Life has been calming down since the last time I wrote. The horror stories haven't stopped coming, but I think I'm learning how to process things a little more. I don't even really know that that's true--I just know that I've been more aware of how I react to and process things here. It was easy to me before I wrote last to be aware and yet at the same time not really think about what my kids' home life was like (abuse, neglect, etc.). And yet after witnessing a few beatings, and a little corpse, I think the reality came crashing down on me.
Although certain episodes have really upset me, I have felt so sure of my work (well that's another story--let's just say I've never lost hope!) that it has been easy to keep on smiling and working and being hopeful. But I wonder how one does this kind of work long term. Making sense of things definitely can't be a strategy because it's seemingly impossible. Today I was talking to a young girl Johanny (just turned 15) about her new (parent approved) boyfriend (21). And yet I know this is life here, and I know that as much as we try to drill in their heads the value of an education, that it's a possibility that she will "marry" him in no time, leave school, and start a family. And so instead of frowning at her while she talks about how he's buena gente, I joke with her about how he better know how to cook and like doing dishes. Is that how you approach things? Should I just accept the things I cannot change (immediately, anyhow) and take things lightly? It makes me sick to think like that, but I've found that sometimes here that's the only thing I feel like I can (or have the right) to do. I haven't lost hope about opening these girls' minds to a different life than the one their mothers lead, but today (the same day this conversation with Johanny took place) I found out that one of OUR girls, Irene (13), got married. By OUR, I mean one of the girls who goes to school and comes to the teen homework help group every day. There are plenty of teens in the batey who don't go to school or come to us, but the ones who do we consider mas o menos on the right track. They all seem to have goals to graduate from high school and get good jobs (and many even to go to college). But in these past months, weeks, days, Irene has been saying all of this too. And now she's married. I don't know who she's married to, or how this all came to be, but I do know that most likely it's only a matter of time before she gets pregnant and leaves school.
Sometimes I feel like it's good enough if I can smile and listen to a woman or a child who has no one to listen to them--to help them take back their human dignity when their husbands or their parents don't afford them this. And yet when I see a girl like Irene, who seems to have her head screwed on right, get sucked into this cycle, I question whether we're changing anything at all. The work in the clinic seems to be more tangible--curing people's illnesses (sometimes) and keeping people healthy. And yet even as we help give people the health care that any person deserves, I sometimes question whether we're hurting them in the long-run by giving them handouts rather than helping them stand on their own two feet. I don't think it's true. The goal is to get these people healthy and well- (or better-) educated so that they can be empowered and independent. It's worked for some people. But then Irene gets married, or I see undercover cops arrest a man for drug sales as I'm letting the kids out of school, and I think: "Nothing has changed." I somehow continue to feel hopeful and motivated to do my job well, but the reality is that in 12 years little has changed. Maybe that's the mentality you have to have to do this job. That little will change, but that THAT'S what you're working for. That little.
So...I've given you very little substance. Let's see...well, I did turn 23. I was sick on my birthday, per usual, but the following weekend we went to the Aventura concert, which was great. I mean, because they play them non-stop here, and we were pretty far back, it kind of just felt like we were in the colmado (corner store--where they always play really loud music) with 50,000 other people but it was fun.
In other news, Melania found out the sex of her baby--it's a boy!! I'm actually not thrilled haha--I was really hoping for a girl for her. Her boys are pretty inquieto compared to her girl so I thought a girl would be a nice change of pace. Either way, it was a relief that, at 7 months, she actually got a sonograph, and that the baby seems to be healthy, if a little underweight. Early last week, Melania thought her water broke, but she wasn't having contractions and she didn't have money to go to the hospital, so she did nothing. I was so scared for her baby, considering how traumatic this pregnancy has been, but on Thursday the woman she cleans for gave her an advance on her pay to go and get a sonograph. She asked me to go with her and I was so thrilled. I think true friendships could get pretty complicated here, and some are pretty cynical about people wanting to take advantage of the volunteers (or at least getting us to buy them things). I know it's happened, but it's been so nice to not have that be the case with Melania and me. She wanted to pay for my ride, which I refused. But then she bought me a coconut. It was nice to know that she just wanted me (or somebody, anyways) there. And sitting in that waiting room (for three hours!) with a room full of other women (all alone i might add), I was happy that I could be with her. She found out that the baby's umbilical cord was choking him, and that if she had gone to the hospital that day they might have performed an emergency c-section. But miraculously (or not, I'm not really sure how these things work) the baby wiggled his way out of there and is shooting to come out at the end of April. Her name list is a little frightening (Vairo or Albero) but he's healthy for now and I'm grateful for that. She's still very depressed and in a miserable financial situation, but I think she's relieved that he's healthy. I'm praying for some kind of miracle to turn her situation around.
I'm also praying that all of you at home are happy and healthy. Missing you all!! :)
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Seguimos Luchando
Sadly, I have very little good to write about it. That’s not true—I’m continuing to love my work here and the kids, there have been great moments seeing them understand a concept or write a word, but since I last wrote too many horrible things have happened, and I feel compelled to share them with you.
I’ve been through phases here about how I perceive the poverty in the batey. My first realization was that there is a range of poverty in the batey---from people who eat a paste of flour and water to people who have DVD players (although I only know of two). Some visitors have commented that the situation in the batey didn’t seem as bad as they had imagined. But my second realization was that even if most of the people have food and shelter, poverty is about more than resources available and subsistence—it’s also about a lack of choice. No documents, no work (that’s not slave labor), no education, no way to break the cycle. Even if a family can afford to feed its children, that doesn’t give their children a chance at a better life. So my third observation is that poverty is more about resources and choices; it’s also about culture. Here in the batey there is a culture of violence—against children, against women, and against each other. These are all pretty basic concepts, but since coming back from Christmas I have witnessed these three elements of poverty at play so clearly.
RESOURCES
A little over a week ago, they told us once we got to school that a little boy (around 4)had died—from mysterious causes. I saw his brother Alejandro (8), who I’m buddies with, and he seemed to be behaving normally. So I started dancing with him, since I thought he might want someone to take his mind off of it. Then suddenly he said to me, “I can’t dance, profe.” When I asked him why, he told me, “My brother died.”
I asked him if he knew where his brother was, planning on telling him that he went to Heaven. Alejandro said, “Yes. He’s in the house.” When I explained that, “No, he’s an angel in Heaven watching you,” he said, “No, profe, he’s in the house!”
So I went to the house. The little boy was laying on the floor, naked, and they were cleaning him and dressing him. Propped up against the door was a tiny coffin made of little wooden planks stapled together. I just stood with Alejandro and stared in disbelief.
Everyone said that the doctors didn’t know what he had, and that his grandfather had died three months ago. Allusions to voudou and something fishy going on were preeminent. But I quickly found out that his mother brought him to the dispensary two days before his death because he was swollen, with sores all over his body. The doctor told us that he had wet malnutrition—caused by a lack of protein—which manifests itself in a swollen belly, swollen body, and can also come out in the form of body sores.
