Ooof!

So this is one of those things that probably just won't come across on paper (or the computer screen), but I have to share it anyway. Dominican Spanish is a language all it's own. It has so many little (and big) idiosyncrasies and so many words that are unique to the DR. And, there are tons of expressions that I am certain only a Dominican (or someone living here) would get. There are so many - I could go on and on.

One of my favorites is "Oof!" It's something you say when someone asks something like, "So how many years have your grandparents been married?" or "How many people died in the earthquake?" or "How much trash is dumped into the river?" In other words, if the answers is "A lot! Too many to count! Where do I begin?" you just say, "Oooof!" and for added emphasis you can kinda' wag your hand around like you just burned it.

The other day we had a trainer come from DC to do a presentation on WMD (yes, that's right) and he asked "How many germs do you think are in this room?" Most of the room was Dominican employees - "Ooof!" they all replied. "Is that a lot then?" he asked. A little later he asked, "How many people do you think this stuff could kill?" "Oooof!" they said. He laughed, "Ooof again! Must mean a lot."

Guess you gotta' see it. Trust me. It's funny.

Thanksgiving

Thursday we celebrated Thanksgiving. It was my third international Thanksgiving. It was Jeremy’s fifth. The second international Thanksgiving for the boys. I love Thanksgiving abroad. Being in the DR is interesting because so many Dominicans are also Americans. The supermarkets know…or perhaps envision they know…the details of a Thanksgiving meal and stock their shelves accordingly. My family has always been more of a “from-scratch” kind of Thanksgiving family, so the shelves of canned gravy, canned cranberry sauce and boxed stuffing don’t go far for me, but one quickly gets the messages for whom these things are intended…they’re also stocked next to the hundreds of Butterballs that have been imported for the occasion.

We were super fortunate to have my dad and his wife here for the week. We went all out and the day was absolutely perfect. We had turkey, cranberry sauce (made from fresh cranberries that I bought last year on a fluke and then froze), stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans, fresh bread, toffee pudding, pumpkin pie, lots of wine, coffee. Truly, the whole nine yards and then some. We invited a few friends over, let the kids run around and stuffed ourselves in phases. Perhaps the only thing lacking (by most Americans’ standards) was football – we don’t have cable. And, perhaps shamefully, our table included more soccer fans than American football fans.

Since Thursday I have been really struck by how at-home we feel. I think there is this image that people have that if you’re abroad for a major holiday you must feel like you would rather be “at home.” I have been wondering if that’s true. I know I certainly wouldn’t have traded our Thanksgiving for anything – it was wonderful and joyous. We felt blessed to be surrounded by so many friends and the added bonus of family from home. If we hadn’t had friends over too, would we have felt differently? Without family, would the occasion have been dreary? What about no one? What if we didn’t have the boys? If we were a childless couple would things have been sadder?

I guess, in conclusion, I do think that a Thanksgiving without friends or family would have been kind of depressing. Of course, the people are more important than the food and being surrounded by love and acceptance makes Thanksgiving (or any holiday) perfect. From the FS perspective this means we might be free to have a pizza Thanksgiving, a curry Thanksgiving or even a sushi Thanksgiving someday because somehow, I’m certain, in this life the fabulous friends just keep on popping up just as the dreams keep coming true.

Five

Our oldest turned five. I cannot believe I have let the last two weeks pass without blogging about it – it was an adventure in food and culture. You know you’re neglecting your blog when such a perfect blog opportunity presents itself and you decide to watch Glee instead….or you just know how freaking amazing Glee is.

Anyway, I plotted and schemed and researched about how to make the most fabulous cake – Mystery Machine? Lego? Fire truck? When I finally decided on a crazy stackable Lego cake and spilled the beans to the birthday boy, he was like, “Jodi (yes, he calls me Jodi…going on about 4 months of it), I really just want a white cake with strawberries, in a circle, with a number 5. And some cupcakes too.” I sadly let go of my ridiculous Lego fantasies, but was also totally relieved to realize he wanted something I could fulfill. The kid hates surprises anyway….unless they have wheels.

