miércoles, 26 de noviembre de 2008
I live in a 2-room wooden casita, a term that sounds quaint, but that really refers to the modest dwellings of those who can’t afford a more spacious, sometimes concrete, house. My room has one window, which opens to an outdoor kitchen where my doña cooks over a wood fire for an army, including her adult sons, innumerable niños, neighbors, and Haitian farm workers. In the other room, separated by thin boards at the bottom, poster board higher up, and nothing at the very top, lives a family of 4. The 3-year old wakes up crying at some point every night. Even more people live in the, albeit, larger house on the farm. This is third world living. But not quite – I don’t share a room with 3 other people.