The only thing more upsetting than this was that four days later, another little boy (about 2-3 years old) also died of malnutrition. In this particular case, the community seemed to know about it---neighbors were saying “We knew this would happen, that kid never ate,” etc., etc. It’s so scary that 1) children are dying from something so preventable, and 2) that in this case community members noticed and didn’t take any action.
Our clinic does run a nutrition program that has had several success stories, but there are children like these that we hadn’t even known about. It’s definitely made us hyper-aware of the situation and we are working to create more awareness, get more children involved in our nutrition program, and educate the kids who come to our school about what a good diet should consist of.
Another death is imminent in Batey Lecheria—the father of many of our children, Ernesto. He stopped taking his AIDS medicine a while ago and is now waiting at home to die. His daughter, Angi (9), took me to visit him. It was dark when I went in the room, so I couldn’t see well, but I couldn’t make him out in the bed until I saw his head. His body didn’t even make a bump under the sheets, and he seemed to be unconscious. His children play outside the house, while their father dies inside the house.
CHOICE
TO FEED YOUR CHILDREN:
Last week, my friend Melania told me that her baby (about 11/2 years old) recently passed out from hunger. Sometimes she just doesn’t have enough money to feed her kids properly. She recently got a job cleaning a house, which will help, but I calculated her earnings and they’re pitiful: she works 12 hours a week and earns an equivalent of $67 per month—meaning she makes about $1.40/hr. So a pregnant woman and her three children are living off of a little more than $2/day. She has a good head on her shoulders—although severely emotionally and mentally troubled. She wants to make good decisions, but her lack of documents and family situation (single mom, three kids, another on the way) does not give her the luxury.
TO WORK
.
Recently two mothers of our kids moved to Argentina, which I was excited about until it was insinuated to me that they were part of a prostitution ring. I’ve recently become more aware of different mothers of her children involved in prostitution. I do not know much about how there work is arranged, but it seems as though some do not see any other option to find work and feed their families, while others see it as the best choice; the choice with the highest gain. On weekend beach trips we’ve taken we’ve seen COUNTLESS prostitutes (ALL Haitian women) with older European men.
CULTURE
OF VIOLENCE
Our school has a covered patio for an outdoor space. Coconut trees surround the school, so many times they fall directly on roof and it sounds as though a shot went off. This sound normally gets me every time but I always know what it is. Two weeks ago, while some kids were working inside and others were eating snack, we heard that noise, and it didn’t phase me. Then suddenly children were rushing inside saying that it was a shot. The crazy thing was that the kids weren’t even scared, just kind of excited. After a couple of minutes we were informed that it was over and the kids went back outside and continued as usual. This isn’t common (well, for my experience, anyways—clearly the kids were accustomed to the sound). Later we found out was someone shooting at a thief running away. The alleged thief ran into the school/clinic “garage” to try to get away from the man. Thankfully, the door was locked that goes from the garage directly into the school. The week before I had to throw out (I realize this sounds horrible outside of our situation—I had to “invite her to leave”) a badly behaving student, and within five minutes she had gotten back in. This is because often our handy man leaves the door from the garage to the school open. We asked him to be more careful and because of that the door—that the thief apparently was hoping to get through to get away from the armed man—was closed. If it hadn’t been closed he could have come right into our school. Thank God!
OF VIOLENCE AGAINST WOMEN
Today we got the worst news of all. One of our girls, Yolanda (12), has been repeatedly raped by a father of two of our children (Carla, 8, y Carlos, 10) for the past few months. She cleans his house regularly and apparently a lot of the community knew about this, but only last night a child saw it happening and told Yolanda’s mother, who wasn’t aware before. Yolanda has been vomiting and having dizzy spells and we are worried that she is pregnant. She is so nervous—she has almost chewed her nails off. I pray that this isn’t the case. Either way, this girl’s life has changed forever. Although I haven’t worked with her in a while, I got to know her pretty well in the beginning of the year. She looks much older than she is, so unfortunately she and other girls in her similar situation are prime targets for sexual abuse and assault. But she’s still such a little girl. When I picture her, I see her zipping through the Montessori materials—she’s a quick study. And then today I saw her, twelve years-old, torn apart, and possibly a mother-to-be. Some of the men in the community were overheard talking about how it’s not rape because it’s been going on for a while, and how she’s even talked to them in a flirtatious way. On the other hand, her step-father and other men in the community say that they are waiting for her rapist to come out (he’s been holed up in his house all day) to kill him.
HOPE
I see this community as a thriving one in many ways—families care for unwanted children, teenagers care for their younger brothers and sisters, women are seeking us out to learn to read and write so they can help their kids, and we have kids who learn to read every day. But in the last couple of weeks we’ve seen so much of the dark side of the batey. Mientras tanto, seguimos luchando. Please continue to pray for this community.
I’ve been through phases here about how I perceive the poverty in the batey. My first realization was that there is a range of poverty in the batey---from people who eat a paste of flour and water to people who have DVD players (although I only know of two). Some visitors have commented that the situation in the batey didn’t seem as bad as they had imagined. But my second realization was that even if most of the people have food and shelter, poverty is about more than resources available and subsistence—it’s also about a lack of choice. No documents, no work (that’s not slave labor), no education, no way to break the cycle. Even if a family can afford to feed its children, that doesn’t give their children a chance at a better life. So my third observation is that poverty is more about resources and choices; it’s also about culture. Here in the batey there is a culture of violence—against children, against women, and against each other. These are all pretty basic concepts, but since coming back from Christmas I have witnessed these three elements of poverty at play so clearly.
RESOURCES
A little over a week ago, they told us once we got to school that a little boy (around 4)had died—from mysterious causes. I saw his brother Alejandro (8), who I’m buddies with, and he seemed to be behaving normally. So I started dancing with him, since I thought he might want someone to take his mind off of it. Then suddenly he said to me, “I can’t dance, profe.” When I asked him why, he told me, “My brother died.”
I asked him if he knew where his brother was, planning on telling him that he went to Heaven. Alejandro said, “Yes. He’s in the house.” When I explained that, “No, he’s an angel in Heaven watching you,” he said, “No, profe, he’s in the house!”
So I went to the house. The little boy was laying on the floor, naked, and they were cleaning him and dressing him. Propped up against the door was a tiny coffin made of little wooden planks stapled together. I just stood with Alejandro and stared in disbelief.
Everyone said that the doctors didn’t know what he had, and that his grandfather had died three months ago. Allusions to voudou and something fishy going on were preeminent. But I quickly found out that his mother brought him to the dispensary two days before his death because he was swollen, with sores all over his body. The doctor told us that he had wet malnutrition—caused by a lack of protein—which manifests itself in a swollen belly, swollen body, and can also come out in the form of body sores.
The only thing more upsetting than this was that four days later, another little boy (about 2-3 years old) also died of malnutrition. In this particular case, the community seemed to know about it---neighbors were saying “We knew this would happen, that kid never ate,” etc., etc. It’s so scary that 1) children are dying from something so preventable, and 2) that in this case community members noticed and didn’t take any action.
Our clinic does run a nutrition program that has had several success stories, but there are children like these that we hadn’t even known about. It’s definitely made us hyper-aware of the situation and we are working to create more awareness, get more children involved in our nutrition program, and educate the kids who come to our school about what a good diet should consist of.
