Saludos

This is a letter I wrote a while ago and never sent.

-Betsy.



Saludos.
It is 4:01 am here and I can’t sleep. I’m writing by candle light, swatting at the few mosquitoes hovering about my bare feet and listening to the night. The roosters just started, they always start at 4. I have no idea why or how, but the first on crows at four sharp, kind of faint and sleepy, the second echoes from maybe a few houses over and the chorus snowballs from there. Like a campo barbershop of 50 plus old men with rusty throats. Why do roosters crow anyway? And how is it they can all start at 4 a.m.? Just now they all quieted, even the crickets have paused—the rain started up again.
For the last month or so it has rained nearly everyday. Sometimes, like yesterday, it is all day, on and off. The showers came lightly, starting up almost on a whim and overlapping with the sunshine. Other days it comes in a fierce aguacero, heralded by a thick forerunner of dark, brooding clouds and opening with a crash of fat raindrops that instantly soak everything exposed.
Either way everyone runs or cover and if it’s rain to last a few hours or an afternoon, goes to sleep. Everything stops here in the rain. Sometimes, and especially at first, that seemed like such a lazy habit. Oh, it’s raining; we can’t come to your meeting. Or it rained this morning, so only half the class showed up. But now it’s starting to make some kind of sense. Rain here can go from that delightful, sun-infused patter to the violent tropical downpour with a mere change in the breeze. Streets flood in minutes; dirt roads become impassable gullies and any hillside a treacherous mud slick. A motorcycle can and will get mired up to the seat in the stubborn clay, making another 1/d day’s work to get it free and functioning again. Plus, it is just nice to relax in the rainstorm. Most houses here have zinc roofs, no insulation, so the drumming of the drops overhead can be thunderous, rhythmic and permeating.
In the harder rainstorms you can’t even hear yourself talk, so why not take a nap to wait it out? I am getting trained so that at the first sound of rain staccato I start to yawn and my eyes grow heavy. And it’s refreshing to be part of a life that has the space, flexibility and time to take the afternoon off for rain. It can be frustrating to only accomplish half the tasks I intended for the day, but that is another thing you have to get used to here. The daily pace is so much slower and spaced out. Tasks you might complete in a matter of minutes back home could take a whole day. Communication is slow, unreliable and less gadgety. You can’t just pick up a phone and call, at least not where I am, and transportation is even more finicky so the usual method of sending someone to fetch a person or deliver a message is often a lengthy process.
This style of managing work definitely requires patience and an adjustment on my part. I can’t be going going going, chugging from point to point, ticking items off my to do list like clockwork. I’m now required to take a breather, sit and talk for while, think and reprioritize. It must be good for me (seems like most uncomfortable changes are) but it still irks the latent American watch-slave inside me on occasion.
What do you think of this stationery? Good ol’ Winnie is phenomenally popular here, as are most other muñequitos—cartoon characters. This paper was given to me by a woman I work with in the Center. I have seen formal letters written on pink kitty paper with a Sponge Bb pen. It’s sometimes funny to see the strutting boys from the liceo (high school), bristling with machismo, sporting a teddy bear backpack.
There are many small things like that, just slightly out of sync with what I’d expect at home. I definitely get a kick out of people walking along the street belting out Celine Dion. Everyone lings here sin verguenza, regardless of present company or voice quality. In a way it’s freeing to not be held back by the idea that only those blessed with the best voices should sing out. But when one muchacha has been croaking out a warped rendition of My Heart Will Go On for the last 35 minutes, you start to wish for some cultural restraint.
Romantic, sugary pop hits are the rage. I must confess they are not my first picks, but it’s the passion that attracts people, which is kind of fun. There’s no such thing as lip sync here, but karaoke, oh man. Most Dominicans are born actors, every bone in their body built for dramatic expression. Performances of every style are common and expected. Most don’t understand my shyness at singing, speaking, dancing, whatever, in from of large groups. But I am getting a little more used to it, a little more comfortable at showing what I’ve got. Sometimes. Usually being the lone gringa is more than enough spot light for me.
Well, the candle is nearing its end and the mosquitoes are gathering forces so I’m going to try for a few hours sleep. The roosters have started up again as the rain pauses. Thanks for sharing the morning.

