...when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse." Whoever wrote that never experienced a Christmas on this island. It is always loud here. Remember, I live in the second loudest country in the world. My Night before Christmas played out a little different than Mr. Moore and Livingstons traditional story.
Holidays here came and are going fast. Didn’t feel too much like the holidays, although we did get a couple days of “chilly weather.” By their standards-high 60s, and they think that they are experiencing the cold winter of Nueva Yol (New York, as my doña calls it). When I try to explain that it is as cold in New York as sticking yourself in our freezer, which doesn’t get too cold, I get a blank stare. She thinks I am lying. Lost cause. I have to simply assure her that “burr, yes it is cold here.” She smiles, excited to be able to experience the cold that she thinks she can relate to the Big Apple, the city of all cities for them- the city where all Americans live, because all other forty-nine states don’t exist. Except maybe Florida because Miami is where the other Americans live who don’t live in New York City. And although they know I am from California, to them, it is all part of New York. Needless to say, I can’t wait until sister comes with a world map. Geography 101.
Back to Christmas. Christmas Eve consisted of a hodge podge of all the ingredients one can possibly find in our town, which don’t get too excited, it isn’t much. It is the only day of the year that families use their oven to cook chicken and pork instead of as a shed to store dishes (reason: gas is $$). Our dinner table consisted of an array of chicken and pork, rice, Russian potato salad (I have yet to find out what is Russian about it), spaghetti, cabbage salad, bread, apples, almonds, raisins and grapes (the four traditional Christmas treats-they only appear at Christmas), what I call my cookie attempt (the oven just doesn’t work properly and killed my snickerdoodles) and an equivalent to a pumpkin pie that I made that was very successful. The family prepared a plate of food for the neighbors so that they could have a taste. We ate together around the table after giving away half of the feast and talked. My sister snickered at my pie, smelled it and refused to eat it. I wanted to reach across the table grab her head and stick it in the not-so- Russian salad. I gave her a smirk when everyone told me how delicious it was. I even prepared one for my fishermen at our meeting on Christmas Day-definite win. Some people here are just so opposed to trying anything new. Some are too set in their ways, never divvying from what they know. It is a whole other story that their minds in school are never worked to be creative and think outside of the box and do something different than the rest of the group. Don’t even get me started.
So my first Dominican Christmas… I survived the mockery of my cooking, what else can I say…The holidays here can’t compare to the States. Dinner was nice, but that was it, nothing else. O wait, forgot to mention one thing. Remember I live in an evangelical community? Well, they have a tradition that the week leading up to Christmas they go caroling. Real cute right. O, just wait. They “carol” more like sing loud somewhat angry sounding church songs from 2am until 6am going through the streets to people’s homes to “save” (convert) people. I think I prefer some good old fashioned Jingle Bells.
2011 is right around the corner. My community is basically paralyzed until after the 6th of January when they will celebrate Three Kings Day. I asked what they customarily do, but I was told nothing. Apparently, a good excuse to extend the holidays and relax. I’ll take it. It is nice to be able to take a few days to myself, put work aside and just talk to people (which is basically what I have been doing anyways), enjoy the beach, clear my mind and find a place to live (cross your fingers things work out). My dad even pulled out some machines that the artisans use and showed me how to make some coconut jewelry. Final product still in the making.
I am excited to start the New Year. Pretty symbolic in the sense that I am going to really begin my projects here. I will be proposing a lot of New Year’s resolutions to my fishermen, which include hopefully constructing and opening our cooperative this coming year. Who knows what this year has in store, but I know I am in for a wild ride.
Wishing everyone a healthy and happy New Year. Let this one be sweeter than the last.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
You Don't Say
Written: December 21
I was interviewing one of my favorite doñas in the community the other day. My interviews never consist of just going through a survey. That would freak them out. Too official for them and let’s be real-you can’t really get to know people by doing that anyways. It is all about conversating, drinking coffee, burping babies, sometimes helping peel fresh peas that they are working on for dinner. You get my drift. So, we are “conversating.” She is explaining to me why her grandson lives with her. His mother left him when he was a baby. Why? She didn’t like to cook. I hope that is what they told their grandson. Apparently an aversion for cooking is fair game for leaving your family. It does take up a lot of time, but really?
They say when you can cook, you better find yourself a man if you haven’t already because you are ready to get married. It appears that when you are sick of it, you are also ready for a divorce.
I was interviewing one of my favorite doñas in the community the other day. My interviews never consist of just going through a survey. That would freak them out. Too official for them and let’s be real-you can’t really get to know people by doing that anyways. It is all about conversating, drinking coffee, burping babies, sometimes helping peel fresh peas that they are working on for dinner. You get my drift. So, we are “conversating.” She is explaining to me why her grandson lives with her. His mother left him when he was a baby. Why? She didn’t like to cook. I hope that is what they told their grandson. Apparently an aversion for cooking is fair game for leaving your family. It does take up a lot of time, but really?
They say when you can cook, you better find yourself a man if you haven’t already because you are ready to get married. It appears that when you are sick of it, you are also ready for a divorce.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Blast into the Past
Rainy day. Stuck inside unless I want to drown in puddles and slip and slide on our muddy dirt road. I must say, these days are really nice. The air is even a little chilly today. That’s a first.
I’ve had a lot of time during my diagnostic and interviewing time to really observe the people in my community. I’ve developed strong relationships with certain people in the community. One person that I want to share with you worth mentioning is my 76 year old grandfather. This man works like a caballo-it is written all over his sun kissed wrinkled skin. Three times a day he walks to and from his farm where he grows all the food that the family eats. He also walks his five massive cows (yes with a leash made of rope) around the community to bring them to the places where they feed on the land. I went with him one day to see part of the land that he farms. We walked over tons of plants and bushes. Thinking that we were just crossing through overgrown weeds, he explained to me that each plant actually was a crop. Great, I am stepping all over the family’s food. No te preocupes (don’t worry)-they all run over their crops apparently. Most of his crops are viveres, or starchy vegetables like potatoes, what is equivalent to sweet potato, pumpkin, and yucca. I would’ve never known that these plants actually bear food or that each one was a different type of plant as most of them looked the same.