Another death is imminent in Batey Lecheria—the father of many of our children, Ernesto. He stopped taking his AIDS medicine a while ago and is now waiting at home to die. His daughter, Angi (9), took me to visit him. It was dark when I went in the room, so I couldn’t see well, but I couldn’t make him out in the bed until I saw his head. His body didn’t even make a bump under the sheets, and he seemed to be unconscious. His children play outside the house, while their father dies inside the house.
CHOICE
TO FEED YOUR CHILDREN:
Last week, my friend Melania told me that her baby (about 11/2 years old) recently passed out from hunger. Sometimes she just doesn’t have enough money to feed her kids properly. She recently got a job cleaning a house, which will help, but I calculated her earnings and they’re pitiful: she works 12 hours a week and earns an equivalent of $67 per month—meaning she makes about $1.40/hr. So a pregnant woman and her three children are living off of a little more than $2/day. She has a good head on her shoulders—although severely emotionally and mentally troubled. She wants to make good decisions, but her lack of documents and family situation (single mom, three kids, another on the way) does not give her the luxury.
TO WORK
.
Recently two mothers of our kids moved to Argentina, which I was excited about until it was insinuated to me that they were part of a prostitution ring. I’ve recently become more aware of different mothers of her children involved in prostitution. I do not know much about how there work is arranged, but it seems as though some do not see any other option to find work and feed their families, while others see it as the best choice; the choice with the highest gain. On weekend beach trips we’ve taken we’ve seen COUNTLESS prostitutes (ALL Haitian women) with older European men.
CULTURE
OF VIOLENCE
Our school has a covered patio for an outdoor space. Coconut trees surround the school, so many times they fall directly on roof and it sounds as though a shot went off. This sound normally gets me every time but I always know what it is. Two weeks ago, while some kids were working inside and others were eating snack, we heard that noise, and it didn’t phase me. Then suddenly children were rushing inside saying that it was a shot. The crazy thing was that the kids weren’t even scared, just kind of excited. After a couple of minutes we were informed that it was over and the kids went back outside and continued as usual. This isn’t common (well, for my experience, anyways—clearly the kids were accustomed to the sound). Later we found out was someone shooting at a thief running away. The alleged thief ran into the school/clinic “garage” to try to get away from the man. Thankfully, the door was locked that goes from the garage directly into the school. The week before I had to throw out (I realize this sounds horrible outside of our situation—I had to “invite her to leave”) a badly behaving student, and within five minutes she had gotten back in. This is because often our handy man leaves the door from the garage to the school open. We asked him to be more careful and because of that the door—that the thief apparently was hoping to get through to get away from the armed man—was closed. If it hadn’t been closed he could have come right into our school. Thank God!
OF VIOLENCE AGAINST WOMEN
Today we got the worst news of all. One of our girls, Yolanda (12), has been repeatedly raped by a father of two of our children (Carla, 8, y Carlos, 10) for the past few months. She cleans his house regularly and apparently a lot of the community knew about this, but only last night a child saw it happening and told Yolanda’s mother, who wasn’t aware before. Yolanda has been vomiting and having dizzy spells and we are worried that she is pregnant. She is so nervous—she has almost chewed her nails off. I pray that this isn’t the case. Either way, this girl’s life has changed forever. Although I haven’t worked with her in a while, I got to know her pretty well in the beginning of the year. She looks much older than she is, so unfortunately she and other girls in her similar situation are prime targets for sexual abuse and assault. But she’s still such a little girl. When I picture her, I see her zipping through the Montessori materials—she’s a quick study. And then today I saw her, twelve years-old, torn apart, and possibly a mother-to-be. Some of the men in the community were overheard talking about how it’s not rape because it’s been going on for a while, and how she’s even talked to them in a flirtatious way. On the other hand, her step-father and other men in the community say that they are waiting for her rapist to come out (he’s been holed up in his house all day) to kill him.
HOPE
I see this community as a thriving one in many ways—families care for unwanted children, teenagers care for their younger brothers and sisters, women are seeking us out to learn to read and write so they can help their kids, and we have kids who learn to read every day. But in the last couple of weeks we’ve seen so much of the dark side of the batey. Mientras tanto, seguimos luchando. Please continue to pray for this community.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
2010 and still going....:)
Hello everyone! I’m alive and well in this new year—I’ve just had an event-filled couple of months, per usual. I hope everyone enjoyed Christmas and that this new year is off to a great start. The last couple of weeks leading up to Christmas were busy, busy. We had activities for the kids including a spaghetti (well, espagueti) supper and a Michael Jackson impersonator. I lost a little of my motivation to make lesson plans but I think I was just overexcited for my parents and friends to visit. My parents came on the 23rd in time for festivities. We celebrated in the batey on the 24th with a liturgy and my kids’ Christmas pageant. The pageant was pretty horrible but in the cutest way possible (reading lines taped to a candle, and having to turn the candle to read it, the poor inn-keeper going out onto the stage after Mary and Joseph had skipped his part all together, etc.). The kids were happy and they looked adorable. Check out the pictures at: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2487710&id=920832&l=161ceae0cc. Then we had dinner with the neighbors and enjoyed the sounds of Los Alcarrizos all night long. On Christmas we went to mass with the sisters in the oldest church in the Americas (oooh). From there it was off to the beach. We did nothing for four days but it was great! I was going non-stop for most of my time here that I didn’t realize how exhausted I was. I literally collapsed the first day of vacation—I barely even ate (which you all know is pretty serious for me!) We lounged on beautiful beaches. The water was warm and crystal clear—it was perfect! Then we went into the city for some more relaxation and to ring in the new year. Leah and Katie came into the city to celebrate with us, and we almost missed midnight! We got back to the hotel after dinner and realized it was 11:53 so we ran up to the room to toast and see the (short-lived) fireworks. On the 2nd Leah and my friends Mary and Monica came in and my parents left. Minus some pretty lousy rain, we had a great time relaxing on the beach, catching up on lost time, and showing them around the batey. Now I’m feeling refreshed and excited to go back to work. The following is WAY too long so I figured I’d put up a warning beforehand—but I wrote it before break and I never got a chance to post it!
FRIENDS
One of the women I had planned on teaching, Melania, fell really ill for a while, so I had stopped teaching her. I had told you a little of her story (pregnancy, attempted abortion, “husband” in jail) but other people had all told me this—I hadn’t heard it from her. Then two weeks ago Melania said she was feeling much better and ready to start classes again. She had moved to a house on the other side of the street, and when I asked her why, she launched into a nearly two hour explanation of her relationship with her (now former) husband and how a lot of things had come to be. She told me of how he would beat her, how he had several affairs (once with a ten year old child, which, although I can’t look at it this way, was consensual), how she had gone to jail for him and had spent her savings countless times to bribe officials so they would send him to a better jail.
