el país de la maravilla, part 2

After resting in Santo Domingo, Celeste and I were on the road again at 7:45am – this time to visit some friends in Batey Libertad and to watch a soccer game. The batey is home to a few good friends of mine and is the main field site of another Fulbrighter. It was lovely to finally see a community I’d heard so much about, meet the families of close friends, listen to the musical sounds of Sunday morning church while visiting the local voudou space, and hear both Dominican bachata and Haitain compas competing from colmado speakers. It was also a great opportunity to practice my Kreyòspañol :)

After a Haitian lunch, we piled into a guagua – Celeste, my fellow Fulbrighter, a Peace Corps friend, the soccer team, coaches/supporters, and me. There were 21 of us in the van. The game was to be held in Santiago, a city about an hour down the road from the batey. When you drive eastward in the DR, though, you’re bound to hit military checkpoints. Ostensibly looking for “illegal Haitian immigrants,” they are convenient opportunities for local officials to pocket some bribed cash and enforce the unofficial Dominican policy of racism towards Haitians – or, really, anyone with dark skin.

We were stopped at two or three checkpoints; needless to say, our vehicle filled to twice its capacity of passengers, most of them dark-skinned, was suspicious – or perhaps auspicious – to bored Dominican military personnel on a Sunday afternoon.

“Morenos, huh?” said one of the soldiers, peering into the vehicle (morenos means “dark-skinned/featured”). “Tígueres” (gangsters, hoodlums). Then of course there were questions about the couple of obvious foreigners mixed in with all the Haitian gangsters. I kept my mouth shut, glowering, and the cops seemed to assume I was either Haitian or Dominican. And then there was the obligatory side conversation between the driver and the cops, and then the few hundred pesos passed along (“we aren’t going to ask for money, but if any of the foreigners would like to make a donation…”), and then we were on our way.

Such incidents never fail to make my blood boil. But we made it to Santiago with only one person getting arrested (in the other vehicle, a Haitian-Dominican unlucky enough not to have his papers on him; he was later released). "We've arrived in South Africa!" shouted one team member as we poured out of the van.

The game was great, though Celeste and I missed all the buses back to Santo Domingo except one. Not the best of bus companies, it dumped us off on a random street corner in the capital close to midnight. Luckily there was a handful of other passengers, with whom we huddled for protection until a taxi arrived to take us home.

El país de la maravilla never disappoints.