January 16, 2009
When it rains here, it pours. After a couple-week-long drought it started raining last night, and hasn’t stopped since. Just yesterday I was carefully rationing a bucketful of water that had been carried from a neighbor’s well to cover my entire garden, and now just hours later we have way way too much water. Our tank that collects rain from the roof that was empty yesterday is now full and overflowing from the hole in the top. Our lechosa (papaya) tree also fell over during the night, because the ground is too saturated to hold it up. But my hortaliza is happy, and flooded, though luckily there are channels between the beds for drainage. I had made plans to meet up with two volunteers in Macoris today, but now it looks like I won’t be leaving. My street is already flooded, and when it rains the motoconchistas don’t work because they don’t want to get wet. And motores are the only way to get out of my community. Even if I were to make it out, I would still run the risk of not being able to get back, especially if the river has risen above the bridge, which happens fairly fast. So I am probably better off staying put. But it is a bummer.
Let’s see, what else is new? Yesterday a few notable things happened. First of all, my regional leader delivered my mail to my site, which included five packages! A few of which I had been waiting for for months. Llego la Navidad por fin! I got speakers for my computer/ipod, and now I am listening to my music as I write this. Yesterday I also went with three kids from the youth group to the first session of the ayuntamiento (like city hall) in Castillo. We arrived there and found out that the session had been “suspended.” Since we had already gone all the way to Castillo, we decided we may as well make the most of it and went directly to the house of the sindico (like the mayor, but of the region). Apparently it is okay to do this, completely unannounced, in this country. Luckily the sindico knows me, so it wasn’t that weird. The point of our visit was to ask for help in obtaining metal tanks to serve as garbage cans to put in front of the colmados. This was an idea I had the other day, when I was considering the huge problem of trash in the streets here and the fact that the National Day of Youth is coming up at the end of this month. So, at a recent youth group meeting I proposed that we do something about it. My suggestion was met by utter silence from the group. Which I was expecting, since this group never does anything, and the only leadership comes from two older women who are like the matriarchs. I still don’t know if their impotence is really because know one cares, or they are all lazy, or they are intimidated by it, or just shy, because no one ever says anything in the meetings. I don’t like to push them either, for one, because it is not my job to come in and take over the direction of their group, and two, because as I am the same age or younger than some of them, it feels uncomfortable to treat them like children like the two older women leaders do. Basically, I have trouble with the dynamics of the group. We spend the meetings being lectured by the two women about our bad behavior in the meetings, and how we don’t show enough initiative in the goings-on of the church, and lack values, etc., etc. It seems that the main purpose of the group, since it pertains to the church, is to involve more youth in the planning of the misas, oraciones, and the upkeep of the church. I’m not sure how my role fits into this, since social projects definitely seem like an afterthought. But they do all want to please me, which is at least one advantage I have, so with the help of the very vocal leaders, we assigned the task of going to the ayuntamiento to me and three other youth. I suggested that perhaps it would be easier, and more effective to raise the money ourselves, and thus make the community take ownership of the project. But this is also culturally unheard of, since the custom here is to ask for things from the government, and expect to be given them. This means that if someone is lacking, for example, a mosquito net, or a casket, or a latrine, or whatever, they just go to the sindico directly and ask for it. Which means that the community is dependent and not self-sufficient, nor do they support each other. There is definitely enough money in this community to support everyone, although it is not distributed very equally. (And it is not spent wisely. My don told me the other day that the banca, which sells lottery numbers, takes in more money each day than all the colmados in the community combined. And people buy everything at the colmados—food, phone cards, alcohol, household stuff. Which means that people spend more money playing the lottery than in all of their other daily expenditures combined. He told me that daily sales at the banca are around 30,000 pesos, or a little less than $1000, for a community of 800 or so people. A lot of people play, but there are few repeat offenders that make up the majority of these sales. I have just been informed by an anonymous source that my dona and one of the aforementioned youth group matriarchs are the two very biggest jugadoras in the community. Poorer communities just don’t have problems like this). The other problem with this practice of asking for everything is that it explains why people say that the sindico doesn’t do anything—he is probably too busy meeting with people who need sheets and mosquito nets to address bigger problems like the calle, or the bridge, or …..the trash.