The most heart-breaking thing was listening to her talk about her children. Evelyn (10 years) has been raised by a friend living up the hill with a much better financial situation—as Melania describes it: “She drinks juice every day!” Once on a walk up the hill, she showed me Evelyn playing outside through the trees. We watched her for a couple of seconds and when I asked if she wanted to say hi she he said, “I don’t like her to see me watching her.” She told me how when her other children (now 5, 3, and 1) were younger everyone would comment on how beautiful and well taken care of they looked—new clothes, hair done nicely. It seems easy to say that nice clothes don’t matter as long as the children have food and are taken care of. But to hear a mother talk about all of the things that she wanted for her children that she couldn’t give was heart-breaking. She talked about how she didn’t love this baby to come (5 months pregnant) and didn’t want him to come into a home without love.
But even with all of the depression she’s been through, she seems hopeful. After attempts at her and the baby’s life, she’s thinking about baby names and expressed fear that her baby would be born with a bad eye because her husband had given her a black eye during the pregnancy (I assured her that wouldn’t affect the baby’s eye---it was equally hard to convince her that beer would affect the baby, even with her assuring me that it was fine because she would pee the beer out—what??). She told me how she realized that she used to beat her children because her husband beat her, and how she wasn’t going to do that anymore (although, she noted, she still has to beat them so they behave, but now it isn’t just in reaction to her husband beating her—one battle at a time). She talked about how she was close to getting documentation (she is not legal even though she was born here and has never been to Haiti), and about realistic goals to get better jobs and eventually get a passport to find work elsewhere. It was so wonderful to listen to the hope in her voice. She’s only twenty-five. She’s experienced so much but she still has a lot of time to make a better life for herself and her children. And she is really smart. This short time with her made me think a lot about how important it is to empower the women in situations like that of the batey. She is smart and wants to do the right thing, but has very little means to do it.
Since then we have been to visit her sister, Elizabeth, who I also teach, in a pica pollo (fried-chicken place) where she just started (and stopped!) working. It’s about a 15 minute ride from the batey, and it was really nice (but weird!) to leave the batey with her and not spend time “in class” ( I’ve done very little teaching, but I think the conversations we have are a lot more helpful to the both of us at this point). We sat and ate and talked. Elizabeth was working more than twelve-hour shifts with no days off. The work didn’t seem strenuous, but she was constantly serving or washing dishes, and the pay wasn’t making it worth her while. She doesn’t have other prospects for work at this time, but thankfully she’s in a situation where she can afford to turn down this degree of working conditions. She is in a much more stable situation than Melania, as I have mentioned before.
I remember being surprised during orientation when a former volunteer described many of the women in the batey as her friends. I don’t know why exactly—I had dreamt of being close to the people in the batey. But I think it was my instinct to think of true friends as standing on equal footing or being at a similar station in life. Thankfully, and for the first time, I’m beginning to make REAL friends with people in a completely different situation (not just with a different background who are at the same point in life as me). It feels a lot more normal than one might think. I anticipate a little trickiness as Elizabeth wants to go places with me (the salon, the club), and I know Melania is in no financial position to do that kind of stuff with me. But I’ll keep you posted .
WEDDING
So, I could go on and on about the wedding, but there is one thing everyone should know.
We were never told what time to get to the reception hall. The invitation said six, but the bride’s sister told us that we could get there around 6:30. We left the house at around 6:40 and we passed their (the bride’s family’s) house and noticed that nobody in the family (including the maid of honor) was even dressed for the wedding. So I breathed a little easier after worrying about being “late.” We got to the hall and waited until EIGHT o’clock to start the wedding. Most of the guests didn’t arrive until 7/7:30, plus we waited for a microphone that never came. Which was a shame because the music from the colmado outside was blasting and made it hard to hear (we couldn’t believe they didn’t talk to them ahead of time about not playing music—well, not so hard to believe I guess—this country is so loud). Aah, what a wedding.
FRIENDS
One of the women I had planned on teaching, Melania, fell really ill for a while, so I had stopped teaching her. I had told you a little of her story (pregnancy, attempted abortion, “husband” in jail) but other people had all told me this—I hadn’t heard it from her. Then two weeks ago Melania said she was feeling much better and ready to start classes again. She had moved to a house on the other side of the street, and when I asked her why, she launched into a nearly two hour explanation of her relationship with her (now former) husband and how a lot of things had come to be. She told me of how he would beat her, how he had several affairs (once with a ten year old child, which, although I can’t look at it this way, was consensual), how she had gone to jail for him and had spent her savings countless times to bribe officials so they would send him to a better jail.
The most heart-breaking thing was listening to her talk about her children. Evelyn (10 years) has been raised by a friend living up the hill with a much better financial situation—as Melania describes it: “She drinks juice every day!” Once on a walk up the hill, she showed me Evelyn playing outside through the trees. We watched her for a couple of seconds and when I asked if she wanted to say hi she he said, “I don’t like her to see me watching her.” She told me how when her other children (now 5, 3, and 1) were younger everyone would comment on how beautiful and well taken care of they looked—new clothes, hair done nicely. It seems easy to say that nice clothes don’t matter as long as the children have food and are taken care of. But to hear a mother talk about all of the things that she wanted for her children that she couldn’t give was heart-breaking. She talked about how she didn’t love this baby to come (5 months pregnant) and didn’t want him to come into a home without love.
But even with all of the depression she’s been through, she seems hopeful. After attempts at her and the baby’s life, she’s thinking about baby names and expressed fear that her baby would be born with a bad eye because her husband had given her a black eye during the pregnancy (I assured her that wouldn’t affect the baby’s eye---it was equally hard to convince her that beer would affect the baby, even with her assuring me that it was fine because she would pee the beer out—what??). She told me how she realized that she used to beat her children because her husband beat her, and how she wasn’t going to do that anymore (although, she noted, she still has to beat them so they behave, but now it isn’t just in reaction to her husband beating her—one battle at a time). She talked about how she was close to getting documentation (she is not legal even though she was born here and has never been to Haiti), and about realistic goals to get better jobs and eventually get a passport to find work elsewhere. It was so wonderful to listen to the hope in her voice. She’s only twenty-five. She’s experienced so much but she still has a lot of time to make a better life for herself and her children. And she is really smart. This short time with her made me think a lot about how important it is to empower the women in situations like that of the batey. She is smart and wants to do the right thing, but has very little means to do it.
Since then we have been to visit her sister, Elizabeth, who I also teach, in a pica pollo (fried-chicken place) where she just started (and stopped!) working. It’s about a 15 minute ride from the batey, and it was really nice (but weird!) to leave the batey with her and not spend time “in class” ( I’ve done very little teaching, but I think the conversations we have are a lot more helpful to the both of us at this point). We sat and ate and talked. Elizabeth was working more than twelve-hour shifts with no days off. The work didn’t seem strenuous, but she was constantly serving or washing dishes, and the pay wasn’t making it worth her while. She doesn’t have other prospects for work at this time, but thankfully she’s in a situation where she can afford to turn down this degree of working conditions. She is in a much more stable situation than Melania, as I have mentioned before.
I remember being surprised during orientation when a former volunteer described many of the women in the batey as her friends. I don’t know why exactly—I had dreamt of being close to the people in the batey. But I think it was my instinct to think of true friends as standing on equal footing or being at a similar station in life. Thankfully, and for the first time, I’m beginning to make REAL friends with people in a completely different situation (not just with a different background who are at the same point in life as me). It feels a lot more normal than one might think. I anticipate a little trickiness as Elizabeth wants to go places with me (the salon, the club), and I know Melania is in no financial position to do that kind of stuff with me. But I’ll keep you posted .
