Changes

So my computer crashed a few weeks ago, and the new/refurbished one that I got shipped here is not compatible with the wireless network (I should be getting a new card that is compatible), so I have only had access to the communal computer here. That is my feeble excuse for not blogging in awhile. I'm also not able to compress images on the communal computer, so I won't be able to post pictures until next week.

A lot has happened in the past month. The summer intern program at the English Institute ended on July 26th, and all the interns that I became good friends with over this summer have safely made it home. I can honestly say that they were some of the most wonderful people I have ever met, and I wish them all the best in their endeavors.

With the finish of the program, the English Institute has been closed down until the fall interns arrive on September 4th. That means I am now living at the orphanage, in one of the ramadas (pictures soon). I will stay here the rest of my time this fall until I return to the States in October.

Orphanage life is certainly different. At the English Institute we lived in the middle of Montecristi and we were well connected to the community. There is a park right outside the Institute where we would play with kids of all ages, and we eventually got to know their families who lived in the neighborhood. There was one piece of land inhabited by around 20 people from a patchwork of families. In this neighborhood, if someone is not your parent or your sibling, they are your aunt/uncle/niece/nephew or, perhaps the most notorious, the primo (cousin). Anyone can be your primo. When I ask who a boy is running across the street, I get a response like "Oh he's my primo... Yeah, he's the son of the sister of my best friend growing up" and so on. The blurred line between family and friends seems to be a common circumstance in Latino cultures, as I remember the same use of primo for close friends when I lived in Mexico. It's much more than just a superficial gesture of affection; you can really see how the people of this pueblo take care of each other. I really enjoy how they infuse that sense of family into community life. Anyways, although it was never clear how related the people were who lived on that property, they certainly have that familial rapport. Walking in from the street, there is one big dining room/kitchen/living room space where we spent a fair amount eating delicious Dominican food and chatting with the Dominican families. Past this room is the backyard/courtyard area as well as the sleeping quarters. These housing accomodations remind me of the so-called 'shotgun' houses in the poor neighborhoods of New Orleans, where the buildings are one room wide with one hallway, and as families grow they add on rooms in one direction (thus you could shoot a shotgun through the house and find the fragments on the other side). We spent several afternoons and nights in this backyard, and one night the moms tried to give us a bachata/merengue lesson, which was pretty hilarious. The bachata dance is a three-step, but I opted for the one-step-on-toes-two-hobble-awkwardly-step. Needless to say my dance moves are not up to par with the Dominicans.

One other story about the backyard. There is a special guest living behind the garden that Tito, one of the teenage guys, showed me one day. "Escot, come here my friend, I have something for you to see" he said giggingly, giddy to show me his pet. He grabbed the garden house buried in some bushes and motioned me to follow him back to a shack at the end of the yard. As we approached it he waved his hand in front of his nose, preparing me for the hellish stench emanating from the shanty. Before I could see what was inside, Tito began spraying water through a crack in the wall, and an animal began squealing with delight. A prize pig was getting his afternoon bath. I took a look inside, which was difficult considering the strong odor (odors seem to be a theme in my posts), and the hog was caked in mud, with a big grin across its face, elated from the cool spray in the hot afternoon. He must have weighed 300 pounds. Apparently a common source of incomes for families in the DR is selling the piglets of a mother pig, and then sacrificing the mother at the local butcher shop.

I have now been at the orphanage for several weeks, and it has been a very different experience from the Institute. We are somewhat isolated from city life, but I try to walk every day into the city to visit my friends in town. On the journey I get waves from kids and their families, who spend their summer afternoons sitting in the shade of their patios. The kids yell, "Americano!" and I yell back, "Dominicanos!". They give a confused look and then start laughing. One day a little boy, probably around 3 years old, was following me down the road, skipping with glee beside me, completely naked except for a pair of shoes. At least he was keeping his feet protected. Walking towards the city is one of the best parts of my day because of these random encounters. It's clear that the people of Montecristi are glad that we are here, and have a good view of Americans. Gracias a Dios.

The orphanage is walled in and we are not supposed to go outside at night, so almost all of our interaction during our downtime is with the orphans. There is so much to write about these kids I don't even know where to begin. I guess the first thing I should say is that I have never felt such an intense love for a group of people I just met in my entire life. It is clear that they have had an incredibly difficult childhood, and the behavioral problems that they have are a reflection of that bad environment, but despite their faults, in the moments where they let their guard down to me I have realized just how wonderful all of them are.

