Fall 2004 Story Contest - Second Place
Santo Domingo
Jenny Retting
CIEE Santo Domingo Fall 2004
The warm Caribbean sun gently kisses my skin as I walk out to greet the day. The morning air feels light and fresh, but I know the oppressive heat will envelop the city within a few hours. Hopping over a gapping crack in the pavement and sidestepping a pile of trash awaiting the infrequent garbage pickup, I pat the block’s resident stray dog on the head to wish him good morning. He’s not the nondescript mutt you would expect. With shaggy white fur and a long wagging tail, he looks like he should be someone’s beloved pet. His little bottom sways as he moseys down the street to keep the homeless man on the corner company.
Turning the corner, I’m greeted by the busy Independencia street, full of morning commuters. Black smoke emits from guaguas (public buses) careening wildly through the busy traffic while carro públicos (beat up jalopies carrying passengers on fixed route) stop to cram a fourth person into the back seat. The sidewalks are filled with students in freshly pressed uniforms, stopping to buy a mango or papaya from the multitude of fruit stands on every corner.
I walk down this street practically every day, and I have my regulars. First on my route is my friend who parks cars for a Spanish restaurant. Seeing me, his hazel eyes light up, and he throws his arms out in a gesture of happiness. We kiss on the cheek, chat for a few moments, and then I continue on my way. The same scenario repeats itself with David and Antonio from my favorite fruit stand, Felix from the colmado (corner grocery store), and the limpia-botas, little boys who shine shoes for about $0.20 a customer. Jonny is working in his stand, making delectable chiani keke, a deep fried bread stuffed with cheese, meat, and other goodies. He’s surrounded by his regulars but smiles and waves as I pass by. The old zapatero (cobbler) with rheumy eyes puts out his hand for me to shake as he greets me with a sweet, “Buenos días, señorita.”
These greetings aren’t the only ones I receive, however. As I walk by unfamiliar males, I’m bombarded with hisses and piropos (catcalls). “Mami chula, ven pa’ca!” “Hey Americana, I love you!” “Rubia, pa’donde vas? Quiero hablar contigo!” “Qué mujer tan bonita, que Dios te bendiga.” (Hot mama, come here! Blondie, where are you going? I want to talk with you! What a beautiful woman, may God bless you.) Depending on my mood, the piropos either stroke my ego or irritate me until I want to scream. Today, however, I’m feeling good and take it all in stride.
Although it’s still early, the heat is turning up, and a trickle of sweat forms between my shoulder blades and slowly rolls down my back. The air is alive with the rhythm of the Caribbean; merengue, salsa, bachata and regueton music waft out of open windows and colmados, and I succumb to the desire to shake my hips. This city and its people are so alive; the atmosphere hums with the electric currents of the music, heat, dust, and sexual vibes. While some may see Santo Domingo as a dirty, chaotic, and dangerous metropolis, I’ve come to love it as vivacious, charged by the hot sun’s rays, buzzing with energy and life, pulsing to an infectious inner beat.