WEDDING
So, I could go on and on about the wedding, but there is one thing everyone should know.
We were never told what time to get to the reception hall. The invitation said six, but the bride’s sister told us that we could get there around 6:30. We left the house at around 6:40 and we passed their (the bride’s family’s) house and noticed that nobody in the family (including the maid of honor) was even dressed for the wedding. So I breathed a little easier after worrying about being “late.” We got to the hall and waited until EIGHT o’clock to start the wedding. Most of the guests didn’t arrive until 7/7:30, plus we waited for a microphone that never came. Which was a shame because the music from the colmado outside was blasting and made it hard to hear (we couldn’t believe they didn’t talk to them ahead of time about not playing music—well, not so hard to believe I guess—this country is so loud). Aah, what a wedding.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Last Weekend.....
On Friday night we had big plans to help a neighbor, Kenya, with her wedding invitations. The weekend before we helped her paint little memento boxes. Mid-painting, Kenya invites us (all FOUR of us) to be her bridesmaids. We hesitate and smile and de facto accept—we weren’t really asked, so how could we decline?? Her family is very close to the sisters—two of the daughters work as teachers in the school and Kenya is one of the sister’s secretaries. However, we barely know Kenya, so it’s definitely a weird situation. You should also be aware that her wedding is on Dec. 19, leaving three weeks for invitation-making and delivery. So Friday night we sit down to invitation-making, which includes mesh, green glitter, and butterflies. It was really horrible. I felt like I was doing an arts and crafts project with my kids.
Saturday morning:
After much discouragement (you can’t go without a Dominican! They’ll rip you off!), I decided to go to the Loz Alcarrizos market—they sell everything from clothes to medicine to fruits and vegetables. I took along an American volunteer visiting from a city on the coast to show her the real Los Alcarrizos. Not a really pleasant place to walk around---really congested, barely any sidewalks—but I like it. My mission was to look for jeans, as mine have gotten significantly holier since being here. After being shown several pairs of playboy bunny jeans (it’s an obsession here, people don’t even know what that bunny means), I found a nice (sans bunny) pair of $7 jeans (never buying jeans in the states again!) While in the dressing room (or behind a sheet), I hear the salesman giving my friend a gift that looks like her, and her responding by asking if she has blonde hair (she has my color hair). When I come out I see that the salesman has gifted her a fake (blonde-haired, blue-eyed) Barbie doll because it looked “exactly like her.” Upon exiting he told us in English, “I wait for you.”
Saturday night: the sequel to bad invitation making. So the first horrible thing about this wedding is that the celebration was scheduled for the night of the Beyonce concert, which Leah and I were determined to go to. Post-Saturday night, however, Leah found out that the concert date had been changed to March! Thank goodness. Two weeks to go until the wedding, and we still have two rehearsals and shopping for green and coral clothing to go. Wish me lots of luck.
Sunday morning
Every Sunday morning (since about a month ago) I have been going into the batey the liturgy and my youth group. There are about 7-8 girls (ages 10-14) who come regularly, which is a huge change from the beginning. I used to hold the group during the week, but attendance was poor. Now that it’s on Sunday I have a regular group and it’s going pretty well. They decided they wanted to put on a Christmas pageant, so we’re in the planning process. I foresee it being a little chaotic but you gotta give the people what they want, right? We are one child short for the number of characters, so I am currently slotted as a shepard. I’m hoping God sends me some other child to spare me from this role, but I’m sure that I’ll provide some entertainment.
After the group, I had promised some of the girls in my group that I would go to the river with them. The river is about a twenty-five minute walk from the batey, and the people go there to bathe and fill up on water when there is none in the batey (for example, right now). The kids love to go to swim and have fun. First, the girls cook spaghetti to bring along. I didn’t bring a THING to the batey that morning, and I hadn’t planned on eating, but they insisted on making food for me to bring along. The people here are so generous. Makes it a little difficult to refuse food you’re pretty sure will make you sick, but I haven’t gotten sick yet!
So, I’m sitting on the porch with the mother while the girls cook. I should mention that this family is doing really well compared to many families in the batey. The father is Dominican, so the girls have all of their papers. They have a four room house for 7 people which is also really incredible. But the mother, Elena, is 30 years old and has five children, the oldest being 14. Not strange for the batey standards, but so hard to grasp. While sitting on the porch a woman comes up and joins us. I quickly realize this is Elena’s mother, but I can’t believe because she looks no older than 45, and EVERYONE in the batey looks older than they are. I haven’t confirmed her age, but I’m almost positive that she’s no more than 15 years older than her daughter. While sitting on the porch I hear a commotion, and suddenly Elena grabs a stick and moves towards it. I stay with Mariano (5 years) to distract him, but I see someone with a machete and kids running away in my direction. I’m still not exactly sure what happened, but I do know that the fight involved Chichi, a woman I tutor, and someone getting their hands cut up by a machete. Just seeing those kids running from a machete was horrifying—how can they not respond with violence if this is what they see everyday?
So we finally head out to the river, and on the way we pick up about fifteen-twenty other kids and a rabid dog. Well, not rabid, but crazy--he had the week before bitten a chunk out of a little girl’s leg. So the walk to the river consisted of frequent scares in which the dog would go crazy and run after us and the children would run and hide. I, meanwhile, was fighting my temptation to put one of the kids in front of me and instead shield the kids. NOT easy, that dog was so scary.
Anyways, we arrived safely at the river. It’s wide and beautiful and lined with rocks. The water seemed to be pretty clean, definitely cleaner than the water we get at our house (how do I measure this? I swallowed some while swimming and I haven’t gotten sick, which would not happen with the water from the street). The river was shallow, knee-length in the deepest parts where we were, but the current was very strong. I was nervous a lot of the time because really young kids (5 years old) came along. The kids were so calm and good and they played so nicely with each other. The girls shared their spaghetti with every single kid there (and me). It was so nice to spend a lot of time with the kids outside of the school. We collected white shiny rocks (called americanas, “because they’re white”), skipped stones, floated down the river, and ate spaghetti. It was such a great afternoon, but it was long, and I was late for a plan to meet friends in the city.
On the way back home, I stopped quickly to pick something up at the school, and ran into Ricardo, one of the most malnourished and neglected children in the batey. He’s on plumpy-nut (peanut butter like meal substitutes, essentially), and he asked me to feed him, so of course I did. I thought it was so crazy that the thing that was “holding me up” was feeding a malnourished child. I had planned to meet a couple of the Dominican profes I teach with in the Colonial Zone for the free concert that’s held every Sunday night. They play a lot of Cuban son music, which we didn’t know how to dance to, but we gave it our best shot, ate fried chicken (they gave us extra pieces that we didn’t pay for…..and we didn’t tell….:)), and ended the night at a car wash.
Not a typical weekend here, but there isn’t really such a thing here. This weekend we’re having a Christmas decorating party in the house. And, of course, we have the first wedding rehearsal. Until next time.....