Taking Oneself Seriously

Here are a few photos of some P. sanchez Locals looking their sexiest.

A Visitor’s Guide to Visiting El Cuerpo de Paz DR

It is most important for you, reader, to internalize that the ramblings in this edition of “Betsy’s Blog” are solely and specifically the opinions of me (I), an exaggerated visitor of an exhausted Volunteer.
The primary and most important observation that I have made to date is that the people here are human beings, beings subject to common rules of individuality and variation betwixt persons. That being said, I feel free to generalize and say that the vast majority of Dominicans are impressively generous. The typical Dominican will halve their portion, in order to share with a relative stranger, and then halve that remaining portion once again to accommodate someone else down the line. The one exception to this is the Capital, which, at first impression, is an awful, awful place.
When visiting your volunteer, I suggest that you attempt to view them the most in their natural habitat. There exist, currently, two reasons for such advice. One (1): Volunteers usually tire with ease, and variation from their familiar schedule may be exhausting. Two (2): Volunteers can be crappy tour guides, frequently rushing you past the 500-some year-old church in order to get you to the best Yogun Früz stand in the DR.
Here are a few surprising things to expect from your volunteer in country:
-complaint or concern for money (this is often baffling, considering that they frequently argue over values amounting to less than three cents, USD). It is difficult to remember that these wonderfully sacrificial individuals are, in fact, volunteers. It is important to know that a brief argument over a few pesos is more a stand based upon respect and competency in their temporary home, rather than genuine penny-pinching.
-Frustration with their project (with exception of Jake). It seems as though resources are a major problem for many volunteers. Betsy is fortunate to have one of the most functional Centro de Tecnología in the IT division. Other volunteers seem to be missing important elements, such as inversores (battery-thingys to keep the power smooth and on), power, teachers, and students. Organizationally, much of the structure reminds me of two hands working simultaneously. One hand washes the dishes, but that hand forgot to inform the other hand, who was supposed to go buy soap, and in-stead told his cousin to go do it, and she had rolos in her hair, so all of the dishes got washed sans soap. And also, the river overflowed its banks, so there is now manure in your water. As a visitor, it is easy to see all of the energy that a person can put into this system, yet, said person will probably not see many fruits of their labor in their time in this country.
-Emotional withdrawal. I think that this is different to each volunteer, but is relatively common. A volunteer is having a tough time at living their life, in addition to the sometimes futile attempt to be useful at their site. They endure quite a bit of stress in response to these two factors, and all without the direct safety, resource and comfort of their security system, you. It seems common for the volunteers to create a space, or relative indifference toward home, if only to survive separation from those whom they love so much. This is an understandable process, and it may take some time for a volunteer to grow accustomed to a guest, even those guests with amazing levels of charm and handsomeness. Trust that they are happy to see you, or at least will be eventually (possibly after you leave).


As for making your trip everything it can be, keep your eyes open to things that appear unusual and different. Many irregularities here can be explained in terms that are common to American culture, yet exaggerated. For example. Most Dominicans LOVE to have their picture taken. It is not unusual to have a Dominican look at a photo of their-self and comment “wow, I am extremely good looking.” The odd thing is, looking as sexy as possible here rarely involves smiling. This can produce hilarious results, especially in a group context. Please see attached photo.
I have felt a lot of pressure here to “dress the part.” Dominicans typically wear very nice jeans, fancy shirts, and impeccably clean shoes. I have tried (in vain/vanity) to emulate this look, but have been able to come to only one conclusion: I am a Gringo. There is absolutely nothing that can be done to change my hair, skin, and the perspective under which I was raised. I stick out like an albino Oreo with hot sauce instead of sweet frosting. I might as well dress comfortably. Eventually, people will learn to value me for my differences more than they would for my Dominican-ness.
When I arrived, I felt the need to be prepared, as if for a safari. The odd thing is that here, the burden of accessories is often what makes you feel naked. When going out and about, especially in the capital, one will feel the most free with as little as possible (to be stolen). I have also spent a day in tow behind two (deceptively athletic) young Dominican men, with a sweaty back-pack, which filled more and more with fruit as we progressed though the neighboring hills. This type of journey is a serious character-builder, and is much easier taken without the pack.
In the Capital, which I would visit last, I recommend getting an actual guide-book and Xeroxing the pages of the Colonial Zone. I feel few volunteers get a real tour when they visit the capital, and your map and info would probably enrich their visit along with yours. Since this area is also very popular with tourists, this sort of thing is more acceptable there. Also, at shops/markets, don’t be intimidated because you don’t speak Spanish. If they want to sell you something, they can be patient. Since you will probably be over-paying anyhow, they can accommodate you.

