on, you just want to make sure it has the moisture content of a sponge — not wet, not dry.

3. Nutrients — The organism need nutrients. And this is where the organic material comes in. You can just throw your vegetable peels on the pile, and they will decompose, but there are things you can do to improve the organisms’ access to this food.

The solution is to chop your organic matter into smaller pieces, so it is easier for the organisms to access them. Think about a cube. If you have a cube, there are only six sides that the organisms can use to access the organic material. If you cut it in half, there are 12 sides. If you cut those in half again, that makes 24 sides. And so on.

And with this in mind, I gave a workshop to the emloyees in the tree nursery about how we are going to improve the compost-making process in the nursery. We mad this fun little cartoon about the happy microorganism.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Film Review: Anaconda 4

My friend told me that Anaconda 4 was his favorite movie.

Having never had the opportunity to watch this masterpiece, I immediately put that on top of my to-watch list.

Last week, I had a meeting in a rural community at 5:00 p.m. and offer of a free ride to said community at 11:00 a.m.

(This free ride also included lunch and a ride back to my house, whereas the alternative included two buses, a thirty-minute walk, spending the night, and doing the same two-bus, 30-minute walk routine in the morning. So I obviously accepted.)

We finished lunch a little after 1:00 p.m. and I had a few hours to kill until my meeting. Somehow the conversation shifted to movies. Somehow it shifted to him showing me his movie collection. When the Anaconda collection appeared to pique my interested, he asked me if I wanted to watch.

Ian’s friend: Which one do you want to watch?

Ian: Whichever one is your favorite.

Ian’s friend: Then we’ll watch Anaconda 4

Keep in mind that I’m pretty certain that an officially named film Anaconda 4 has not been produced yet, which means that someone made a movie about a snake, slapped the name Anaconda 4 on it, and started selling it in bootleg movie stores throughout Latin America.

So we started watching.

The film is set in East Tennessee in 1986. The main character’s father dies of a snake bite during the opening credits. Instead of avoiding snakes for the rest of his life, the main character develops a fascination with the species. He goes to the local rare snake store (I haven’t spent too much time in rural eastern Tennessee, but from what I have heard, I have heard nothing about rare snake stores in that region). Well, the main character steals a really rabid, deadly snake from the store. He accidentally knocks it out of its cage, and it starts killing everybody in town.

From this summary, you might think that this is just your generic snake film. But I could just as easily treat this film as a love story, with a snake subplot.

A guy from eastern Tennessee falls in love with a park ranger. Their relationship goes through a roller coaster as a snake wreaks havoc on the town and their families. And at the end, the main character might or might not have to make the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of love.

Well, you see, it works as a love story too. Now, let’s go with the environmental plot.

Some snake store in eastern Tennessee imports a rare, poisonous snake from the Latin American jungle. The species is not native to the area and no natural predators. Plus it likes eating people. Well, outside of its natural habitat of the jungle, where it feasts on non-human things, the snake realizes that there is an abundance of humans in eastern Tennessee (maybe compared to the jungle I would describe the population density of eastern Tennessee as abundant. Maybe.). The rest of the move just shows the effect of an invasive species outside of its natural habitat. This could just as easily have been a film about the ash borer, but I think more people are interested in snake stories that ash borer films (even for the fourth edition of a snake series that got old after the first sequel, I would say there is more demand than for an ash borer flick)

Now, you see, this really isn’t your simple snake thriller. This is much more than that. And I think that is why my friend likes it so much. Well, at least that is what I thought, until the film ended.

Ian: What is that huge blood stain on the floor next to the table?

Ian’s friend: Oh, that. That was the chicken that died there last week.

Ian: How did he die?

Ian’s friend: A poisonous snake killed him.

(Now, keep in mind that this blood stain is on the floor between the two beds in this house)

I then realized why they like this film so much. It is close to an accurate depiction of their lives. They live in a rural community with the ever-present risk of snake attacks. They can relate. It might be difficult for them to get behind the inspirational story of Forrest Gump or the brilliance of the Godfather.

