How I avoided getting hit with a pig's bladder

Carnival in La Vega, Dominican Republic is insane. So, of course, when my cousin Maya invited me along to check it out with her daughters I jumped at the chance. My dad didn't see why I'd want to go. He reminded me that when I was little I went to carnival in Puerto Plata, was hit with a pig's bladder so hard I had a bruise for weeks, and apparently cried for just about as long. Whatever, obviously an exaggeration. "Don't worry, dad. That's not going to happen to me this time." Truer words have never been spoken.

Here are my tips on how to avoid being hit by a pig's bladder during carnival in La Vega:

1) Leave Sosua in the mid-afternoon.
2) Take the "scenic route".
3) Get stuck in the traffic caused by people leaving carnival.
4) Eat at La Sirena.
5) Go back to Sosua via the highway that possibly would have gotten you to La Vega in time for carnival.
6) Laugh and be merry! At least you're not bruised! Many a person was not so lucky...

So what's with the pig's bladders (aka vejigas)? Basically some guys dress up as devils and carry whips with these instruments of torture on the ends, which they use to abuse innocent bystanders. A friend of mine said when she went down some old dude held her so his little son could hit her with his vejiga. Sounds awful, but apparently she had a great time otherwise. Moral: Don't stand in the way of the devil or you'll get hit.

"Hey mamcita! How YOU doin'?"

Some good ol' church goin'!

Church. I hate going to Church. Ok, perhaps "hate" is too aggressive a word. Let's go with I strongly dislike, and avoid going to as much as possible, Church. Now let's define terms. "Church" with a "C" = big building, rows of pews, people caught up in, and ever so eager to share, their understanding of righteousness. You know, the sort of place where people glare at and hush crying babies and try to make small children sit up straight and pay attention. Some churches are more "Church"-like than others. Maybe it's the arrangement of the room that bothers me or the crowd mentality or the sense I get that it's all for show. I mean, just pass the collection basket at the beginning and save us all some time, right?! I know it works for some people, but it's rare that I get any sense of fellowship from going to Church. I just want it to end and hope there's some free food involved. When I was a child my mother would take me to Quaker Meeting and that felt different. Connected. Less pretentious. Maybe because it was in a waterless cabin in the woods or the fact that we all sat silently in a circle on the floor so that there was no leader. We all communed with each other and with God on our own terms as we felt appropriate. If you felt like sharing, you shared. If you felt like doing your own thing, you had the freedom to do so. It's more of an informal meditation group than Church.

However, for some reason, I get the same sense of togetherness from attending the services in the village of Poncho Mateo even though it seems to have many of the aspects of Church I dislike: people still sit in rows facing the front, are eager to share their righteousness, and there is a collection plate. But in this church there is a feeling that I can only describe as the closest I've ever felt to evidence of true Faith. Many of these people fled to the Dominican Republic from Haiti with only the clothes on their backs and even now, while conditions may be better, they don't have much else to their names. Their next meal, if they have one, is most likely coming from the landfill, a many miles walk away. In this church there are babies crying and children playing. Nothing is clean. There are fans, but only on the rarest of occasions is there electricity to power them. It's hot. You sweat a lot. But people hug you and you get a sense that they are genuinely happy to be able to share this moment with you.

A walk through the village to church

Ok, fine. It's true. I just go for the singing!



Rooftop garbage

Come on, just tell us it's your gun

The scene: An isolated beach in the Dominican Republic

The characters: You (a teenager just trying to stay out of trouble), your teenage brother, several policemen

The plot: Policemen have committed a crime involving a now "dirty" gun and they are looking for someone to attach the gun to in order to avoid police corruption charges. They find you and your brother walking along a street, force you into their car, and take you to an isolated beach where they demand that you admit that this gun that you have never seen before is yours. You refuse. One policeman suggests shooting your brother to encourage you to confess to being the gun's owner. The police shoot your brother in his kneecaps repeatedly. You still refuse to say the gun is yours. They shoot you in both knees as well. The policemen then receive a call and leave immediately. Perhaps it was someone who saw the policemen force you and your brother into their car or perhaps there was a crime that demanded their immediate attention. Whatever the case, this call most certainly saved you and your brother's lives. You make it to the public hospital in Puerto Plata and tell your story.


This story sounds like fiction, but while I was visiting the public hospital in Puerto Plata last week my father introduced me to two young men who had just starred in this exact drama. They were still in fear for their lives but by this point so many people knew of their story it would be difficult for their murders to go unnoticed.

While the Dominican Republic is generally a safe country, tales of police brutality and corruption have echoed from within it's borders since I can remember.

Another haunting story told by a Dominican man on a public, online forum further convinces me that those two young brothers were fortunate:

"Well just last night a friend of mine got killed by the police right in front of my house. They were looking for a man that killed a policeman and decided that he might be it since to their knowledge [my friend] looked like the killer.
As some of you might know, when a police officer (if they can be call that) is killed, the police department starts going through every neighborhood to look for the killer, well I guess it was time for this poor guy, who was actually on vacation for the first time since he moved to Spain.
He was sitting en la galleria (front porch) of the house when the police car passed by. One of them said doesn't he look like the killer and the other one said oh think he does. They drag him out of the house and shoot both of his legs. Then another officer came in and said "Pa' eso matalo" (for that kill him) and shot his head." (http://www.dr1.com/forums/dr-debates/49166-police-brutality-dom-rep.html)


The Country Reports on Human Rights Practices published in March of 2002 (incidentally, this report appears to be identical to the one published February of 2001) illustrates what a chronic problem this has been:

"...Police committed at least 250 extrajudicial killings. It is difficult for any outside observer to quantify the exact number of victims of extrajudicial killings each year; included in this number are civilians who were killed in alleged "exchanges of gunfire" with police. The police fail to cooperate with civilian authorities in many ways, which made quantifying the problem very difficult. For example, the police do not provide Public Ministry officials with reports on investigations of citizens killed in confrontations with police; police rarely documented citizen killings in accordance with minimum investigations or crime scene standards; police denied civilian authorities, including prosecutors requesting information, transcripts of police tribunal hearings that process these cases in secret; and the police have been known to publicly fire officials involved in these incidents, only to reinstate them quietly later."

The report goes further in an attempt to explain the probable causes of these police lead killings claiming that "extrajudicial killings stem from the lack of basic education, poor training, and weak discipline of the members of the police force. These problems are aggravated by low pay and the fact that the Government's budgetary allocation for the police is too low to support the higher recruiting standards needed and to provide adequate training for police. For example, new recruits fire only one round of ammunition during training, and there is no coherent policy on the use of deadly force or rules of engagement by the police." (http://www.state.gov/g/drl/rls/hrrpt/2001/wha/8345.htm)


Some people question the involvement of police in the sex trade so prevalent in this country, accusing the police of trafficking pre-teens for the booming Dominican sex tourism industry (an industry Rush Limbaugh is allegedly a fan of?!)

Dominican president Leonel Fernandez is reportedly attempting to take the issue of police corruption seriously but his focus is primarily against their involvement in the drug trade. One can only hope that cracking down on police corruption will also assist in the elimination of cases of police brutality such as the one I saw the aftermath of.

The Dominican Republic, like every country, is complex. It's the place of my earliest childhood memories and its embodiment of both beauty and brutality is something I've been coming to terms with all my life.

Please tell me there's a hospital near by

So you're a low income Dominican who has just been in a motorbike accident. Where do you go to receive medical attention? Don't worry, there's a public hospital in Puerto Plata waiting to accommodate your needs.

Check out this guy hanging in the hospital's lobby giving you a friendly welcome!

Now imagine being stuck in a crowded room like this, where all the bedsheets, food, water, supplies and cleaning services must be provided by your family and the person next to you could be suffering from a highly contagious disease or AIDS. Hey, it's not so bad. You might be fortunate enough to have some random gringos take an interest in your case and help you out.

So, now you've been warmly greeted by the painting of the hospital's mustached founder hanging in the lobby, you've survived your hospital stay and received care, but your doctor wants to update your record. You must now go downstairs to the main floor to retrieve your file from the record's room. Easy, right?

Hey! I think that's my file right there!

That's nice. Now you need to wait in this line

to speak with this lady

who will look through these files in the hopes of finding yours.

Are you not sure what to do with your life? Have no fear! Why not devote your time and energy to updating the public hospital's record keeping system? It would literally take a lifetime to sort through and organize these files, let alone copy them into a computer database. How much do you want to bet that more than half these files belong to individuals long since deceased? Think of all the fun you'd have attempting to track each file's owner and updating all their information!

Want some coffee with your milk?

It's Cuban breakfast time people!

It all begins with butter. Beautiful butter.

I've often been teased for putting "too much" milk and sugar in my coffee; "Are you going to have any coffee with your milk and sugar?" people ask me. I always respond that it has to do with how I was raised. When I was a little one in the Dominican Republic, Theresa, my nanny, used to sneak me Dominican coffee when my step mom wasn't looking. She thought it would make me grow faster. [She also thought bathing me in ice cold water and pulling the begeebus out of my hair when she was combing it would toughen me up and build character. That's torture I tell you!] Dominican coffee is ~ 1/2 milk, 1/4 sugar and 1/4 coffee served in a small cup. Cuban Cafe con leche is even more my style, 6/8 hot, frothy milk, 1/8 super strong coffee, and 1/8 sugar! Yummciousness! It's served like this...

You pour the desired amount of super strong, pre sweetened Cuban espresso into the hot milk.

Then you dip buttery Cuban bread into your coffee allowing the butter to drip into it, adding to its flavor. I've heard of Cuban coffee being served with a pinch of salt and a little butter already mixed in.

Delicioso!

While enjoying my desayuno Cubano, I noticed that the restaurant had a window and counter facing the outside to accomodate people who walk up to order their cafe Cubano or lunch to go. It's a drive through for pedestrians, a walk through if you will. As I was sitting in the restaurant several people stopped by the window, chatting with the server and sipping their espresso as they waited for their lunch to go to be prepared. My auntie explained that in Cuba all restaurants have a similar window and its a Cuban tradition that was brought over to Miami. I wish more places across America had such a window. I'm not sure why, I mean the typical restaruant counter is essentially the same thing only indoors. For some reason this walk through struck me as different. It seemed clear that people were using having to wait for their food to be prepared as an excuse to pause in their day and slowly enjoy their coffee and conversation. When I'm waiting, I generally spend my time thinking about what I need to do, or wondering why things aren't moving more quickly. Perhaps I'll look around and observe the people and location. Seldom do I make the waiting into a relaxing social event. This walk through is a cultural institution I'm happy to see continue if only for the reminder of the importance of truly taking an enjoyable break in ones day.