#28: El Merengue

If you'd asked me 3 months ago if I liked the merengue, I only would have had a vague knowledge of what you were talking about. If you'd asked me the same question 2 months ago, I would have made a face. One month ago, I would have shrugged indifferently.

But today, I'm in love. The merengue is a type of Dominican music that was born right here in the Cibao Valley, although it's popular all over Latin America. The Hispanic Caribbean (DR, Cuba, Puerto Rico) is famous for its music and dance styles (think salsa if you haven't heard of merengue). Unlike most of Latin America, the Caribbean has very little indigenous influence, thanks to the Europeans who killed them off 600 years ago. However, there exists a huge African influence due to the importation of slaves to work the sugar plantations. (Thank you to Luis Felipe Rodriguez, my Historia del Caribe professor, for imparting your wisdom.) When the slaves arrived from Africa, they brought with them a beat. As the saying goes, the rest is history. African beats and Spanish language merged and evolved to give birth to a variety of musical styles, from el merengue to la bachata to el bolero to el sol to reggaeton. Today music and dance are some of the defining elements of Caribbean culture. You're bound to hear it blasting from storefronts and car windows, and it's not unusual to see a couple do an impromptu dance or two in the middle of dinner.

Like I said, I wasn't always a fan of the merengue. It kind of got on my nerves, actually, and my friend had to convince me to even try to learn the dance. I didn't even realize how much it was growing on me until Friday. I was on another one of those indescribable adventures that one can only find in the Caribbean. We took a boat out into a park of little islands called Los Haiteses off the Samaná peninsula. I could've sworn that we were in a scene from "Jurassic Park", and when we got off the boat and into kayaks to explore the mangrove swamps, I was pretty sure an ancient dinosaur would show up any minute. After kayaking, we explored caves that had been inhabited by los Ciguayos, indigenous peoples who lived here centuries ago. Since we didn't end up getting eaten by a T-rex after all, we got back on the boat. To no one's surprise, Omega El Fuerte (a popular merengue singer) started blasting through the speakers. I was already blissfully happy; how can you not be on a gorgeous boat in the middle of the Caribbean? But I couldn't sit still. The rhythm was too alluring, for me and everyone else. When one of the sailors held out his hand to invite me to dance, I just about jumped out of my seat. 

That night, we asked around and found a great hole in the wall place to dance. And dance we did, till 3 in the morning to be exact. And being white lends itself to all kinds of piropos along the lines of "You're such a good dancer! Well, for an American." and "Don't you want to move here so we can dance together forever?" (I was enjoying myself so much at the time that I was a tiny bit tempted.) If anything has redeemed for me the craziness that is the DR, it's music and dancing. It's the long nights at the discotecas and the music streams out from every street corner that make it every bit worth it. 

Stay, girl, STAY!

The above phrase is one I've used countless times with our family pets over the years. It's been especially common with our most recent addition, Lucy, but more so back when we still fantasized that maybe one day she would listen. While it hasn't been too effective with Lucy, I'm hoping I can talk myself into it.

No, I don't generally run at top speed before leaping on top of someone. But as I only have 33 1/2 days left here, it's already getting a little difficult to be present (probably counting down doesn't help too much). Life here has settled into a rhythm. I'm haven't had any exotic adventures in a few weeks, and the exciting daily discoveries of a new culture have slowed. Plus, I have so much to look forward to at home! Anticipating time with family and friends and my last semester at Wheaton makes it easy to check out and go on a little mental vacation to the good ole US of A. Yet I don't want to spend my last month+ here mentally absent. I have to remind myself that today I live in Santiago, so I have to stay in Santiago, not only physically but mentally as well. 

Plus as it’s turned out, I’m more or less a failure at cultural adaptation. My “adapting” to the DR can be best compared to a rollercoaster. My emotions from day to day or even hour to hour are outrageously discrepant; I can’t manage to maintain being happy or sad or angry or even ambivalent. Which is humbling considering how culturally competent I used to think I was. Also, I am a big fat complainer. I complain about my food, my host family, my classes, the weather, the language, you name it. Which, if you’ve followed my blog, you already know. Although the traditional culture shock diagram has been largely irrelevant to me since I’ve never followed the typical culture shock trajectory, I’ve taken enough diversity classes to recognize the signs that one is adapting negatively to a new environment. And I won’t for a second deny that’s me. I could write a book on all the things I’ve rejected in this culture, for better or worse. What’s more, I used to consider myself more or less an optimist, but I’ve found here that a lot of time I struggle to see the good in things. 

But there comes a time when you have to make a decision (regardless of your life situation, your cultural context, or your God-given temperament) to appreciate who you are and where you are. Despite the stinging comments, the carbohydrate overload, and the occasional nights alone playing Solitaire, I know that coming here was not a mistake. A dear professor encouraged me recently to “assume there is a plotline here”. Life has a plotline, and when you can’t see the plotline, check out the scenery. Meaning, I can’t know the “point” of my being here (since becoming fluent in Spanish is not happening, although I am improving), but I can take small steps to appreciate the beauty in every day. So here’s the goal: for every day, I have to come up with something I like or appreciate about the country, the culture, or just little blessings that come along. And I'll probably post a few on the blog, so stay posted!

Today I am appreciating the fact that tomorrow I get to cross an item off my bucket list: learning to kayak! The DR really has it all -- mountains, beaches, cities, countryside, you name it -- that allow for a million incredible different experiences. Pictures to come!

ay mi madre.