Ah, the trash. Cuanta basura. Bringing up the issue of the trash in the streets in front of the colmados, which just sits there and then makes its way to the river when it rains, in the meeting made me realize that it is a much bigger and more complicated problem than I had first realized. Even if we were able to obtain the garbage cans, get people to use them and not steal them, and clean up the trash that is already in the streets, there is the issue of what we would do with the trash once the garbage cans got full. Which brings me to the bigger issue, which is that there is really nothing to do with any of the trash in the community, which is probably the reason it is all in the street. Waste management was one of the topics in the interviews I did of 50 households, so I know that the majority burn their trash or at least a portion of it, with the rest throwing it into a pile somewhere, usually, but unfortunately not always, on their own property. There are obvious drawbacks to both of these types of waste management—burning, especially of plastics makes the community smell horrible and gives people cancer, and piles of trash are unsanitary and probably breed all kinds of parasites. What’s more, the rains and the animals spread it around, and there are a lot of people who walk barefoot. There are not even many people who separate organics from nonorganics so that the organics can at least decompose. For example, in my backyard is a forest of cacao, with a thick layer of dead leaves and trees and all kinds of organic things on the ground. But under the leaves and all around are all kinds of non-organic things. I’ve found lots of shoes, dishes, a blender, a stereo, and lots and lots of plastics, all disposed of by a this household over the years. This stuff is never going to disappear. There are some people who seem to realize that trash should at least be contained and covered, and they dig holes in their yards to dispose of it. But really there is no very good solution. Or at least I don’t know enough about waste management to propose one. You would think that people who have to live so close to their own refuse would learn to consume less or reuse, but this doesn’t seem to be the case. Plastic bags are especially problematic, as everyone buys all foodstuffs in tiny quantities for every meal at the colmado—and most things, being bulk, are measured into plastic bags, and then all the little bags are put into bigger bags. People seem to really like plastic bags here-- they are cheap and convenient and used for everything. And then they are burned. Most people cook on a fagon, which is a cement table-like platform with two holes for building fires to cook over. With this type of cooking, trash, including plastics, is often used as fuel. So, if I am not getting cancer from the burning piles of trash on my street, I am probably getting cancer from eating food that was cooked in burning plastic.
So, back to our meeting with the sindico… He listened very patiently as I explained the situation, and then told me I spoke perfect Spanish, which was nice to hear. He then told us that they were already waiting for approval of a donation of the metal tanks for the region, and if approved, could send a few of them to Rincon Hondo. I didn’t, however, ask him what I really wanted to which was, “what are we supposed to be doing with our trash and why haven’t you started any type of waste management???” because it seemed like too much to get into at the moment. But, getting trash put into trash cans seems like a good first step, and we have to start somewhere.
martes, 20 de enero de 2009
viernes, 9 de enero de 2009
Strange Phenomena of the DR
January 3, 2009
I got back to my site late this evening from the capital, and it is chilly here, like winter. I had to wait a long time in the cruce because there are never any motoconchos after about 6pm here, making transportation difficult if not impossible. I couldn’t get ahold of my friend who was supposed to pick me up and ended up calling everyone I had in my phone, and he finally showed up. His explanation was that he was in another community that doesn’t have any cell phone service. Which is a good excuse, but I’m still not sure how we was expecting that I get ahold of him. Cell phones are the bane of my existence in this country. Signal is spotty at best, and chances are the person you are calling doesn’t have signal either, or their phone is dead because the electricity has been gone so long, and guaranteed they will not be able to call you back because they definitely won’t have any minutes. Then there are the phone cards I buy that mysteriously don’t work because the codes have been “robbed” and used by someone else. Everyone has cells phones here, but sometimes I wonder why.
Anyway, on the way up to my site on the motor, my friend informed me that there was a serious motor accident in my tiny community today, involving one of my youth and this very friendly grandpa who is always around with a bottle of rum in his hand at all hours, and that the grandpa is probably going to die. I was shocked. And then I thought about whether I would ever stop being shocked by things like this. I have been told by other volunteers that this is one of the hardest things—to come to terms with the fact that bad things happen in this country. Life is just less controllable, and you have to learn to accept it and expect that the unexpected will happen. It is not that bad things do not happen back home in the U.S., it just seems that the occurrence of freak accidents and unfortunate circumstances is much much higher, or maybe it is just that one single event can affect so many people because people live so communally. I remember thinking about this when I first arrived, that chances are that someone in my community would probably die during my two years, and I would certainly know the person. I know very few people who have died in my entire life, and already in my 2 months in site we have had two deaths. Death is also just very up close and personal here, in a way I have never witnessed it. And from a more selfish standpoint, I really don’t feel like going to any more lutos (funerals), at least for the time being. People here are also very superstitious. Every day during the mourning at Madelin's house visitors are always sharing new stories about weird things that happened to them the day before--apparent evidence that Madelin's ghost is around. Even the family members talk like this, and they are all terrified of muertos. There are also many people who claim to have seen dead people walking around, and others who are able to foresee death.
