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.