I´m beat. And Judí is sleeping over. Or rather he is sleeping over inside my house.
As I go to unlock my door I look and see Judí lying there. I´m kind of glad he was there and it happened like this. He forced me to do something and I really only had one choice. Maybe he knew that. And maybe I don´t blame him. My front poarch is hard and cold. Although he did fit himself in there just perfectly. Good thing he´s small for a 14 year old. If he really is 14.
I remember saying to myself when I saw the dirty canvas and sack lying there empty and indented the other morning that it had to be a muchacho. Great I thought. So much easier for my conscious huh? I was half way hoping it would be a drunk old man. Then I could shoo him off... at least I think I could.
So I went to investigating, which consisted of sneaking a peak through the downward folded shutters to the opposite end of the poarch. It was 5:30 am and I was hiding. Hiding him from myself. Right? He knew I lived here. He obviously didn´t have any shame in sleeping on someone elses poarch, right? He wasn´t hiding from me.
He finally turned. And I see who it is. It´s Judí. Covered in that dirty canvas I´ve never moved from my poarch since I got there. His face sticking out just enough to tell me it´s him. His face and frame sleeping just like it should. He was dreaming. And I could hear him snoring. Like a kid should. A muchacho. A niño. But then it was so horribly twisted. And feo. And I wanted to cry. And hug him. But I was still hiding.
Now Judí sleeps. On the air matress next to my bed. And he snores litghtly.
9.19.2006
9.10.2006
More from Mom
My mom felt that that letter wasn't truely representative of her whole experience here especially since she is removed from it now and can look at it as a whole. So she wrote a little something else to include here and instead of removing the letter I've let it stay and just added this on top. While sometimes similar I think they are different enough to include them both.
Well, Matt has asked me to write something about my recent ten-day visit to the DR. I don't know where to begin, but as I think about it what comes to mind are the people- individuals I got to know by name. There are the Dominicans like Daybi, Benendicto, Andres, Cherri, Lilly, Carmelita, Joncito (who I helped swim), and Amarillo (yellow). I have pictures in my mind's eye of many other people whose names I have forgotten (or could not pronounce very well from the beginning). Then, I see the faces of the Peace Corps volunteers I met at one of two conferences I went to with Matt. The young men and women of America who have left their comfort zone to nurture youth in community programs, or teach kids with special needs in their schools, or build acquaducts, or help coffee farmers be more productive, or bring technology to businesses and communities. So, mostly what comes to mind when I think about my visit are the people. But there is more. The sounds.
For two days after my return to the states, I still heard the music in my head -merengue, or bachata, or reggeton complete with Spanish lyrics I can't understand. The music that blasted from every single bus or car we rode in and that reverberated in our neighborhood daily (and nightly). The roosters and chickens nextdoor were a torment at five in the morning- now they are, happily, a fading cacophony.
Besides the people and the music I often have random mind-pictures of the lush green not-to-big mountains around Pedro Sanchez, the cattle grazing (and random pigs, chickens and turkeys in the yard). There are flashing images of clear blue skies and white sandy beaches abutting emerald green water and palm trees bending just so.
Then the people appear again, this time, nameless smiling faces stopping in greeting- one after another after another on the streets of Pedro Sanchez. "Hola," "Adios," "Buenas," or "Mateo,"- always something said. Happy images all.
But I have to admit that there other jarring slideshow glimpses that are discordent and screechy, like a fingernail on a chalkboard. They slip into and amongst the happy images and cause me to catch my breath. Rough wooden shacks with tin roofs and lots of holes, empty concret block buildings, paper/plastic/glass/concrete in piles or floating in water on the side of the street, broken things. Children scantily clad running barefoot or digging in the dirt, men and boys just sitting and staring, women just sitting and staring, and broken up heaving land.
