if I were president of the Dominican Republic

I think I have a love/hate relationship with this country.

Last weekend, I went to an Afro-Caribbean concert with my roommate, her four-year-old son, and a bunch of our friends. I caught some great footage of her son dancing and playing drums along with the band. He makes life here so much more fun!

More recently, this past Friday, I went to Villa Mella to visit a close friend who recently became a mother. We spent several hours hanging out and catching up. Her family has always been incredibly sweet, hospitable, and welcoming towards me, so it was nice to spend time with them again. Here are some pictures: four generations of the family, and my friend with her daughter.

The next day, I went to carnaval in La Vega, a small town to the northwest of Santo Domingo known for its impressive festivities. It was…insane. Little boys covered from head to toe in mud walked around begging for spare change while adults in bright, monstrous costumes marched up and down the streets. People of all ages ran around with these horrible, football-sized vejigas (literally, "bladders," since they used to be made of inflated cow's bladders; recently these were replaced by synthetically manufactured vejigas, which according to some are more painful - but less smelly - than the bovine bladders of old), which are used to smack the backsides of unsuspecting passers-by. Although everyone ends up getting hit at some point, it’s usually men beating women’s rear ends. I got hit so hard that I almost fell down. Needless to say, the noise was deafening and the alcohol flowed freely. I paid to take a tour bus from Santo Domingo to La Vega and back with a friend who is another Fulbrighter. Included in the package were food and free drinks. When I asked for juice, just juice, with no alcohol added, I was told that it didn’t count as a drink; it was simply not possible to give me cranberry juice without vodka added. Also included in the package was a concert by Omega, one of the most – if not the most – popular merengueros (merengue musicians) in the Dominican Republic. Despite the excitement of the crowd, I somehow could not get into a party spirit, maybe because the bass was making my rib cage shudder. Plus Omega has a really annoying voice, attitude, and videos. I was warned in advice when I told friends that I was planning to go to el carnaval, but I guess I thought that in spite of all this, it might somehow be fun, or at least an interesting experience.

I looked around in the midst of the madness and asked myself, what’s the one adjective that sums up all of this? The first one that popped into my head was “Dominican.” But what about this makes it so “Dominican”? I thought. And what came to mind were the alcohol, the noise, the explicit clothing and “dancing” of the crowd (you can YouTube “perreo”), the noise, the five annoying songs that were played over and over and over, the NOISE, and the beating of women in the street (domestic violence is a huge, huge issue here). Wow, what stereotyping, I reflected, thinking of my friend Eddy’s recent blog post on a similar subject. Why were those the first things that popped into my head? And if that’s what I think about this place, then why do I love it at the same time? I realized that for me, carnaval (and Christmas, New Year’s, and every holiday celebration I’ve experienced here) epitomizes the aspects of Dominican society and culture that I find problematic or distasteful. And it is difficult for me enjoy some things that are “just for fun,” such as beating women in the streets. In addition, that particular aspect of carnaval was the last straw in a host of offenses that I deal with on a daily basis as a woman in this country. Even though it was carnaval, I found it very hard to let go of the defensive attitude I have adopted towards men here. As a result, when random people smacked my backside, even if they were toddlers (whose mothers smiled approvingly at their cute little macho sons), I reacted with insulted humiliation. Clearly I am not cut out for carnaval. This place would be so great if only it weren’t so screwed up, I thought. But don’t get me wrong – there is nothing uniquely Dominican about that sentiment; it’s something that I could say about every place I’ve lived or visited. Luckily, though, there are people like my friend and her family, as well as many other individuals of various nationalities and genders, who prove to me time and again that for all the insufferable problems of each country and society, there are always amazing people who can teach you more than you ever imagined.

