What would it be like to have 29 brothers and sisters? 22 thanks to dad. 7, soon to be 8 from Mom. That’s 29 and one on the…way more siblings than I have! And to think about it, that’s more than my extended families on both sides combined. What in the WORLD would that be like???
Well Yoel knows. And so does Diomedis. And Wilson. And Benjamin. Along with a bunch of other kids I just learned were brothers. I was going about the usual tonight and decided to take a load off in Georgi’s colmado and chat with Bonnie a bit. Bonnie was in her best Doña evening attire/hospital gown and was sitting behind that broken down counter of theirs that moves forward with my weight when I lean on it. Bonnie is always pleasant to talk to or pleasant just to sit with. Has a certain maternalness that seems to radiate from her. I’m obviously not the only one who senses it, as their house overflows with their own kids más 4. If not more on weekends.
I’m sure Bonnie and Georgi started out living with their own 3 kids at one time. But since, this thing has exploded. What with Bonnie’s overpowering maternal force and all. I bet it’s hard for the neighborhood kids to resisit their desire to become one of Bonnie’s boys (not one girl lives there). Now her and Georgi don’t even spend the night in their own house. They’ve set up a bed behind the canned Paco Fish and Brugal covered wall of their colmado.
One day a while back I saw a small new face behind the counter despachando, struggling to return the right number of pesos, and I knew this was it. It’s happening I thought. And honestly, I felt fortunate to have witnessed the assimilation/adoption process occur. Like watching a baby being born, into a family of few who are related, and already having control of his bowels, not to mention able to speak in full sentences. It has almost holy overtones to it.
The boy was skinny, the skin on his face only covering his eye sockets and cheek bones, which made his nose, already disproportionate, that much longer and curve that much more prominently over his top lip. Imagine a nose on a skull. It just wouldn’t look right at all. His feet were bare, clothes thin, tattered and dirty, although not much different than standard muchacho ware. He was timid and shy. Unsure of himself and not so quick to smile. After a week or two of calling him by the only name I knew him as, el chivo but which I had diminuitized to el chivito, Bonnie set me straight saying, “Mateo, él no se llama el chivo. Se llama Yoel.” I was glad Bonnie made the clarification as I did feel it somewhat wrong to be calling him “the little goat.”
About Yoel’s family situation I know little, except the bit about all his siblings and the fact that his mother left her 6 kids here alone one day and went to live in Consuelo. Yoel and his brothers fended for themselves for a while which explains why Yoel showed up to Bonnie’s and the condition he was in. What kind of mother packs up and leaves her kids alone!? I remember thinking when I first heard this. Now, after seeing other situations of the sort play out here, I react not by throwing my hands up and furrowing my brow in indignation but with small facial movements like my Dominican friends, being not so surprised and having an almost what’s new attitude to it all.
I remember in the days, weeks, and months that followed watching Yoel tag behind Bonnie on her walk past my house to theirs to prepare lunch everyday. She, always conscious of him while still moving uninhibitedly at her own pace, him just trying to keep up, swerving where she swerves. Much like the mother hen and her little peeper’s novela that plays out only two inches off the ground, all over this country and especially on my street, everyday. Slowly but surely the distance would increase between them on these daily walks from the colmado to the house, Yoel allowing his attention now to be caught by other distractions along the way.
Le dio brega, pero Yoel finally learned to count and return correct change. He began taking on more advanced colmado tasks but still leaves the salami cutting, bulk item weighing, and bigger menudo transactions to Bonnie. He is sure of his products and will even asserts himself with old men who charge him of not giving them that caja de fosforos when indeed he did and they just lost it in one of their 4 shirt pockets. He lets that big toothed smile cover his entire face more often now days too.
I still wonder what he thinks about his Dad and being part of such a big bunch of brothers and sisters.
5.24.2007
5.01.2007
An up to the date
4/24
I look down to check the little numbers in my lower right hand clock which read 9:51 PM. I hear water splattering the ground in cup fulls next door. Carlos must be bathing. My mosquito net is illuminated to my right by the incredibly bright whiteness of this word document, as small bothersome insects fly about the screen of my laptop. I am careful not to hold it too close to my face or my nose will soon be full of them. Hizo frio esta noche. Un chin. I decided against the bucket bath tonight since I didn’t sweat like usual, as it was unusually overcast and cool all day, allowing my skin a break from its constant moisture. I woke up this morning in one of those cloudy head fogs that didn’t really clear up as the day progressed but I guess I cut through it to get a few things done at least.