Oh culture shock...does it ever truly end? I really don’t think I’ll ever get used to the Dominican style of communication. It's characterized by a bluntness that takes me by surprise every time. Tonight I was talking with a Dominican girl I’d just met who observed aloud to several other people that my accent was bad. Which was a wee bit discouraging seeing as I have been pouring BLOOD SWEAT AND TEARS into learning this !@#$ language! As I’ve mentioned before, Dominicans say anything and everything that may pop into their heads. They rarely deem it necessary to stop themselves from saying what they’re thinking, and sometimes when they’re talking I just wish there was some way to install a filter in there. (Especially as a girl from the South; where I’m from, even if you’re thinking something offensive it is never ever ever acceptable to say it to someone’s face.) At least I’m not the only one; a girl I know is regularly asked what she’s doing about her acne. And here’s a funny/slightly saddening one: there was this guy I was actually friends with. We’d spent a decent amount of time together, and I thought I had found the one Dominican guy who was okay with just being friends. Until one day, that is. We were talking over ice cream and I had just asked him about his plans post-graduation. “I want to find an American woman to marry me so I can get a visa,” he said matter-of-factly. I started choking a little. The conversation was in Spanish, so I looked over at my American friend to make sure I’d heard him right. Although she succeeded in keeping her food down, she looked just as shocked as I was. I looked back at him to see if he was joking. Not even a little bit. His face was as serious as any. It’s been a little awkward since then.

This can be observed not only in conversations like this one but the fact that men publicly utter whatever lewd thoughts they’re having about a woman’s body. And while I’m ranting making objective observations about Dominican society as a whole, I have got to say that being here has made me so disillusioned with relationships. Everywhere I go, I see and hear women being objectified. I am seen here not as Erin but as an anonymous American woman. I’m not valued for who I am but as a means to an end. Men look at us and it’s like those cartoons where dollar signs show up in the characters’ eyes, because they see us as their chance at a US visa. Sadly, it’s not just American women that are objectified, it’s women in general. Millions of Latin American women grow up with this mentality that they are valuable only for what they can offer a man. But that’s not even the worst part about gender relationships that I’ve observed here. Fidelity is practically unheard of.  A sociology professor at my university here said recently that “99.9% of Dominican men cheat on their wives”. The mentality is that cheating is inevitable; women expect it and men excuse it.

Sometimes I just wake up and want to come home. Spanish is still coming very slowly, and a lot of times I don’t feel like I’m making much improvement. But I’ve been learning a lot from the book of James. James tells us to “Count it all joy when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect in complete, lacking in nothing” (James 1:2-4). If there’s anything I’ve learned about myself the past few months, it is that I’m imperfect and lacking in all kinds of things. Which gives me all the more reason to count my trials as pure joy, knowing that they will provide me with much-needed steadfastness in my faith.  All my Spanish language woes? My deep disappointment and frustration with Dominican society? I consider them all joy.  

And if that’s not enough, then there’s the irony of all ironies, that of the cross. That Jesus, being perfect, without ever having committed a single error, having been the one person to ever have loved another flawlessly, allowed himself to die in order to take on the full weight of every sin. And because of that, someone like me is purged of that black mark, that scarlet letter, and can spend not only this life but eternity with God in all his holiness.

That is a lot to rejoice about. Despite everything from annoyance to agony, there is Jesus. There is hope. Not only for tomorrow but for forever. And it doesn’t get better than that.

¡27 charcos!

a herd of blancos fording a river in search of adventure

Remember my blog post from about a month ago about the Perfect Day? Well, Perfect Day #1 had some serious competition last Friday. I've been meaning to blog about it because it was incredible, but then I read my friend Katy's blog entry on it and knew I couldn't top it.  So this is exceptionally lame of me, but instead of writing my own blog entry, I'm just going to post the link to Katy's blog entry on 27 charcos. But to make up for my laziness, I'll post a few pictures (muchísimas gracias to my friend Aaron for documenting our trip with his waterproof camera).

Getting up the cascaditas was a bit of a challenge at times. Lucky for us there were rather strapping young men available to give us a hand.

my jump into the first of the 27 charcos

Not gonna lie, I was a little tempted to skip this one, but fortunately I allowed one of the aforementioned handsome guides to pressure me into jumping.

about to slide down a waterfall after Stephanie, a Dominican friend who came along

After slipping, sliding and jumping through the falls for 3 hours, we're very happy and very hungry. Rice and beans, anyone?

happy two-month-iversary to me!

To commemorate my two-month-iversary of being in the Dominican, I’ve decided to summarize a few of my feelings and experiences thus far. (Hint: look for intra-list parallels.)

Things I Miss About Being in the U.S.

• Seeing family and friends
• Not having to eat rice and beans every day
• Being able to communicate in my native tongue with almost anyone
• Air conditioning
• Being comfortable

Things I Like About the D.R.

• Making new friends with other study abroad students, Dominican and Haitian students at the university, my host family, etc.
• Eating fresh avocado every day. Even if you’re not lucky enough to have it growing outside your window, which I am J, you can buy it on the street for about 50 cents US$.
• Getting/being forced to practice Spanish. My Spanish is still sorely lacking, but at least it’s better than it would be otherwise!
• The sun! After three years of living in the land of endless winter, aka Wheaton IL, I am loving the fact that I can wear a tank top every day.
• Being able to go to the beach, race a horse through the mountains, or jump off the top of 27 consecutive waterfalls, just because it’s the weekend and why not?

Things I’ve Accomplished So Far

• Surviving in a foreign country! It was a little touch-and-go there at the beginning, but I’m still kickin’
• Reading lots and lots of Spanish literature
• Taking public transportation alone (and loving it)
• Learning the basics of merengue and bachata
• Having my first and probably last RDT (the Wheaton acronym for Relationship Defining Talk) entirely in another language. “No, no soy tu novia, y no quiero conocer tu madre.” No, I am not your girlfriend and I do not want to meet your mother.

