Once again I find myself typing out a post in the dark.
Which is to say, I am sitting on a bed in a dark room with the electricity out,
except I cannot find my internet stick in my bags so I am typing this into Word
and hypothetically I will post it when I go to Barahona this afternoon. Or this
morning. It is raining outside, or at least it was pouring a minute ago but
from the fact that the chickens and birds are now louder than the rain I do not
think it is quite as bad.
Some of you are no doubt wondering how this trip has gone so
far. All I can say is it has gone as wonderfully as I had hoped, and there are
enough good parts that I can disregard the fact that I have literally been
craning my neck around corners when passing by certain places where I know
certain people are possibly at, just so I do not have to see them. As of now I
am down to just avoiding one person and that is probably for the best, no
matter what someone hinted at about time changing people. Time does not change
people quite that much. Would Caesar have wanted to chat it up with his old pal
Brutus if he’d survived the Ides of March, even if the other people in their
circle of friends had described his change of heart as eloquently as
Shakespeare’s monologue? I doubt it. Knives in the back hurt. A lot.
But that is unimportant. I have other Rubicons to cross, and
I cannot be bothered with the one I already built a bridge over. What matters
now is that the bright Caribbean sun shines down on me every day when it is not
raining and the sparkling river is as fun to swim in as ever and the turquoise
Caribbean sea still churns its white waves against the white rocks near the
vast green mountains. This is where I am. This is what I am doing:
Get up. Hang around the house, maybe read a book. Well,
probably read a book, chat, wait for breakfast, nibble at food, brush teeth,
sit on porch, read more book, chat some more, hang out, maybe watch TV if there
is electricity, eat lunch. After lunch, go to river, chat with old friends at
river, swim in river, chat some more, go back to house, visit with old host
family, do whatever, see volunteer friends from neighboring communities, eat
dinner, watch more tv if there is luz, walk around Los Patos a bit, maybe read
more book if there is luz (light) and hang out with the family here until I go
to bed at some point in the night. It’s really quite relaxing. I know it
probably sounds boring but I’ve never had a vacation quite like this one
before. It’s different not having a schedule for my days.
And it is very different from how things were during the
diagnostic, which was much more packed than the average volunteer’s diagnostic.
For one, I am avoiding the school where I spent hours every day and the Center
I was supposed to be reopening like they are centers of plague. I went to the
school my first morning to give the map of Los Patos back to the sub-director,
who’d given it to me during my service. It was made by a volunteer but really
it belongs to the community. So I darted into the school like a polar bear
plunging into the water after a seal, delivered the map, and fled. Then
yesterday when I stopped by the sub-director’s house I apologized for my abrupt
and probably rude behavior by explaining that I was scared somebody would ask
me when I was going to be working in the Center or coming back to the school.
It wasn’t unreasonable either. Kids have been asking me that ever since I got
back here. I do not want to answer. They
don’t like it when I say never. But that’s the only answer there is.
Tomorrow I’m going with some friends by motorcycle to a
place called Bahia de los Aguiles. Apparently it is the most beautiful place in
the whole country, a real eye opener, a beach alongside a desert located on the
other side of the southern bend of the DR. It’s only an hour or so from Los
Patos. It should be pretty fun. One never knows what time one has. I’d planned
on going there at least a few times during my service but I never did during
those six weeks so I am going to do it now.
Oh, and speaking of motorcycles, one of the good friends of
my neighboring volunteer told me he did not want to see what would happen if
I’d been able to live here on my writer’s salary. Just because I said I would
buy a motorcycle of my own and start driving it. I think I’d look great cruising
down the main highway in my sporty black helmet when I go to visit my neighbors
or whatever. Apparently, though, that thought is rather terrifying to him.
Wonder why. Haha. I’m sure I’d learn how to drive one without smashing into
everything on sight. Eventually.
Now it is pouring again and the chickens have gone silent.
Probably hiding. Oh DR. I remember you and your rainstorms so well. Some things
really do not change. I’ll never forget the sound of rain beating down on tin.
Even though this particular house has a cement roof, there is still tin over
the chickens out back, and it is their roof I am hearing while the lluvia beats its raindrops
down upon them. Wonder if I dare go up to the chicken farm again. The farmer
was a really great guy. Very friendly. But it is outside of the town, up on the
mountainside, and I am not allowed to stray beyond the boundaries of the town
without a guide. When I was a volunteer I planned on doing so eventually, when
I gathered groups of kids or teens to go with me, but that is out of the
question now. That future does not
exist.
So, that’s how things are going so far. I’m sticking to the
good like glue and making every effort to avoid the bad. I have a lingering
suspicion that she is avoiding me too. It’s not like nobody could find me if
they tried. Probably the whole town knows by now which house I am in, and she
always had a knack for knowing what I was up to the moment I did it. Perhaps
she disbanded the surveillance once I was “banished.” Either way, out of sight,
out of mind, and I would much rather spend time with the people I once
considered my dearest friends. So I am. J
Wolf of No Country
Lobolius
PS: Better yet, I found the number of my internet stick so I am posting this from the bedroom. Perfecto. :)
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