The other person involved in the crash was a kid in the youth group, who interestingly enough recently caused another gossip storm in the community for eloping with my 17-year old next door neighbor. Which brings me to a very unique phenomenon of Dominican culture, and that is campo marriage. People do not get married in the campo, at least not in any way that we think of as marriage. The way it usually happens is that the novios (couple) leave together during the night to spend the night in a hotel or somewhere in another pueblo or city. When the mother realizes that her daughter has not come home (which happens fairly early, by about midnight since girls here to not have freedom to be out late) she immediately says “ella se caso” and begins wailing and soon the entire community is talking. It is still really hard for me to believe that there couldn’t be any other explanation for a girl not coming home by bedtime, but no, here the only reasonable explanation is that she must have decided to get married. Anyway, tradition has it that the couple stays away for a week, with the boy being able to visit his family but the girl not, and then on the 8th day they return home to live together with one of their families. Apparently the time away is for the parents to get over their grief so that they will be able to welcome the couple back. But really they have no choice to accept the marriage, because once the girl has been somewhere overnight with her boyfriend, with everyone knowing about it, there is no going back. This is also not a new phenomenon—there are lots of viejos who were married in exactly the same way. The reason the couple has to sneak off during the night is usually because the parents don’t approve of the match, and also because there is really no other way for the novios to be alone together. I have even heard that in extreme cases, if a girl is out with her boyfriend and he brings her back to her house late, like at 11pm, the parents will say “llevatela, no aceptamos mujeres en nuestra casa” meaning “take her, we don’t accept women (non-virgins) in this house.” So basically, if you want to be able to spend time alone with your novia or novio or not have to be home by 10, the only choice is to get married. Which unfortunately leads to lot of young marriages and marriages under the influence of alcohol, and bad pairings too, because chances are the couple don’t have a lot of experience being a couple since their entire relationship has probably taken place in the presence of one of their families, sitting in plastic chairs on the porch. It is hard for me to reconcile this somewhat archaic view of dating with the very permissive sexuality in this culture. But I think that the permissiveness, being that this is a very machista culture, is one-sided. Boys are allowed to go out and stay out as late as they want, and no one cares what they are doing. The reason girls are so restricted is that no parent wanst a pregnant, unmarried daughter living in their house, whose baby they will then have to support.
There are a few who have weddings, like my project partner last weekend, and everyone is aware that there is this type of formal marriage, but somehow they still equate novios spending a night together as marriage rather than just spending a night together. There are also some obvious legal consequences to this type of union, as “wives” have no legal rights to money or property if they “divorce”, and most women do not work and would thus have no means of supporting themselves if husband were to leave them. The amount of women who stay with cheating husbands or even end up raising their husband’s “children of the calle” (from his other women) is shocking but definitely understandable considering this. Machismo is alive and strong.
I got back to my site late this evening from the capital, and it is chilly here, like winter. I had to wait a long time in the cruce because there are never any motoconchos after about 6pm here, making transportation difficult if not impossible. I couldn’t get ahold of my friend who was supposed to pick me up and ended up calling everyone I had in my phone, and he finally showed up. His explanation was that he was in another community that doesn’t have any cell phone service. Which is a good excuse, but I’m still not sure how we was expecting that I get ahold of him. Cell phones are the bane of my existence in this country. Signal is spotty at best, and chances are the person you are calling doesn’t have signal either, or their phone is dead because the electricity has been gone so long, and guaranteed they will not be able to call you back because they definitely won’t have any minutes. Then there are the phone cards I buy that mysteriously don’t work because the codes have been “robbed” and used by someone else. Everyone has cells phones here, but sometimes I wonder why.