Things I Hope to Accomplish

• Climbing Pico Duarte, the highest peak in the Caribbean. It’s a journey of 3-4 days (!) that I hope to do after my classes finish.
• Going to Puerto Rico. It’s only a short boat ride away from the eastern coast of Hispaniola!
• Getting significantly better at Spanish. I’ve been on a plateau as far as my improvement for a while now, but I’m hoping for a long upward slope soon!
• Learning how to make mangú and tostones. Who knew I’d be such a fan of plantains?
• Building and strengthening relationships with locals. I enjoy spending time with my host family and support students (Dominican students who volunteer to be friends with foreign students). I’m just starting to branch out to other students from the university, as well as people I meet around town, like the mother and son who sell apples down the street from my apartment.
• Watching lots of PELOTA! If you know anything about Major League Baseball, you know that many players come from the DR. Unlike most of Latin America, the big sport here is not soccer but baseball. The season starts after the end of the World Series, when many of the players return to the DR to play in their home country. The Braves didn’t make it, but maybe the Águilas, Santiago’s baseball team, will have better luck!

los niños del Comedor

I finally took some pictures of the kids I teach every week. So precious!

the famous Juan Carlos, the very first child I met at Comedor

They think they're so cute. They are so right.

hermanitas (sisters)

Comedor Padre Ramon Dubert (comedor translates directly into "dining room" but is a common name for a children's center)

The kids take a break from cracking nuts to take a picture with me

splash

A little while ago, I decided to take a post-lunch siesta. While falling asleep generally doesn't tend to be a problem for me, I couldn't seem to turn off my thoughts. They kept returning to one thing: Helado Splash. I tried to resist, to just keep my eyes closed and wait for sleep to come, but after a few moments I knew what I had to do. I had to get Splash. I needed it.

What is Helado Splash? There are no words. It will suffice to say that it is a frozen yogurt and fruit combination that has changed my life. You know how in the States it's popular to get plain flavored frozen yogurt and mix in fruit or candy bar chunks or whatever? It's the same idea, only a million times better. Here, they put it in a blender! And it's only RD $70, which is just over US $2. To be more specific, Helado Splash is the establishment, and their delicious product is called "Yogurt Fruits"(yet another anglicism).

Yogen Früz is a very similar but slightly more expensive version of Helado Splash. Yummm.

So I jumped up out of bed and hastily grabbed my wallet. I threw it into my tote and hurried out the door and across the busy street to await an "M" concho. (Conchos are public cars with fixed routes around the city. Like an American bus, except it's an ancient Toyota Corolla that may or may not have a couple of holes in the floor. They fit seven people in a car that's intended to fit five. And they're great! I love them because you can get across town in no time for only 50 cents.) I waited a minute and a half that seemed like an hour, because all I could think of was Splash! I eyed the father and daughter standing near me and wondered if they were also waiting for an M; if they were and the next one was almost full, would it be unethical for me to shove past them and get in it myself? Fortunately it turned out they wanted a K, not an M, which put an end to my dilemma. But where was the concho that would carry me to my blissful destination?

Finally I saw an old, sputtering, pathetic vehicle in the distance, with an "M" plastered on the windshield. I waved my arm frantically and unnecessarily and then yanked the door open before it came to a complete stop. I placated myself during the five-minute ride by thinking ahead of time what combination I would get. Should I go bitter or sweet? Should I try coconut this time? "¡DONDE PUEDA!" I screeched, realizing we were nearly there. I scrambled out of the car and made a beeline for the 3rd floor of Bella Terra Mall, barely noticing this time the hissing and "Oye, Americana"-esque remarks. I didn't slow down until I reached the counter. "Pequeño con piña mango y coco," I said breathlessly. (Small with pineapple, mango and coconut: my favorite combination so far.)  My heart rate finally slowed when I sat peacefully at a white plastic table next to the counter and took my first delicious bite, which was everything I had hoped for and more.

Don't start judging me and assuming I've become one of those girls who goes all the way across town to sit and eat ice cream alone. That is only partially true. Allow me to justify myself. First of all, it is only 150 calories, and it has fruit, so it is practically healthy. I only get fruit four times a week, for crying out loud. Also, I'm not the only one. My friend Sydney goes to Splash on her breaks in between classes! And for good reason. It is just that delicious.

the Jimenoa waterfall in Jarabacoa, DR

...And then there's the fact that eating tasty low-calorie frozen yogurt is one of the few things that could distract me, at least momentarily, from the two things that have been bothering me today: first, that I am feeling really homesick, and second, that I have no idea what my life is going to look like seven short months from now. I'm having a great time here, though. Last weekend I went horseback riding through the mountains on a trail that led to the most gorgeous waterfall I could've imagined. There is nothing like racing through a river on horseback with the wind in your face; I seriously felt like I was in a movie.

So please don't think that I'm complaining, because now that I know enough Spanish to at least get around, I'm really enjoying it. But sometimes I can't help but think about how the leaves are probably changing at home right now, and about  what it would look like if we were taking our dogs out for a walk. And how if I were in Wheaton right now, what it would be like to go out to Starbucks and get a pumpkin spice latte with my best friends.

Which leads to my next source of inquietude, which is that I have no idea what I'm going to be doing with my life after I graduate in May.  I'm not so concerned about where I'll work as much as where I'll live. I could see myself in Chicago or Atlanta or LA, and I've even thought about taking a year to do missions in South America.  Most of my friends will probably live in or near Chicago; my family is near Atlanta; LA is where I fell in love with urban ministry. I feel like my heart is in a million different places and I don't know where I belong. Or if I even want to "belong" somewhere yet.

