Dear Readers--
There is one high praise I will give for Dominicans--this is a culture of extreme cleanliness. The more you bathe the better. And that goes for Peace Corps volunteers too.
So, here's the story.
We'll begin yesterday, when I was visiting House 2. I have two houses because I live with one and sleep in that one and officially live in it, and I have House 2, where I am the adopted daughter of the Dona. In House 2 I spend a lot of time, eat some meals, and sit in a hammock.
As I said, this is a fastidious culture. So, I've become very conscious of whether or not I am clean or dirty, I clean my fingernails several times a day and am always checking my body for mud because it rains a lot and I often get muddy. I was sitting on the front stoop of House 2, when I noticed that my arm was dirty. The Dona was washing some clothes nearby and there was still water running from the hose into the ponchero, which is the large bucket used for washing clothes.
There were no clothes in the ponchero, and as I said, my arm was dirty, so I took the hose and washed my arm, and then I washed the other arm for good measure. I thought I was being covert but naturally, her keen Dona eyes spotted that I was trying to wash myself with a hose. I was then taken into the house, handed a towel and soap, and she told me it was okay, I could use their bathroom to wash up.
It ended up being a great experience. My first glance was for their bucket, but there wasn't one, so I looked up and they actually had a pipe sticking out of the wall! Running water! I took the soap I'd been given and scrubbed and scrubbed and let the running water hit all the parts that I just can't reach well with the bucket baths. I felt so gloriously clean. It was wonderful.
Fast forward to the evening. Have I mentioned that there's been a lot of rain and mud? Well, that means my tennis shoes have gone through a lot of rain and mud. I've also hiked up mountains, through beaches, and along dirt paths in them for three months. You can imagine the state those poor things were in.
Ah, this too is a problem! I've watched people scrub their shoes clean, and have admired the experience, but had never done it myself.
Yesterday, people started dropping hints. Sarah, your shoes are really dirty. Sarah, your shoes are really dirty. Sarah, your shoes are really dirty. I felt embarrassed. My shoes were dirty! Muddy! I was a horrid person because I let my shoes become dirty. There was only one solution.
"Yes, I know my shoes are dirty. I really do need to wash them. What do I do?" (ie: the helpless gringa defense. Save me Dominicans, for I know not what you do.)
Enter Grandma Dona of House 1. She just came back from Santiago last week and she is a marvel of Dona power. Since her arrival, clothes have reappeared from the dirty laundry, rice tastes delicious again, and things get clean.
Together, we scrubbed, bleached, washed and rinsed those tennis shoes until they were a brand spanking new white color. Then the shoe laces received the same treatment. Problem solved. I've seldom felt so proud of a pair of shoes in my life. Now they are hanging on the clothes line, and I can again be a proud human being with clean shoes.
Maybe these stories bored you. Too bad. I am in the Peace Corps and cultural exchanges is what I do.
Dominican Wolf
There is one high praise I will give for Dominicans--this is a culture of extreme cleanliness. The more you bathe the better. And that goes for Peace Corps volunteers too.
So, here's the story.
We'll begin yesterday, when I was visiting House 2. I have two houses because I live with one and sleep in that one and officially live in it, and I have House 2, where I am the adopted daughter of the Dona. In House 2 I spend a lot of time, eat some meals, and sit in a hammock.
As I said, this is a fastidious culture. So, I've become very conscious of whether or not I am clean or dirty, I clean my fingernails several times a day and am always checking my body for mud because it rains a lot and I often get muddy. I was sitting on the front stoop of House 2, when I noticed that my arm was dirty. The Dona was washing some clothes nearby and there was still water running from the hose into the ponchero, which is the large bucket used for washing clothes.
There were no clothes in the ponchero, and as I said, my arm was dirty, so I took the hose and washed my arm, and then I washed the other arm for good measure. I thought I was being covert but naturally, her keen Dona eyes spotted that I was trying to wash myself with a hose. I was then taken into the house, handed a towel and soap, and she told me it was okay, I could use their bathroom to wash up.
It ended up being a great experience. My first glance was for their bucket, but there wasn't one, so I looked up and they actually had a pipe sticking out of the wall! Running water! I took the soap I'd been given and scrubbed and scrubbed and let the running water hit all the parts that I just can't reach well with the bucket baths. I felt so gloriously clean. It was wonderful.
Fast forward to the evening. Have I mentioned that there's been a lot of rain and mud? Well, that means my tennis shoes have gone through a lot of rain and mud. I've also hiked up mountains, through beaches, and along dirt paths in them for three months. You can imagine the state those poor things were in.
Ah, this too is a problem! I've watched people scrub their shoes clean, and have admired the experience, but had never done it myself.
Yesterday, people started dropping hints. Sarah, your shoes are really dirty. Sarah, your shoes are really dirty. Sarah, your shoes are really dirty. I felt embarrassed. My shoes were dirty! Muddy! I was a horrid person because I let my shoes become dirty. There was only one solution.
"Yes, I know my shoes are dirty. I really do need to wash them. What do I do?" (ie: the helpless gringa defense. Save me Dominicans, for I know not what you do.)
Enter Grandma Dona of House 1. She just came back from Santiago last week and she is a marvel of Dona power. Since her arrival, clothes have reappeared from the dirty laundry, rice tastes delicious again, and things get clean.
Together, we scrubbed, bleached, washed and rinsed those tennis shoes until they were a brand spanking new white color. Then the shoe laces received the same treatment. Problem solved. I've seldom felt so proud of a pair of shoes in my life. Now they are hanging on the clothes line, and I can again be a proud human being with clean shoes.
Maybe these stories bored you. Too bad. I am in the Peace Corps and cultural exchanges is what I do.
Dominican Wolf
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