¡Hola!
I’ve been here now for 85 days and counting. It’s almost the three month mark! I think it’s time for a bit of reflection on Dominican culture, and of course some story telling.
Last Friday, I was feeling awesome. I felt as if I finally had a grasp on the layout of this town, that I was meeting people left and right, that all was going well and I hadn’t had a mishap, communication error, or problem in almost a week. But like all things I think I know, I usually don’t. After a long day of power walking all around up and down town from meeting Guatemalan missionaries in the primary school, eating lobster salad with my host aunt, rice and beans with another doña and locrio de ayuama with my own doña, to visiting the primary school and playing with kids, attending a social security beneficiary meeting of townsfolk, sitting in a meeting of leaders from critical groups in Manzanillo, to running to the Evangelical church to watch my friend Elenne in a danza, I was so relieved when I plopped down at home at ten o’clock to eat my mashed plantains and fried salami. And remember that I was feeling great about myself and all the people I met and all the places I saw and the things I did to integrate. It was such a relieving feeling, knowing I can do this.
And then out of nowhere pops my host mom Chichi to ask me a “sensitive question.” She asked me why I left three pieces of meat on my plate Thursday night. Just when I was starting to feel comfortable at home, kicking it with my doña, and here she is thinking I am starving myself. But I can’t tell her, “Well doña Chichi, I just ate a bowl of rice and beans at doña Julia’s house then doña Alex invited me in for lobster salad, so I’m kinda full and as much as I love you, I don’t want your boiled pig intestines mixing with all that in my barriga.” Or maybe I just should have. But it got worse. She followed up with, “Do you like my cooking?” Now I can’t quite tell her that I don’t really eat mystery meat/chewy pig intestines because they really gross me out and that a salad every once in a while really won’t kill me, so I said, “Lo siento mucho, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to leave it, I promise I am enjoying eating your food. I love it!” But after that I felt guilty. It’s a cultural thing. And like all cultural things, I feel like I’ll never get them all right.
For instance, church. I have been going to the Evangelical one because my three precious host cousins (with basically the same name: Elenne, Iliany, Eliana) invited me and I’m on a mission never to say “no” to anything here, so I go. It’s pretty intense. There are people who speak with God and lift their hands up in and scream “Amen, Dios nos bendiga, God bless us, hallelujah.” I actually really love it. I don’t associate very strongly with the connection to God and rarely feel the Spirit in the room, but I appreciate their enthusiasm and willingness to show me what’s up and welcome me warmly into their congregation. Its fun in that there’s lots of applause, stomping feet, sitting down, standing up, singing, and watching people communicate their love for God in various other interesting ways, like crying, yelling, walking around in circles murmuring under their breath. Like this one time when four high school girls performed an emotional dance with their eyes closed the whole time. They finished and left out a side door and mere minutes later I hear the sounds of human sobbing outside. Someone opened the door and there the four of them are sitting in a circle on their knees rocking, crying, holding hands and looking more or less possessed. I was pretty curious though, because I simply didn’t understand what was going on and I didn’t know if it was appropriate to ask them what was up when they came back in – so being me, I did! Turns out they felt an overwhelming love for God and the only way to let out their sentiments was through tears and song. Power to ‘em.
Another example, schools. I don’t understand how schools get anything done during a school year. I went to visit the small elementary school and just wanted to present myself to the director and let her know I am in town for a while. Well, we got to chatting when the kids were in recess, and an hour later, they still had recess and the director and I were still talking. I thought I might have missed something, maybe they got a free day to play, maybe they had been dismissed already. Nope, the teacher just interrupted her class and let them play for an hour so she could talk to me about my role in the community. When I walked out of the room she said, take five more minutes and then we’ll learn about math for ten minutes before class is over. Much appreciated, Martina, but them poor kids got ripped off on their math time.
Other cultural differences that shock me:
1) White pants and neon colored granny panties.
I suspect the concept of thong underwear has yet to be introduced down here. That or women don’t like wearing underwear up their butts because we wash our undies in big buckets that are also used for mopping floors and cleaning toilets. Okay, to be fair, maybe it’s a hygiene thing. But it’s bad. You’ll see women in snakeskin/floral lycra wearing bunched-up-two-sizes-too-big-granny panties popping out of the top of their skintight lycra, often reading “PINK” or “SEXY” or “MARTES (TUESDAY).” You’ll also see women going out in tight white dresses looking hot as hell and then they turn around and boom!...red granny panties in your face showing through that sexy see-through slip that doubles as a party dress just like that. By no means am I a fashionista but even I know better than that.
