Standards?... Lower them!

You know you’re in Peace Corps when all of your friends are half your age! It sounds sad, I know. Just hear me out a little bit lol. 98% of the women my age in my community have children and are married. Of course I spend time with them, but no matter the conversation, it always ends up with an interrogation about why I am not married. I pretty much told a lie to everyone in my community and they think I have a boyfriend. What! I had to tell them something so they could stop hounding me. Did it work? Not exactly- they call me an “Abusadora (Abuser)” because I left him in the states to wait 2 years for me. Some people even proceed to tell me that he’ll cheat on me, so I should just find a Dominican husband. I just laugh at them and their shenanigans. Being a wife where I live entails staying in the kitchen for half the day, scrubbing floors that always seem to be dirty again within an hour, and hand-washing tons of clothes… just to do it all over the next day. So yeah, I’ll pass on that one!

Children on the other hand are chill. I like them because they’ll pretty much do whatever I tell them to. They make store runs, help me mop my floor (they think Americans don’t know how to mop, fine with me!), correct my Spanish when I pronounce something wrong, they’ll walk around with me when no one else wants to, they tell me ALL of the gossip, they do room checks (for rats that is), and they even clear my room of dead rats… gotta love ‘em! Believe me when I tell you, they get really annoying! But, they’re good company to keep around.

You probably were expecting some great, life changing post… I could tell you how people prepare 3 months in advance for Christmas, but the celebration sucks; I could tell you about how a gecko was on the roof and it’s poop fell in my bra; you’d probably want to hear how I vomited watching a pig get slaughtered or maybe how I was tricked into almost eating pig intestines and drinking some strong, black-out worthy alcohol… but nope, this is it! Just wanted to tell you how I’ve lowered my social standards and have 10 year old best friends J

Maybe next time I’ll give you something more enlightening.

"I Won't Complain"

I always wondered how women could carry those huge buckets of water on their heads without dropping it or how they could walk for miles holding massive bags of rice… It’s because they have to! When the quality of your life depends on “that” one thing, you’ll dust your shoes off, put on your big girl panties, and grab the superwoman cape. We are strong because we have to be, not necessarily because we want to. We never truly actualize our full strength because there’s always something that stumbles along our journey to push us just a little bit further…

It’s been almost a week since we ran out of water and the water from the hose hasn’t come yet to fill up the tanks. Every now and again when this happens, I’d buy a bottle of water to use for my bucket bath when I don’t feel clean after using a baby wipe. I have even given up exercise for the past 12 days in order that I might sweat less. Still, I told myself “I won’t complain.” I remind myself of the 102 families in my neighboring community that never have “agua de la llave (faucet water),” and are forced to make one of two decisions every week: walk a few miles to find water or use the brown contaminated water from a local pond.   

Today was different; I ran out of baby wipes and I wasn’t willing to sacrifice my drinking water to bathe. Not to mention, my host mom was not home today to treat me like a princess as she always does when she feels bad and apologizes for uncontrollable happenings, like this water situation. So I sat on my porch, sweating and playing Uno with my host sister. I watched as two elder women walked slowly with that slight forward lean and arched back some of us get after life happens to us. They each carried two empty recycled bottles and a bucket. About 40 minutes later, they returned with the buckets on their heads and one bottle in each hand, all full of water.

Seconds later, I looked down at my dirty hands, then at my 10 year old sister and said “It’s time to put my big girl panties on”. She gave me that scrunched eyebrow and raised lip look we do when we don’t understand someone.  After all, I did say it in English. She smiled as she saw me pick up the two empty oil bottles our mom uses when she goes to find water. As I walked down the hill during the hottest part of the day, I said to myself “I won’t complain, I won’t complain!”… I continued on to fill up the bottles, then I returned home only to realize that these two bottles of water only filled up one of the six buckets. Since I haven’t mastered the head method of transportation, I walked up and down the hills 5 more times carrying water. Every now and again, I’d stop to take to a breather when my arms felt as though they were about to fall off. Women and children sat on their porches saying “Adios, Micha!… Dios te bendiga!” as I passed by. By the third trip, I even had a group of children following me. My muscles ached and my fingers were cramped, but I walked along and smiled…

Today taught me two lessons: 1.) You know the value of every drop of water when you’re the one carrying it. 2.) For almost every situation in life, we have 2 choices- we can either allow our situations to overcome us, or we can get up, wipe the sweat off our foreheads and do something about it.

