Spring 2005 Story Contest - Third Place
Planet DR
Rebecca Bengel
CIEE Sanitago, Dominican Republic Spring 2005
“I speak Spanish now, honestly, just go ahead and try it, I promise I can understand you.” Where am I going, and why won’t this person sitting next to me in these claustrophobically close, blue airplane seats habla conmigo? The white skin and red hair had not stopped any of them before, so what was the problem all of the sudden?
This airplane ride home was the first step towards the vast culture shock that I unexpectedly had racing towards me with full speed. How hard could it be to just go home? Isn’t that what I had been waiting for since the very day that I had arrived? I was suddenly feeling overwhelming emotions of puzzlement, disorientation and even an uncertainty of my own self-identity. I was puzzled because I had just completed the most stimulating journey of my adolescent life, disoriented because during this three hour plane ride, all of the sights, sounds, and faces had changed as if I had living been on a separate planet, and uncertain of exactly who I was because the last time I checked, Yo era Dominicana.
I was convinced that being home would begin to feel normal again as soon as I had tasted my mom’s homemade Italian food which I had savored in my dreams for so long. However, much to my amazement, it is now September, close to 5 months since I’ve breathed the unpleasant odor of Dominican air, embraced the sounds of Merengue while crammed into a concho surpassing capacity by three or four, or felt the incomparable compassion of a Dominican child as they told me that they knew exactly where I lived, because they had heard all about “Nueba Yol,” and still right at this very moment… I crave this culture, and a three hour airplane ride back to that planet.
“Becky, do you not like Margot’s cooking? Why don’t you eat anything, you appear famished!” As I had finished the first two piled- high plates of food during my initial dinner with my Dominican family, these are the words that bellowed in my ears from across the table. I could not possibly eat another portion of yucca, nor could I offend my new host family on the first day. There was no way out. I did not know how to politely tell them that I loved the cooking, but I wasn’t used to eating three plates of food for lunch. I ended up learning very quickly how to pace myself at the dinner table so that I could get away with eating only one plate of food, and by the time they had eaten three, we would finish simultaneously. I eventually learned that eating is a cultural “must” and that being curvy was absolutely normal, and in fact, curvy was better than being a flacita, the nickname that I received for the first month I was there. After the first month of enormous daily portions of arroz, that nickname changed to “gordita.” I guess we could say that Dominicans shamelessly tell it like they see it, as if it were the greatest compliment you had ever received. Then of course you must thank them graciously for their comment about your “extra insulation,” as we Americans like to call it.
The people are the country. Without the spirit and passion of la gente dominicana, all you would see is poverty, destitution, hunger, and pain. Unfortunately I saw all of these conditions, but ironically the people who experience them daily, do not. The poor do not talk about how poor they are, but rather how blessed they are because they are alive; they have been given life and that is sufficient. Their contentedness is inescapably contagious and from that, I am different. I never knew that I would learn so much from people with which I have nothing in common. How can I complain about the selection of food in my cafeteria when I have seen a child searching for food in a trash can, and how can I judge other people for the things, the material possessions that they have, when I have seen people who possess nothing, when I have learned that living is the gift.
I went to la República Dominicana with three goals. I indisputably accomplished all of them. I found my comfort zone in the language, I formed life-time relationships with Dominicans, and I was a doer, and never just a spectator. I lived, learned, and loved. I can say that I did it all. I want to tell the entire world, about my experience. I want them to love this place the same way that I do. My goals for the semester were met, but now I have three new goals. These goals are a response to my journey and a frontward movement towards my return to the country. This time, I want to advance from being comfortable in the language, to mastering the language. I want to participate more actively in community service by organizing a “sheet project,” to bring to the women in the public hospitals, and by this I will be doing instead of observing. Finally I want to spend my first year out of Wofford in the Dominican Republic, a country that has had such an impact on my life, and give back by sharing my talents with the Dominican children who are so anxious to learn English.
For those people who are open to letting go of the often mistaken stereotypes of this country, and those who are ready to experience a semester filled with “aha moments,” after “wow moments,” followed by “I can’t believe I just did that moments,” then my recommendation to you is clear: experience the Dominican Republic. Laughter, Love, and a new appreciation for your electricity are three things that are certain to follow anyone who has the opportunity to become intimate with this country. For me, four months was not enough. It was simply a beginning, an introduction to a whole new world that so graciously welcomed my enthusiasm, passion, and sincere adoration of their culture.
I know that those claustrophobically close, blue airplane seats are awaiting my return, as well as your entrance. So won’t you hop on board along with me, buckle up, haga el signo de la cruz and enjoy the ride to planet DR.