Saturday morning:
After much discouragement (you can’t go without a Dominican! They’ll rip you off!), I decided to go to the Loz Alcarrizos market—they sell everything from clothes to medicine to fruits and vegetables. I took along an American volunteer visiting from a city on the coast to show her the real Los Alcarrizos. Not a really pleasant place to walk around---really congested, barely any sidewalks—but I like it. My mission was to look for jeans, as mine have gotten significantly holier since being here. After being shown several pairs of playboy bunny jeans (it’s an obsession here, people don’t even know what that bunny means), I found a nice (sans bunny) pair of $7 jeans (never buying jeans in the states again!) While in the dressing room (or behind a sheet), I hear the salesman giving my friend a gift that looks like her, and her responding by asking if she has blonde hair (she has my color hair). When I come out I see that the salesman has gifted her a fake (blonde-haired, blue-eyed) Barbie doll because it looked “exactly like her.” Upon exiting he told us in English, “I wait for you.”
Saturday night: the sequel to bad invitation making. So the first horrible thing about this wedding is that the celebration was scheduled for the night of the Beyonce concert, which Leah and I were determined to go to. Post-Saturday night, however, Leah found out that the concert date had been changed to March! Thank goodness. Two weeks to go until the wedding, and we still have two rehearsals and shopping for green and coral clothing to go. Wish me lots of luck.
Sunday morning
Every Sunday morning (since about a month ago) I have been going into the batey the liturgy and my youth group. There are about 7-8 girls (ages 10-14) who come regularly, which is a huge change from the beginning. I used to hold the group during the week, but attendance was poor. Now that it’s on Sunday I have a regular group and it’s going pretty well. They decided they wanted to put on a Christmas pageant, so we’re in the planning process. I foresee it being a little chaotic but you gotta give the people what they want, right? We are one child short for the number of characters, so I am currently slotted as a shepard. I’m hoping God sends me some other child to spare me from this role, but I’m sure that I’ll provide some entertainment.
After the group, I had promised some of the girls in my group that I would go to the river with them. The river is about a twenty-five minute walk from the batey, and the people go there to bathe and fill up on water when there is none in the batey (for example, right now). The kids love to go to swim and have fun. First, the girls cook spaghetti to bring along. I didn’t bring a THING to the batey that morning, and I hadn’t planned on eating, but they insisted on making food for me to bring along. The people here are so generous. Makes it a little difficult to refuse food you’re pretty sure will make you sick, but I haven’t gotten sick yet!
So, I’m sitting on the porch with the mother while the girls cook. I should mention that this family is doing really well compared to many families in the batey. The father is Dominican, so the girls have all of their papers. They have a four room house for 7 people which is also really incredible. But the mother, Elena, is 30 years old and has five children, the oldest being 14. Not strange for the batey standards, but so hard to grasp. While sitting on the porch a woman comes up and joins us. I quickly realize this is Elena’s mother, but I can’t believe because she looks no older than 45, and EVERYONE in the batey looks older than they are. I haven’t confirmed her age, but I’m almost positive that she’s no more than 15 years older than her daughter. While sitting on the porch I hear a commotion, and suddenly Elena grabs a stick and moves towards it. I stay with Mariano (5 years) to distract him, but I see someone with a machete and kids running away in my direction. I’m still not exactly sure what happened, but I do know that the fight involved Chichi, a woman I tutor, and someone getting their hands cut up by a machete. Just seeing those kids running from a machete was horrifying—how can they not respond with violence if this is what they see everyday?
So we finally head out to the river, and on the way we pick up about fifteen-twenty other kids and a rabid dog. Well, not rabid, but crazy--he had the week before bitten a chunk out of a little girl’s leg. So the walk to the river consisted of frequent scares in which the dog would go crazy and run after us and the children would run and hide. I, meanwhile, was fighting my temptation to put one of the kids in front of me and instead shield the kids. NOT easy, that dog was so scary.
Anyways, we arrived safely at the river. It’s wide and beautiful and lined with rocks. The water seemed to be pretty clean, definitely cleaner than the water we get at our house (how do I measure this? I swallowed some while swimming and I haven’t gotten sick, which would not happen with the water from the street). The river was shallow, knee-length in the deepest parts where we were, but the current was very strong. I was nervous a lot of the time because really young kids (5 years old) came along. The kids were so calm and good and they played so nicely with each other. The girls shared their spaghetti with every single kid there (and me). It was so nice to spend a lot of time with the kids outside of the school. We collected white shiny rocks (called americanas, “because they’re white”), skipped stones, floated down the river, and ate spaghetti. It was such a great afternoon, but it was long, and I was late for a plan to meet friends in the city.
On the way back home, I stopped quickly to pick something up at the school, and ran into Ricardo, one of the most malnourished and neglected children in the batey. He’s on plumpy-nut (peanut butter like meal substitutes, essentially), and he asked me to feed him, so of course I did. I thought it was so crazy that the thing that was “holding me up” was feeding a malnourished child. I had planned to meet a couple of the Dominican profes I teach with in the Colonial Zone for the free concert that’s held every Sunday night. They play a lot of Cuban son music, which we didn’t know how to dance to, but we gave it our best shot, ate fried chicken (they gave us extra pieces that we didn’t pay for…..and we didn’t tell….:)), and ended the night at a car wash.
Not a typical weekend here, but there isn’t really such a thing here. This weekend we’re having a Christmas decorating party in the house. And, of course, we have the first wedding rehearsal. Until next time.....
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Same photo album--new pictures :)
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2442634&id=920832&l=198d7bad31
Monday, November 16, 2009
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NmgN2IoXPCE
A video of pictures made by volunteers two years ago about the batey. Some of the photos were taken from projects of that specific year (latrines, nutrition, etc.) that aren't currently going on, but the conditions and people are the same. I'll post soon! (I had trouble linking it, but copy and paste to view)
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
work and play
My apologies for being out of touch! My computer died (and is now nearly fixed) so I've been m.i.a. for the past few weeks.
WORK
One of my favorite times of my week is the time I spend with Guilena. Every session with her has been especially fruitful and memorable. During one session, I brought along Green Eggs and Ham for my next student. Milena (10) started reading it aloud as I was teaching Guilena, and all of her other children gathered around her to listen. Then her husband even came over and kept commenting: “Wow, doesn’t she read well? She is a good reader!” He then explained to me that she had only started going to school three years ago. It was so nice to see her family so proud of her, and the little ones excited about her being able to read. Unfortunately, not all of her siblings have been so quick. Samuel (12) still cannot read, and is on the same reading level as his younger brothers Juli (6) and Johan (8).
