perdido en traducción

When ordering another Country Club red soda, Fulano’s told that there’s only grape left. Fulano exclaims, “¡Se murió Balaguer, viva Leonel!” But the red and purple representing rival political parties can’t be passionately displayed as the blue of Los Tigres de Licey and the yellow of Las Aguilas Cibaeñas, the Yankees and Red Sox of the D.R. Mello once told me, “No soy político, soy aguilucha. Para siempre. Aguilucha y Católica.”

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5-year old Nicol totes the rusty lid to a 55-gallon oil barrel, to serve as a cover for a makeshift oven atop a wood fire for cooking corn bread. Esechia calls out from his perch on a rock outside of the school, “Este no sierve.” Nicol drops the lid and sets back out up the hill to look for another.

* * *

I’m doing laundry in the river. Two muchachos escort their elderly grandmother to the bank, where she rolls up her skirt, sits down and commences to doing laundry as well. The muchachos strip down to their birthday suits and dive in for a swim.

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35-year-old Ullo sucks his thumb while 2-year-old El Chiquito plays with Ullo’s pistola.
Number of mentions of Ullo’s pistola in this blog: 3
Number of mentions of El Chiquito playing with Ullo’s pistola: 2

* * *

Number of hours in the school day in the campo: 3

* * *

I get a vola to the pueblo with Denise. There’s a police/military road block. They’re looking for drugs, illegal firearms, undocumented migrants… I don’t know. We get out of the jipeta and Denise exclaims, “Soy maestra, empleada del gobierno.” She then casually proceeds through the line of soldiers, all toting assault rifles, to b.s. with an acquaintance standing outside of his jipeta as it’s being searched.

* * *

One way to make a living in the informal economy: wade in waste-deep water to push rafts carrying motorcycle taxis across the river. Charge 30 pesos per trip.

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There are some gringo tourists on the guagua along the North Coast road. When dropping them off at the airport, the cobrador holds out his hand and says “Cuatro cientos.” One of the tourists retorts, in English, “Locals don’t pay that much.” I opt to play dumb and pretend that I don’t speak English.

* * *

The director of a group of high school students commemorating the week they’d spent helping out with a nearby aqueduct project, stands atop the hill that’s the site of a future reserve tank, arms outstretched, in an epic pose, and says some inspiring words about the difference the kids have made. She then goes up to one of the local residents, puts her hand on his shoulder and says, in English, “Thank you so much for all your generosity.” The confused campesino shrugs his shoulders, turns to me, and says “A estos gringos les gusta tirar muchas fotos.”

* * *

With water finally arriving from the source to the tank site, and erupting from the impromptu PVC fountain we’d set up to test the system, Carmelo has the honor of taking the inaugural shower.

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As I pack up my things to move out of my host-family’s house, Linda, a young Haitian domestic worker peers at me through the doorway. Though all my worldly possessions fit in two suitcases and a backpack, I couldn’t help but feel that Linda was thinking, “Wow, these blans have too much junk.”

* * *

The day after I’d moved out of my host-family’s house I see my former room crammed full with 4 beds and 4 muchachos jumping on the 4 beds. The question is: where did these muchachos sleep before?

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“Deprived of direction, we are determined to go there fast.”
- Nadesan Satyendra