Is there something in your life worthy of your super(wo)man cape? You may not think your strong enough, but trust me, you have a ball of strength somewhere deep down in your core that you haven’t used yet. Get up and go for it! Yes, there may be stops and hiccups and you may even be hurt along the way, but choose to continue on. A try beats a fail. Whatever is, once you attain it, you’ll value it that much more when you have worked for it. Through it all, remember “I won’t complain”… Until next time my friends J

Reality of my Blackness

Hey! I’m black in case you haven’t realized. Always have been, always will be… When I first came to the Dominican Republic, I blended in perfectly with my red lipstick, freshly flat-ironed hair, caramel skin, and curved hips. Some Dominicans would even attempt to argue with me when I told them I am not a Dominicana. Now here I am: a couple shades darker, with kinks a bit too hard to comb for the common person, and an afro too large for cultural acceptance. If it wasn’t for Obama, whose presence makes it slightly easier to explain how I am a black American, I don’t know what I’d do. Before starting my service in the DR, I thought being black would be the least of my concerns. While it is not something very daunting and I don’t have these problems daily, it is something that exists and I thought it was worth sharing.

Being African American in the DR has its perks: I can get on public transportation and not have the fear of getting robbed because people think I’m from here; I can buy something on the street and not be over charged because my skin color saves me; yes, I can even be stopped and ID-ed by military forces due to confusion because my complexion may be considered too dark for a Dominican and too light for a Haitian. None of these examples account for the fact that my nationality is neither Dominican nor Haitian, but American seems to be the last thing that comes to mind. I find myself having conversations about the fact that I am American by default because my ancestors were stolen from Africa… This leads to different discussions where I try to force people to understand their identity and how they were socially conditioned to hate their blackness.

I find it frustrating here when I have conversations with Dominicans and they deny being black. Many of them try so hard to distinguish themselves from Haitians that they inadvertently condemn their own identity and roots. I try to make people understand that they are descendants of the African Diaspora, but African descent in this country is correlated with Haitian ancestry. Instead of standing in solidarity, I guess it’s easier for Dominicans to erase their history in hopes of gaining superiority over Haitians; thus, they unconsciously repeat the cycle with which they’ve convinced themselves to have no connection. So while I find myself defending my blackness amongst a group of people whose ancestry is inextricably linked to mine, I also defend the blackness of the Dominican Republic.

My black has always been full of boldness, pride, strength, love, and roots. I was black even when people told me not to be. If you’re the adventurous type like me who does it all from cocktail events with former presidents to rock climbing with my “sistah-girls,” then I know you’ve been told at least once- “Try not to act black when you go in here…” How is it that someone can ask me to hide behind my own skin whose color dominates the classification of my identity? I’m that girl that thought about going to a predominantly white institution for one second, simply because I wanted to be the President of a Black Student Union. Thus, instead of “trying not to be black,” I make sure that you remember my blackness! So, when you see a photo of a thousand faces, you’ll know that one black dot is me; when you hear of “that” black girl that competed in an interview against “those” white men, you’ll know it was me; when you’re child tells you about that amazing black woman they want to be like, yup- you’ll know it’s me! Many people have a negative connotation of what it means to be black. Hence, rather than conforming to society’s boxed idea and succumbing to societal barriers, I made the conscious decision to redefine blackness and black character, attitude, and capabilities.

I tell you all these things because no matter what we do, where we live, who we know, or how much money we make, being black is one of the only things we can’t change even if we wanted to. People fought and died for us to take pride in who we are, so never be sorry for being black. I won’t apologize if you hate me when I tell you that Jesus was black or if you don’t believe me when I tell you that Africans were the first to accomplish almost every “first”. I won’t apologize if my hair is too thick to fit under your baseball cap, if my hips can’t fit into your pencil skirt, if my existence intimidates you or my strength frightens you. My blackness is not worthy of an apology, it deserves a defense. In all that I do, I want my black presence to bring a heightened visibility to the fact that black is beautiful and not disdainful, powerful and not meager, accomplished and not a scar of failure… This was just one of my many experiences here in the DR during my Peace Corps journey. I know it was kind of a debbie downer, but it's also my reality. Until next time, stay black!