It started about 7:30 as I crawled out of my mosquitero and took care of first things first. Then deciding to head down to the colmado in search of something cold on my throat I grabbed a few pesos sitting on the candle waxed pocked half wall dividing my kitchen and living space and closed the small pad lock on my front door behind me. They didn’t have of the jugos bon that are worth their full five peso price, Bonni said they should be getting more today or tomorrow, so I settled for a mabi and four pieces of bread and headed home. How awesome cereal and cold milk would have been I’m thinking now, and even for tomorrow morning...but let’s just not think too much more about that.
The days game plan began to take shape. I knew I had English at 2 and Escojo at 5 and I could probably get a filter installed this morning, even more then one if I had the keys to the empty discoteca where they are being stored. Last night I must not have been on the ball to think of that one ahead of time. But its not suprising. It seems days here are filled with enough stimulation that I can usually last until 7 or 8pm before I begin to hit a wall, the front door closes, and that’s a wrap for Mateo. Maybe my body is more connected to the natural cycle of things here. I mean I get up when the sun rises and turn in when it heads down. I eat what is only in season. It’s all that is really offered; the produce coming straight from the ground around Pedro Sanchez. The chicken that I eat a few times a week is alive doing its chicken thing just the morning before it is killed, plucked, and seasoned. It somehow still finds its way into my plastic green cantina by lunch. I sweat when I should. All day really, while the sun is hot, having no controlled air environment to escape to. It’s the ultimate fresh air experience. I even feel the strong night breezes pass through the house as I write this. When it rains I hear it on the tin, very commanding and demanding of my attention; a good aguacero will cover up any other noises with the pounding and subsiding roar of its passing tropical bands. I can’t hide behind insulated ceilings and weather proofed windows.
And I’ve grown to enjoy this. To feel a part of the day’s cycle. Rolling with it as it circles around this specific place of the globe I find myself in.
Well it looks like I didn’t get passed breakfast news with this update but that’s fine for now. Things always don’t turn out like I may have planned for here. I know you’ll understand. Well, maybe. Try to believe me. It’s a stretch from life in the states. Way more then the 2 hour plane ride it takes to get here.
4/26
The rain is tailing off now although the trees are still dripping. The clock says it’s five. I seem to agree with it. Although it’s a cool, dimmed down, and quiet five in the afternoon. The electricity is here, somewhat early, but I think the rain shower kept people away, wherever they were. The tranquility is somewhat startling, given the late afternoon electrical surprise. Next door, small clapping hands replace the familiar and steady pounding merengue and reggeaton beats. Seems to be a birthday or some other kid celebration. The hum of my fan, keeping the mosquitoes off of my sandaled feet, and some new (thanks scott and heidi) grooving sounds coming from my speakers, keep me from knowing exactly what it is that’s happening next door. I usually stay fairly up to beat on my neighbors goings on, and them on mine for that matter. Although some of what they hear coming from my house is like what I imagine my mom hearing when she watches the Spanish channel. When I feel really ambitious with the cultural exchange aspect of things, and I know they’re listening, I’ll turn my music way up (which is still pretty quiet for around here) and maybe even throw on some Chili Peppers or Zeppelin for that added rock music punch.
4/30
These were two things I started and didn’t finish for whatever reason. I’ve been meaning to do a little up to the date for this here thing. Both Mom and Dad have been reminding me of it for some time now. I guess it says it’s been since February or March since the last one. Time’s been flying. The thought has passed through my mind a few times lately about what it is going to feel like to have this all as just a memory. Or to tell people I lived in the DR for the past two years. Not actually live here anymore. I won’t be in the middle of all of this, and that’s strange to think about. I go about the day to day in relationships with friends and neighbors, while also immersing myself with thoughts, and trying to translate them to actions, so that I can somehow be a source of positive change here. (I am not saving the world by any means! That is a loaded job better left for someone else.) And time just melts away. So anyway what’s been going on really?
