Some Recent Activities

The proverbial ball is starting to roll.  I have begun a morning walking club with some of the doñas, only one really shows up and then there are two others who walk that way to work in the morning so they come with us too (Side note: it’s probably a 2+ mile walk on hilly, uneven, pothole-ridden, muddy, trip-hazard large-rock-dirt road to where they catch a motoconcho to get to work.  They leave the house at 6am, it is still dark out, peaceful with bright stars still lighting up the sky, and the other day one of them walked the whole thing barefoot because her sandals broke I kid you not.  They may not walk uphill in the snow both ways to school but in some cases it isn’t too far off).  I think (hope) that as time goes on more doñas will seize the moment and walk in the mornings.  I certainly can’t blame them if they don’t though – the day of work that awaits them everyday is no small task.

So that delightful activity starts at the unholy hour of 6am.  Most people are getting up around that time anyway; after all, tumbaring (Spanglish for literally, making fall) avocado or cacao isn’t very fun in the afternoon with the Caribbean sun bearing down on you, and the women must be up to boil the viveres (staple foods: unripened, boiled bananas, plantains, rulo (a Danny Devito style banana) yucca, yautía) so the men can labor on full stomachs.

As we walk along the dark road the doñas shout saludos to various houses, “Cómo le amaneció!?”, “Qué Dios le bendiga!” – “How’d you sleep!?” (Literally, How did the sun rise for you – my translation) and “God bless you!”

Today in particular, I stopped by my one doña’s house at 6am as scheduled only to find out she had a doctor’s appointment.  Oh well, who needs sleep anyway?  It’s not like there aren’t two roosters outside my room that have crowing contests at midnight, 2:30am, 4:30am and 5:30-7:30am daily.  And these contests aren’t exclusive, no, neighboring roosters from houses away are happy to compete.  Part of me wishes these cocks would just fight already so less of them are around to produce that incredibly awkward sound.  Even without my one participating doña, I moved on to walk with the two on their way to work.  On the way back, now alone, I was invited in for coffee by a nice old doña I had to deny the day before for a prior engagement.  “Americaaaano, ven aca mi niño…” That was at 6:45am.  I left at 9am now knowing the entire family and with a belly full of ultra-sweet coffee and hearty egg, plantain and avocado breakfast. 

If you go into someone’s house, you may as well accept the fact that, regardless of hunger or the impending scolding awaiting you back home where your absurdly large meal will not be finished, you aren’t leaving that house without a meal and minimum two mandarins (got six the other day).

The project on the books is Saturday morning English class, held conveniently in the one-room schoolhouse next-door, complete with chairs, desks, blackboard and chalk.  Given the mass quantity of students and more awaiting inscription, I will have to move the class to the community center up the road.  It has a large, covered open space al aire libre, chairs and a whiteboard.  I have to say I’m pretty lucky to have all this equipment at my disposal.  In training we saw a volunteer’s site in a batey (old sugarcane town, characterized by their large Haitian populations and general lack of any economic activity, social services, or opportunity for advancement) where the volunteer converted a dilapidated, abandoned school bus into an incredible classroom.  Really inspirational work.

The people here have an insatiable thirst for English.  I don’t mind teaching it, but I did it for the last two years and it isn’t what I came here to do, especially with the considerable population of illiterates who could make better use of Spanish.  That being said, it’s impossible to turn down this refreshing 

motivation of theirs. 

What campo life lacks in amenities, it more than makes up for with its rugged charm.

Mass Presentation

I got a good night’s sleep Friday night and, upon learning that there would mass Saturday, as there is every first Saturday of the month, I decided it might be a good opportunity to present myself to some members of the community.  I won’t lie, the decision wasn’t easy.  I haven’t been to mass in years and there is a reason – I hated it growing up.  All that Sunday morning sin and abortion talk just wasn’t my thing I guess.  I suppose my newly developed sense of duty and simple curiosity won out.

I spent the morning making a couple colorful posters about who I am and what I’m going to be doing here.  Now materially and mentally prepared for what lay ahead, I walked to church with my Don and project partner.

The church is a three-minute walk from my house.  The resident musical group was rehearsing outside – a group of five or six girls and boys, shouting the lyrics and banging on a drum and other Dominican instrument that looks like a big cheese grater and makes a sharp rattling noise.  It was fun to watch them during the service.

With two columns of six rows of pews, it has a max capacity of maybe 72 people.  Roughly a third were in attendance.  I’ll admit it was one of the better masses I’ve been to.  Everyone greeted everyone, including me.  The service was carried out by the local elementary school teacher and an older gentleman who founded that very school and acted as priest (although he isn’t one officially.  Normally a priest from the nearest town comes, but there are two churches here so they don’t always get the priest).

The Saturday mass is for honoring the departed, and this one was especially special because it was after Día de los Muertos.  It was interesting to hear the list of deceased; those enumerated, maybe 50 names, all shared common last names.  Gomez, Polanco, Cruz (my host family and project partners’ name), Cabrera.  Everyone is family here.  I’m looking forward to becoming a part of it.

About ¾ of the way through mass the minister acknowledged me, and everyone applauded (they are so kind here) and then asked if I had anything to share.  I walked up to the front and set up my charla paper and gave my little spiel.  They enjoyed it and asked me a few questions after.  It was definitely a good move to get them more comfortable with me and I was able to warn them ahead of time I’d be going around house to house looking for a chat and cup of coffee and to not be afraid when I asked all my interview questions.