On the bus ride home, I watched the little wooden shacks nestled in the forests beside the highway whirl past, and I started to think about what I would do if I were president of the Dominican Republic. If I woke up one day in the national palace and had the job of Leonel Fernández, whose neoliberal policies have earned him the disfavor of many Dominicans who remain without reliable electricity in their homes, I would create a new governmental body called the Ministerio Ma’pa’lante (“the Ministry of Moving Forward,” a reference to Leonel’s – as he is called semi-affectionately by most Dominicans – unofficial slogan. It’s really “más para adelante,” but since it’s the Dominican Republic people pronounce and even spell it “ma’pa’lante.”). The ministry would be divided into departments such as Education, Health, Immigrants’ Rights, Labor and Economy, Environment and Agriculture, and Racism/Sexism/Anti-Haitianism/Other Widespread and Problematic Mentalities. Each department would have staff responsible for traveling throughout the country to identify organizations, institutions, and individuals with innovative and sustainable ideas for accomplishing the objectives set forth by each department. Departments would then solicit proposals from innovators around the country and would select several each year to receive funding and other governmental support. The activities of the Ministerio Ma’pa’lante would be integrated with all other divisions of the government. So if someone wants to work on my campaign, maybe I’ll add my name to the ballot for the Dominican elections this May. :)

on belonging

Halfway through my grant term, it’s sinking in how much I feel like I truly belong here. Today I was on the corner of my street, trying to catch a cab, and the one I flagged down happened to be a taxista who has driven me before. “Hey, I remember you!” he exclaimed. I was off to withdraw money, which has been a frustrating issue here, since ATM withdrawals result in astronomical fees. Luckily, because I know someone, I can get a check cashed at an amazing exchange rate with zero fees (don’t worry; it’s legal!).

I am on friendly terms with my neighbors, and people at the local stores and restaurants that I frequent all know me. Even the fruit stand guy a few blocks away said today, “you’ve been here before, haven’t you? Do you live around here? Are you a foreigner?” There are two vegetable sellers who buy fresh produce from the market and then re-sell it from the back of a pick-up truck. They pass by my house every day around 10am, and I’m on a first-name basis with them; it’s to the point that when I asked where I could find aloe vera here, they promised to make me a special delivery tomorrow morning so that I don’t have to pay for transportation all the way to the market.

Sometimes I run into people I know when I’m out and about, like a friend from the community in Villa Mella who was standing on the sidewalk the other day when the carro público I was in drove past (carros públicos are extremely battered and dilapidated cars that drive up and down the main streets throughout Santo Domingo; you can ride for as long as you want for 20 pesos, or less than a dollar – the catch is that these four-passenger sedans typically have 6-8 passengers at any given moment). Because of my research as well as my work on Haiti relief efforts, I know quite a few of the major players in the Dominican public health/NGO world. When I go out on the weekends I constantly see familiar faces, and the alternative/international party scene consists of some very small social circles. At la Espiral, the amazing reggae/alternative bar/club where there are free palo concerts every Friday night, I always run into friends; la Espiral’s owner and bartenders recognize me even outside the context of the club.

All of this makes me feel as though I am truly living, and not just visiting, here. I love it! There's something comfortable and safe about belonging, and it is difficult to understand until you have to live somewhere else. When you realize in that other place how much it has truly become home, you begin to appreciate the concept of "home" much more, and also to learn how it is just as frequently created as it is a given. Then you learn how to create it, and eventually, the distance between home and where you are grows shorter faster.

on time

I hope everyone had a good Valentine’s weekend! Mine involved an Aventura concert (with surprise special guests Wisin y Yandel) and pancakes with chocolate sauce. <3 Dominican concerts are always an interesting experience. 60,000 people (mostly females) spent the better part of three hours screaming at the top of their lungs. Lead singer Anthony Romeo kissed some lady onstage (who almost fainted) and offered charismatic heart-to-hearts with the audience on love, heartbreak, and other mushy things about which Aventura typically croons in their R&B-infused pop bachata songs.