Anyway, on the way up to my site on the motor, my friend informed me that there was a serious motor accident in my tiny community today, involving one of my youth and this very friendly grandpa who is always around with a bottle of rum in his hand at all hours, and that the grandpa is probably going to die. I was shocked. And then I thought about whether I would ever stop being shocked by things like this. I have been told by other volunteers that this is one of the hardest things—to come to terms with the fact that bad things happen in this country. Life is just less controllable, and you have to learn to accept it and expect that the unexpected will happen. It is not that bad things do not happen back home in the U.S., it just seems that the occurrence of freak accidents and unfortunate circumstances is much much higher, or maybe it is just that one single event can affect so many people because people live so communally. I remember thinking about this when I first arrived, that chances are that someone in my community would probably die during my two years, and I would certainly know the person. I know very few people who have died in my entire life, and already in my 2 months in site we have had two deaths. Death is also just very up close and personal here, in a way I have never witnessed it. And from a more selfish standpoint, I really don’t feel like going to any more lutos (funerals), at least for the time being. People here are also very superstitious. Every day during the mourning at Madelin's house visitors are always sharing new stories about weird things that happened to them the day before--apparent evidence that Madelin's ghost is around. Even the family members talk like this, and they are all terrified of muertos. There are also many people who claim to have seen dead people walking around, and others who are able to foresee death.
The other person involved in the crash was a kid in the youth group, who interestingly enough recently caused another gossip storm in the community for eloping with my 17-year old next door neighbor. Which brings me to a very unique phenomenon of Dominican culture, and that is campo marriage. People do not get married in the campo, at least not in any way that we think of as marriage. The way it usually happens is that the novios (couple) leave together during the night to spend the night in a hotel or somewhere in another pueblo or city. When the mother realizes that her daughter has not come home (which happens fairly early, by about midnight since girls here to not have freedom to be out late) she immediately says “ella se caso” and begins wailing and soon the entire community is talking. It is still really hard for me to believe that there couldn’t be any other explanation for a girl not coming home by bedtime, but no, here the only reasonable explanation is that she must have decided to get married. Anyway, tradition has it that the couple stays away for a week, with the boy being able to visit his family but the girl not, and then on the 8th day they return home to live together with one of their families. Apparently the time away is for the parents to get over their grief so that they will be able to welcome the couple back. But really they have no choice to accept the marriage, because once the girl has been somewhere overnight with her boyfriend, with everyone knowing about it, there is no going back. This is also not a new phenomenon—there are lots of viejos who were married in exactly the same way. The reason the couple has to sneak off during the night is usually because the parents don’t approve of the match, and also because there is really no other way for the novios to be alone together. I have even heard that in extreme cases, if a girl is out with her boyfriend and he brings her back to her house late, like at 11pm, the parents will say “llevatela, no aceptamos mujeres en nuestra casa” meaning “take her, we don’t accept women (non-virgins) in this house.” So basically, if you want to be able to spend time alone with your novia or novio or not have to be home by 10, the only choice is to get married. Which unfortunately leads to lot of young marriages and marriages under the influence of alcohol, and bad pairings too, because chances are the couple don’t have a lot of experience being a couple since their entire relationship has probably taken place in the presence of one of their families, sitting in plastic chairs on the porch. It is hard for me to reconcile this somewhat archaic view of dating with the very permissive sexuality in this culture. But I think that the permissiveness, being that this is a very machista culture, is one-sided. Boys are allowed to go out and stay out as late as they want, and no one cares what they are doing. The reason girls are so restricted is that no parent wanst a pregnant, unmarried daughter living in their house, whose baby they will then have to support.
There are a few who have weddings, like my project partner last weekend, and everyone is aware that there is this type of formal marriage, but somehow they still equate novios spending a night together as marriage rather than just spending a night together. There are also some obvious legal consequences to this type of union, as “wives” have no legal rights to money or property if they “divorce”, and most women do not work and would thus have no means of supporting themselves if husband were to leave them. The amount of women who stay with cheating husbands or even end up raising their husband’s “children of the calle” (from his other women) is shocking but definitely understandable considering this. Machismo is alive and strong.
sábado, 3 de enero de 2009
My life so far
November 21, 2008
I am nearing the end of my first month living in my site, and there is both a lot to say and not much to say. A lot has happened, but my life is also becoming normal here, and doesn’t seem as crazy as it did before. I guess that means I have adjusted. I am realizing that my life here is starting to seem much more real than my life back at home, as it becomes more removed from the present. That is a weird thought. My life still feels far from settled or complete here, but it is moving in that direction.