A new girl, Maria, was dropped off at the orphanage about 3 weeks ago, her parents effectively abandoning her. Many of the orphans here do have parents, but they decided that it was best to leave the kids at the orphanage, whether due to financial hardships or some other difficult domestic situation. Only a few of the parents come to visit the children during the visitor's hours on the weekends. Some of the children have been abused, others were brought when they were only babies. Maria was brought in at age 6, and has not seen her parents since they dropped her off. When I arrived her she immediately grew attached to me. The kids like me because I'm not embarassed to act like a goofball around them. I have become an expert tickler here, and the little kids love me for that. Out of the handful of English words that the little tots know, many of them now know the world tickle, which they pronounce "chickuhr". Maria runs up to me laughing devilishly and screams "Chickurh!". I start tickling her and she cackles wildly, and after 10 seconds or so says "Ahh no mas! no mas" (no more), and I stop and her laughter slowly subsides. She stares at me with a grin, her adult teeth fighting each other for space in her little mouth, and after a second of silence screams "Chickurh!", and the process starts all over again. Her energy is endless, and after 30 minutes of playing with her and the other younger orphans I am drenched in sweat. I'm still adjusting to this climate.

One night we were playing with the orphans outside their dormitory, and 9 p.m. rolled around, which means it was time for the volunteers and the orphans to separate for the night. I was sitting by Maria and I said goodbye to her, and she gave me a hug and reluctantly walked away. Another one of the younger girls, Joanni, came up to me and asked me for "terremoto" (earthquake. The little kids sit on my knee and I bounce them around, and they moan "Whoahoahoahoahoah!"). I agreed to one terremoto, and in the middle of our game Maria spots me playing with Joanni, runs up to her and slaps her in the face. I grabbed Maria by the arm and scolded her, and told her to go inside. Both girls were crying hysterically. It took me a minute to calm down Joanni, and we said goodnight. But as I watched her run into the dormitory rec room, I saw Maria sitting in a corner, still crying from me scolding her. I walked up to her and sat beside her, trying to console her, but as I saw the utter despair in her countenance, I realized that there was nothing I could do to cheer her up. She ran off to her room, and that was the abrupt end to my night with the orphans.
I sat in my room for a long time thinking about what had happened that night. The image of Maria's face haunted me. I wondered what was going through her head. I came to two conclusions about that sequence of events. One, children are just little people. That might not sound like an astute analysis, but hear me out. Maria was clearly jealous that I was playing with another girl, and her visceral response was to slap her. Children are so transparent in that way. Adults have those same feelings of jealousy, along with the gamut of other ugly emotions, but the only difference is that they are better at hiding them, or more skilled in subtly expressing them. Skins grow thicker, but instincts remain the same.
The other thing I realized was that how painful and damaging it must be for these kids to grow up without a stable father figure. Maria had grown attached to me, and was likely upset when she realized that I was not going to give her special attention over the other orphans. The memory of her parents dropping her off three weeks ago was surely fresh on her mind, although she likely did not understand what exactly was happening to her. It makes me a little worried that some of the kids could get attached to me in that way, because I know that a year from now I will be gone, and I will likely never see these kids again. I don't want to be another one of those people who abandon these children, but I cannot stay here forever. It's been difficult for me to try to find that balance here, trying to act like a role model but avoiding assuming the role of a father figure.
I expressed these thoughts to Liry, 23, who was dropped off at the orphanage when she was 1 and had spent the rest of her youth there. Liry is a physical therapist, studying in Santiago, and I spend several mornings a week in the Rehab center with her working with patients. I will describe that in more detail some other day. Liry is worshipped by her patients, and is one of the most caring, mature people I have ever met. I can definitely say that I have learned more about bedside manner interacting with her and our patients than in any other shadowing experience. I told her that I was concerned about how I was impacting the kids knowing that I would leave them eventually. In a long talk with her she explained to me that is was certainly hard growing up without a real family, and it was difficult, especially for long-term volunteers, when they left the orphans, but in the end it is better for them to have something than nothing. Our presence here has an indelible impact on their development, whether it be teaching them phrases in English, reading with them, or simply playing with them and letting them know that they are loved. It is hard to notice how much impact you have on these kids lives when you cannot be with them as they grow older, but even in the little moments when I share a smile with a kid, I know that they are happy we are here. I have really loved getting to know them, and I am excited about spending a whole year with them.
So things here at the orphanage have been different, but I am really loving my time here. I miss the summer interns a lot, but getting to know the orphans has been one of the most rewarding experiences in my life.

I have a post coming about my clinical work here. Sorry for the delay. I should get some more pictures up soon.
Paz fuera