Pueblo Specifics
Our pueblo is the most tranquilo of places that I have visited. The size of the community and their affection for Betsy can offer a lot of relaxation, and resource on the part of the visitor. Safety comes along with this package as well. I feel that introductions are very important, as well as a short visit to as many people as possible. Just take in the surroundings as the conversation happens, because this is beautiful, wonderful Dominican life. Betsy is usually pretty good with a general synopsis of what occurred in the conversation while your eyes glazed over. You find that you learn a lot about an individual without even communicating directly. If you are lucky, you can sometimes get invited for a real Dominican lunch, the biggest of the day. No matter how Betsy tries, she will not be able to duplicate the deliciousness of Dominican rice and beans. Warning, do not play Dominoes with a Dominican with any expectation, unless that expectation is to receive a real humbling.
I have made only one funny Joke in the entire time that I have been here. You can try, but American humor is worthless to these people. If you want to tickle their funny bone, get stuck out in the rain, or slip and fall or something. Patti, you will do fine.

With that, I abruptly end this edition. More to come!
Respectfully,
Jeffrey Cincoski, ingeñero de chopeando y instalador de filtros. Marriot El Seibo.

As for the toilet: I think that Betsy is nuts. It is fine to sit on the seat. And at night-time, I find that the roaches that do live in there are afraid of light. Shine your flashlight down there a few times and they will all go as far from your precious hiney as possible. Hers is the only one in the country that is ok to put TP down. In most places, there is a trash can or bucket for papel de baños. If it’s dark, or even semi-private, I recommend just peeing in the yard.

The Brother Bean

Another historical marker arrived in my Caribbean theater in the form of an eager, hairy, tanning machine: my first visitante, my little brother. A vacation of epic proportions (“epic”), just rough enough around the edges to keep us grounded in the fact that this is indeed Peace Corps. The pristine post-card beach was precipitated by a grueling 1.75 hour slog in the sun sans bola (free ride), but a saintly and mysterious neighbor did pass by on a motorcycle and gave us 2 cold Cokes. Bean climbed the coco trees. Ask him if it was as painful as it looks. The whirring horde of my housemate mosquitoes was kept at bay by the arsenal of repellent products he smuggled through customs.

The crux of our brief time together was spent in an all-inclusive casino hotel. I mean, we were surviving Hurricane Dean by the barest margin, of course. Bean and another pcv’s visiting bro were the only members of our group to actually see any hurricaney action since they were free to leave the hotel and scout out the waves. Dean passed the capital dry, however and we were left unscathed and without wild war stories.

Just to illustrate the brilliance of my brother and family—Charlie brought me 4 books, including the coveted ultimo of Harry Potter and a plastic schnapps bottle filled with Jameson’s whiskey. What a wise and lovely chap. In case anyone is still wondering Dominican coffee + jameson’s + sugar + powdered milk + butter ≠ deliciousness. Many laughs indeed. As a parting thank you for planning this bangarang adventure, he bought me a mammoth machete. And put the mouse and lizard we caught in the sticky traps under the table out of their misery. Nice to have a varón around for that one.

My friends threw a rocking merengue despedida our last night in town and sent him off in style—with some hip new dance steps, a belly full of fritos and johnny cake (pronounced yanni-cake-uh) and the hearts of all muchachas in range. What a tiguere. I think he managed to learn a little Spanish from the 10-day Try to Get Betsy To Translate program I put him in upon arrival. If anyone else is interested, the results are fair to middling in the language department, but off the charts in fun. For me anyway. Thanks, Beanie. You’re a kick and a half.