But Anaconda 4, they understand exactly what the characters are going through.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Shabbos




I had six friends over for dinner on Friday night.

I made a kugel and a challah. One of my friends brought a beet-and-carrot salad. Then we teamed up to make quinoa sir fry.

It was a cultural experience for every one.

First, no one else had ever had kugel before.

Only one of them had challah (and obviously, it was not my mom’s recipe, so they haven’t really had challah before).

And two Ecuadorians at the table had only had quinoa in creamy soup form.

The work-week was over. And this was an opportunity to spend quality time with friends. There are no other worries. There is nowhere else to be. Just the good food, friends, and conversation.

And it was exactly what I needed.

Technically, as a Peace Corps Volunteer, we do not get weekends off. So to have a Friday night dinner where I don’t worry about anything (except whether I put enough sugar in the kugel) is perfect

The Shabbat dinner prep here is a bit different than what I am used to.

Now, because I needed to cook two behemoth challahs and two kugels and don’t have an oven in my house don’t have an oven in my house. I ended up going to the local bakery and using their oven. But I don’t think their temperature gauge was too accurate because the challah was a little overdone, and the kugel a bit dry.



The good thing was that they ate all of the kugel and most of the challah and said it was delicious. This just left me thinking “you just wait until next time.”

Then, there was the question of where to put everybody. I only have one small table and two chairs in my house. I went to the ceviche restaurant across the street and borrowed two big tables and seven chairs.

Then there was the question of how we would eat. I only have four plates, spoons, knives, cups, and forks (I didn’t have any forks until Thursday when I big the bullet and bought them). And this includes serving utensils. So I borrowed that as well.

It all came together. We lit the candles (My friend didn’t know any better and blew them out), did Kiddush, and enjoyed the challah.

Just a great Shabbat dinner. I can’t wait until the next one.

Tuesday, September 08, 2009

Maybe I should open a petting zoo

In the continuing saga of animals I find in my house, I found another creature last night.

I walked into my kitchen to brush my teeth (better water pressure and I don´t bump my head on the light bulb) when I saw something on the wall. It kind of camoflauged, but I could tell that it wasn´t part of the wall (it being three dimensional and having a shadow were the giveaways).



Well, I scared him away with a sponge.

This whole run-in with the lizard makes me wonder whether it would have been a better idea to keep the cat around to scare the lizards away. After lying in bed for three hours pondering this question last night, I decided that it was better to get rid of the cat because who knows what other kinds of animals the cat would scare away.

The Banana Stand



If you looked in my freezer, you might think me last name is Bluth.

Or you might think that I live near the world banana capital.

The latter.

To make the chocobanana, peel bananas and freeze overnight. Liquify margarine and mix with melted chocolate. Apply chocolate. Put back in freezer. Enjoy.

Sunday, September 06, 2009

Certified


That is a photo of Ian and a certificate he received Friday afternoon.

For what, you ask?

I am now certified to teach hand washing. After passing an intense sixteen-hour course about the subject, I am now prepared to teach and be a responsible example for others.

Now, I know, you might be asking: Can he be serious?

Hey, could I make this up? Let alone forge a mayor’s signature. Or the idea that someone could dedicate sixteen academic hours to hand washing.

My office is involved in programs about access to clean water and avoiding contamination to protect the watershed and the health of the citizens. Not only do they work with small communities to implement water programs, but they also run educational programs to teach the residents about proper use of the new system and other things they can do to avoid future infections.

Hand washing is one of those subjects.

Here is the route of contamination, as I learned on Friday.

Fecal matter --> Hand --> Mouth

So the question is, how and where can we stop this?

Well, if we wash the hand before it takes the arrow to the mouth, then we can prevente contamination. And why is this important: Because diarrhea is one of the leading killers of youth under the age of five, not to mention how many other health risks it poses (dehydration, malnutrition, etc).

