26 mayo 2011

In the time of Mangos

A few months ago, I noticed an influx of kite flying, which resulted in many a child missing school and neglecting all other obligations to fly their kites. These kites, called chichiguas, are constructed by strings tied together around an old soup can, which are then fastened to 3 sticks tied together to form hexagon. These 3 sticks are covered with a black funda (plastic bag). It takes a while to get the kite high in the sky, but once it is there, it is nearly impossible to fell (unless you are me, and a kid asks you to hold his kite one afternoon, which I took as a huge compliment, and it promptly fell. The velocity at which it fell was almost comical, if the kid would not have been so upset. Bygones, right?) The kites fly so high in the sky that sometimes it is hard to even see them. I have seen other fancy kites in the same skies, but they pale in comparison to the chichiguas dominicanas.  Ingenuity and lack of resources can lead to great improvements at times. I asked my friend Adonis (an 11-year old who recently bailed out of our barrio to bigger and better things in another nearby town by way of a guagua, alone and sin parental consent) why there were so many chichiguas. He answered matter-of-factly that it was the time of chichiguas, just like the time of bicicletas in the past, and like the time of mangos, which was coming.
Ahora, llegó mango!
The time of mangos is here, and it is glorious.
A camioneta comes through my barrio every day blaring on his soundsystem, “Mangos por un peso, mangos por un peso.” Because people are always joking around here, I thought he was asking to trade mangos for a kiss (peso=beso). As I was daydreaming about mangos and contemplating this exchange, I heard a stampede of children and Doñas alike, and I realized that he was not trying to take advantage of our love for mangos, but he was wooing us with promises of cheap instant gratification in the form of a juicy, sweet, sun-ripened mango. With that distinction in mind, I bolted out my front (and only) door, stumbling through my barbed wire fence while cursing my broken flip flops. I plucked the mangos du jour from the back of his truck, and tossed the driver a shiny 10 peso coin. With the exchange rate at approximately 37 pesos to the dollar, that equals out to be 37 mangos for a dollar. Not a bad deal. We eat mangoes like apples, but instead of swallowing, we spit (insert vulgar joke here) out the skin. The mangos here are unbelievably delicious. Were my English language a little better, I might be able to properly describe the mangoes in a way that would evoke the taste, the smell, and everything to you, the reader; however, as both my Spanish and English skills continue to dwindle, this will not happen. Just know that the time of mangos was not overrated, and is a good time to be living in la Republica Dominicana.

DISCLAIMER: shortly after this blog was written, Tina developed an allergic reaction to the skin of mangos, and can no longer touch mangos. Curse of all curses! Silver lining= the allergy is only to the skin of the mango and not to the fruit. 10 days of prednisone later, all is good, and the allergic reaction on the face is barely noticeably now. Barely.

20 mayo 2011

Successful beach day with Dominicans? Check.

2 de mayo. Listening to the rain drop gently like a hurricane on my tin roof, which is drowning out the sounds of screaming neighbors, barking dogs, and church services. After delaying the inevitable, I broke down and finally did laundry today, which took 5, yes 5, hours to wash, only to have the rains come and wash all the hanging laundry again. Looking forward to hanging wet clothes yet again tomorrow, and hoping that no one notices that I have been wearing the same clothes for several days now, except for yesterday when I went to the beach. Some of our neighbors invited me to go to the beach with them, which turned out to be a wonderful day. While I am usually wary of Dominican invitations, which typically result in asking me to pay for everything for everyone in the near vicinity, this was a pleasant change. We had planned on renting a "guagua” that would take us for a nominal fee. This guagua turned out to be a neighbor who drives an old truck, like a Dotson or Mitsubishi, or some small type of truck that has seen better days….about 20 years ago. We fit 21 (TWENTY-ONE) people into this truck, including our food for the day and our bags of swim clothes. On the way there, I was sitting in the front with the driver and 4 little muchachas on my lap. Our first stop was a gas station, where the driver took the WHOLE gas canister out of the car. Everyone got out of the car, the driver filled the tank, put the tank back in the car, and everyone piled back in a few minutes later. We then continued on with our adventure, again. We neared the bridge out of town, which had a couple of police cars, as if they were doing random car checks. The bridge is the only way in and out of town, except for a bypass road that we had bypassed several miles before. The driver informed us that they would not let trucks through. I nod agreeingly to him as I observe several large, small, battered, clean, dirty, and other varieties of trucks cruise by, sin problema. Hmm, I think to myself, they will not let trucks or they will not let you? He asks the people in the back to start walking, because he is going to try another way, and he will pick them up in a few minutes. Now it is the driver, me, and the 4 little muchachas, alone in the front of the car. There is another side road before the bridge, but this is also blocked. The driver then tells me that he is going to go through the bypass, alone. Bueno. The muchachas and I are start walking to meet everyone else. We meet them, and we start walking. And walking. We cross the bridge. We cross the large mango trees. We cross the crab shacks. We keep walking. A couple miles later, his car pulls up from the opposite direction. On the road again. We start driving. We stall a few times. Another car drives by and hollers something out his window regarding the condition of our hoopty ride. About 30 minutes later, we arrive to our destination, a beautiful beach normally 15 minutes away from our house. The passengers collectively breathe a sigh of relief. This beach is amazingly beautiful. All 21 of us start looking for shade, which is somewhat challenging as most of the trees are coconut trees, which typically provide little shade. We find some clusters of trees and set our stuff down.