Water filters are being installed. A very tangible and rewarding project. Seeing people drinking free and clean water for the first time in their life is pretty cool. The smiles I get when I ask them how their filter is working are awesome. I remember thinking to myself how this whole volunteer gig is pretty sweet deal! If I didn’t have to go back to the states and have the whole monetary concerns causing me to get a paying job, amongst other getting actions, this would be something I could do for a while. I don’t mind the lifestyle at all. The simpleness, poverty, etc., I mean. What ever you want to call it. (I am also not saying that I´m poor or even know what it is like to be poor. I don´t and never will know.) And to think of it a little, after having been back in the states, it is really only in the states that I have desires for a lifestyle of more. I think it may be the satisfaction of living in a community or maybe not being bombarded by advertising, now that I think of it. Imagine not seeing an ad all day long. Well, besides the warn out old posters hung in the colmado for beer or different snack products, that are very unimposing. In the states there is no way for that to happen. To not see ads. We don´t even realize we are seeing them. Just another part of the landscape of America. But here I guess marketers realize they have not much of a market to market to, and focus their efforts elsewhere. It kind of alows my mind to take a break from so many me thoughts and think about others for a small fraction of time then usual. I am not saying at all that I have no me thoughts. They for sure are there, maybe just focused different. And I realize the whole Peace Corps organization and safety net protects me and supports me, allowing me to have my needs met. I wouldn’t able to do the whole volunteering thing if I had to pay my own money, look for a doctor when I was sick, or try to make money for other essentials. I don’t know, I guess it’s just a sweet deal and I feel fortunate to be a part of it.
That’s all I got now. Just a bunch of late night rambling and some cutting and pasting of ideas begun. Maybe this will get me back rolling with more substantial news. The soccer balls have been a blessing Uncle Tom. You can’t imagine how many kids are can play soccer now! And how much they are enjoying them! A few of them are even getting their own ball for the first time in their lives.
Ok
Peace Out
Matt
I look down to check the little numbers in my lower right hand clock which read 9:51 PM. I hear water splattering the ground in cup fulls next door. Carlos must be bathing. My mosquito net is illuminated to my right by the incredibly bright whiteness of this word document, as small bothersome insects fly about the screen of my laptop. I am careful not to hold it too close to my face or my nose will soon be full of them. Hizo frio esta noche. Un chin. I decided against the bucket bath tonight since I didn’t sweat like usual, as it was unusually overcast and cool all day, allowing my skin a break from its constant moisture. I woke up this morning in one of those cloudy head fogs that didn’t really clear up as the day progressed but I guess I cut through it to get a few things done at least.
It started about 7:30 as I crawled out of my mosquitero and took care of first things first. Then deciding to head down to the colmado in search of something cold on my throat I grabbed a few pesos sitting on the candle waxed pocked half wall dividing my kitchen and living space and closed the small pad lock on my front door behind me. They didn’t have of the jugos bon that are worth their full five peso price, Bonni said they should be getting more today or tomorrow, so I settled for a mabi and four pieces of bread and headed home. How awesome cereal and cold milk would have been I’m thinking now, and even for tomorrow morning...but let’s just not think too much more about that.
The days game plan began to take shape. I knew I had English at 2 and Escojo at 5 and I could probably get a filter installed this morning, even more then one if I had the keys to the empty discoteca where they are being stored. Last night I must not have been on the ball to think of that one ahead of time. But its not suprising. It seems days here are filled with enough stimulation that I can usually last until 7 or 8pm before I begin to hit a wall, the front door closes, and that’s a wrap for Mateo. Maybe my body is more connected to the natural cycle of things here. I mean I get up when the sun rises and turn in when it heads down. I eat what is only in season. It’s all that is really offered; the produce coming straight from the ground around Pedro Sanchez. The chicken that I eat a few times a week is alive doing its chicken thing just the morning before it is killed, plucked, and seasoned. It somehow still finds its way into my plastic green cantina by lunch. I sweat when I should. All day really, while the sun is hot, having no controlled air environment to escape to. It’s the ultimate fresh air experience. I even feel the strong night breezes pass through the house as I write this. When it rains I hear it on the tin, very commanding and demanding of my attention; a good aguacero will cover up any other noises with the pounding and subsiding roar of its passing tropical bands. I can’t hide behind insulated ceilings and weather proofed windows.