Think about it like this, if someone contracts a horrible parasite or infection from touching something contaminatd, then they have to go to the doctor, then the pharmacy. This all costs Money. But if you teach someone how to wash their hands, they not only avoid the infection, but also the associated costs. Much easier and cheaper just to wash the hand (according to a study, nearly 100% of homes in southern Ecuador have some form of soap).

Are you still laughing about the fact that I spent sixteen hours learning about hand washing? Well, I would, too. Plus, imagine the conversation value of this conference (Somewhere between being a hide-and-go-seek legend and lassoing a cow).

Now this workshop was more geared toward giving people in the social work and public health field the tools they need to teach these ideas in the community. But that doesn’t mean that the people attending the conference won’t learn a few things as well.

I missed the first part of the conference because I had a meeting at the eco reserve. So I asked my coworker what she learned. She said that the session about proper hand washing technique was the most beneficial.

They emphasized the importante of washing between the fingers, because you have to realize that the diarrhea-causing bacteria can also stay in there and avoid being cleaned by the soap.

Not only did I get the workbook that teaches me how to impart this knowledge on other people, but they also gave us eighteen flashcards with hand washing-related picotes: there are five different cartoonish images of poop, a image of happy bacteria because someone is only using water to wash their hands, an image of dead bacteria because someone is using soap and water to wash their hands, a picture of someone cutting soap, and several of sparkling clean hands. If you want to see these, all you have to do is look on the wall of my house.




That`s not challah, my friend. That is doody.

But before I get ahead of myself with all of this, let me break down the six-step program.

The first step is to teach the people that when they are clean, they feel fresh and smooth (or so fresh and so clean.) The purpose of this session was to get at the motivation for being clean.

When you wash, you feel agile, pretty, awake, happy, interesting, relaxed, healthy, free of bacteria, and confident in yourself). To be dirty, on the other hand, makes you feel stinky, horrible, vagabond-like, sweaty, oily, and possible smelling of fish or feces (I’m just taking this from the manual).

This lasted forty-five minutes. Then there was a brief break, followed by a session titled: “To be clean is to be healthy.” The goal of this session was to explain the connection between cleanliness and well-being.

It is commonly known around here that microbacteria, parasites, and bacteria cause stomach problems. This session was more to reinforce this important idea. It then connected the dirty hand as the primary agent in moving the contaminated material into the human system, once again emphasizing the importance of keeping them clean.

Then, there was lunch. I’m not going to judge, but a very small percentage of the audience went to the bathroom to wash their hands. Puzzling.

But I can excuse them this time, because even though they had been taught the motivation for washing hands, they hadn’t quite had the technical sessions that would explain the proper technique.

After lunch, we had the “Use soap and safe water with good pressure” session.

The main takeaways from the session

• Use soap
• Use safe water
• Use safe water with good pressure

It was during this session that they emphasized the importance of scrubbing between fingers and cutting the soap into several pieces so that you can keep some in various locations throughout the house.

Session four of six was about where to store the soap in the house. This required the group to draw house maps. Afterwards, we had to identify the risk zones where we are most prone to contract bacteria. These spots include the bathroom, the kitchen, and the space where the children play. Then we had to create a plan of how to reduce the risk in these areas. Simple solution: soap near the sinks.

The fifth session was about how to cut the chain of contamination that I mentioned earlier. This involved us creating skits to show the doody makes it from poop to mouth. My group’s presentation was about how the kids were playing outside and came into contact with the fecal material of their dog. Bobi, and then didn’t wash their hands when coming home, and then ate chicken and rice and, unknowingly, Bobi’s doody.

Session six was more specifics about the health effects of the contamination: diarrhea, giardia (and its associated Golden Rainbow), trichuris. They also remindedus that all poop can contaminate. Even though the little kids might not have diseases in their system, their crap can still contaminate.

Six in-depth sessions about the ins and outs of hand washing.

Any question. You can ask me.

I’m certified.

Tuesday, September 01, 2009

An Orange with a Beard


That is quite the mandarina.