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.