And I’ve grown to enjoy this. To feel a part of the day’s cycle. Rolling with it as it circles around this specific place of the globe I find myself in.
Well it looks like I didn’t get passed breakfast news with this update but that’s fine for now. Things always don’t turn out like I may have planned for here. I know you’ll understand. Well, maybe. Try to believe me. It’s a stretch from life in the states. Way more then the 2 hour plane ride it takes to get here.
4/26
The rain is tailing off now although the trees are still dripping. The clock says it’s five. I seem to agree with it. Although it’s a cool, dimmed down, and quiet five in the afternoon. The electricity is here, somewhat early, but I think the rain shower kept people away, wherever they were. The tranquility is somewhat startling, given the late afternoon electrical surprise. Next door, small clapping hands replace the familiar and steady pounding merengue and reggeaton beats. Seems to be a birthday or some other kid celebration. The hum of my fan, keeping the mosquitoes off of my sandaled feet, and some new (thanks scott and heidi) grooving sounds coming from my speakers, keep me from knowing exactly what it is that’s happening next door. I usually stay fairly up to beat on my neighbors goings on, and them on mine for that matter. Although some of what they hear coming from my house is like what I imagine my mom hearing when she watches the Spanish channel. When I feel really ambitious with the cultural exchange aspect of things, and I know they’re listening, I’ll turn my music way up (which is still pretty quiet for around here) and maybe even throw on some Chili Peppers or Zeppelin for that added rock music punch.
4/30
These were two things I started and didn’t finish for whatever reason. I’ve been meaning to do a little up to the date for this here thing. Both Mom and Dad have been reminding me of it for some time now. I guess it says it’s been since February or March since the last one. Time’s been flying. The thought has passed through my mind a few times lately about what it is going to feel like to have this all as just a memory. Or to tell people I lived in the DR for the past two years. Not actually live here anymore. I won’t be in the middle of all of this, and that’s strange to think about. I go about the day to day in relationships with friends and neighbors, while also immersing myself with thoughts, and trying to translate them to actions, so that I can somehow be a source of positive change here. (I am not saving the world by any means! That is a loaded job better left for someone else.) And time just melts away. So anyway what’s been going on really?
Water filters are being installed. A very tangible and rewarding project. Seeing people drinking free and clean water for the first time in their life is pretty cool. The smiles I get when I ask them how their filter is working are awesome. I remember thinking to myself how this whole volunteer gig is pretty sweet deal! If I didn’t have to go back to the states and have the whole monetary concerns causing me to get a paying job, amongst other getting actions, this would be something I could do for a while. I don’t mind the lifestyle at all. The simpleness, poverty, etc., I mean. What ever you want to call it. (I am also not saying that I´m poor or even know what it is like to be poor. I don´t and never will know.) And to think of it a little, after having been back in the states, it is really only in the states that I have desires for a lifestyle of more. I think it may be the satisfaction of living in a community or maybe not being bombarded by advertising, now that I think of it. Imagine not seeing an ad all day long. Well, besides the warn out old posters hung in the colmado for beer or different snack products, that are very unimposing. In the states there is no way for that to happen. To not see ads. We don´t even realize we are seeing them. Just another part of the landscape of America. But here I guess marketers realize they have not much of a market to market to, and focus their efforts elsewhere. It kind of alows my mind to take a break from so many me thoughts and think about others for a small fraction of time then usual. I am not saying at all that I have no me thoughts. They for sure are there, maybe just focused different. And I realize the whole Peace Corps organization and safety net protects me and supports me, allowing me to have my needs met. I wouldn’t able to do the whole volunteering thing if I had to pay my own money, look for a doctor when I was sick, or try to make money for other essentials. I don’t know, I guess it’s just a sweet deal and I feel fortunate to be a part of it.
That’s all I got now. Just a bunch of late night rambling and some cutting and pasting of ideas begun. Maybe this will get me back rolling with more substantial news. The soccer balls have been a blessing Uncle Tom. You can’t imagine how many kids are can play soccer now! And how much they are enjoying them! A few of them are even getting their own ball for the first time in their lives.
