Yendri is the smallest kid on our soccer team. His house backs right up to the field and being the only boy amongst four sisters I guess that makes him obligated twice to join in on whatever is being played out there. The soccer ball goes up to about the middle of his shins and so his passes are a lot like a pitcher pitching change-ups. He’ll make you jump and turn your back with the swing of his leg, but then you see the ball rolling off his extended leg and slowly making its way to you. He also has an interesting nose thing going on. Being a good 3 feet taller then him, I can still somehow see up his nostrils. It boggles me to this day. They are not only upturned, I can see up them from above. Anyway, today at practice he told me that he heard I had a birthday recently. Or that I am going to have one soon. He wasn’t really sure. I felt he was stabbing around in the dark, and he finally asked me when my birthday was. He was reaching for something I thought to myself. I told him it was in April and thought maybe it was him who really had a birthday, so I asked. It wasn’t, but when I inquired ¿y cuando es entonces? he jumped right on to my birthday month so fast I thought he might loose his grip and slip. He answered my next super obvious question was a nonchalant, yo no se. And our short conversation ended there. Mostly because I couldn’t relate and didn’t know what to say as a response. Yendri was 8, at least from what everyone else said, but he doesn’t know what day he will turn 9.

Was the day Yendri’s mother gave birth just another day for her and her husband? I can imagine instead of an exciting homecoming with a new little family member, she got right back to cleaning the dishes that were left before heading to the hospital, if that’s were she indeed had Yendri, and began cooking dinner for her hungry husband. What about the birth certificate? Yendri could have one or just as easily not. If not, he is in for some future inconveniencies and problems his mother must not have imagined walking out the hospital without the acta de nacimiento form. Then I wondered about his birthday parties. After eight parties he should have gotten something ingrained up there, at least to remind him his season was around the corner, right? But then I remembered where I was. And I could only think about that cold monster called poverty that indiscriminately eats up kids' recollection of their birthdays, destroys their plastic samurai sandals, and rots their baby teeth. Yendri was born into poverty’s world one day back eight or so years ago, and his family has lost track or not cared to remind him of what day that actually was.

I thought about those kids who were afraid of the dancing Chucky Cheese robots that celebrated mine and so many of my friends’ birthdays with us. Maybe these kids were on to something. Maybe they understood how the whole Chucky Cheese dancing crew was really our own scary monster, trying to protect us from a world were birthdays didn’t include $20 US dollars worth of tokens and fun stimulating party games. Or the feelings of surprise we had when waking up the morning after, to see that all those toys weren’t in our dreams and in fact, were not going to disappear. Or a world where remote control cars are walked on strings up and down dusty dirt streets. My toys cars came with tracks and turns and jumps and the remote controlled ones came with a remote. The batteries even lasted forever; not like the cheep blue and yellow ones bought from behind the colmado counter.

This was the other day. Sometimes I get sucked into this world and think different and probably sound like I am ranting too much. So I will leave that there for now and just tell you about something that happened this morning. I woke up with the 20 or so bred to be fighting roosters that live next door. They had actually woken up earlier way before the sun decided to peak its rays out over the Cordillera Oriental. I only know this because I too was up with them at this dark and unknown hour of the morning, when all Gods animals should be asleep and quiet in their cages. But I finally got up at about 7:30 when my cat began nibbling on my toes, and I went out back to pee. I love the freedom of peeing here. I personally don’t take full advantage of it all the time. I mainly pee in a corner next to my latrine or in my three way closed shower area (don't worry, it goes directly into the tube that runs out to the street. I think peeing in the shower any other way is disgusting). But my 3-10 yr. old neighbors whip it out right on the sidewalk and go in the street, in the morning, during the hot afternoon sun, whenever they really feel like it.

Anyway I walked down a few houses to Luz little colmado in the front of her house to get some breakfast supplies. It came out to 14 pesos but she had counted wrong and was only going to charge me 9. She often counts wrong so I always make sure to tally my own bill up as well. I told her about her mistake and paid her the 14 and left. The five pesos she sold herself short were probably the money she would have pocketed on the sale, so that would have especially been bad. But she called me back saying, “Mateo ven” and handed me two eggs adding “esos juevos son criollos, no son gringos, no.” Criollo eggs are the “better” eggs from chickens that aren’t the solid white “gringo” chickens they kill to eat. And these eggs are about 5 pesos each, 2 pesos more then gringo eggs, and probably from her own criollo chickens out back. Now I don’t think for a second that she was doing this because I saved her some money. Every so often she gives me a few good criollo eggs. And every so often she tells me “Mateo, ya tu eres uno de nosotros” (your one of us now) which makes me feel more comfortable here, kind of taking the shine out of my white skin.

So Luz gave me two criollo eggs for no more of a reason then it had been some time since she last gave me eggs. And this is what I love and it just makes me happy. Never in the states would I give somebody something just to give it to them, and sincerely enjoy doing it. I barely give stuff for holidays and birthdays and when I do it is grudgingly, not exactly wanting to extend my hand out and let go of what I have, only doing it because I should. It’s so awesome here to see people so giving. I was heading home one day minding my own business and from all the way across the street I heard a loud “¡Mateo, a buen tiempo!” (which is an invite to share in the food someone is eating) from a girl sitting and eating a sandwich. I mean kids share loly-pops between 4 friends, each kid getting a broken off piece. Strangers on the bus offer me orange slices or other food they just bought through the window from the vendor on the street. So whenever I feel myself becoming too negative and judging of this culture, or the whole poverty thing weighs heavy, I remind myself of this aspect of living here and it makes me smile inside.

Thats all I got for ya now. I did go whale watching the other day in the Samana Bay just north of me. These whales come down every year for 3 months to this bay because I guess they like the carribean waters in the winter. But whale watching is not the spectacle I thought it would be. We saw a bunch of whales, really anywhere you'd look, but by seeing I mean I saw their backs or their tails. Never saw a whole body or face! Anyway I'll put up on flickr a few new pictures of this and the Semana area which is really beautiful.