Earlier this week I had a meeting at the largest health-related NGO in the DR. I wanted to know where they felt there are gaps in the knowledge about gender and tuberculosis. “You’re the first person to research this here,” they said. “We know nothing. So go look at health center records, create patient focus groups, interview health providers, and conduct house-to-house surveys.”

DAMN.

It feels good when you stumble into a research niche that needs to be filled – and when you believe that you can fill it. Believing is all it takes, really, and I have about four months to put that belief into action.

In about a month, I’m off to Trinidad & Tobago for five days; it’s the mandatory Fulbright Regional Enhancement Seminar, which means that all the Caribbean Fulbrighters get together and talk about their research while exploring T&T…exciting for me not only because I’ve never been there, but also because I have distant family connections to those islands. It also means that I have to prepare a presentation on my project. My goal is to have really begun the community portion of my research in earnest by that point.

After our seminar in T&T, it will almost be the end of March. Then there are April, May, and June. At the end of June, I’m headed back to the U.S. to begin medical school. I knew this was going to happen, but it’s approaching sooner than I expected…

on learning

The emotional and logistical insanity of the past two weeks – of life after January 12 – have solidified some of the lessons that I’ve been slowly learning here for the past few months. I thought I’d share a few of them.

Maturity does not necessarily correspond to age level. I have learned so much from my roommate’s 4-year-old son and his beautiful view of the world, and I have met adults close to age 50 who still don’t seem to grasp fundamentals.

There are people who may not speak your native language but with whom communication is easier than with many who share your mother tongue. Sometimes you don’t even need to speak.

There are times when the action you want so badly to take might consist principally of listening and learning. With patience you realize that these are also forms of action. Agency is multiplied by the hours we’ve spent silent, becoming increasingly aware of the scale of what we do not know.

It’s knowing how to cook that sharpens your appreciation for food and your understanding of quality, flavor, and the essentiality of eating well. I love to buy fruit off the street, especially from women, and the more food I buy, the more I love cooking. The closer I get to my food, the more I can feel it quietly affecting my health and wellbeing.

Sometimes the way we change is almost reptilian. In looking back at the past three years of my life, I don’t see a slow, gradual process; I see a series of leaps that left behind old shells to the point where I can barely relate to what I remember of my teenage self.

When we talk about love and revolutions, we can’t forget about the personal. Sharing someone’s grief or hope, being the tree of faith for another – these are integral parts of the overarching social change for which we strive.

Over the past few years, I’ve successively taken on personal work to improve my relationships with myself, with others in my life, with others not in my life, and now with the Earth and the environment. But without even realizing it, I’ve also been working on my relationship with words. I have grown closer and closer to the things that I write, so that everything I express is increasingly accurate.

I'm doing research! I mean that at the beginning of my fifth month of my grant, nearly halfway through my time here, I realize that I actually have data from which I am starting to subconsciously as well as methodically make observations, draw conclusions, and create a framework for my study in which I am beginning to fill in the pieces with knowledge. It's exciting!

And if you’re wondering about Haiti, I’m still working. I'm also learning Kreyol! I have always admired the beauty of the language, and recently I've found the means to teach myself, so that's another project I'm taking on. Please contact me if you would like details about how you can contribute.

After the initial flood of donations, however, I think the next most important thing that Haiti needs – that the world needs – is people who know their history, who understand structural violence, and who are versed in the vocabulary of global systems and their modus operandi. If you need a few titles to begin or continue your own education, I recommend the two extremely well-written books that I just picked up – Aids and Accusation: Haiti and the Geography of Blame, by Paul Farmer, and Taking Haiti: Military Occupation and the Culture of U.S. Imperialism, 1915-1940, by Mary Renda. The first is a rich ethnography focused on HIV as an illustrative example of how international politics and history affect the lives of seemingly “remote” or “disconnected” rural Haitians. The second is a wonderful text that incorporates discourses on gender, sexuality, race, and nationality to explore the history of the 1915-1940 occupation of Haiti by the United States.

What the world needs is people who know things. Listen, learn, and start reading.