Returned from my se
cond campo stay yesterday. This was the one with the group, not with my family. We arrived on
Tuesday morning in Limonal, about 20 minutes from Jarabacoa. We drove through the campo dropping people off, and I ended up being last. I lived with Maridalia and her grandson. His parents live not far away in Limonal, but he lives with Maridalia now so that she's not alone. The house is pretty similar to the house in Manabao, but the part with the bedrooms is made completely of block, whereas the house in Manabao is a block foundation with
wood walls. Also, the outside
kitchen is its own building, and in between there is a nice porch
area where we ate our meals.
Everyday people stopped by--sons, sister, neices, grandkids, friends. It was pretty fun; we'd eat lunch together, sit and talk, sit
and play dominoes. I liked my doña (Mari) a lot. She told me when I first arrived that she wasn't very nice; I wasn't really sure how to respond to that though. I giggled. But she is, in fact, very nice. She's pretty laid back--she basically told me to come home whenever--I felt
like she let me run on my own schedule. The first day she saw that I didn't eat much meat, so the next day she just didn't make any. I was pretty happy with that--not that the meat here isn't good (mostly chicken criolla, sometimes pork or beef), it's just way more that I'm used to. Most days we would allgo over to each
others' houses to visit. Occasionally we'd call each other, but w/o
cell phone service in some houses, it was easier to just
show up. So we'd walk through the campo (the 2 streets of it) picking people up gradually and eventually all congregate at someone's house
for a study session
or a party. We'd hang out and either play dominoes or dance, or both. It was really fun and I
loved the relaxed atmosphere of these times with our small group and some of our families.
I'm doing pretty well at dominoes these days, and we practiced merengue, bachata, and a little bit of salsa. It was great.
We were given ridiculous amouts of food. Any time you visited someone, even for an interview, or to pick up a friend, you were offered pop
or coffee or juice or cake or
dulces. One woman sent me home from an interview with a
bag of bananas. Once we were sitting at
a closed colmado waiting for friends, and a boy from the
house across the street brought us dulce de coco. I'm not sure I've ever experienced a more welcoming atmosphere! And Gail & Janel's doña made dulce de mani--officially
one of the best things I've ever tasted! They learned how to make it and told me, so I'll give it a shot later.
Both Wednesday and Thursday I went to Salto de Jimenoa--a really
cool waterfall not far from Limonal. Wednesday I went with two of my host cousins
--both pretty young mothers--and the four-year-old
son of one of them. I'm really glad I did this for the chance to spend time with my family. At
the waterfall we skipped rocks and, after Waniel was done being shy, he and I
made "cakes"
in the sand.
Oh, and by the way,
this was the first time I'd ridden on a motorcycle!
Terrifying.
I was sure we were going to crash and die, and Yunina was even going slowly forme. Anyway I did make it there and back in one piece.
On the way back, we
stopped at Wendy and Waniel's house. Now, at this point, I was still bitter about my camera
being stolen from the clinic, even after finding out Megan's computer was stolen from her house. Anyway, we stopped and sat on the little porch and she brought us crackers and juice. I could tell the house was small, but couldn't get a look inside. "So this is where I live...for now," she said. Then we began to explain. Here's the
story I managed to piece together:
About four years ago, Wendy and her husband were living in a nice house (similar to what my house in Jarabacoa looks like) up the hill. They had a son. They wanted
to move to the States for better opportunities
for themselves and Waniel, so a year later Wendy's
husband moved to New
York--as so many men do--to try to establish residency. Though he was trained as an odontologist, he
wasn't able to keep a job in that field and ended up working in a place that prints brochures. In the early spring
of this year, Wenday and much of the family were at Maridalia's house to be with Mari's grandpa--
Wendy and Yunina's great-grandpa--as he died
(Mari's parents had
died in recent years
as well). Wendy's husband was home for a time and was with Waniel. While at Mari's, Wendy got a call that her house was on fire. Thinking her husband and son were in danger, she rushed home. They were not there ("Grac
ias a Dios," she said) but everything in the house was gone.