So, about 2 weeks ago twenty-five 5 and 6 year-olds made their way with their teachers from the school to our house for a little “field trip.” November is the month of the family so we turned it into a little mini-lesson and did some Skyping with grandparents. I provided a snack of cheese sandwich, apple slices and Cheetos and a juice box. And, of course the cupcakes for desert. I was trying to win them over with the Cheetos I won’t lie. They were a hit, along with the juice boxes and cupcakes. Most of the kids (except for mine and the children of one of my American friends) turned up their noses at the sandwiches and apples. Ya’ can’t win ‘em all I guess.

There was one moment when I looked over at my son and he had commandeered an extra juice box from the fridge and had a huge plate of Cheetos. I told him to put them back and he looked at me with his big brown five-year-old eyes and his teacher said, “Oh, pero los quierre (he wants them).” I felt out-numbered and, anyway, you know, birthday and all. At least I had stuffed the piñata with cheap toys and not Tootsie pops. Today I had to remind Vilma that cookies are not a snack even if they’re served with a slice of cheese. My faithful five-year-old had reported her. I think that’s funny – the word galletas can mean cookies or crackers. He’ll be kicking himself tomorrow come snack time. So big and yet still so innocent! Five.

Chili's...just kidding...kinda'

Today in the car on the way home from work we saw a sign announcing that Chili’s will be coming to the Blue Mall (the Blue Mall is one of the many, many malls here that just scream money laundering…but that’s another story). We kinda’ laughed at it. I hate Chili’s. Being from Austin I have no idea why anyone would feel the need to eat there. If you can get actual food that is not from some sort of microwaveable kit…or whatever it is that makes all their food turn out identical from Lubbock to Lisbon…why would you eat it?

Anyway, can I tell you the depth of sadness that exists from the brief moment when I was like, “Mmmm chicken strips with honey mustard sauce.” And Jeremy said, “Nachos.” We suck. It’s so gross. Will we? Won’t we? Only time will tell.

Absentee

This year we voted absentee.

We follow the news back home regularly – sometimes with horror and sometimes with pride. Being abroad puts a whole new spin on the gap between our daily reality and the daily reality of folks back home. Even the economic problems seem kind of far away for us. We know some people who are struggling, but I think we know many more who are doing pretty well or for whom things haven’t changed all that much. Admittedly, we might have a surprisingly conscientious group of friends.

Anyway, this year I looked at my ballot, decided to read up on the people I didn’t know and then voted straight party. I have been following a few nationally important elections, but not much about Texas. It’s sad, but honestly, for a liberal, Texas can feel like a hopeless place. It’s also a little sad because I definitely have a lot of pride about being a Texan, but when I hear crazy stuff about secession and text books and abstinence only education I think, “Wow, am I glad I’m outa’ there!” I kid you not, I feel like I betray my friends back home just a little bit every time I think that. They’re mostly social workers. Poor Texas social workers – no hope for you I’m afraid.

I love voting. I think it’s important. I actually feel really proud when I do it. But, voting absentee is different (even if I still feel great when I check off my boxes). It can highlight that sense of being an outsider.

Sometimes, I feel like we live in a bubble. We do live in a bubble. In fact, many bubbles – the DR bubble, the State Dept bubble, the Embassy Santo Domingo bubble, the house with screens and AC bubble. Occasionally, this bothers me. It makes me feel like I can’t be informed enough – that I’m missing something. And then, I look at the bubble of back home. The bubble that includes questions like, Where’s the Dominican Republic? Do they speak a foreign language there? Aren’t you scared to leave the US? Don’t you worry the boys will grow up without friends? It makes me think, “It’s like they live in a bubble or something!”

And so, in the end, I voted. From my bubble – perhaps a bit out of ignorance, but I voted. I believe this gives me the right to keep calling myself a Texan…or at least an Austinite. This was my first election abroad. Of course, it won’t be my last. I give myself an A for effort. It’s probably always a bit of a crapshoot anyway…right?

Commute

There was a point at which I stopped knowing if the traffic here is bad or not. I mean, it is. Of course it is. It’s insanity, but somewhere, somehow I have become used to it. And yet, this adaptation does not make my morning and evening commute any easier. We live about 5.5 miles from my office. Every morning it takes me anywhere from 45 minutes to 1 hour to get to work. On the way home it’s the same. I put on my music. I take a deep breath. I don’t get angry at the crazy drivers (I am really, really, really used to it). I suck it up. It’s life. I make the drive. But I don’t like it.