So, now I will tell you a bit about my new home. My community is called Rincon Hondo, which literally means “deep corner.” It is located in the NE part of the country, in the Septionentral mountain range, and about an hour from the coast. You probably won’t find it on a map, but if you are interested you can look for Pimentel and Castillo, and my road off the carretera is between those two pueblos. Off the main road, my community is about 3 KM up an unpaved road. There is really just one road that most of the houses and all of the businesses are on, there is one other road that crosses it where the colmados are, but it goes to two different little communities on either side of mine. Everyone either lives “alla arriba” (up the road) or “alla abajo” (down the road). It is campo, meaning rural, and there are an estimated 800 people who live here. It is very very green here—there are lots of trees and everywhere is very densely vegetated. It might be as close to jungle as anywhere in this country. There is also a river that is in a little canyon that runs alongside the main road. If you keep going up the main road it continues uphill and at the very top, about 6 km away from my community, is the summit and another little community, El Firme that has 360 degree views all the way to the coast.
January 2, 2009
I gave up on writing for a long time since I have had no internet access so little motivation since I don’t know when anyone will ever get to read what I write. Anyway, I am in the capital for a day and have internet! I notice that this last entry is very incomplete… but as far as describing my community pictures probably do a better job. So, you should all check out my Gmail album, as I have been putting new pictures on there every so often. Anyway, the reason I am in the capital now is to do some business and take my vacation day—both of which had to be put off because of a death in my community. A friend of mine, Madelin, who had been battling cancer for several months, died on Tuesday morning. She was only 23, and her death has definitely shaken the community. When someone dies the whole world comes to a complete stop and everyone gets to work immediately getting everything ready for the velorio, which is the first day of luto, or the nine days of mourning. By 5:30 that morning everyone in the community knew, all of the furniture had been cleared out of the house in preparation for the arrival of the casket, and all of the women had set up fires on the ground of the gallera, which is the cockfighting ring, to start cooking. It is tradition to feed everyone who comes to the house that first day, and the entire world comes. Families are also huge here, and everyone is related. People came from all over, and Madelin’s boyfriend even flew in from New York and was there by the afternoon. Most of the day was spent in the packed house, full of people screaming and wailing, yelling at god, kissing the casket, and occasionally falling on the floor. It is definitely very public and very expressive, but that is the tradition. Overall, it was upsetting and a little scary, and impossible to be in the house and not be crying too being surrounded by so many sobbing people. It was very interesting to realize how much of mourning and expression of feelings is actually cultural. Even the way people cry here is different. That afternoon we had a service in the church, with a priest and the entire community, and then we loaded the casket on the back of a truck and the entire community got into the backs of trucks too and we had a procession of 30 or more trucks all the way down the hill, onto the freeway, and drove 5 mph all the way to the cemetery in Castillo. I wish I had taken a picture of it because it was absolutely incredible, but I didn’t bring my camera because it was pouring and I was in the back of a truck. There we did a lot of praying, and that was when the boyfriend arrived, which was also very intense. And then the mourning continues for 9 days afterwards, with the 9th day just as big and with as many people as the first day. So, I was planning on going to the capital on the 30th and going with a group of volunteers to the beach for New Year’s but obviously I couldn’t leave my site. Apparently it is okay to leave during the 9 days, as long as I am back for the 9th day. Which is good, since I could use a break, as it has been rather intense there. My dona, Isa, was Madelin’s cousin, and she has been spending all day every day at the family’s house doing the cooking and cleaning for them. For example, this morning when I went over there she was scrubbing the entire outside of the house. I’m not sure what makes this a good time to do that, but whatever. New Year’s was very quiet, as no one is allowed to play music during the mourning, and nothing ever happens without music here. Most people actually went to sleep before midnight. I was sitting with my friend’s family in his house that night, almost asleep, when at about 11:30 we heard a crash and went outside to find 3 crates of Presidente beer in the middle of the road, that had apparently fallen off a truck and the truck had drove off. We picked up all the glass, and most of the bottle were unbroken, so we picked some up and hid them in the bushes before the driver came back to find them. We then decided that our good fortune meant that we should go do something fun, so we went on the motor to a neighboring community where there was lots of drinking and some dancing at the colmado. It was a typical colmado scene, which consists of people sitting outside the colmado in plastic chairs drinking rum out of plastic cups, and really really loud merengue and bachata music and a few people dancing in the whatever tiny paved area the colmado has. There were actually only a couple of people from my community there, so it was really nice to be relatively anonymous for a couple of hours.
I am nearing the end of my first month living in my site, and there is both a lot to say and not much to say. A lot has happened, but my life is also becoming normal here, and doesn’t seem as crazy as it did before. I guess that means I have adjusted. I am realizing that my life here is starting to seem much more real than my life back at home, as it becomes more removed from the present. That is a weird thought. My life still feels far from settled or complete here, but it is moving in that direction.