2) Babies. Everywhere.
Grandparents are usually the ones taking care of babies. It’s like the raising of the kids skips a generation, because 16, 17, and 18 year olds are having kids and when you’re 18, it’s not cool to change diapers, it’s cool to drink shitty beer and flirt. Which is the lesser of the two evils in my opinion. They shouldn't be popping out babies and giving them to grandma (who is usually like 34 years old). While it kills me to see so many teenage mothers, and a lack of concern over the alarmingly high hates, I then have to remind myself, culture runs deep. Socialization can’t be undone and what’s normal where I come from can’t be normal everywhere. Most children are so loved, even if raised by grandparents, extended relatives, single parents. Most days it still shocks me, but it's a beautiful thing to watch the metaphorical village raise these children.
3) 23 year olds who don’t graduate from high school.
I would say (as my research findings have thus far adequately represented) that 50% of teenagers who start high school don’t finish. In first year, there are around 120 students who enter the local high school and this year, only 51 graduated. Some take more than four years to complete high school, but the majority either drop out to find work, have babies, or just chill. They call these people “vagas” which doesn’t really directly translate in English but is aptly described as a mix between “lazy and leeching off one’s parents.” Some young mothers go back to school, but most don’t. Think about it, it’s embarrassing to go back to school if you’re 23, mingling with lame 15 year olds who take selfies in History class. So most just quit, and sit around on the porches of their parents. My host sisters and host brother never graduated from high school and when I ask them what they do all day they say, “Nothing, just trying to get rid of boredom.” I want to shake them and tell them to get their asses to high school, especially because it’s only from 8am-12pm everyday, but then again I have to realize that culturally, they aren’t raised with an expectation to go finish high school (much less to go to college), but rather the expectation to find someone they like alright and then pop out babies, help around the house, and maybe get a job.
But while these things are hard to overcome, wrap my head around, and deal with, there are plenty of cultural aspects I am so happy to have found here.
1) The friendliness.
If I don’t stop by Tita, Alejandrina, Lourdes, Wendy, Billerca, Addis, and Chichi’s house everyday, I’m in big trouble. I’m always being offered juice, coffee, rice and beans, dulces, and soda. And even those these people are poor and live peso to peso, sharing with your neighbors is just what you do. A lot of this is based in their deeply rooted Christian beliefs in giving those less fortunate and a lot of it has to do with this culture of compartir (sharing). Even the poorest people have company to share, they say.
2) The yelling.
The most productive way to get ahold of someone is to just show up at their house. And if they’re not sitting on their porch out front in plastic chairs, odds are they’re cooking or cleaning. So you yell. “CHICHI! CHICHI! VEN ACA!” That usually does the trick. And if not, you walk right on in, maintaining a loud yelling voice the entire time. Then you’re greeted by kisses on the cheek, a plastic chair to sit in (no one likes to talk to someone standing up), and a nice cup of juice or coffee.
3) The pace of life.
I love my days here. If I feel rushed to get to a 4pm meeting, I just have to remind myself that the meeting isn’t actually going to start until 5pm, and I can get away with arriving even at 5:30pm if I want. Although it makes my life so much less productive because I am usually a pretty punctual person, I just have to let go of the stress and remind myself that here, people forgive you for being late, interrupting a meeting to say hello or buenos dias, answering your cell phone in the middle of a meeting, and leaving early. Everything is chill. Tranquillo, tranquillo.
And there you have it! As a student of Dominican culture, I keep reminding myself that culture is about perspective and attitude. Keeping perspective and realizing that this culture is not better, or worse than the one I come from, just different. And maintaining the right attitude in that I shouldn’t judge an entire country for the beliefs and values they’ve deemed important. It's permeated too deeply and who am I to judge? We do weird things in America, too!
Off to observe a sex ed class in the high school. Sending love, dulce de maní, and abrazos del pueblo.
Missing my family, a great IPA, and the third season of Scandal with Kerry Washington.
Xoxox,
Bea
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