The kids and I all run toward the beach. Me in my swim suit, everyone else in their clothes. A couple of the teenagers take off their pants to swim in their boxers, but everyone else wears their clothes. One 18-year old had on cut-off jorts, a tank top, presumably bra and undies, as well as a sweater. She did not remove any article of clothing before crashing into the waves. We played in the water, ate and hung out all day at the beach. We had all cooked beforehand, so we dined on rice, beans, chicken, and spaghetti (sound familiar?). It was slightly drizzly. It was beautiful. My neighbors had brought a couple of inner tubes (possibly tires, but who cares?), which brought us endless entertainment. I loved experiencing the beach time with all of my neighbors, as my beach time usually consists of swarms of other volunteers, rum, and trashy beach novels. Don't get me wrong- without cavorting with other volunteers, I would surely go crazy; however, this was different, and I loved every minute of it. These beach experiences were diametrically different, neither one better than the other, and I cherish them both.

We left the beach around 6 pm to wait for our ride. We waited. And waited. And waited. He finally arrived, and apparently, there were not enough of us the first time so this trip he brought another friend. A large male friend. Now there are 22 of us squeezed in the truck. I declined the front seat and hopped into the back. Some random items have been collected throughout the day, including but not limited to: 2 large roof shingles, a bucket with a lid (a golden find), and some empty broken bottles. While driving, the ominous clouds gave way into a glorious rainstorm. What would have made it more glorious, you might ask? If I were not in the back of said pickup with said amount of people with said objects. Ya tu sabes. Also, because of our driver’s somewhat sketchy character, we took the backroads into town, which was a bumpy, dirt/ mud road leading directly to the northern side of our community. Once the rain subsided un chin, I took a deep breath, figuratively and literally, and I was amazing by the beauty of this island. Not just the Caribbean blue seas, white sand, etc.… but the island itself. The heart of this island has a beat that will surpass that of any bachata song (excluding my personal fav, Ramon Torres. Google him. You will not be disappointed if you like both bachata y mariachis and achy voices).With the stinging wind and rain drops slapping at my face, you would think I would have been able to tone down my joker like grin; alas, I was unable to. The only thing going through my head was, I am truly blessed to be here, in this moment, experiencing this moment. It was unforgettable, and times like these, I will never forget.

Side note: if you come to visit, I will also help to provide you with an unforgettable experience a la Dominicana.

19 mayo 2011

Bola Race 2011


Bola Race

In April all of the volunteer in country hitchhiked from one part of the country to another, getting free rides called “bolas” along the way until reaching the destination.   In the Dominican Republic hitchhiking is not considered dangerous.  Because gas is so expensive and the necessities of everyday living are so scarce people don’t mind helping one another along the way.  I always wonder if the Dominican Republic changed into a much prosperous, income generating country, would all the people be so happy and filled with joy over the littlest things and be willing to give a stranger a ride down the road, not for money but for their conversation?  Well anyway, all the volunteer met in Santiago. the north western part of the county to meet in a centralized location.  All the teams dressed in costumes and had a story for why they were dressed like that and why they needed a “bola”.  Tina, our friend Libby, and I were dressed in our swim suits and our alibi was that we got robbed and needed to get back to our hotel.
We all met at a mutual place in the morning with costumes on.  We took photos and then were told by the event coordinators where we were going: Las Galeras Peninsula de Samana.  This is a peninsula on the north tip of the island to which we had never been.  As soon as we were told where to go we all ran around trying to figure out in what direction we would go. Our team decided to walk the way everyone else was. As we looked up there was a pickup truck filled with volunteers in the back with smiles screaming “adios”.  We flagged down an actual taxi to give us a free ride which he agreed to do.  Driving away, my ever so kind wife flagged down two other volunteers to get in as well.  Without even thinking about the actual competition of the race, she decided to share the fun experience with other volunteers, which is the real point and not the actual race.  We ended up doing the whole race together, the five of us. 
Their story was that they were representatives of the Dominican beer company “Presidente”.  They wore “Presidente” shirts and hats, which made them seem like presidents or gods in this country.    During our first bola we needed to open a bottle, but no one had a bottle opener.  Resourceful, like most people who don’t have many resources are, the “chofer” opened the bottle with his teeth, which I have only seen done once, by my friend Dale.  Cheers to starting the fun adventure.  He gave us a ride to the main “autopista” in the direction of our destination.  We then flagged down a Daihatsu pickup truck.  I will never forget the view standing up in the back of the truck looking out at all the agriculture in this beautiful country.  Even without the help of the strong wind, I would’ve still had a smile plastered on my face the entire ride.
After 11 different “bolas” (including 2 Mercedes), and 7 hours later, we reached the Samana Peninsula.  Fittingly, the last bola to drive up the mountain viewing the lush green mountains and crystal blue water was from the back of a pickup truck, just the five of us.  The bola let us off and we walked to our hotel with a warm greeting from the other volunteers who made it before us.  We then stripped down and jumped in the pool sharing what craziness happened along the way. 