You can see Bean peeking out from the privacy of my luxurious bath house. Cold showers are better than they sound.

This last one is for you, Mom. Here’s me in the glory that was our room the first and last night, sporting my bottle of anti skin fungal magic: Selsun Blue.

The Salto

My pueblo is situated in a shallow valley in the Cordillera Oriental, the most eastern chain of mountains in the province of El Seibo. The surrounding hills are riddled with caves and laced with winding and drunken pathways that lead to hidden pastures, waterholes and fruit groves. One of these paths threads north, shadowing the river until it ends at the salto, the big waterfall. Usually the caminos are rather well-kept simply because of traffic, but apparently the scenic route to the salto has been unpopular as of late. We battled vines, bushes, roots, rocks, ants, centipedes, starving mosquitoes, thorns, and most painful of all pringamosa, the stinging, rash-inducing bush that seemed to be around every corner.

It was a wild, lush and tropical scene when we finally made it to the river, like a scene out of Indiana Jones. The deep pools ringed by the moss-darkened boulders, vines draping through the dappling sunlight, soft clouds of mosquitoes humming above the water’s surface, flittering butterflies along the banks. We never did make it to the salto, too slippery, overgrown and impassable. But we discovered several gorgeous swimming holes and rock slides and the cold water soothed our many scrapes, bites and scratches. Beautiful view, most of which are unrecorded because the terrain was too peligroso even for a camera.

La Vecina Nueva

I have reached another milestone in my time here—I finally moved into my own house. Sola, something rare in this culture. Most Dominican families have at least 3 generations and a handful of extended relatives living under the same roof; I have a sizeable house to myself. Kind, concerned neighbors ask me everyday if I’m doing all right, if I’m lonely, sad or scared. I tell them I love it, and they still bring me avocados and other fruits to make me feel better.
The house is a typical wooden house, green and pink with a cement floor. It has the zinc roof that makes the rainstorms sound like a drum cascade, and the drafty walls that let in the cool night air. (And the cockroaches…de vez en cuando) It is quite spacious, and thanks to my new landlady I have some real furniture. The yard is a mini orchard conglomerate, with cherry, avocado, plantain, banana and lemon trees. I don’t know if any of them actually produce any fruit, but the possibilities are wonderful.
The house out back is actually the kitchen, where I would normally cook over a fire—fogón—but since I have the space and a little electric range, I set up camp in the main house. Note the avocados waiting on the table. You can also see my bathhouse. Open air, open to the elements. One afternoon I was bathing and the rain started. The first drops felt like minty sprinkles, energizing flavor crystals for the skin. It’s also incredible bathing at night under the brilliant theater of stars.
One of the best parts is the galleria, the front porch. In the late afternoon I have shade and a nice breeze and can take part in one of the essential components of Dominican lifestyle: sitting. And chatting. Thanks again to my dueña, I have 2 chairs to accommodate a my visitors.
As much as I love my house, it does come with its hazards. Yesterday evening the electrical wire that stretches over my yard to the house behind me exploded and fell, striking and killing an unlucky dog that just happened to be passing by. Because the wire was tangled around the dog and still con coriente, we had to wait for the lights to go out this afternoon before the neighbor boy could get rid of the body. So the path to the latrine was a little grisly during the hot afternoon hours.
In other news, we are wrapping up the painting phase of the world map mural. And the pizza wave continues. This last pie stuck to the pan, but it was still a tasty hit. Well-worth the 20 minutes of chipping at the cement, I mean crust.

IST

I just got back today from our 3-month IST (in service training) near Santiago. We spent the first 3 days in a center just outside of the city with our project partners presenting our Community Diagnostics and doing workshops on job/project planning, then we loaded up in the vans and went to paradise.
We stayed in a conference center outside of San Jose de las Matas that is situated on the top of a hill in the beautiful mountains of the Cibao. It was cool, breezy, green and drier...I thought I was in Montana! All 4 of the sectors in our group were there--IT, Special Ed., Enviro. Ed., and Ag-Forestry--so it was a big reunion and we had a lot of laughs, especially thanks to Alissa, Jake and John.