Fortunately, it's hard to stay worried when your life is in a tropical paradise and you have hours' worth of Spanish literature homework awaiting you. This is the first time I've thought seriously about the future since being here, and I doubt it'll cross my mind too often in the months to come either. So don't worry, I'm not going to spend the rest of my semester worrying needlessly and pointlessly about what's to come!

And if I do, Helado Splash is only a concho ride away.

Be your own kind of beautiful.

Let me tell you what I ate for lunch yesterday: una bola de yuca (a fried ball of yuca with cheese in the middle), lasagna, a croissant (again with cheese in the middle), rice, and chinola (passion fruit juice that is mostly just sugar). Not the healthiest meal imaginable. While I usually have access to a fruit or vegetable at each meal, low-calorie options aren't generally available at my house. Initially I was a little alarmed, but my perspective  has begun to shift. The truth is, regardless of what these yuca balls, etc. may be doing to me, I've felt more comfortable in my own skin here than ever before. (I guess being told you're beautiful by random men 3+ times daily eventually starts making an effect on you.)

yuca balls

I (only half-joking) told a Dominican friend recently that I may have gained ten pounds in the first month of being here. "It did you good," he said in complete seriousness. I was taken aback.  My very American mind was bewildered. Was he kidding? He had to be kidding. Unless you have been kept in a concentration camp for an extended period of time, gaining weight is never a good thing. He must have seen my confused expression, because he continued. "Really," he said, "It's good to have some curves."

They call us "blanca con culo". Look it up.

The way various physical characteristics are valued here is gradually making more sense to me. I'd always heard that in Latin American culture having curves is seen as a good thing, but I never truly believed or understood it. Because I've been so brainwashed by our Western ideal of beauty, I've always thought that thinner is inherently and universally better. Thus the bewilderment of my north American worldview crashing into the reality of another culture. I've really been shocked several times, not only by conversations like the one with my friend but with what I've seen: curvaceous women being embraced and appreciated by an astounding number of men. In the streets, in clubs, or on campus, I'm constantly seeing Dominican women who I would not characterize as thin, yet who carry themselves like the beauties they are. And what's more, they don't seem to have a problem getting a boyfriend or a dance partner or anything. Another friend recently explained it to me like this: "You know how American men feel about  feet? That's how Dominicans feel about fat. Yeah, it's better if your girl has nice feet, but no one really cares."

On the other hand, Dominicans have their own ideals of beauty. Most people here are from mixed European and African descent, and their hair is similar to that of most African Americans. It is of the utmost importance that women here have stick-straight, soft hair. They don't usually get relaxers, but from what I gather, they go fairly often to a salon to have their hair blow-dried straight and smooth. Having curly, wavy, or natural hair is apparently a big turn-off, so much so that Dominican men will pay for their girlfriends to get their hair done "right". Maybe it's just a cultural norm that's seen almost as more of a hygienic issue; I mean, I don't know too many American men who want their girlfriends to give up shaving. But I was heartbroken when I realized how this cultural ideal of beauty plays out. Last week at the children's center where I volunteer, one of our sweet students stroked my hair softly with her tiny, olive-colored hand. "Me gusta tu pelo," she said wistfully. "Mi pelo es malo." Which translates into "I like your hair. My hair is bad." Alarmed, I frantically tried to convince her in my broken Spanish that no, her hair was beautiful too. Just different. She smiled faintly but the look in her eyes told me that she didn't believe a word I said.

(Sorry, this isn't her. But you get the idea.)

I've always been fascinated and mystified by the definition of beauty, and the brokenness of poor self-image breaks my heart in a way I can't explain. In the past few years, I have known countless women of various cultural backgrounds who have had deep wounds from receiving messages of what beauty is or isn't. Whether it's an American woman who thinks she needs to lose that bit of fat from her tummy or a Dominican woman who wishes her hair would sway when the wind blows, the story is the same -- a tragedy. It's tragic that from our childhoods, we grow up with ideas of what beauty is and isn't. We're taught to evaluate ourselves and others by a set of standards decided by someone else.

In my opinion, Satan's got a strong foothold in our world in this way. By convincing us that our value depends on our hair or our weight or our color, he also convinces us of a lie about our creator. He wants us to believe that God was sloppy with some of us. Your skin color is a little darker than all the movie stars? You have love handles? Your nose has a bump? You're short? Sorry kid, God must have gotten a little distracted when he was working on you. That's the message we believe when we accept that we are anything less than beautiful.  And it's the message we send others when we categorize them. Whether it's explicit (Top 20 Most Beautiful Women of Wheaton) or implicit (only dancing with the "cute" guys), it's a lie we can't stop telling. And we're all guilty.

How do we stop it? I wish I had an answer for how to take this big fat lie and turn it on its head in an instant, but I don't. All I can offer is that we each have to start with ourselves. Refusing to receive lies and refusing to tell them. Looking for places they've infiltrated our subconscious that we never even recognized and tearing them apart with ferocity. And if you believe in God and his work in your life, handing it over to him and letting him heal your heart from the wounds that have been inflicted upon it.

My friend Liz (whose blog you should definitely follow) has a quote that I love. And if you've ever questioned your worth or your value based on what the world tells you, I want you to memorize it and  repeat it until you believe it: There could never be a more beautiful you.

runner's high + pictures = a very happy blog

The wind has changed, my friends. Gracias a Dios. It changed on Saturday, September 18, exactly one month after I arrived in the Dominican Republic. Because on Saturday, September 18, I had a once-in-a-blue-moon Perfect Day. I had spent Friday night in La Romana, a region on the eastern coast of the island, with other students from my study abroad group. We woke up early and boarded a boat for Isla Saona, an island in the middle of the Caribbean accessible only by an hour and half boat ride.