Refection de Dominic:

Not all people can get someone to stop for them and receive a free ride.  It does help that you are female in this country and the biggest bonus of all is that you are “blanca tambien”.  There was a team of two, one African American girl who had dreadlocks and one Indian guy, (from India Indian) with dark skin.  They did not arrive till very late at night and had to end up paying normal public transport to reach the destination.  Why do you think they were the only ones that had a hard time?  What I think happened was that they thought the AA girl was Haitian which this county has a deep resentment to Haitians “ya tu sabes”, and the Indian guy was a random Dominican looking for a free ride.  This county has an infatuation with Americans.  In my opinion it’s because American are always bringing things such as tourists with money to spend or  volunteers giving a helping hand with building houses or churches.  And there is always the infatuation of getting out of the D.R. and moving to a place with more opportunity.  Has all this help made Dominicans too dependent on others?
Regardless I had fun at the Bola Race 2011 and here are some photos along the way…      




      

               

What type of peace corp work have I been doing?

Inglés Basico

On my street corner there are more English words being spoken than I would like, since I am trying to learn the Spanish language.  I guess I can consider this a success since I am teaching English three times a week.  This week is the last week of my 12 week Basic English course.  On average, I’ve had at least 15 people in each class.  My classes have allowed me to make more friendships with my students.  All the students who walk by our house or see us walking in the barrio gives us a “saludar” in English.  I cannot walk by the “colmado” next to our house without the owners saying, “Dominic…come…here…please.”  When I enter the “colmado”   he proceeds by asking me what…is...this…pointing to everything in the “colmado” and waiting for my answer in English.  Since they know the class is ending they keep asking when are we going to start another class.  I don’t want to be known as just the English teacher, but I am here to do what the community wants, so I must listen to them.  Well before I give in to them and continue another course, we are going to celebrate the completion of our 12 week course.  I am giving diplomas to the students who showed up 9 out of the 12 weeks, and I will buy “refrescos” for them and play games. 

Business class for youth

I am 6 weeks into my course that teaches youth how to write a business plan.  We meet twice a week under candle light because someone cut the “luz” that we paid to put in from our Peace Corps salary.  We learn about missions, visions, the 4 P’s of marketing, etc.  In October there will be a national competition for these youth to win funds to start a business.  I get the chance to simply listen to the creativity of Dominican kids in this class.  They are so outspoken about anything- it’s totally different than lecturing English words to them.  I went to one student’s house this week to see if I could answer any questions.  She was not there, but I was invited in, and I talked with her mom for a bit.  She said her daughter “encanta su clase”, documented success number 2.  I enjoy listening to the ideas they give for selling things.  Did I mention they love the homework that I give as well?  
  
“Campamento” Superman

I took two “jovenes” to an all boys camp in April.  I had a hard time being a counselor and not a “joven”.  We went to another volunteer’s site about 30 minutes north of our city, and there was a river, where  we “banarnos” everyday.  We also went on a hike to a beautiful waterfall.  We played games and gave “charlas” about gender roles and HIV/AIDS awareness.  This volunteer’s job is to develop a women’s group to cook food for their eco-tourism site, and we got the chance to test out their services.  I had the best hot chocolate to date in country.  It was made from the “cacao” trees that grow in the community.  One of the things I love most about this county is that food grows right in your backyard.  By the way we have 2 corn stocks and 3 “guandules” plants growing in our yard.  We will most likely eat corn in about 3 months and “guandules” in November.  At the camp I saw the biggest frog ever and cows grazed around our camp site.  Walking with the kids through the camp with cows grazing all around us, I had a moment of realization that I am doing the work I love, in a foreign country and speaking a different language.

Enjoy some pictures from the past few months…    



Business Class
Camp Superman
Vestido como Tigueres
Tina's 30th Bday weekend

Peep the amber she is wearing.  There are amber mines in this country I got her matching earrings and a neckless for her bday

 I swear when we leave this little girl is going to loose it.  I will introduce you if you come visit.
 I got scuba certified.