The other day I had this realization that in DC I won’t have a commute. And, it seems from what we know so far, we won’t have much of one in Antananarivo either. It dawned on me recently that this makes me very happy. Clearly evidence that the commute has been taking its toll. I love it here…but the traffic…

And then, almost bizarrely and purely by chance things have fallen into place in such a way that suddenly both my morning and evening commute times have been cut in half. I didn’t really get how much I felt the commute sucking away minutes of my day until, out of nowhere, I am spending 25-30 minutes in the car in the morning and 30-35 in the evening. I could pinch myself. In the world of Santo Domingo traffic it’s like a dream. How could this be happening? How could I have wasted so much time in the car if these alternate routes were possible? I knew these roads existed so why didn’t I ever think of trying them?

Anyway, no need to dwell. The new morning route was a chance suggestion from a colleague and for the evening route I can credit an especially laid-back taxi driver. Of course, I can’t go back and reclaim all those minutes I sat in traffic, but I can stay in awe of this new journey. I can sing a little louder in the morning having found it and take my last sips of coffee at my desk rather than downing the last cold dregs to the tune of blaring horns with a good 20 minutes left to go. And, best of all, I can come home, be with my family, eat dinner and just be.

And, I still have one whole year to get to drive this way! I feel this somehow brings home the countdown. The clock is ticking now. Everyday this becomes more and more home, more comfortable, more figured-out, more easy …and everyday we start to move closer to making it the past. Wow.

Life in a Bottle

Wanna’ freak out an Embassy person? Tell them the water they’re drinking is tap water!

I run around with my Peace Corps crowd and find my job to be a wonderfully perfect fit for me. I’ve roughed it around the world here and there. I’ve been to some of the poorest countries in the world and to the richest. I get the difference. I’ve been there poor and been there with a few bucks to my name. I’m not usually bothered by dirt, crowds, petty crime, germs. I feel here I do a pretty good job of navigating the differences...right? Well, I like to think so anyway. At heart I’m more of the Peace Corps type, it’s no surprise to anyone who knows me.

So, it is with great shame that I admit that even after drinking three glasses of delicious, crystal clear, cool water on a hot day, I could not bring myself to finish the fourth after I found out it was tap water. The conversation went something like this:

Peace Corps volunteers and I: chit-chat, chit-chat, chit-chat..etc, etc.

Peace Corps volunteer #1: I remember when we were here for training some people got parasites and the med unit determined it was likely from drinking the botellon (botelled) water.

[picture me with my glass, taking a drink, scrunching up my nose, “What does she mean?”]

Peace Corps Volunteer #2: Ya’ I’ve heard that. The people who drink the botellon up here tend to get sick more easily that those who drink the tap water.

[me, lowering my glass…silence]

Me: What do you mean?

PCV #2: The tap water is safe up here, but the botellon is more likely to be contaminated because maybe it’s not being filled with good water…you know brought in from somewhere else, or something.

[me, still holding my glass, paralized]

PCV #2: This is tap water.

Me: Really? [my words come out in a rasping squeek…worry, worry, worry]

PCV#2: Ya’ it’s safe.

Me: But, you guys are probably used to it. I have only had bottled water since I got here. In the entire year I’ve been here! Only. Botellon. Water.

PCV#2: No, you would know already if you were going to get sick. It’s fine.

I totally thought I was going to have a panic attack. I was imagining how I was going to continue my workday and then get home if I ended up with a parasite. I was trying to determine how exactly I would “know already” if I was going to get sick. I was thirsty, but I could not finish my glass of crystal clear, mountain spring water. I was officially a loser.

I feel like I have crossed a land that no Embassy person would ever dare tread. And, I’m fine. There’s no need to be dramatic I guess. It’s just water. But, it really reminds me that in this life, the FS life, the expat life, the “What in the world are they eating!” life, the “I have more frequent flier miles than I will likely every have money in my bank account” life, we can never really know what we think we know. There’s always gonna’ be someone, or something, to come along and shake things up. As soon as we think we know…we don’t.