The other week (first week back after the hurricane cosolidation) a group of Canadian medicals came down to Yamasa and the surrounding Bateys to do hearing checks/clean ears of the children attending the schools. So I got to hang out with them for the two days they were in Antonci. One of the kids had a large bug stuck on his/her eardrum. For some reason this didn’t surprise me too much.
I should not be allowed to play kickball anymore; because every time I do I get hurt. The first injury was the ball to the face. Then I was given a real thick-rubber kickball; I was excited and so were my kids. So we played and the ball got a little hole in it from a barbed wire fence and the next morning I could not put pressure on my left knee. Two days wrapped and I was good to play again…this time in sandals…I was left with a red and bruised foot (that is after I climbed a tree and scrapped my knee). This helped me realize that I have no future as a star kickball player so I have moved on to baseball.
It was told to us during training that the national sport of the Dominican Republic is chisme (gossip) and that the national religion is baseball – and I believe it. The other volunteers in the area and I are starting intercambios (interchanges/exchanges) of baseball teams in our communities. So we have and will form different age teams and play each other in our sites. Zach, from El Caño, and I had our first game at his site this past Saturday. It was interesting to see the lack of sportsmanship from the men who were ‘in charge’ and the greedy plays the boys would try to make. It makes me want to find a copy of The Mighty Ducks and have my kids watch it and then discuss good teamwork practices and playing smart. On the way home from El Caño we fit 17 people in a four door car: four in the front, 8 in the back seats, 5 in the trunk (open of course). It was EPIC.
Then Sunday, my kids wanted to practice a little and teach me how to play. Lucky for me I remembered a bit from what we did in middle and high school gym classes. I was actually able to hit the ball! I was surprised and I almost forgot to run to first base. I even caught a ball and got a kid out. I don’t know who was more proud of me: everyone in the community or me. I definitely earned some more street cred - a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon.
This past there were Evangelical church services on the lawn in the middle of the town. There is nothing that could be more uncomfortable for a Presbyterian-frozen chosen-raised girl than to attend a Dominican Evangelical church service. The priest/pastor was yelling into the microphone like he was the wrath of god, then people started speaking in tongues, crying and shaking. Then there was the laying on hands and the pastor specifically pointing me out to participate- this part definitely did not sit well with me. There was an old man shouting “Gloria!” after every three words the pastor spoke, even when it was not appropriate. The cool thing about the service was that they took religious songs and turned them into meringue and there was a live band.
I am now the proud owner of a kitten. He was given to me by another volunteer whose cat had kittens. His name was Petey (or Cameron when he was bad) and how his name is Peluche (stuffed animal – named by my host brother). Peluche is all white with a brown spot on his head (that is striped) and a brown ring tail. One eye is blue and the other is green. He is a silly cat. He likes to meow and wake me up at 5:30am and climb on my mosquito net trying to get in to bed. It is hard to refuse when he starts purring like a motor boat in my ear when I try to push him off the bed. He is also good at chasing chickens out of the house.
Getting him to my site was a chore. I had an over flowing backpack, my helmet, cat carrier and a bag of cat food – along with everything else the other girls had that I was traveling with. So we took the bus from the capital to Don Juan (like a minivan rather than a bus). And we were packed in the back seat with the bags next to me, the three of us squished in the last row and the cat carrier sitting on my lap. My arms were pinned at my side and the backpacks were threatening to fall on my head.
One thing that I won’t ever get used to is being treated like a princess. I am still not allowed to walk around by myself. One day walking to the school I was escorted by two 4 year olds…Isn’t that a little backwards? I am not allowed to help carry water, stand or be alone. Tuesday, I went up to the baseball field with my boys because they were going to chop the weeds. They found a chair for me to sit in – in the middle of the field brought be coconuts to drink and chopped around me…total princess feeling and I hate it. It’s a very anti-heidi feeling.
(Side Note: By the way, do not drink 2 glasses of coconut milk and a little mug of coffee before embarking on a trip to the capital. If you do you will find yourself on the Metro in dire need of a bathroom…but have no worries, if you look pained enough and as a worker at a stop they will let you use their facilities and then you have to pay to get back on the subway…but it is better than peeing your pants in a public place.)
About Roosters: An excerpt from Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert “Before dawn the roosters for miles around announce how freaking cool it is to be roosters. (“We are ROOSTERS!” they holler. “We are the only ones who get to be ROOSTERS!”).”This is about accurate, except the roosters crow at 2 am, 3am, 4am, 5am, 6am, etc.
Thanksgiving was celebrated in style here in the DR. It started out with a Turkey Trot around the Botanical Gardens where Sarayu and I went as spectators with the intention of walking around the gardens, but turned into us not being allowed to do that and so we watched bags and we were the official time keepers. We then all piled into Taxis that took us to the Country Club where we spent the majority of the day. There were soccer, basketball, volleyball and swimming tournaments, as well as cards and dominoes games, a talent show, dance completion and lounging time. The majority of the volunteers attended and we dined in a large banquet hall and at turkey, mashed potatoes, mashed sweet potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce, salad, mixed veggies, and vegetarian dishes. Then for dessert there was pumpkin pie, pecan pie (throughout the day I ate about ½ of one and more of others), chocolate pudding pie, cheesecake, brownies, apple straddle and more. We all were happily satisfied with leftover food that we snacked on for dinner. Then later at night we danced in the colonial zone.
I have found myself missing the world of SIT – all the talk of social justice and sustainability, and of course the people. Lucky for me I need to get started thinking about my practicum now that I am an official volunteer. The problem is that there are so many options that I have to do and I don’t know where to start. On Wednesday, some volunteers were showing a documentary ‘South of the Boarder’ and we tried to find where it was held but then got lost because we forgot the name of the street that it was on. But don’t worry I was able to talk about cultural differences and sustainability with some volunteers to make up for the lack of this sort of academic mental stimulation.
Here is a quote about sustainable development that was sent out by some SIT students, possibly used by the UN but do not quote me on this:
“The existing system has taken the word ‘sustainability’ to its heart, and now employs it at every turn, but in a context which deprives it of its meaning. For sustainability is the most basic form of conservatism. It means not taking from the earth, from the world, from society, from each other, from life, more than we give back. But when industrial society uses the word, it means the sustaining of itself, no matter what the cost. It means sustaining privilege, sustaining poverty, sustaining abuse of the earth, sustaining inequality, sustaining starvation, sustaining violence. To sustain the existing system, to defend the status quo, is neither conservative nor sustainable. It is not even a status quo. For what is called the status quo is a form of continuous depletion, of entropy. And such conservatism will perish if it is not subjected to a radical revaluation” (Blackwell, Seabrook, 1998)
My friend Amanda posted this on her facebook wall, and I thought it was striking (I hope it is ok that I put it on here and used your name without consent <3)
And a social justice rap that I found:
