Sunday AM

We are on the bus to the border of Haiti where we will cross through customs and look for Drack’s vehicle, borrowed from the U.S. Embassy.  All the other passengers are traveling directly through to Port-au-Prince. We arrived plenty early just to be on the safe side and get seats together; Samantha and Maryna are sitting in one row to the left -- and me opposite with a window seat.  We are lucky to find seats nearby.

I am used to traveling on public transportation around the world.  In some countries you line up in queues and don’t dare to cut. In others there’s an orderly rush (not an oxymoron) with pushing to get on and grab a seat. Today, the women lined up behind the few people who arrived early.  Soon latecomers appeared and just moved in front.  They were enveloped within a tightly packed crowd.  In these instances, I maintain my position and know how to use my weighty hips to keep a competitive edge. If you read my African blogs from Kenya, you might remember one where I related an incident how people almost came to blows but my calls for ”police” were answered and the well-to-do offenders were physically removed to applause.  Even with a ticket, you might not get a seat on a long journey.  From conversations, I know that local people see two types of foreigners – those that wait politely and are shoved aside and those that claim their seats.

Oh, the bus just stopped and they are passing out food: rice and beans and a mashed plantain concoction with meat and gravy.  At the same time, a news reporter from Massachusetts called to do an interview.  Juggling the cell phone and my spoon, I was wondering why the bus couldn’t keep driving when suddenly people started rushing to the front. Sam said, “We’re changing buses.”  The rush to get a seat was beginning anew.  I grabbed the video camera (used to document our work) and jumped up to stay with the women and our bags. Sticking my arm out into the aisle, I blocked a guy cutting me off.  He kept pushing but was surprised I wouldn’t let him pass, all this while trying to answer questions on a cell.  We did get seats together on the new bus.

A mother is singing softly to her seven-month old baby across the aisle. As I look out the window with droplets of rain streaking downward, the sun has not yet appeared from the cloud cover but it is getting brighter by the minute.  Everything is tropical green because of the daily rain showers during the month of May.  I just saw a young family pass by on a motorbike sharing a wildly flapping blue tarp over their heads. I wonder where they are going on a Sunday morning?  Judging from their bag of supplies that their child is sitting on in mama’s tight grasp, maybe they are going to relatives for the day. If it starts to rain harder, they will not be able to drive on.  Despite the downpour, the urban rivers are mostly brown sludge with old litter on their banks.  As someone who grew up in a paper mill city, I’m no stranger to pollution.

It took just 25 minutes to clear the city limits; we are now traveling through a verdant landscape of low foliage. Wooden shacks appear momentarily, tucked away not far from the road. This jungle of densely packed palm trees has now given way to a rolling landscape with fields of what looks like young pineapple plants but I don’t know for sure.  Perhaps a few miles or so away is a range of small mountains.  We just crossed over a bridge where the rainwater makes it look much cleaner than the urban ones. Teens are out in small groups around their bikes perhaps talking about who hooked up last night and what adventures are on the schedule for the day. They are definitely not dressed for Church.

Yesterday we spent a good part of the day at the beach at Boca Chica, mostly populated by Dominicans with a tourist here or there.  That was fine by me; the women went swimming and I walked the beach.  Saturday is a great day for finding teens with friends. I managed to distribute 200 cards and filmed many of the encounters with my other hand.  I love to do this kind of solo outreach even if the lens is not always centered on the subject when I am talking with them.

I met girls and boys singly, in pairs and in noisy groups.  Merengue music was blaring everywhere as youth danced to the Latin beat. I have always found merengue fun to watch because everyone smiles a lot.  Per usual, a lot of curiosity was expressed why I was doing this kind of outreach at the ocean side.  “Because that is where I find young people.”  It is really amazing how positive is their reaction. Until you have walked with me (or seen the video), it is difficult to “see” their appreciation that there are adults and peer volunteers interested in their welfare. 

Oh, I broke a plastic chair while drinking a soda. I mean, I felt one side tilting and sinking into the sand and then the very bottom of the leg snapped off. As I tumbled over slowly, I held on to the video camera and actually was able to hand it to a passing trio of military recruits. One gave me a hand and of course I used the situation to give them cards. We talked for five minutes. They were with the Dominican air force and were trolling for “chicas.” I asked what information they received about SIDA in the military and Ronaldo, a 20 year-old mechanic said they are told to “use condones” when going to prostitutes. He said his friends were worried -- and most but not all used protection. He pointed out a twenty-something year old beach masseuse giving a businessman a massage.  “She’s one. Many at Boca Chica.”  He said he had gone with prostitutes using the vernacular term; his younger friend laughed, a bit nervously it seemed but what do I know?

Unlike last time at Boca Chica almost 20 years ago, I didn’t see the same numbers of hustlers prostituting themselves.  I believe this can be accounted for because the economy is better so more choices exist to earn an income and provide assistance for families are available. Also younger people have more opportunities to have casual sex to let of steam (friends with benefits) as culture has changed and the media sells consensual sex.  It’s just not a necessity or cool to have peers know you are selling your body.  There were still the young teen girls sitting with businessmen old enough to be their fathers – somethings will never change.

 

The D.R. is a country that is richer than Haiti (per capita) but both have extreme poverty.  Can you visualize people sorting through refuse for food at a trash dump?  As anywhere in the developing world, a small minority of families control the vast amount of income and property.  Pure communism has mostly vanished and capitalism in its many forms is here to stay because young people want choices and rewards. 

The youth revolutionary spirit is not as great as in decades past with the exception of the youth-fueled and Facebook inspired social  revolutions now sweeping the staid, out-of-touch Middle East.  Youth want to have jobs so they can have discretionary income to but their favorite consumer products.  Owning a cell phone to stay connected is all-important and they can be purchased at less expensive rates than in the states (with fewer features). Harold bought us two used ones for under $15 each – we will leave them when we return home.  Sam designed some cool business cards with our numbers that come in handy when we are looking for volunteers.