Isla Saona

It started with the sun shining down on us in all its radiance. The perfect sun was complemented by the perfect sky, as blue as I’d ever seen it. There was the perfect boat complete with a giant hammock. Then there was the perfect music – merengue and bachata, of course – on the deck, which happened to be perfect for dancing.  

los americanos on the boat, pre-sunburn

My Perfect Day got even better upon our arrival at the island, which had perfect clear blue water and perfect white sand. The water felt perfect, the shore was perfect for exploring, and the locals were perfectly patient in teaching this not-so-perfect dancer. I found a perfect shell and held a perfect starfish. I successfully convinced another eager Dominican that I was not perfect for him and yet had a perfectly pleasant interaction. On the way home, I ate my two favorite Dominican dishes: mangú and yuca, both of which were prepared perfectly and for a perfect price (around $1.25 for both). My Perfect Day ended perfectly, with a long, sweet night of sleep. Yes, I walked away with a bit of a sunburn, but who cares? It’s a souvenir from my Perfect Day!

Mangú: a traditional Dominican dish made with plantains, onions and oil

It’s strange considering that exactly one month ago today, I cried four times within a 24-hour period. I’m not talking a few tears welling up in my eyes; I mean I bawled. I couldn’t imagine surviving here for four more months. But I’m still alive! And what’s more, I think I’m on the brink of more than survival. I think I’m going to thrive.

So what has changed other than my Perfect Day, you ask? Circumstantially, not too much. It’s still hot, Dominicans still speak quickly, and my best friends still live thousands of miles away. But while the DR hasn’t changed, I’m able to see my own evolution, slowly but surely.

For one thing, I do understand much more than I did a month ago. When I first arrived, I could probably understand less than 10% of what was said. Now I’d say my comprehension is about 60% on average (with my classroom comprehension about 75% and my “street” comprehension about 50%). Which is clearly still not great, but I take what I can get.

I’ve learned to celebrate my victories, no matter how small. Like being able to take public transportation alone or convince my taxi driver to lower his price by fifty pesos. I’ve learned to really relish accomplishments that wouldn’t normally cause me to bat an eyelash, like getting an “A” on my first literature paper or buying international stamps at the post office. I’ve learned to accept compliments, even if they’re not entirely flattering: “You’re a good dancer. I mean, for a beginner” or “Your accent is getting much better. When you first got here, I couldn’t understand a word you said”.

I've learned to take chances. Yesterday I was running around my campus, which is a great big circle, when I heard a voice say, "Oye, americana. Corre con nosotros." "Hey, American. Run with us." I turned to see two men, both of whom looked very Dominican and very fast. But then I did something entirely out of character: I followed them. We took off, away from the main road and down toward the soccer field. Around the field and through the bushes. And for the next mile we ran together, they were entirely gracious, both about my Spanish and my inability to run as fast as they would've liked. (I don't feel too bad about that, though -- one of them had just come in second place in a marathon.) As I take more chances with Dominicans, I discover  more and more of who they are and the beauty that is inherent within both of us.

in La Romana

pa mangar mi visa

I feel a little guilty for having made all my blog posts so heavy thus far, especially when I'm not normally that profound or introspective of a person. So to show my gratitude to you, my faithful blog readers, and lighten things up around here, I'm going to embark on a new topic: dating and relationships in the Dominican Republic. From a purely anthropological standpoint, of course.

Ways Dating/Relationships Differ in the DR*

1. When someone wants you, you know it. Whether they see you in a bar or on the street, if they're interested, they let you know immediately. Honestly, I don't think many of them have a fear of rejection like in the US. There's an honesty here that I've never encountered before. In the US, dating is a game and the players have to play their roles perfectly or the game is over. You like someone but pretend you don't. Then you try to read their signals for the next few hours or days or weeks. Do they really not like you that much or are they pretending they don't because that's part of the game? Do they want to commit eventually or are they just in it for fun? Dating in the US can be exhausting just from trying to figure out what each other wants. Not the case here. When a Dominican man likes you, he makes a beeline for you and lets you know (sometimes in excessive detail) just exactly how he feels about you. One day I'm going to count the number of piropos I get per hour walking down the street. But that leads to my next point, which is
2. Although it's nice that people are at least straightforward here, most of the time their motivations aren't too pure. When someone "likes" you, it is probably because you are American, and he wants a visa.  This can be a touchy subject as this is where some people depart from their previous transparency. "I don't just like you because you're American! Maybe other guys do, but I'm different." Riiiiight. Seriously though, even guys who already have visas love American girls. They think that white skin is just gorgeous (ironic, since in the US being pale is not considered attractive, and just goes to show that beauty is culturally constructed and is closely related to power dynamics).
3. Relationships move very quickly here. This is probably related at least partially to the fact that Dominicans don't have the whole "chase" stage of relationships. Here is a perfectly hypothetical example: Say I went on a date with a Dominican guy (let me emphasize ONE DATE) and told him that I can't call or text often because it costs too much money. And say the next day he tried to buy me a phone with a plan so I could talk to him all day every day, and became bewildered when I insisted that was inappropriate. When that didn't work, say he attempted to convince me to travel to the other side of the country to meet his family. All after one date. (Of course I am not necessarily speaking from experience, I'm just saying that something like that could happen.)
4. Dominicans use remarkably strong language to describe their feelings. While sometimes this gets annoying, I'm not going to lie: I swooned a little bit the other day when the incredibly handsome guy at the copy center addressed me as "mi amor". But that was just to ask how I wanted my book bound, so you can imagine how Dominicans speak when they actually like you, or say they like you. Remember my previous hypothetical example, and imagine that I hypothetically told the same hypothetical guy that it wasn't going to work out. Then imagine an incessant stream of phone calls and texts with such desperate, melodramatic statements as "I see in my future that I will never find love again". Haha. I feel a little guilty about the endless laughs I've gotten out of that one, but it really does go to show the huge cultural discrepancy between here and the US. Because that kind of sentiment would never be appropriate to express in the US after knowing someone less than a week. Claro.