She showed me photos. Everything was black. They floor was covered in debris, there were jagged holes where doorways had be
en. Bedsprings stuck up out of a charred mass. A set of shelves seemed to have nearly survived
the fire--the items on it had not. Sorting through the rubble, they
found a few things. Wendy's husband's backpack had survived--this meant he still had his passport andpapers, and luckily, could still return to New York to work. Wendy's papers were destroyed--meaning she must go through the
arduous task of applying for them again. Waniel's passport and residency card were intact--she showed them to me--but
charred such that they still have to reapply. That's it--all their other belongings were destroyed. Apparently the fire was caused by an
electrical problem. Wendy mentioned some kind of legal action, but it didn't sound very promising. It will be quite a while
before Wendy and Waniel can join Wendy's husband in New York--if they can save enough money for it.
After the fire, Wendy and Waniel had moved to this habitación. Wendy's husband is in New York. When she went to put the
photos away, I peaked
inside. It was one room, smaller than my parent's living room. I saw a bed, some shelves, a stove, and I think a sink. No bathroom--I noticed a latrine out back.
Before we left, Wendy said "So, this is my house, you are always welcome here if you need anything. A su orden," At your service. I felt like someone had ripped my heart out and stomped on it.
Went to Salto the next day with the group--this was a blast. We swam in the "restricted" area where there were already
about 20 other people, and climbed around on the rocks. We wanted to jump off one of the high rocks, but apparently Mark would have gotten in trouble if he let us. By Friday, most of us were finishing up out interview questions, and some of us went out to conduct interviews. A little girl followed me to all
my interviews that day. It was annoying, but I knew it was because her parents worked dawn until well after dusk, and she had nothing else to do. I interviewed several people whose family members had died of cancer, others about their own health. Everyone was remarkably open, and usually joyful at having visitors. I interviewed one man suffering from colorectal
cancer. He and his wife and the kids grinned t
he whole time. His wife brought me fresh-made juice. During the interview, he talked constantly about how his fate was in God's hands and was glad to hear I agreed. His wife was the woman who sent me home with bananas. Andrew and
I also went to the next campo over for interviews--this one was
clearly much poorer. Many houses were made only of wood with no block at all. Our first interviews were on a crowded porch with people who turned out to be Haitian. I've never felt so out of place in my life! Not only was Spanish difficult for us, it was difficult for the few men there who spoke it. Most didn't (none of the women did) and sometimes seemed offended when we asked it we could interview them in Spanish. One man, though, gave me his name and phone number--I wasn't quite sure why. I told him if I ever
wanted to learn Creole I'd give him a call.
Another interview in this town was at an old house up on a hill overlooking ranch and farmland. We spoke with a shriveled old woman in a hairnet and her son. They were thrilled to have someone visit. As with most Dominicans, we were greeted with bigs hugs and kisses on the cheek. The old woman brought us coffee, which I made my self drink. I gathered that the son was suffering from brain cancer that had metastasized, and that his
sister had died of it. Neither he
nor his mother seemed to know what cancer was. Both Andrew and I
sat back and surveyed the scene while the other conducted their interview. Both of us later
said, for reasons we couldn't quite articulate, that it hadn't quite seemed real--it felt more like were watching a documentary about some strange land than as if we were really there our
selves. We got back late--so late Mari was a little worried. Yunina was mad--playfully--apparently I'd been supposed to go swimming in the river with her, though I couldn't remember having agreed to that. She had a party for us at her house that night--it was lovely! There was pop and snacks and candy, a bunch of my relatives and people from the neighborhood. We danced merengue and bachata and were mesmerized watching Yunina and one of the guys dance salsa. I felt so at home in Limonal, I didn't want to leave! I got big hugs from everyone, and promised over
and over that I would really come back to visit. I'm not entirely sure they believed me. Trouble is, when I do visit, I think I'll be very busy; I think I promised half the campo I'd see them again.
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