At first when I got there, I wanted to change things. They need this and this and this and this. Then I began to meet the people, and I still wanted to change things. Then, I decided to just do what I could. So, I brought out the bottle of bubbles and wand that mercifully had not spilled in my checked baggage. I sat in one of Matt's plastic chairs in the front yard under his cherry tree and started blowing bubbles. I waited for the little neighbor kids to come over, and I showed them how and watched them do it. Later, when a few older ones were over, I brought out the puzzles- one on colors and the other on opposites. We put them together and I passed out Tootsie-Pops and Laffy Taffy. It was better than trying to change things. It was better than thinking of my sweaty self or watching the trail of ants on Matt's windowsill or doorway. When the older ones came over, I brought out Go Fish and Uno and War- one at a time. Always the Tootsie-Pops or Laffy Taffy. Somehow we managed to play- play around the language barrier. Even Benedicto who cannot hear or speak learned how to play. What expressive, funny faces he would make to tease the littler kids! It was better than trying to change things. And so I watched a soccer practice and a soccer game; I went to an English class; I sat in while Matt led a meeting of youth leaders; and I got my nails polished by someone who just wanted to do it.
I was amazed by many things...Matt's mastery of the language, the way the kids hung around him and listened, the way the adults in the community cared for him and told me so. It took away my mother worries. And the images and sounds linger.
Well, Matt has asked me to write something about my recent ten-day visit to the DR. I don't know where to begin, but as I think about it what comes to mind are the people- individuals I got to know by name. There are the Dominicans like Daybi, Benendicto, Andres, Cherri, Lilly, Carmelita, Joncito (who I helped swim), and Amarillo (yellow). I have pictures in my mind's eye of many other people whose names I have forgotten (or could not pronounce very well from the beginning). Then, I see the faces of the Peace Corps volunteers I met at one of two conferences I went to with Matt. The young men and women of America who have left their comfort zone to nurture youth in community programs, or teach kids with special needs in their schools, or build acquaducts, or help coffee farmers be more productive, or bring technology to businesses and communities. So, mostly what comes to mind when I think about my visit are the people. But there is more. The sounds.
For two days after my return to the states, I still heard the music in my head -merengue, or bachata, or reggeton complete with Spanish lyrics I can't understand. The music that blasted from every single bus or car we rode in and that reverberated in our neighborhood daily (and nightly). The roosters and chickens nextdoor were a torment at five in the morning- now they are, happily, a fading cacophony.
Besides the people and the music I often have random mind-pictures of the lush green not-to-big mountains around Pedro Sanchez, the cattle grazing (and random pigs, chickens and turkeys in the yard). There are flashing images of clear blue skies and white sandy beaches abutting emerald green water and palm trees bending just so.
Then the people appear again, this time, nameless smiling faces stopping in greeting- one after another after another on the streets of Pedro Sanchez. "Hola," "Adios," "Buenas," or "Mateo,"- always something said. Happy images all.
But I have to admit that there other jarring slideshow glimpses that are discordent and screechy, like a fingernail on a chalkboard. They slip into and amongst the happy images and cause me to catch my breath. Rough wooden shacks with tin roofs and lots of holes, empty concret block buildings, paper/plastic/glass/concrete in piles or floating in water on the side of the street, broken things. Children scantily clad running barefoot or digging in the dirt, men and boys just sitting and staring, women just sitting and staring, and broken up heaving land.
At first when I got there, I wanted to change things. They need this and this and this and this. Then I began to meet the people, and I still wanted to change things. Then, I decided to just do what I could. So, I brought out the bottle of bubbles and wand that mercifully had not spilled in my checked baggage. I sat in one of Matt's plastic chairs in the front yard under his cherry tree and started blowing bubbles. I waited for the little neighbor kids to come over, and I showed them how and watched them do it. Later, when a few older ones were over, I brought out the puzzles- one on colors and the other on opposites. We put them together and I passed out Tootsie-Pops and Laffy Taffy. It was better than trying to change things. It was better than thinking of my sweaty self or watching the trail of ants on Matt's windowsill or doorway. When the older ones came over, I brought out Go Fish and Uno and War- one at a time. Always the Tootsie-Pops or Laffy Taffy. Somehow we managed to play- play around the language barrier. Even Benedicto who cannot hear or speak learned how to play. What expressive, funny faces he would make to tease the littler kids! It was better than trying to change things. And so I watched a soccer practice and a soccer game; I went to an English class; I sat in while Matt led a meeting of youth leaders; and I got my nails polished by someone who just wanted to do it.
I was amazed by many things...Matt's mastery of the language, the way the kids hung around him and listened, the way the adults in the community cared for him and told me so. It took away my mother worries. And the images and sounds linger.