I've been here for 23 days now. In that relatively short amount of time, I've grown to appreciate some of the ways Dominicans do things differently, especially because I've found the dating scene in the US to be pretty frustrating at times. Yet I can also say that dating here is exhausting and outrageous in its own way. I'm starting to think that maybe this is something that transcends culture; relationships are complicated the world over. But I said I wasn't going to try to go deep and profound on this one, so I won't continue making any grand assessments. I'll just say that personally, I'm a little tired of trying to maneuver through the tricky, risky business of dating in a foreign culture. So rest assured, dear friends, in knowing that I will return home sin un novio in tow. These guys are just gonna have to apply for that visa all by themselves.

*Disclaimer: All of this is admittedly stereotypical,  so take it with a grain of salt and don't cite me on this. But this is what I've gleaned from my own personal experience and conversations with locals, and let's face it, most stereotypes at least have some basis in truth.

**This is a link to a song that's very popular in the DR right now. The words mean something like "I want an American woman so I can swipe a visa". Hahaha. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oRVLPmdVwRA

I'm in love I'm in love I'm in love

Estoy enamorada. I’ve fallen in love. Truth be told, I only met the guy this morning, but when it’s love, it’s love. And as of today, I believe in love at first sight.

Our conversation went something like this (except in Spanish):

Me: Hello.

Him: Hello.

Me: What’s your name?

Him: (something mumbled in Spanish)

Me: One more time?

Him: Juan Carlos.

Me: Oh. I’m Erin. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Juan Carlos.

Then he smiled the most charming smile this country has ever seen and touched me ever so lightly on the shoulder as he walked away. Hours later, I am still thinking about those beautiful eyelashes and that sweet smile. Yes, it was a short conversation, but I know our future is bright. The only problem is that he’s shorter than me, and considerably younger as well. I’d say he’s around six. (Did you see that coming or did I surprise you?)

Okay, the real story is that today I went to a place called Monte Adentro, which is an area on the outskirts of Santiago. I went along with my professor to visit a place where I will be going each week to fulfill my practicum hours for my Community Service class. Monte Adentro is a far cry from La Lotería, the neighborhood in which I reside here. Although La Lotería by American standards could be classified as dirty and a little on the poor side, it’s like Beverly Hills compared to Monte Adentro. The trip there required my taxi winding its way through dusty dirt roads pocked with pot holes and avoiding the occasional pedestrian wandering in the middle of the road. As we traveled away from the university, I saw less apartment buildings and houses and more tiny cement hovels, along with the occasional wooden shack with a collapsed roof. The skin of the people we passed became less caramel and more coffee. (A rant on Dominican racial issues is on its way soon, I’m sure.)

Finally we arrived at a place called Comedor Padre Ramón Duber. It is not a school exactly, but more of a center for children in poverty to participate in various activities such as sports and art. When we climbed out of our taxi, we were greeted by a real-life nun, habit and all. There was some confusion as to why we were there and what I was going to do there (which I’ve learned from my friends on HNGR is not unusual in these kinds of countries). So I left that explanation to my professor and turned my attention to the little knot of children that had formed around the new gringa. And this was the moment I fell in love, not only with sweet Juan Carlos, but with Marecios and Maria de los Angeles and the all rest of the little hooligans who were running amok around that battered little building.

But then Patricia the nun got my attention. Roughly translated, she told me, “We don’t have the resources to teach English to our students. They don’t have things to write with. And it is very hard to keep their attention because they have many problems. So many of them come here hungry.” Then my professor asked me if I thought my classmates and I would be willing to pitch in money to purchase the materials we would use with our children there. If I had known how to say it fast enough, I would have said, “I’ll give them anything! Find me an ATM stat!” Looking around at Comedor, with sheets of plastic for windows and a holey tarp for a ceiling, it was obvious that acquiring even something as cheap as paper and pencils would pose a problem.

We left all too soon, but not before promising my new friends I would be back next week. (And I’m already scheming to figure out how I can work more hours outside of my requirement. Because, you know, I’m in love.) Ironically, being there was the first time I’ve felt really happy since coming here, because it was the first time I wasn't living for me. Since my arrival, so much of my time has been spent on Erin. Doing things that satisfy MY desires or MY needs. Those aren’t inherently bad things, of course. But if I am living for Erin, loving only Erin, and letting my world revolve around Erin, there’s not a lot of room for loving Jesus and his people. Which is Not Okay, and in the end only leaves me empty and alone.

So I’m thrilled for the opportunity to work with my new heartthrob Juan Carlos and all the other precious children at Comedor. Please pray that the love of Christ would shine through me in every interaction, and that He would give me wisdom and discernment as to how to best bless them in our times together. Pray that God would miraculously end the poverty that literally threatens their lives. Pray that they would know God and how desperately in love with them He is.

la lucha

I think I’m done fighting.

The past twelve days I’ve spent fighting the fact that I’m here, the heat, the language, the starchy food, the hissing, the honking, and just about anything else one could struggle with in the DR.  While I admit that these things won’t cease to irritate me at times, I am no longer allowing them to take center stage.

Not that I regret my struggle over the past couple of weeks, because it was absolutely necessary for me to get here. My culture shock was combined with mourning over the end of LAUP, leaving my family yet again, and not returning to Wheaton for the first half of senior year. That’s a lot for a girl to deal with all at once, and I have my share of adult temper tantrums to show for it.