I thought about hitting up Sunday morning mass, but when 06:45 rolled around, I just rolled over and went back to sleep.  Oh well, I’ve got the club de madres Monday, cacao association Wednesday and Junta de Vecinos (Neighborhood group) Saturday and all the mass I can handle in between if I choose.

Reality Road

Swear-in was Wednesday.  Friday we were all on our way back to site.  I think I have a relatively painless trip from the capital – a straight 3-3.5 hour shot north on respectable bus lines.  The tricky part comes at the end; I get off on the main highway and the next and last step to getting to my town is catching a motoconcho 10-15 minutes down a long dirt road, not in the best of conditions.

It was about 6:30pm and getting dark when I got off at my stop.  It had also been raining for a few hours.  Traveling with me were a backpack, duffel bag and newly acquired USPS package I picked up in the capital filled with essential supplies (soccer ball, baseball glove, English teaching books, sunglasses and sleeping pad), thanks Dad! 

These are all factors one needs to consider when knowing one is going to be riding a motoconcho, and I had all working against me – dangerous road, rain, darkness, and too much crap to haul around.  I hustled across the highway and ducked into the colmado at the entrance to my campo road.  It’s also where all the motoconchos congregate and wait for passengers, however, there were none to be found at this particular time.

Now, I had been attempting to circumvent this predicament most of the 3-hour voyage from the capital, but none of the numbers I had were working or being answered.  I finally got through to my Don and after asking him to repeat what he said about 50 times (phone calls are never easy, the combination of crappy reception, crappy phone quality and volume, and gnarly Cibaeño accent is disastrous) I learned a moto was coming for me.  The next 30 minutes I spent thinking about how in the world I was going to take my 2 bags and box with me on the moto, and talking with patrons of the colmado.  Nice folks, most lived in the town next to mine, called Higüero and located before my town on the same campo road.   The three gentlemen I spoke to most happened to know and claim to be good friends of the volunteer in Higüero, who I met during training and visited the week before. 

Finally the moto arrived and I strode out to meet it in all my gringo glory – bags hanging in every direction and helmet at the ready.  The driver just looked bewildered as I handed him the box.  One of the guys from the colmado came out and offered to hold the box for me until tomorrow.  He knew the family I live with and would drop it by.  I didn’t want to leave it since I had JUST got it after waiting what seemed to be an eternity and since I barely knew the guy, but he seemed like a person of confianza and I didn’t have much of a choice.  I took down his number and hoped for the best as I waved goodbye. 

Leaving the package was a smart choice.  There are 4 rivers you have to cross to get to my site, and while it wasn’t raining that hard where I was, it must have been up in the mountains because the water was a-flowin’.  Side note: the local government has just really done a cracker-jack job creating safe passage for residents here.  The bridges constructed at these rivers are of an interesting design; they simply threw cement down over the dirt so I guess the water would have an easier time moving over it.  It is not raised, there is no water flowing under it, so after any rain, the water level rises and immediately makes crossing more difficult and dangerous.  Congratulations on constructing bridges perfect for only ideal situations.  It’s times like these I wish I studied engineering. 

Soaked up to my shins and part of my shorts, this journey was a good reality check of what I’m up against should conditions worsen and call for evacuation.  I’ll have to keep just a small bag packed and ready in case of emergency.  People at home, reading this over again, it sounds bad, but I live in a relatively safe, high place where floods are uncommon and I don’t anticipate problems (although I guess one never anticipates problems).

The next day I tried calling the gentleman I left my package with, but his number was bogus.  It’s okay; maybe I copied it down wrong…849 area code?  I’ve never seen that before, but I remember him saying that.  It still hadn’t come after lunch, so I hopped in the pickup truck with my host brother, Kelvin, and went to find it and pick up some cacao.  Sure enough it was at his place, unopened and perfectly fine.  Never should have doubted him.      

In my last post I spoke of being in Purgatory.  Well that’s over and I’m back in my site for good, for better or for worse.  So if I passed Purgatory, I guess this means I’m either in Heaven or Hell.  While any unwitting outsider walking through my town might jump to conclusions, I believe that just like me, this place has a soft, sweet center beneath it’s rugged exterior.  HA!

Two-year Costume

On Halloween I put on my best volunteer costume, went to a party, listened to a few speeches, raised my right hand, repeated a few words, gave some high-fives, ate some cake, posed for pictures and left looking the same but feeling different.

That was the gist of swear-in, but that different feeling only lasted so long.  I should be careful here because we are technically on duty 24-7-365, and I do consider that when I’m out and about, especially in how I present myself and represent the U.S.  However, it’s just partially impossible to not transform into a tourist when you’re left to your own devices outside your ‘official’ site.  Main tourist activities were a night of sushi, in part for a friend’s birthday, and then a day at the US embassy where we got pruney in the pool.  The embassy is a pretty impressive compound I might add; with one of the biggest, most beautiful badass trees I’ve seen in my life.  Need to find out what it’s called.

I didn’t bring any respectable clothes and would have felt uncomfortable in the embassy cafeteria where other, smarter, better-dressed volunteers were enjoying cheeseburgers and pasta.  So I went hungry and continued to drown my sorrows in the pool.  Good reminder to stay looking professional – it could just be the difference between a delicious cheeseburger or no delicious cheeseburger.