9.09.2006
A Letter from Mom
My mom just got back to the states after about a 10 day visit. I asked her if she would want to write something for the masses because I thought her view may be a little different then mine at this point in my service and partly because I'm lazy right now. She said she didn't know what to write about, I never do, but she forwarded me a letter she wrote to friends while she was here. So I'm including it. Welcome to online blogging mom!
Hi Sid and Lois. I am in the DR with Matt. Today we are near the capital at an all-inclusive resort (room and board) with other Peace Corps volunteers who started with Matt. They are coming together this holiday to celebrate their one year anniversary of PC service. We are here till tomorrow. There is an Internet cafe here. It is a good break for me b/c his work site is hard for this gringo mother- regarding lifestyle. I have spent three nights there so far and will stay two more. It is a simple wooden structure with a tin roof, concrete floor, a latrine out back and a hose for showering. Matt made a table and bench and he has three plastic chairs and a double bed (covered with mosquito netting). Electricity for part of each day. But everywhere is great poverty. There is dirt and garbage all over his community- broken up streets and the smell of burning garbage.
But the people are nice- they love Matt and several women have told me that they look on him as a son. Everywhere we go young and old call out to him. That encourages me- that he is well cared for. I can see that the kids especially look up to him and he has done a lot to help them.
I watched (and helped) in an English class that he and a Dominican are teaching and I saw a soccer game between two groups of kids.
Another thing...There is always music blaring all day long here -everywhere. Streets, public buses, early in the morning and late at night. Also the chickens and roosters make a huge noise. Matt has a next door neighbor with a backyard full of these and they make a racket every morning at about 5 or 6 and periodically during the day. I am using my earplugs at night. Sometimes a truck with loudspeakers on back will go by blasting advertisements. The houses are crammed together and some are even smaller and less hospitable than Matt's. I have also seen some that are better- usually with family or connections in the states.
Oh, my it has been quite a trip! Yesterday we crammed eighteen people plus picnic food and water into a regular sized van. We went to a lovely beach and had a lovely day, but the trip there and back was unlike anything that I have ever experienced! The hour and a half van ride was incredibly crowded, the road in long spots like a washboard interspersed with crater- like holes. No one follows standard driving rules and they honk their horns constantly. Saw lovely views through the mountains though. That was nice. But dirt poor all over.
Matt says that nothing gets done here partly b/c of corrupt officials. I can see that. Also he suggests that the weather has made development extremely difficult. It is sooo hot here that people have no energy to do anything except sit. And basically that is what many do all day. Others live by subsistence farming.
Well, I don't mean to be totally negative. I admire all the young people (150) who are here in the PC with Matt. They are working with youth like Matt does, or working to build aqueducts, or to bring technology to the island, or to help farmers make more crops. or work with kids in the schools, or with communities in public health. I have met a lot of his PC friends b/c of two meetings I have been to with him. I am thankful for the friends he has made- good kids who support each other and really connect. I guess that is how they survive. Lots of PC support also.
Even without the amenities, i prefer the countryside to the cities. The cities are way too crowded, noisy, and polluted for me.
A picture of our one year in country aniversery. A little "who done it?" game on crazy things that we have done or have been done to us up till now.
I should say I kind of take offense to my mom calling my house a structure. It's not a structure any more then your house is a structure, Mom! It's my house and even though I may not cut the grass like I should or mop every day like Dominicans do I take great pride in having my own pink and blue palace. You could have called my latrine a structure and I would have been fine with that.
My mom talks about the poverty she saw. And for me at this point, being here a year now, I don't see it so much unless I try to. And that's good for me because when you think of people as poor you treat them differently. It's also bad because sometimes I think and feel that these people are doing fine and are living happy lives (which they are) and whats the use in going about trying to change that. But at another thought I am here to work with the offshoots of poverty like lack of opportunities, education, knowledge and am not susposed to be erasing poverty. At least directly I guess. And when I get bogged down with the immensity of the whole picture I think of some good advice my uncle sent me in an email a little while back. Having been in similar situations in this same country he said I am only responsible for living in honest solidarity with my community. And saying that to myself has helped me a lot. I don't even think I could have defined the term solidarity before I came here, although that was a main personal reason for me to come, but after being here for a year I not only understand it but feel it day to day. And it's one of the easiest things to do here for me.