But I’m here now. Ready to throw fear (not caution, Mom) to the wind. Ready to step out my front door and see not the abundance of trash in the street but the beauty of the palm trees bursting out of the dirt and into my new world. Although maybe I should rephrase my earlier statement; I’m not done fighting. But now my fight is to learn Spanish, to dance bachata, to take public transportation all by myself, and appreciate butterflies as much as the Dominicans do.

More than anything else, my fight is to discover how to love Jesus in an environment entirely foreign and surrounded by people entirely different. I more or less know how to do that while serving in an urban homeless shelter (although not all the time, that’s for sure), but how do I do that here? And how do you translate love into a different language and different culture? How do I interact with my host family, classmates, and men in a way that reflects the love of Christ? How do I interact with the poverty around me, with the children dressed in tattered rags in the streets who beg me for just one peso? Or the tired-looking old man who so desperately tries to sell me a bottle of water?

So the game plan is to ask lots of questions and learn a little more, day by day, and the next day ask the same questions or even harder ones until I get answers.

on being a failure. and liking it.

There are two things that I want to learn to do well before I die: speak Spanish and dance. The Dominican Republic happens to be an excellent place to learn both of these things; this particular group of Spanish speakers practically come out of the womb dancing to bachata, merengue and sometimes salsa.

Yet at this point, my skills in both of these areas are severely lacking. And here’s something I’ve learned about myself since being here – I am absolutely terrified of failure. It’s taken me a long time to realize this, because I rarely allow myself to experience it. When I’m not immediately good at things, I tend to give up and move on to something that I already know or can pick up quickly.

And here I am, in the middle of the Caribbean, in a place where both Spanish and dancing are an inherent part of culture. Meaning that these things that utterly confound and frustrate and tantalize me are like breathing to everyone else; I struggle to find the right verb conjugation and move my feet at the right time while everyone else can do both at once!

I’m learning that not everything will come naturally, but there’s a chance that it’s worth the effort. Most importantly, it is alright for me to look silly and sound like a first grader and just to be wrong sometimes. So here’s to facing your fears. Here’s to failure. Here’s to asking people to repeat themselves three times, and very slowly please. Here’s to stepping on your partner’s feet. Here’s to trying again. And again and again and again.

Here’s to making yourself into exactly the person you’ve always wanted to become.

poco a poco

la ciudad de Santiago: view from the monument

Crazy things happen in this country. On Sunday I went to mass with my host family, and so my host mother Daisy drove us there (which can be scary). When we got to the church, Daisy parked on the SIDEWALK. Just hopped right on up there like it was nothing. She didn’t even look to see if the parking lot was full! And THEN when we crossed the street I saw that she wasn’t the only one! Apparently it is acceptable to park on the SIDEWALK here! Hahahahaha. That is the first thing that has honestly surprised me about the DR. No, I take that back. The first thing that surprised me is that you are not supposed to flush your toilet paper! Apparently the plumbing is less than stellar.


So here are mis palabras nuevas, my new words: deshidratarse – to become dehydrated, como “Hoy mi sobrina se deshidrató” (like “Today my niece became dehydrated”). Por lo menos, pienso es corecto. At least, I think that’s right. El cajero – ATM. Salvación – salvation. Salvar – to save or rescue, como “Jesús te salva”. (Like “Jesus saves you”.) Y por ultimo (and finally), salvaje – wild, savage or cruel, como “Amor Salvaje”, una telenovela yo vi últimamente (Like “Wild Love, a soap opera I saw recently). La acera – the sidewalk. (Yes, I am still laughing about that.) 


Conchos – public cars that drive the same routes around the city. They are generally old sedans with five seats, but it’s not at all unusual to cram seven people in there. Dominican drivers conducen como personas locas. They drive like crazy people! It’s not necessary to wear a seat belt, stay in one lane, or stop at stop signs. Instead of stopping at an intersection, it’s common to just honk as you approach so other cars know you’re coming!


Another common occurrence while on the street is los piropos or “compliments” from men as I walk by. Sometimes they hiss and other times they say things like “Me gustan rubias mucha” which roughly means “I really like blondes/light-skinned women”. As a woman, you’re not supposed to acknowledge them or give them any attention. But this morning I couldn’t help but laugh. I was walking by El Fogón, a hangout for university students near my apartment, when a man said to me, “Esscuse me! Esscuse me! I need a visa! I needa go to New York!” Hahahaha. Dime. Sorry brother, you’re gonna have to apply for that visa all by yourself.


Oddly, I have never been so excited to start classes, which I will on Thursday. Today I went to PUCMM (my university here) to register for classes. I'm taking Spanish grammar, History of the Dominican Republic, Introduction to Latin American Literature, and Latin American Culture and Society. But my favorite as of now is Community Service Practicum. Every Thursday I will go for a few hours to a school to teach English to children in poverty, and I am so excited about this opportunity.


Sometimes life is really hard here, but sometimes beautiful things happen that make me think this is going to be worth it. Like seeing a panoramic view of the city of Santiago from atop a huge hill in the middle of the city. Or like having an hour and a half conversation with my host mother about Dominican/Haitian relations and the injustices of the immigration system in the United States. (No, I’m not fluent yet; estoy lejos de dominar el español. But dear Daisy speaks very slowly and clearly with me now, gracias a Dios.) So I am indeed learning, poco a poco. Bit by bit.

Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner.

The title of this post is what is CONSTANTLY going through my mind, thanks to the many, many challenges inherent in living in a country where you don't speak the language...


Las perchas: coat hangers. La microonda: the microwave. La terraza: the terrace. Guagua: the bus.

These are the first few of the many new words I will learn here en la República Dominicana. Since coming, I have acquired my first Dominican pesos and had my first glimpse of the Dominican countryside; I experienced the thrill of my first conversation with a local and tasted the first bit of my Dominican mother’s cuisine.