And a lot of Pinochle! Ever since CBT, John, Alissa, Angela and I from the IT group have been hooked on the game and we are converting followers at every chance. We drank a lot of coffee and fresh juice made from the plentiful gardens and fruit trees around the center.
The training itself was also quite productive, and I learned things like web designing, how to manipulate photos with Photoshop and various other programs, and how to troubleshoot the lab when the mischeivous muchachos "accidentally" break things. Mostly, we got to understand each other's projects and problems and exchange ideas and solutions. I'm feeling pretty excited and motivated to get back and get things rolling.

Some of the SPED beauties: Megan, Robyn, Sarah and Kelsi

Alissa and I posing after the rain.

Colleen and Alan...look at those smiles.

John and Ryan getting their Domino groove on.

This isn't from IST, but it's Angela, me and a good time so it's included.

A Bailar

This week was the Fiesta Patronales here—patron saint week. There were games, horse races, kids activities, the park was full of vendors and multi-colored tents bristling with trinkets, toys, books and jewelry. Fried food galore, hotdogs on a stick and coconuts for sale. Interestingly, imported apples were the most popular of treats. In the evenings the streets filled with people and the giant speaker systems (called “disco lights,” pronounced “dico lai”) started pounding. Lots of beer and brugal, but for me this meant lots of dancing.
Merengue, bachata and palo, oh my. Palo is a traditional dance, kind of like a Dominican version of the polka, played by a group of men on drums and the scrapey grader-like thing and a high, wordless singing. Very rhythmic, as one of my host sisters said, it’s “música que llama.” Music that calls you. Usually the crowd dancing palo turns into a sort of informal contest dominated by the old people. The “viejitos” have been dancing for years and years and are incredible to watch. I was able to dance with a few of them…I have a lot to learn about palo, but it was a lot of fun!
In other news, I was sick for the first time last week. Much stomach distress, pain, I won’t go into more detail. Some guy back home is spreading the word I had amoebas. Don’t know for sure I had the buggers or not, but it kind of sounds burlier than a bad “gripe” (the flu, pronounced gree-pay).
I was just in the capital to get my mail—thanks for the letters, they made my month—and get some materials for the preschool we started in the center. I also got to say hasta luego to a friend that returned to the states Saturday. I’m excited for her, but will definitely miss her being here in the DR. Good luck Leah!
The preschool in the Ludoteca is trucking right along. We have 2 “tandas,” three hours in the morning with the 2-4 year olds and then 3 hours in the afternoon with the 5 and 6 year olds. I am helping another girl teach, and I am ever so thankful for her. I am definitely learning patience and improving my Spanish. This last week I learned “!no la muerdas!” (don’t bite!). It is frustrating and exhausting, but also incredible to watch the kids learn. Even in the short time we’ve had the classes—just finished the 3rd week—I can see progresses. One example is with the puzzles. Many of the kids had never even seen a puzzle before and awkwardly handled the pieces, confused by the mixing of colors and shapes. It is fun now to see them maneuver the pieces, trying first one way then the other and the big smile of satisfaction bloom on their faces when it finally fits.
The world map project is also continuing, turning into a much longer project than either of us had imagined. But it is looking good (“it actually looks like a map!”) and we’re still excited about the painting. Maybe someday soon I’ll get a picture of it up on here.
Happy 4th of July. And no, they don’t celebrate that here.
Jake: still no house. how do you feel about camping?

News Actual

Here are some of my recent activities:

We are working on a mural, a world map, in the school. We are still in the drawing phase, and it's going really well. I never really paid attention to how many little islands and jagged coastlines there are. It's quite a geography lesson.

Morning and afternoon walks to search for fruit! We always come back with handfulls of mangos, or chinolas or papayas or whatever else we come across along the way.

English classes are progressing. Everyone wants to learn english here, in part because the better jobs--those in tourism and hotels--are competetive and pretty much require at least some facility with english. French and German are also in high demand.

These are the filters that Matt has been working on. I helped him one day. They are concrete blocks, filled with 2 types of gravel and 2 types of sand. Completely natural, economical and a great solution for the people here--who have to either buy filtered water or get sick from drinking the river and rain water.

