Welcome to the Jungle

Hola Folks,
So I arrived from the Rama Today. Whoohoo, I took a marcopolo Mercedes Bens bus on the way back. For those who are not accustomed to long bus rides, this is as you can imagine from the name, one of the comfortable ones. Now in true Nica fashion they were really cheap about it and would not utilize the air conditioning or the built in tv screens they had, but none the less it was a much improved ride from usual.
So how was it? Tremendo as my counterpart would say. On Monday I met all of the Directors, AKA the principals of the schools I will be working with in Managua for a conference type meet and greet. One of my counterparts is a Nun at the Catholic school. Guess what question was the first to come up in conversation with all the counterparts. What religion are you? Do you believe in god? Well that was semi awkward, but I held my beliefs firm and told them the truth, that I thought it was absolutely ridiculous and that god is fake. Haha, no but I did tell them that I am not religious. This brought on ohhs and awes, and "wow gringo you are lost,” to which I replied, “no, I’m just as sure as you are of where we are at in this world.” Anyway the Nun actually stood up for me and said that she was totally fine with all my beliefs and basically that the other guys hounding me should get off my back. Good job Hermana!
We stayed in a hotel with A.C. internet hot water and nice beds, this was fantastic. The next morning I woke up at 4:45 to get ready to take the 6:00am bus to El Rama. I showed up at literally 5:59 with the bus departing and me jumping on with all my bags. We get to the Rama in about 7 short hours, a nice ride in reality. The first day I meet the chief of police just to get acquainted with him, followed by the visit to my future house for the next 6 weeks at least.
The Peace Corps requires us to live with a host family for 6 weeks. My new host mom is a lovely young lady that happens to be a national police woman. She is tranquillo though so im fine with it. The only problem is there is no running water, and the bathroom faces the kitchen. This is of great concern because there is only a transparent sheet as a door, and constantly people in the kitchen. I like to poop more or less in private. She really wants me to stay the 2 years I think because she told me that she would put a door on and connect an electric pump to the well so we could have a running water shower and not take bucket baths. Now of course I didn’t ask for this, but if she followed through, I would definitely be more inclined to stay longer than the required 6 weeks. My room has a nice big bed and a door to the outside so I don’t have to come through the front door if I come home late; huge plus.
The next day, I visited Wapi. This is the school that I have to travel 2 hours on a dirt road in an ex military canvassed covered wagon each way to teach my class. No big deal. The school is nice and small and my counterpart is really awesome which helps a lot. I then journeyed back to visit my second school which is about 7 km from my house. This is a fine school. The funny story here is that during my introduction to the class, the principal had me write my number on the board for the students. This has led to a constant prank calling and messaging from girls that say “hola mi amor, donde estas?” This by the way is much more acceptable here than in the land of opportunity.
On Thursday I checked out the remaining 2 schools that are write in my town. I found out that 3 of the 4 schools have the entrepreneurship class only on Fridays, so there will be a scheduling conflict with that. Wapi has the class on Mondays, so it looks like Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday I will have some hammock time.
I came back today with an overall good vibe from El Rama. It really is like the Wild West. Cowboy hats and machetes galore! That’s all here. 2 weeks from today I will be sworn in – at least I hope, nothing is for sure, so send me money, I mean good thoughts.
Adios

Jeff has super cuts

As my family knows I’m not a big fan of getting haircuts. I have a weird fear that they are going to make me look ridiculous. This fear was amplified about 1 year ago when my mother Joanne decided that my stepfather Rob and I had to save 3 dollars apiece to get our hair cut at the Paul Mitchell school for people who obviously need more school to learn how to cut hair. Anyway I left with what looked like a drunken college prank on my head – that is to say I was butchered. So how this plays into today’s blog is very simple; I don’t like getting hair cuts in general. In another country I’m almost guaranteed to get the minimal amount of haircuts I can while still considering myself halfway respectable due to the fact that I can’t effectively tell them how to cut my hair. Moreover, while I’m traveling I don’t really care. Here however I’m a “professional,” so I took the plunge and got one.
I start the day by doing a pretty significant amount of work for a Sunday, when suddenly I look at my greasy - wild – long - lions mop and decide I’m going to go to a barber. No don’t get me wrong, I think my golden locks of love look as good as they ever have, I just thought that I would tame the beast for tomorrow, when I have to meet all my counterparts from El Rama.
So I walk to the family recommended joint which looks really respectable and clean to find that it was packed full. The World Cup was about to start to I walked around the block to where I was positive was another Barber. Sure enough I find Roger in his absolutely filthy shack with hair covered floors and 3 happily waiting clients watching the pregame show for the Cup. I sat down anxiously waiting my turn, noticing the other client’s hair is much more simply cut with a combination 2 to 8 high top fade thing. This kind of freaked me out because not seeing his shearing skills in action before I sat down gave me some reservations. Any way I get in the chair and say please sir give me the same style just a little shorter, but not too short. He said nothing but, “so not with a machine then?” I said you got it buddy and he started my hair cut in a frantic and erratic fashion, I mean this guy was going crazy with the scissors, but when I looked in the mirror I found the half way respectable Jeff that I was looking for. He cut my neck hair and around my ears with a strait blade for good measure. Roger didn’t say much but I respect that as I never like talking to the people that cut my hair anyway.

So I had a pic but I can't find a way to place it so just imagine me even more handsome then ever, I only had to cut a few stragglers, but for the most part I think it looks pretty decent. Anyway I’m watching the game in overtime right now, I hope Holland wins. I don’t know why but I just do.