I’ve succeeded in making it here alive and intact. And, praise the Lord, no diarrhea. On the other hand, my attempts at communicating with my host familia have largely failed; I think I understood about 10% of what my poor host mother has tried to tell me. Although that may be generous.

But I'm not only learning words. I'm learning that Sometimes it is okay just to cry. When you’re in a foreign country without a friend, when you can’t understand a word that is spoken to you, when you’re wondering why God brought you somewhere only to break you, it is okay to cry. Which I’ve been doing a lot lately. More often than not, I have tears streaming out of my eyes, snot out of my nose, and sweat out of my pores.  My life right now is more difficult and more daunting than it has ever been in the past twenty-one years of my existence. Yes, hard things have happened before, but I’ve always – always – had a friend to lean on.

The hardest part, after the immense frustration of not being able to comprehend the language spoken all around me, is knowing that the closest person who loves me is over a thousand miles away. And knowing that this will be the case for the next four months. Four months, which seems like it must be several lifetimes.

So this is what it is to depend completely and exclusively on the Triune God. It’s when you are forced to beg His mercy at least once every sixty seconds. It’s when you know you physically, emotionally, and mentally cannot make it without Him. It’s when you tune out the shrieking children, the honking horns and the rooster outside your window desperately trying to hear the sound of His voice speaking peace to your soul.

In case I haven’t painted a vivid enough picture, I will reiterate that allowing yourself to be in a situation where you must rely solely on the Lord is not pretty. Because regardless of how personable and confident I am in America, how many friends I have, or how good my grades are, I have none of that here. It is all stripped away and I am left naked to discover who I really am.

But the point of redemption in this mess I’m in is that I also get to discover who God really is. I will become a person who has seen the power of God enacted mightily, and my faith will increase tenfold. In the meantime, I strive to respond as Job did: falling to my knees in worship (Job 1:20). If Job lost all of his children plus all he owned and still worshipped, I know I certainly can.

And Job didn't even get to go to the beach, which is where I'm headed tomorrow. But for now I have to go, because this internet café is starting to get a little questionable. ¡Hasta luego!

When justice rolls down like waters, I want to be drowning.

"And the day came when the risk it took to remain tight and closed in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to bloom."


Wise words, Alicia Keys.  And so very felt right now. As I sit on the cusp of what may be one of the defining experiences of my life thus far, I can't help but wonder what this next stage of life is going to bring. In a few short days (eight to be exact), I will board a plane for Santiago de los Caballeros. According to Frommer's, Santiago is the cultural center of the Dominican Republic, "the most Dominican of cities", and home to the best tobacco and rum makers of the West Indies. But more importantly, it will be my home for the next four months as I study abroad at Pontifical Catholic University.


Now honestly, I am just not much of a travel-the-world kind of girl. My idea of adventure is more like going to the next town over and checking out that new karaoke place. For me, going to college in the Midwest is practically studying abroad. They don't serve sweet tea there, for crying out loud! So while I never planned or expected to jet away for a semester during my senior year of college, I did have a sneaking suspicion that the Spanish language was supposed to have a part in my future. In the summer of 2009 I got my first taste of what is sometimes called "incarnational living", or purposefully dwelling in an under-resourced, impoverished community as a way to respond to the Gospel. I fell in love with my community there, and I fell hard. The tricky thing was that the majority of them, like so many others in the United States today, only felt comfortable communicating in Spanish. Needless to say, that was a something of a barrier to relationship formation. I wanted so badly to hear their stories in all their fullness, but I had to settle for a few shy smiles and passing gestures. 


A year later, I'm still committed to community development, and these days I'm particularly interested in immigrant issues.* There are so many people out there with stories to tell. In those stories there is often a call for justice -- a call that demands a response. I want to be a listener, one who hears the call and delivers that response. Not because I'll be able to "fix" things immediately, but because of the way his Word tells us to interact with aliens in our land: with love, acceptance and compassion. So it's my hope that my time in the DR will equip me with a better mastery of the Spanish language, which will in turn enable me to join in as the body of Christ seeks justice for millions of Latino immigrants in the United States. When justice rolls down like waters, I want to be drowning in it.


But I'm not there yet. I'm in process. And the painful part of that process is when the bud hasn't yet blossomed and there's a part of it that questions if it ever will. While I'm thrilled about my upcoming experience in the DR, I'm also terrified, and this self-professing homebody is about to get ripped out of comfort and thrust into a land far, far away. Which creates "an excellent opportunity to trust in the Lord," as my friend Rachel McAlvey would say. In the words of Andy Stanley, I will slowly (slooooooowly) learn to respond to all of life's circumstances as one who is absolutely confident that God is with her. That's big faith, and this is another chance to grow it. I don't speak Spanish; it's a foreign country; it's a developing country; I'm naturally a fraidy cat; the list goes on. So it's okay for me to feel scared sometimes. It's okay for me to feel apprehensive not knowing what this place will hold for me, as long as I know that my God is so much bigger than anything that can ever frighten or hurt me. And in this knowledge I will march bravely through that terminal, with his love in my heart and a Spanish pocket dictionary in my hand...


Coming up next: I love writing lists, and I love making goals. So I'm going to combine the two and make a list of my goals for the DR so that YOU as my online community can hold me accountable! Stay tuned, Mom! (And you too, if by some chance you are reading this not out of maternal obligation but love me enough to read my blog anyway.)


*For a helpful and informative book on this topic, I highly recommend Welcoming the Stranger: Justice, Compassion and Truth in the Immigration Debate by Matthew Soerens and Jenny Hwang. Plus it's available at www.betterworldbooks.com, where your purchase helps raise funds for global literacy.