This is my friend Anthia and I at the mother's day festivities. Mother's day here is the last sunday in May.

This is my latrine/bathhouse and my bedroom, just for reference.

Week 2

The summer heat is starting! As are the rains. This is looking out from my front porch during the torrents las Sunday. It rained so much a water pipe broke and a some power lines were down so we were without water and electricity for about 4 days. The elec. I didn't mind, but the water is a little more uncomfortable. But we have the river so close, everyone just goes there to bathe.

I've been exploring some more of the countryside, these are a few of the vistas. Note the papaya tree, me with my own papaya, and the lovely hills in the background.

Citizen at last

So this is what my new home looks like. There are about 5,000 people, with one main road and barrios that branch off. It's nestled in the hills of the Cordillera Oriental, the northeastern mountain range in the province of El Seibo. They say it's pretty dry, but it looks green and lush to me, so I guess it's dry for Caribbean standards. There is some agriculture, but mostly for food and living purposes. People raise cattle, pigs, chickens (lots and lots of chickens...they are everywhere). Goats, horses, donkeys abound as well. We have 4 churches I think, one school, and various other businesses.

Here you can see one of the rivers, the baseball field (called a "play"), my house and grandmother named Domingita, the school, the center where I'll work (CTC, Centro Tecnologico Comunitario), the main drag, and the hills in the background.

I'm excited to explore the many trails, caves and the waterfall. And to enjoy the local fresh fruit--mangos, pineapple, oranges, lemons, chinola, just to start. Anyone ready to visit me?

This is photo of the cloud of kids that went for a "run" with me...they absolutely love having their pictures taken, and of course we mostly ate mangos!

Volunteer Status

So we are finally official volunteers. Our training ended yesterday with the swearing-in ceremony. It was a fancy affair, with dignitaries and speeches and raising our right hand. We did the oath in Spanish and English of course. Feels good to be getting on with our jobs. Hopefully anyway.
I head out Saturday to my new site in the province of El Seibo in the east. There I will be working with a computer center that is already thriving. I will live with a new family for the first three months, and will also spend this initial time getting to know the community and the people with whom I will work when I actually do stuff. There is another PCV currently living there, who works with youth programs. He has been here for a year and a half already so has a lot of things going on for programs and activities.
There is no phone service in the town, but the center has internet. Many people have cell phones and you can always see people wandering around, waving their phones in the air trying to snag a little bit of service. We also have water almost all of the time, a semi-rarity in this country. I live (for the moment) right next to the school, and already have a cloud of kids that follows me whenever I leave the house. I'm hoping this will help my Spanish!

Semana Santa

Semana Santa, Easter week, is like the national spring break here. Everything is closed, everybody goes visiting. All stores have been closed since Wed., if they bothered to open this week at all. Schools are out for at least a week, depending on when the students decide to come back, and everyone spent last weekend cleaning furiously, cooking, and stocking up on the groceries that would be unavailable once the vacation started.
Tradtionally everyone heads to the campo, the country pueblos, to visit family and friends, and to get out of the city. This is a big time for going to the beach and the river to swim, so most places that are normally secluded are now teeming with vacationers. Entire quadruple-generation families will load up in a single vehicle, trundle for hours over pothole-ridden roads to get in their campo and beach time.
I myself have been to the river several times with my IT group and also with the fam. This photo is on the way to the river in the campo called La Cuchilla, the knife. The most challenging part of the trip usually proves to be finding an uncrowded section of a CLEAN river, free of trash and “cow dirt.” We were lucky one day to ask César, the toothless gentleman in camo, for directions and he sent us down his driveway to his river-front property. There we passed a glorious day sunning and splashing in the shallow, swift currents. I’d like to take this opportunity to remind you I am here not on vacation, but as a volunteer in the “toughest job you’ll ever love.” Really.
Viernes Santo, Good Friday, is the traditional day—for those staying home and playing host to the visiting hordes—for making habichuelas con dulce. That’s right, sweet beans. Sounds questionable, but the creamy mix of blended pinto beans, coconut milk, cinnamon, cloves, raisins, nutmeg and a boatload of sugar is quite a decadent dessert. I prefer it nicely chilled with plenty of those little, sweet crackers that float on the top. this is my doña and my sort-of-sister Criseida stirring the good stuff.

