29 de noviembre, Tina

Prelude. If my memory were a little better, every blog would commence with a “you know you are in the Dominican Republic when” anecdote. My memory, however, is not what it used to be (now that I am approaching the ripe age of 30) so I cannot allow the luxury of that, except for tonight.

            Blog entry. You know you are in the Dominican Republic when you walk outside your tin house and narrowly miss stepping into an opened jaw of a dead shark, with a Doña squatting beside it with her machete. Not the whole shark, just the jaw bone of a shark that had a jaw bigger than my head, which is saying a lot. No photo to show. Thanksgiving festivities were a little more fun than anticipated, which resulted in a forgotten/ left behind camera in the county club (how prestigious we were!) where we feasted. Thankfully, the camera was found and awaits us in the Peace Corps Office. This is the reason that my descriptive entry will have to suffice. However, the mental picture that I will forever have =priceless. I am a little worried as to where the shark was caught, as judging from its’ head, it was a biggie. My crazy Doña and her machete. She prunes trees, cuts up chicken, dices vegetables, and apparently does dental surgery on shark jaws as well. Pretty impressive. But I digress…So back to why there was a shark jaw in our back entryway (entryway makes the house sound larger than it actually is, we only have 2 doors in the whole house, and they are about 10 feet apart). Our host dad makes sharktooth necklaces and sells them on the beach to tourists. In case you are ever wondering, while admiring a cheesy souvenir on some picturesque beach, where do the vendors live? In my case, they host Peace Corps Volunteers. I should preface this with I have only seen my dad go to work selling these necklaces twice in the 5 weeks we have been with them, so I am not sure how lucrative a profession it is, in case you had not already surmised that.

Living with a host family has been interesting, to say the least. I miss having my own home, and while I am eternally grateful for the host families I have had, I cannot wait to live with Dominic alone. While being in a new county, without speaking the language or understanding a thing about the culture (yes, but WHY is there no garbage system nationwide. Yes, but WHY can I not have cold water with soup. Yes, but WHY are child abuse and animal abuse socially and culturally accepted. Yes, but WHY…), having the comfort of a host family has been a saving grace. From being corrected on my Spanish by 4-year olds to learning how to flush a toilet without running water (which, by the way, I have mastered the bucket flush), host families provide a good and humbling gateway into la vida dominicana, mas o menos. I am not surprised that I am treated like a child at times. I must seem extraordinarily comical to them most of the time. Por ejemplo, hanging on my wall, next to my photos and headlamp, is a posterboard with a glorified stick figure labeled with body parts. Much like a 5^th grader would create for bones of the body, except mine is for adults learning Spanish. El pecho=chest/ El ombligo= belly button. La cara= face…). I also have one for the bathroom and kitchen, all handmade by yours truly. You would think I would be fluent by now with all of these helpful visual aides. And I really did have to ask my Doña how to flush a toilet. This was when we were in Constanza. Vitamin B apparently helps to ward off mosquitoes. Judging from my insane amounts of bites, I am not sure how helpful it is, but I keep reminding myself that it can always get worse with these bites, so I take vitamin B religiously, even if I doubt the efficacy of it. Anyway, vitamin B makes urine look neon yellow, as if Mountain Dew and yellow food coloring had a baby in the toilet. Anyway, I had urinated and was trying to ask my Doña if I needed to flush the toilet when I peed (you know, if it’s yellow, let it mellow…. ). I had only been in county 3 weeks, and my Spanish was terrible. Needless to say, when I attempted to ask this question, she gave me a puzzled look, looked at the toilet, looked at my urine, looked back at me, and flushed the toilet with the handle. Voila. Ahhhh, la vida dominicana.