There is something that draws me to my abuelito. Maybe it is his knowledge of the land, knowing every leaf to pick from our yard that can be used to make tea, using the direction of the sun to tell what time it is, his ability to trek up a mountain faster than me, how he walks through the streets with his machete in hand- I don’t know. There is a sense of peace that shines from him that must come from living his simple, stress free, yet laborious life. And although he is an elder in the community who is still really living by our times, in like the early 1900s or something (and not the city in the early 1900s, think middle of Kansas), he just understands me. When my uncles are around asking me questions about life in the states and they just refuse to believe certain things I say, like how when a man marries a woman, it is not socially acceptable for that man to be with other women, my abuelo will speak up “Things are different there, it isn’t like here. Men and women are faithful right?” He just genuinely understands. And by understand, by no means can he comprehend the life of someone who lives in the States, who drives to the grocery store to choose from an entire aisle what type of cereal they want for breakfast (“cereal for breakfast, what’s that?” he would say). But there is something about him that I just connect with. We are opposites -black and white, but there is some gray where we have come to develop a relationship different from anything I have ever had. I sit for hours with him underneath the big mango tree talking about everything from how the house I live in here used to be fields to grow tobacco or explaining that in California it is really four hours earlier than it is here, learning how he could never eat the cows that he raises, how he is convinced I will be sick of mangos during mango season, together trying to explain anything at all to my very senile grandmother... And sometimes we just sit in silence. But that is okay here. You don’t need to fill silence with conversation. There is no “awkward silence” and I am getting used to this. When I just don’t have anything to say, it’s nice to know that I don’t need to say anything at all.
So I hope you feel like you got a snapshot of Abuelito. He is an intelligent man- not from a University education (he cannot read or write, there was no school here when he was young)- but smart nonetheless. A University education is not the type of intelligence he can use in his daily life. It is his experience and understanding of his surroundings that is his survival kit. Intelligence isn’t necessarily packaged in the form of a book or a classroom education where I live-it is all relative.
But there is something about my abuelito. I wish I could explain in words, but I think you just need to sit with him under the mango tree to really understand.
-picture coming soon. (I know you are intrigued, don't lie) My hand held digital camera broke and with it went the photo of abuelo-
I’ve had a lot of time during my diagnostic and interviewing time to really observe the people in my community. I’ve developed strong relationships with certain people in the community. One person that I want to share with you worth mentioning is my 76 year old grandfather. This man works like a caballo-it is written all over his sun kissed wrinkled skin. Three times a day he walks to and from his farm where he grows all the food that the family eats. He also walks his five massive cows (yes with a leash made of rope) around the community to bring them to the places where they feed on the land. I went with him one day to see part of the land that he farms. We walked over tons of plants and bushes. Thinking that we were just crossing through overgrown weeds, he explained to me that each plant actually was a crop. Great, I am stepping all over the family’s food. No te preocupes (don’t worry)-they all run over their crops apparently. Most of his crops are viveres, or starchy vegetables like potatoes, what is equivalent to sweet potato, pumpkin, and yucca. I would’ve never known that these plants actually bear food or that each one was a different type of plant as most of them looked the same.
There is something that draws me to my abuelito. Maybe it is his knowledge of the land, knowing every leaf to pick from our yard that can be used to make tea, using the direction of the sun to tell what time it is, his ability to trek up a mountain faster than me, how he walks through the streets with his machete in hand- I don’t know. There is a sense of peace that shines from him that must come from living his simple, stress free, yet laborious life. And although he is an elder in the community who is still really living by our times, in like the early 1900s or something (and not the city in the early 1900s, think middle of Kansas), he just understands me. When my uncles are around asking me questions about life in the states and they just refuse to believe certain things I say, like how when a man marries a woman, it is not socially acceptable for that man to be with other women, my abuelo will speak up “Things are different there, it isn’t like here. Men and women are faithful right?” He just genuinely understands. And by understand, by no means can he comprehend the life of someone who lives in the States, who drives to the grocery store to choose from an entire aisle what type of cereal they want for breakfast (“cereal for breakfast, what’s that?” he would say). But there is something about him that I just connect with. We are opposites -black and white, but there is some gray where we have come to develop a relationship different from anything I have ever had. I sit for hours with him underneath the big mango tree talking about everything from how the house I live in here used to be fields to grow tobacco or explaining that in California it is really four hours earlier than it is here, learning how he could never eat the cows that he raises, how he is convinced I will be sick of mangos during mango season, together trying to explain anything at all to my very senile grandmother... And sometimes we just sit in silence. But that is okay here. You don’t need to fill silence with conversation. There is no “awkward silence” and I am getting used to this. When I just don’t have anything to say, it’s nice to know that I don’t need to say anything at all.
So I hope you feel like you got a snapshot of Abuelito. He is an intelligent man- not from a University education (he cannot read or write, there was no school here when he was young)- but smart nonetheless. A University education is not the type of intelligence he can use in his daily life. It is his experience and understanding of his surroundings that is his survival kit. Intelligence isn’t necessarily packaged in the form of a book or a classroom education where I live-it is all relative.
But there is something about my abuelito. I wish I could explain in words, but I think you just need to sit with him under the mango tree to really understand.
-picture coming soon. (I know you are intrigued, don't lie) My hand held digital camera broke and with it went the photo of abuelo-
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