Interestingly, Viernes Santo is also a day of silence for reflection. this means, these days, that no one is allowed to blast music. In this country, that is a big sacrifice. A few of us went walking downtown in the evening and it was very strange to have a quiet street full of people.

this is a photo of us on our pizza night. wahoo! yes, we made homemade pizza, dominican style.

The Bateyes

It was a Wednesday morning, the early morning coolness already steaming from the damp earth in a queasy layer of heat waves. Our group was accompanied by Doña Elsa, who works as a district supervisor in the Secretary of Education overseeing all the elementary and secondary schools in the area. Her main work lies with the poorer areas, and we were accompanying her on her visit to the local bateyes. Bateyes are the settlements of workers and their families that spring up amidst the sugar cane fields. Because El Seibo lies in the East, with a relatively flat landscape and hot summers, it is ideal ground for growing sugar cane. Sugar cane, caña, grows tall and willowy, like giant marsh reeds. The winding, paved highway cut a narrow swath in the undulating sea that seemed to stretch to the horizon as soon as we left the edge of town.
The first batey we came to was one of the more prosperous ones, with a community center, 2 schools—private and public—at least one church that I could see. Many of the houses were made of cinder blocks, much preferable to wooden ones. This one was Dominicanos and Haitianos. The poorest bateyes tend to be all Haitiano.
We stood in the shade of the small scale-shed as the scale man, Paco, explained the process of weighing, hauling and shipping. Paco is 70 years old, started cutting caña at 22. As he spoke, two men approached singing to their team of oxen, smacking the flanks with dried cane sticks to keep time. They pulled their slat cart bristling with freshly cut caña up under the scale frame, laced the bulky chains around the load, and hoisted it all into one of the rusted box cars waiting along the rail line in the sun. 95 pesos per ton, the scale man explained, which is about $2 American, about an hour to cut 2 tons.
The public school was an L-shaped building with about 10 classrooms. The students all wear light blue polo or button down shirts and khaki pants or skirts. Next to the school is a large garden, with all sorts of vegetables, herbs and even banana and orange trees. This garden started years ago when the schools were required to feed the students lunch and breakfast. The funding for that program dried up, but they were able to keep the garden alive, and now it functions as a community source for teachers and families that can’t get vegetables on there own from town. This school goes up to 8th grade; some only go to sixth, and some only the 4th. It just depends on space and available teachers. After the 8th level, the students must take the Prueba Nacional, the national exams to enter into the high school in El Seibo. To take this, they must have identification papers, and because many of the students are un-registered Haitianos, this is the end of the line for education.
The further we drove from the city the poorer the bateyes became. But every time we stopped and trooped out of our big white guagua, the kids would swarm us, clamoring for their turn to be in a picture. They were all gnawing on hunks of peeled caña, and because it’s basically like chewing on a stick and sucking out the sap, with all that fiber and polishing they have beautiful, gleaming teeth. At least for a few years, before the lack of dental care catches up with them.
We stopped at one field to talk with the cutters, and the man peeled a piece for us to try. Much sweeter than I expected…I guess it is pure sugar after all. Though some plantations have harvesting machinery, most cut the caña by hand, by machete. They spend day after day, dawn ‘til dusk stooped over, whacking and gathering. I felt very conspicuous, very American as we stood there gawking at the men as they made there living one machete blow at a time.
Apparently there have been a lot of changes over the last 10 or 20 years. Before, the workers would be paid in food tickets only, and were provided only minimal housing. Now they actually receive salaries, and there are housing projects being implemented so more people can have blockhouses (read: fewer rats, less mold, less upkeep). And the education is supposedly improving, but they still have problems with a scarcity of qualified teachers, overcrowding, and poorly built school buildings, like the rest of the country. Everyone we talked to said they were, if not optimistic about the changes, at least surviving. And surviving on far less than we would have thought possible only 2 months ago. Definitely the most eye-opening experience so far for me.