During another session, she’s breast-feeding Katrina (13 months) while Johana (3), Joelito (5), and Juli (6) color on the floor with paper and crayons I’ve been bringing lately. I really don’t have to bring anything as a distraction because her children are so CALM (not in school! But in the house I think they’ve adapted to their mother’s health situation—she’s suffered a stroke and (I think) mental illness and she’s very sensitive to loud noise). ANYWAYS, we’re reviewing vowel sounds with flashcards we’ve made. She starts to make the “i-i-i” sound and suddenly Katrina (the baby) lifts up her head and says “i-i-i” and then starts laughing. Then we move on to “a.” Guilena starts to repeat the sound “a-a-a,” and then Katrina lifts her head and starts making the sound. Then the three on the floor chime in with “a”s. Guilena and I got a kick out of it. The kids knew we liked it so they were all giggling. It was so cute and also exciting because at least they’re getting SOME kind of exposure to sounds and letters! My time with Guilena has really shown me how valuable our small and limited services can be to the people in the batey. ALSO, small addition from our session today: a neighbor brought Guilena a small bowl of food for the whole family. She insisted on offering me some, which she always does when they have food, and she actually put the spoon in my mouth. THEN, she scooped spoons into other bowls for her children, Johana (3) eats her spoonful, goes into the corner, pees in the bowl, empties it out onto the floor, and then licks the edge of the bowl. It was so painful to watch. Guilena was aware of what was happening but not looking closely, so I didn’t want to say anything and embarass her incase it was okay with her, but at the same time it was so awful! Oh man, it’s a whole ‘nother world here.
I’ve been becoming closer to Elizabeth, one of the other women I teach, as well. She’s the same age as me (22). She’s definitely a lot more fortunate than other people in the batey. She has a Dominican “husband” (not legally but effectively) with a pretty steady job. For her son’s third birthday (he’s now 4), they had a party with a big cake and music. She showed me pictures—pretty much all of the kids in the batey were there (you couldn’t keep them out—they live on top of each other). She said that she wasn’t sure when they’d be able to celebrate his birthday again, but that they really wanted to do it for him. When the water was out, they didn’t have to go to the river but instead could afford to buy clean water (pretty expensive). I got a striking example a couple of weeks ago to do with the range of economic situations among the people in Batey Lecheria. Getting nails done and going to the salon is a big thing here, and everyone in my neighborhood does it—it’s not a sign of having money if you go to the salon on a regular basis. For the most part, salons do not seem to be a luxury accessible to those who live in the batey. However, Elizabeth goes pretty frequently (once every week or two), and she tells me that it only costs 30 pesos (less than 1 USD) for a pedicure. The same week that she tells me this, Katie found out that Altagracia (mother of 7) had a lump in her breast. A consultation at the dispensary PLUS a prescription would cost 40 pesos (a little over 1 USD), and so she decided she could not afford to go to the dispensary. Luckily, it turned out to be an infection within the next week. One woman has no trouble dropping a dollar once a week to get her nails done, while another was going to let a lump in her breast go unchecked because of the one dollar price barrier. Another strange thing about this range is that sometimes it’s present within a family. Elizabeth lives right next door to her three sisters, their families, her brother, and her mother. Elizabeth and Jaqueline (one of her sisters) both have husbands and one-two children each and are financially stable. Luisa (another sister), however, seems to be a little crazy (we’re not sure if it’s drugs or just a condition) and pretty violent with her kids (i.e. sticking her 4 year-old’s hands in boiling water and hitting her 5 month-old). Melania (the final sister) has three children under the age of 5 and her husband is in jail. She has been sick for more than a month, and I just found out that it’s because she tried to abort her baby (it’s illegal here but apparently she was taking something orally?) and it failed. So now she’s on her way to having her fourth child. I wouldn’t write anything about these people simply for shock value; it just seems like a very strange family dynamic. They all live next door to one another, are always sitting together in their plastic chairs, and seem to help each other out (with childcare, emotional support), but at the same time it doesn’t seem strange that they live in very different realities.
PLAY
Last month I went on a day-trip to Constanza, a beautiful valley in the mountains, with a really interesting group (an 80 year-old visiting nun, two German visitors, a fellow volunteer, and a Dominican family). Our bus driver for school wanted to take us to his hometown. We ended up seeing none of the town or tourist attraction, but we had such a nice time with his family. His entire family lives there (mother, siblings, nieces/nephews). Most of their houses are very simple (well, they’re shacks, but they look pretty good compared to the batey) but they had all of their necessities met. Their houses are right on the river bank so we spent a lot of the afternoon in the river with about 30 nieces and nephews. It was so nice that they have this to themselves! It was clean (and cold!) but beautiful. This is where most of them bathe—it was funny because we were swimming and playing with the kids and then Julio (who we work with) offered us a bar of soap. Anyways, his family was so kind to us. They showed us around—they grow flowers to sell (even to export!)—and they served us lunch. Then we realized that he didn’t even tell his family that he was bringing all of us! They were really kind. I really didn’t want to leave and told Katie that I could see myself living there! I just don’t know what I’d do….also, the mosquitoes (different breed from the ones here—I bled immediately once they bit me) were all over me—my legs were SWOLLEN for the next couple of days. But if I could get past that, I wouldn’t hesitate to live there for a while—it was really beautiful and refreshing to be away from the noise and the heat.
The next weekend we had a volunteer weekend with volunteers from Nuestros Pequenios Hermanos (aa network of orphanages in Latin America) on the beach. We most notable thing about the weekend is where we stayed. We have a rich Dominican contact who owns a beach house and opens her home to us for retreats. This house was literally ON the beach—her yard looked like a resort. Pictures on facebook—it was surreal! The beach it’s on isn’t very notable—not in my guidebook or anything—but it was absolutely pristine. This country is so beautiful—I wish so much that we were closer to the beach (we’re about two hours away—all because of traffic—and Santo Domingo is on the water but doesn’t have a beach :()
Last weekend most of our staff did the Cancer Walk together. There were supposedly 500,000 who did the walk (and I believe it!). Some interesting observations on things that never would have happened in the U.S.
1. My best estimate is that about 75% of the walkers were wearing JEANS. We’re on a tropical island, it’s HOT. I’ve even grown accustomed to wearing jeans to work in the heat, but on a 5k?
2. They ran out of water. Stupidly, we didn’t bring our own, because our friend who had done the walk in the past said that they had stations every half-k with bottles of water. Well, they ran out. People went crazy digging through the abandoned water stations for used bottles with even a little water left—it was kind of scary. Thankfully the station at the very end had water. We thought the walk was a 10k and were getting nervous about making it in the heat without water, but we were relieved when we realized we were at the finish line. Afterwards there was a crazy concert with a lot of famous Dominican singers and groups. It was fun but PACKED and people kept passing out/being dragged out because of the heat—yikes. I’m glad we went and it was a motivating environment but I became aware of some pretty big cultural differences!
I can’t think of much else. This past Sunday I woke up dead—I think I was severely dehydrated—but now I’m back. This upcoming weekend’s a long weekend so we’re heading to a beach on the north coast. After that I’ll definitely be keeping in better touch. I miss you all!
WORK
One of my favorite times of my week is the time I spend with Guilena. Every session with her has been especially fruitful and memorable. During one session, I brought along Green Eggs and Ham for my next student. Milena (10) started reading it aloud as I was teaching Guilena, and all of her other children gathered around her to listen. Then her husband even came over and kept commenting: “Wow, doesn’t she read well? She is a good reader!” He then explained to me that she had only started going to school three years ago. It was so nice to see her family so proud of her, and the little ones excited about her being able to read. Unfortunately, not all of her siblings have been so quick. Samuel (12) still cannot read, and is on the same reading level as his younger brothers Juli (6) and Johan (8).