eso es todo. voy a descansar.
nos vemos
Hi Sid and Lois. I am in the DR with Matt. Today we are near the capital at an all-inclusive resort (room and board) with other Peace Corps volunteers who started with Matt. They are coming together this holiday to celebrate their one year anniversary of PC service. We are here till tomorrow. There is an Internet cafe here. It is a good break for me b/c his work site is hard for this gringo mother- regarding lifestyle. I have spent three nights there so far and will stay two more. It is a simple wooden structure with a tin roof, concrete floor, a latrine out back and a hose for showering. Matt made a table and bench and he has three plastic chairs and a double bed (covered with mosquito netting). Electricity for part of each day. But everywhere is great poverty. There is dirt and garbage all over his community- broken up streets and the smell of burning garbage.
But the people are nice- they love Matt and several women have told me that they look on him as a son. Everywhere we go young and old call out to him. That encourages me- that he is well cared for. I can see that the kids especially look up to him and he has done a lot to help them.
I watched (and helped) in an English class that he and a Dominican are teaching and I saw a soccer game between two groups of kids.
Another thing...There is always music blaring all day long here -everywhere. Streets, public buses, early in the morning and late at night. Also the chickens and roosters make a huge noise. Matt has a next door neighbor with a backyard full of these and they make a racket every morning at about 5 or 6 and periodically during the day. I am using my earplugs at night. Sometimes a truck with loudspeakers on back will go by blasting advertisements. The houses are crammed together and some are even smaller and less hospitable than Matt's. I have also seen some that are better- usually with family or connections in the states.
Oh, my it has been quite a trip! Yesterday we crammed eighteen people plus picnic food and water into a regular sized van. We went to a lovely beach and had a lovely day, but the trip there and back was unlike anything that I have ever experienced! The hour and a half van ride was incredibly crowded, the road in long spots like a washboard interspersed with crater- like holes. No one follows standard driving rules and they honk their horns constantly. Saw lovely views through the mountains though. That was nice. But dirt poor all over.
Matt says that nothing gets done here partly b/c of corrupt officials. I can see that. Also he suggests that the weather has made development extremely difficult. It is sooo hot here that people have no energy to do anything except sit. And basically that is what many do all day. Others live by subsistence farming.
Well, I don't mean to be totally negative. I admire all the young people (150) who are here in the PC with Matt. They are working with youth like Matt does, or working to build aqueducts, or to bring technology to the island, or to help farmers make more crops. or work with kids in the schools, or with communities in public health. I have met a lot of his PC friends b/c of two meetings I have been to with him. I am thankful for the friends he has made- good kids who support each other and really connect. I guess that is how they survive. Lots of PC support also.
Even without the amenities, i prefer the countryside to the cities. The cities are way too crowded, noisy, and polluted for me.
A picture of our one year in country aniversery. A little "who done it?" game on crazy things that we have done or have been done to us up till now.
I should say I kind of take offense to my mom calling my house a structure. It's not a structure any more then your house is a structure, Mom! It's my house and even though I may not cut the grass like I should or mop every day like Dominicans do I take great pride in having my own pink and blue palace. You could have called my latrine a structure and I would have been fine with that.
My mom talks about the poverty she saw. And for me at this point, being here a year now, I don't see it so much unless I try to. And that's good for me because when you think of people as poor you treat them differently. It's also bad because sometimes I think and feel that these people are doing fine and are living happy lives (which they are) and whats the use in going about trying to change that. But at another thought I am here to work with the offshoots of poverty like lack of opportunities, education, knowledge and am not susposed to be erasing poverty. At least directly I guess. And when I get bogged down with the immensity of the whole picture I think of some good advice my uncle sent me in an email a little while back. Having been in similar situations in this same country he said I am only responsible for living in honest solidarity with my community. And saying that to myself has helped me a lot. I don't even think I could have defined the term solidarity before I came here, although that was a main personal reason for me to come, but after being here for a year I not only understand it but feel it day to day. And it's one of the easiest things to do here for me.
eso es todo. voy a descansar.
nos vemos
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