Dona, City Life, B-ball create smile

Doña Tempora has probably four times the age of me and I still don’t understand how she outworks me sun up to sun down every day. I think of the generations of people she’s fed. How many times she’s cleaned out that black, favorite, and dented caldron of hers. The number of days she’s sat at here bed side and humbled herself in front of the Bible. She inspires me when I start to daydream during Spanish class and I catch myself drooling as I look up to those green mangos hanging outside the classroom that will soon ripen and fall to the ground like free candy from a piñata. She reminds me to stay focused on why I’m doing what I’m doing, not what others think I ought to be doing. So she’s the “ama de casa,” “leader of the house,” “washer and folder of 10 peoples laundry,” and makes the best random mixture of dog food I’ve seen this side of the universe.

Tonight was perhaps the most exciting game of basketball I have ever played with Latinos. We’re creating our own live March Madness tournament here in the barrios. They play hard with the spirit of tigers. They call the men of streets here in Santo Domingo “Tigeres” because there’s no holding back on the “cat” calls or foolishly courageous remarks they exclaim to gain the ear of ANY lady passing by on the street. Anyways, the “Americanos” held on to win two games, despite the hot-damp tropical island climate, and a gang of international basketball rules that seem to change the game for a more friendly, yet more foul prone game. But I don’t know what I’m talking about basketball for because they say here Baseball is the national religion. I say the Dona’s presence in church and their ability to mobilize an entire family is more powerful than a loud Dominican baseball game at the end of Calle Ocho, but there really is no kid here who doesn’t adamantly declare baseball to be his or her favorite sport. That is all the while the old men play dominos and a funny checkers games called “tablero” where they use recycled bottle caps as game pieces.

These people know how to enjoy themselves, their friends, and their family, despite the difficult economic situation they endure. They are a culture of survivors and always find a way to fix their car tire (sometimes with a banana peal) or save an extra few pesos so they can share a candy from the Colmado with their best friend after school. I love the culture… I don’t care for the taste or sound of muffler-less motorcycles… I love the smile of eight year old Willis next door… I don’t care for the fact that other kids on the block think he’s not a good kid because his skin in darker than most Dominicans and that makes him Haitian, and Haitians “don’t belong here.” I see a world full of potential. I wish I could share this experience with you all but for now I can offer a little electronic update and the fact that Jared is smiling a whole lot.

I train for another 2 months (Spanish class, learn to build an efficient cooking stove, learn how to plant trees and what it means to manage a coffee farm, teach youth how to organize and mobilize in their communities, etc.) then I’m off to my project site for two years, probably in a rural area.

I know you all are doing well and so am I!

Share all you have. It will make a difference.