During another session, she’s breast-feeding Katrina (13 months) while Johana (3), Joelito (5), and Juli (6) color on the floor with paper and crayons I’ve been bringing lately. I really don’t have to bring anything as a distraction because her children are so CALM (not in school! But in the house I think they’ve adapted to their mother’s health situation—she’s suffered a stroke and (I think) mental illness and she’s very sensitive to loud noise). ANYWAYS, we’re reviewing vowel sounds with flashcards we’ve made. She starts to make the “i-i-i” sound and suddenly Katrina (the baby) lifts up her head and says “i-i-i” and then starts laughing. Then we move on to “a.” Guilena starts to repeat the sound “a-a-a,” and then Katrina lifts her head and starts making the sound. Then the three on the floor chime in with “a”s. Guilena and I got a kick out of it. The kids knew we liked it so they were all giggling. It was so cute and also exciting because at least they’re getting SOME kind of exposure to sounds and letters! My time with Guilena has really shown me how valuable our small and limited services can be to the people in the batey. ALSO, small addition from our session today: a neighbor brought Guilena a small bowl of food for the whole family. She insisted on offering me some, which she always does when they have food, and she actually put the spoon in my mouth. THEN, she scooped spoons into other bowls for her children, Johana (3) eats her spoonful, goes into the corner, pees in the bowl, empties it out onto the floor, and then licks the edge of the bowl. It was so painful to watch. Guilena was aware of what was happening but not looking closely, so I didn’t want to say anything and embarass her incase it was okay with her, but at the same time it was so awful! Oh man, it’s a whole ‘nother world here.
I’ve been becoming closer to Elizabeth, one of the other women I teach, as well. She’s the same age as me (22). She’s definitely a lot more fortunate than other people in the batey. She has a Dominican “husband” (not legally but effectively) with a pretty steady job. For her son’s third birthday (he’s now 4), they had a party with a big cake and music. She showed me pictures—pretty much all of the kids in the batey were there (you couldn’t keep them out—they live on top of each other). She said that she wasn’t sure when they’d be able to celebrate his birthday again, but that they really wanted to do it for him. When the water was out, they didn’t have to go to the river but instead could afford to buy clean water (pretty expensive). I got a striking example a couple of weeks ago to do with the range of economic situations among the people in Batey Lecheria. Getting nails done and going to the salon is a big thing here, and everyone in my neighborhood does it—it’s not a sign of having money if you go to the salon on a regular basis. For the most part, salons do not seem to be a luxury accessible to those who live in the batey. However, Elizabeth goes pretty frequently (once every week or two), and she tells me that it only costs 30 pesos (less than 1 USD) for a pedicure. The same week that she tells me this, Katie found out that Altagracia (mother of 7) had a lump in her breast. A consultation at the dispensary PLUS a prescription would cost 40 pesos (a little over 1 USD), and so she decided she could not afford to go to the dispensary. Luckily, it turned out to be an infection within the next week. One woman has no trouble dropping a dollar once a week to get her nails done, while another was going to let a lump in her breast go unchecked because of the one dollar price barrier. Another strange thing about this range is that sometimes it’s present within a family. Elizabeth lives right next door to her three sisters, their families, her brother, and her mother. Elizabeth and Jaqueline (one of her sisters) both have husbands and one-two children each and are financially stable. Luisa (another sister), however, seems to be a little crazy (we’re not sure if it’s drugs or just a condition) and pretty violent with her kids (i.e. sticking her 4 year-old’s hands in boiling water and hitting her 5 month-old). Melania (the final sister) has three children under the age of 5 and her husband is in jail. She has been sick for more than a month, and I just found out that it’s because she tried to abort her baby (it’s illegal here but apparently she was taking something orally?) and it failed. So now she’s on her way to having her fourth child. I wouldn’t write anything about these people simply for shock value; it just seems like a very strange family dynamic. They all live next door to one another, are always sitting together in their plastic chairs, and seem to help each other out (with childcare, emotional support), but at the same time it doesn’t seem strange that they live in very different realities.
PLAY
Last month I went on a day-trip to Constanza, a beautiful valley in the mountains, with a really interesting group (an 80 year-old visiting nun, two German visitors, a fellow volunteer, and a Dominican family). Our bus driver for school wanted to take us to his hometown. We ended up seeing none of the town or tourist attraction, but we had such a nice time with his family. His entire family lives there (mother, siblings, nieces/nephews). Most of their houses are very simple (well, they’re shacks, but they look pretty good compared to the batey) but they had all of their necessities met. Their houses are right on the river bank so we spent a lot of the afternoon in the river with about 30 nieces and nephews. It was so nice that they have this to themselves! It was clean (and cold!) but beautiful. This is where most of them bathe—it was funny because we were swimming and playing with the kids and then Julio (who we work with) offered us a bar of soap. Anyways, his family was so kind to us. They showed us around—they grow flowers to sell (even to export!)—and they served us lunch. Then we realized that he didn’t even tell his family that he was bringing all of us! They were really kind. I really didn’t want to leave and told Katie that I could see myself living there! I just don’t know what I’d do….also, the mosquitoes (different breed from the ones here—I bled immediately once they bit me) were all over me—my legs were SWOLLEN for the next couple of days. But if I could get past that, I wouldn’t hesitate to live there for a while—it was really beautiful and refreshing to be away from the noise and the heat.
The next weekend we had a volunteer weekend with volunteers from Nuestros Pequenios Hermanos (aa network of orphanages in Latin America) on the beach. We most notable thing about the weekend is where we stayed. We have a rich Dominican contact who owns a beach house and opens her home to us for retreats. This house was literally ON the beach—her yard looked like a resort. Pictures on facebook—it was surreal! The beach it’s on isn’t very notable—not in my guidebook or anything—but it was absolutely pristine. This country is so beautiful—I wish so much that we were closer to the beach (we’re about two hours away—all because of traffic—and Santo Domingo is on the water but doesn’t have a beach :()
Last weekend most of our staff did the Cancer Walk together. There were supposedly 500,000 who did the walk (and I believe it!). Some interesting observations on things that never would have happened in the U.S.
1. My best estimate is that about 75% of the walkers were wearing JEANS. We’re on a tropical island, it’s HOT. I’ve even grown accustomed to wearing jeans to work in the heat, but on a 5k?
2. They ran out of water. Stupidly, we didn’t bring our own, because our friend who had done the walk in the past said that they had stations every half-k with bottles of water. Well, they ran out. People went crazy digging through the abandoned water stations for used bottles with even a little water left—it was kind of scary. Thankfully the station at the very end had water. We thought the walk was a 10k and were getting nervous about making it in the heat without water, but we were relieved when we realized we were at the finish line. Afterwards there was a crazy concert with a lot of famous Dominican singers and groups. It was fun but PACKED and people kept passing out/being dragged out because of the heat—yikes. I’m glad we went and it was a motivating environment but I became aware of some pretty big cultural differences!
I can’t think of much else. This past Sunday I woke up dead—I think I was severely dehydrated—but now I’m back. This upcoming weekend’s a long weekend so we’re heading to a beach on the north coast. After that I’ll definitely be keeping in better touch. I miss you all!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)