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.