So, now I will tell you a bit about my new home. My community is called Rincon Hondo, which literally means “deep corner.” It is located in the NE part of the country, in the Septionentral mountain range, and about an hour from the coast. You probably won’t find it on a map, but if you are interested you can look for Pimentel and Castillo, and my road off the carretera is between those two pueblos. Off the main road, my community is about 3 KM up an unpaved road. There is really just one road that most of the houses and all of the businesses are on, there is one other road that crosses it where the colmados are, but it goes to two different little communities on either side of mine. Everyone either lives “alla arriba” (up the road) or “alla abajo” (down the road). It is campo, meaning rural, and there are an estimated 800 people who live here. It is very very green here—there are lots of trees and everywhere is very densely vegetated. It might be as close to jungle as anywhere in this country. There is also a river that is in a little canyon that runs alongside the main road. If you keep going up the main road it continues uphill and at the very top, about 6 km away from my community, is the summit and another little community, El Firme that has 360 degree views all the way to the coast.
January 2, 2009
I gave up on writing for a long time since I have had no internet access so little motivation since I don’t know when anyone will ever get to read what I write. Anyway, I am in the capital for a day and have internet! I notice that this last entry is very incomplete… but as far as describing my community pictures probably do a better job. So, you should all check out my Gmail album, as I have been putting new pictures on there every so often. Anyway, the reason I am in the capital now is to do some business and take my vacation day—both of which had to be put off because of a death in my community. A friend of mine, Madelin, who had been battling cancer for several months, died on Tuesday morning. She was only 23, and her death has definitely shaken the community. When someone dies the whole world comes to a complete stop and everyone gets to work immediately getting everything ready for the velorio, which is the first day of luto, or the nine days of mourning. By 5:30 that morning everyone in the community knew, all of the furniture had been cleared out of the house in preparation for the arrival of the casket, and all of the women had set up fires on the ground of the gallera, which is the cockfighting ring, to start cooking. It is tradition to feed everyone who comes to the house that first day, and the entire world comes. Families are also huge here, and everyone is related. People came from all over, and Madelin’s boyfriend even flew in from New York and was there by the afternoon. Most of the day was spent in the packed house, full of people screaming and wailing, yelling at god, kissing the casket, and occasionally falling on the floor. It is definitely very public and very expressive, but that is the tradition. Overall, it was upsetting and a little scary, and impossible to be in the house and not be crying too being surrounded by so many sobbing people. It was very interesting to realize how much of mourning and expression of feelings is actually cultural. Even the way people cry here is different. That afternoon we had a service in the church, with a priest and the entire community, and then we loaded the casket on the back of a truck and the entire community got into the backs of trucks too and we had a procession of 30 or more trucks all the way down the hill, onto the freeway, and drove 5 mph all the way to the cemetery in Castillo. I wish I had taken a picture of it because it was absolutely incredible, but I didn’t bring my camera because it was pouring and I was in the back of a truck. There we did a lot of praying, and that was when the boyfriend arrived, which was also very intense. And then the mourning continues for 9 days afterwards, with the 9th day just as big and with as many people as the first day. So, I was planning on going to the capital on the 30th and going with a group of volunteers to the beach for New Year’s but obviously I couldn’t leave my site. Apparently it is okay to leave during the 9 days, as long as I am back for the 9th day. Which is good, since I could use a break, as it has been rather intense there. My dona, Isa, was Madelin’s cousin, and she has been spending all day every day at the family’s house doing the cooking and cleaning for them. For example, this morning when I went over there she was scrubbing the entire outside of the house. I’m not sure what makes this a good time to do that, but whatever. New Year’s was very quiet, as no one is allowed to play music during the mourning, and nothing ever happens without music here. Most people actually went to sleep before midnight. I was sitting with my friend’s family in his house that night, almost asleep, when at about 11:30 we heard a crash and went outside to find 3 crates of Presidente beer in the middle of the road, that had apparently fallen off a truck and the truck had drove off. We picked up all the glass, and most of the bottle were unbroken, so we picked some up and hid them in the bushes before the driver came back to find them. We then decided that our good fortune meant that we should go do something fun, so we went on the motor to a neighboring community where there was lots of drinking and some dancing at the colmado. It was a typical colmado scene, which consists of people sitting outside the colmado in plastic chairs drinking rum out of plastic cups, and really really loud merengue and bachata music and a few people dancing in the whatever tiny paved area the colmado has. There were actually only a couple of people from my community there, so it was really nice to be relatively anonymous for a couple of hours.
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