Ok
Peace Out
Matt
Cats On Strings and Other Things
I found this lost among other files. Don’t think I posted it.
3/18
Yesterday Elena, a fellow PCV, invited me over to her house for a little fiesta of sorts, a time of carbo loading really, featuring a feast of Dominican espaguetis with bread and beer. Somewhat nutritionally one sided you might think? It could have been a much heavier affair with the added accompaniment of viveres. I for one am glad they were left out.
I was surprised to see Elena with a cat in her house, as I knew she had some bad luck keeping a little kitty alive once. This cat had some years on him but not too many, a joven cat if you will, with a very pretty and puffy orange coat. Unlike my cat he pawed at my tender bare feet, rather then tearing the skin off them or pulling his favorite bite and hold hard and slowly let off as I whack him move. I think he is still mad at me from calling him Shakira. This was all before he hit puberty and I realized she was really a him. And I thought she could be my surrogate Columbian/belly-dancing girlfriend.
Elena said that this cat was aprestado from the Pastor and his wife, and that they do this often. A cat on loan. I never really thought that could be done but it interested me. I should have done this instead of mistakenly thinking I would enjoy the company and responsibility of taking care of a girlfriend that scratches and bites and draws blood and doesn’t even dance bachata, much less belly dance. And then doesn’t even turn out to be a girl in the first place.
But what really caught my attention was that this cat was on a string and tied to the metal bars of a security door at Elena’s side entrance. It wasn’t really that the cat was on a string, because I have gotten used to seeing that here and like many other things has become part of the whole Dominican deal. It´s that this was at Elena’s house, a fellow PCV, and there were other Americans present. And rather then questioning Elena on the cats being on a string, we proceeded to drag the cat through the house by its leash string, its front paws spread eagle and its nails gripping futilely at the hard cement floor.
Now after 18 or so months here, I thought, this is just another example of our cultural adaptation and why I love the whole Peace Corps experience. Because now I can see cats on strings, or mini vans…I mean motorcycles, five deep and carrying random household utilities or construction materials through the street and not even look twice. And I can chalk it up to just part of our common human package deal and get on with working and living here. Which is nice.
3/18
Yesterday Elena, a fellow PCV, invited me over to her house for a little fiesta of sorts, a time of carbo loading really, featuring a feast of Dominican espaguetis with bread and beer. Somewhat nutritionally one sided you might think? It could have been a much heavier affair with the added accompaniment of viveres. I for one am glad they were left out.
I was surprised to see Elena with a cat in her house, as I knew she had some bad luck keeping a little kitty alive once. This cat had some years on him but not too many, a joven cat if you will, with a very pretty and puffy orange coat. Unlike my cat he pawed at my tender bare feet, rather then tearing the skin off them or pulling his favorite bite and hold hard and slowly let off as I whack him move. I think he is still mad at me from calling him Shakira. This was all before he hit puberty and I realized she was really a him. And I thought she could be my surrogate Columbian/belly-dancing girlfriend.
Elena said that this cat was aprestado from the Pastor and his wife, and that they do this often. A cat on loan. I never really thought that could be done but it interested me. I should have done this instead of mistakenly thinking I would enjoy the company and responsibility of taking care of a girlfriend that scratches and bites and draws blood and doesn’t even dance bachata, much less belly dance. And then doesn’t even turn out to be a girl in the first place.
But what really caught my attention was that this cat was on a string and tied to the metal bars of a security door at Elena’s side entrance. It wasn’t really that the cat was on a string, because I have gotten used to seeing that here and like many other things has become part of the whole Dominican deal. It´s that this was at Elena’s house, a fellow PCV, and there were other Americans present. And rather then questioning Elena on the cats being on a string, we proceeded to drag the cat through the house by its leash string, its front paws spread eagle and its nails gripping futilely at the hard cement floor.
Now after 18 or so months here, I thought, this is just another example of our cultural adaptation and why I love the whole Peace Corps experience. Because now I can see cats on strings, or mini vans…I mean motorcycles, five deep and carrying random household utilities or construction materials through the street and not even look twice. And I can chalk it up to just part of our common human package deal and get on with working and living here. Which is nice.
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