Subsequent visits to the Bateyes have been less shocking and more as per my expectations. The Mobile Health Clinics enter the community bright and early, encounter a long line of patients waiting to see the doctor, there’s an intake/documentation system, the patient is seen, referrals written, repeat.
It’s not exactly fun to see the pregnant teens who’ve not had any pre-natal care and are in their 6th month. It’s painful to see people’s faces when they realize that the prescription they’ve just been given is in fact not available from the mobile clinic and that procuring such drugs will mean a long, long walk into the capital to spend money on drugs that are unaffordable. It’s terrible when at 3:00, after 8 hours and 40 patients have been served and the one doctor is ready to leave, a family of four show up wanting to been seen, yet are told they’re too late and need to wait until the next visit, two months later.
In comparison, it’s so easy to forget all this misery as soon as one leaves the Bateyes and returns to the Capital. It feels light years away. I’m guilty of forgetting too, given how much more comfortable it is to work here in comparison to other field assignments I’ve had the privilege of working on. Given that I’m enjoying my time spent here in which I’m NOT Working, and how permitted and encouraged this enjoyment is, it’s difficult to stay focused on the numbing inequalities and social injustices, when I’m not standing in the middle of them. What I really mean is that the comforts of the ex-pat lifestyle here - with friends, modern public transportation, lux beaches, and wi-fi – are keeping me significantly distracted from the misery and circumstances then I’ve ever been within a developing country.
And this blog has suffered for it accordingly. Evidently, it’s only when I feel able to compare things here with things somewhere else that I feel able to write something interesting. As I head into the field with surveys to implement and photos to take, I’m promising myself to stay more connected to the realities on the ground. Vamos a ver.
p.s. Is anyone even reading this?
30 June 2009
back from the beach
I ran away again this weekend, this time to the north coast. The waters were crystal clear and more placid than imaginable, the vistas refreshing and the company perfect. Motorcycle rides through national parks, fresh catches for dinner, and new friends are nothing but reinvigorating.
A Night on the Town in the Zona Colonial
Every Sunday night something rather magical occurs in the middle of Santo Domingo's Zona Colonial, the first settlement made by Columbus in the New World: a wild dance party of hundreds of well-heeled Quisqueyanos take over a plaza in front of ancient ruined Monasteries of former splendor, sipping Presidente Light and snacking on pastelitos. A live band plays Bachata and Salsa and Merengue for hours and hours and old friends reunite with new ones. Balmy summer night delight, indeed.
29 June 2009
backlog - June 20 - Gaga in the Bateyes
It took me all of half a second to understand that “agárrate” meant “hold on” when the random man with a motorcycle took off, heading against traffic, on a 6 lane highway. I guess he decided to help me as I was wearing a black dress and running late to my first meeting with the executive director of MOSCTHA. The wind in my un-helmeted hair was a welcome rush after the cab, which a police officer put me in, dropped me off in the middle of no where, following a 15 minute walk in the wrong direction, after exiting the subway at the incorrect stop. A good start to this first meeting as the ED, el Doctor, kept me waiting for 45 minutes insisting that I, “la jovencita,” drink orange juice.
The work may not be as exhilarating as the moto-ride, but it’s becoming interesting and I’m finally getting my feet wet. Literally. Who knew that a trip to a batey meant traipsing through mud and cow paddies to get to the latrine?
Picture this disparity: a five minute drive off the perfectly paved road, lined with mini-malls and car dealerships, lie crop-fields after field only punctuated by trickling rivers and the shrillness of Dominican kids laughing. Houses with tin roofs, rotting wood walls, and a burnt out edifice or two are all that constitute the neighborhood. Perhaps a brightly painted “Palé” sign indicates that one can buy lottery tickets, and a small “colmado” – the ubiquitous Dominican general corner store-cum-bar - sells warm soda, sugar, eggs and toilet paper in the center of town. Kids run about with muddy toes and snotty faces, some lucky to have shoes, but most not. Old men sit and watch the road as if it were television, and mid-twenty year olds are unanimously missing from the scene. My first visit to Yaco, one of the Batey communities that MOSCTHA works with, felt so similar to an east African village, I almost felt the culture shock that I never seemed to experience there, because there, the reality was merely the manifestation of long-standing expectations of mine. That was Africa; this is 600 miles from home.
I stayed surprised when they kids were first shocked by my whiteness, but then adoringly curious – patting my skin and hair, fascinated by the camera and babies wide-eyed and frightened – and was completely caught off guard upon realizing that the Gaga performance that we went to visit could have been rolled out directly from TASO’s cultural performers.
Little did I know that the Gaga, originating from the Haitian ‘rara’ music and dance street festival stylings, is in fact derived from a celebration of African ancestry of the “Afro-Haïtian masses.” Wikipedia informed me that Vodou is often part of the processesion which serves to unite communities across cultural divides and bring people together (details which were unfortunately lost in translation from Kreyòl, to Spanish to English. Regardless, it was really a fun introduction to a Batey and hopefully you’ll find it interesting and curious as well. Check the video and photos below, more photos here.
The work may not be as exhilarating as the moto-ride, but it’s becoming interesting and I’m finally getting my feet wet. Literally. Who knew that a trip to a batey meant traipsing through mud and cow paddies to get to the latrine?
Picture this disparity: a five minute drive off the perfectly paved road, lined with mini-malls and car dealerships, lie crop-fields after field only punctuated by trickling rivers and the shrillness of Dominican kids laughing. Houses with tin roofs, rotting wood walls, and a burnt out edifice or two are all that constitute the neighborhood. Perhaps a brightly painted “Palé” sign indicates that one can buy lottery tickets, and a small “colmado” – the ubiquitous Dominican general corner store-cum-bar - sells warm soda, sugar, eggs and toilet paper in the center of town. Kids run about with muddy toes and snotty faces, some lucky to have shoes, but most not. Old men sit and watch the road as if it were television, and mid-twenty year olds are unanimously missing from the scene. My first visit to Yaco, one of the Batey communities that MOSCTHA works with, felt so similar to an east African village, I almost felt the culture shock that I never seemed to experience there, because there, the reality was merely the manifestation of long-standing expectations of mine. That was Africa; this is 600 miles from home.
I stayed surprised when they kids were first shocked by my whiteness, but then adoringly curious – patting my skin and hair, fascinated by the camera and babies wide-eyed and frightened – and was completely caught off guard upon realizing that the Gaga performance that we went to visit could have been rolled out directly from TASO’s cultural performers.
Little did I know that the Gaga, originating from the Haitian ‘rara’ music and dance street festival stylings, is in fact derived from a celebration of African ancestry of the “Afro-Haïtian masses.” Wikipedia informed me that Vodou is often part of the processesion which serves to unite communities across cultural divides and bring people together (details which were unfortunately lost in translation from Kreyòl, to Spanish to English. Regardless, it was really a fun introduction to a Batey and hopefully you’ll find it interesting and curious as well. Check the video and photos below, more photos here.
16 June 2009
June 10 - 15
We finally went out on our own – no accompaniment from friends of friends, or students of the university tasked with entertaining us – and had a blast. Everyone has talked to me about living it up at the bars of Santo Domingo, and naturally we wound up at the most Miami-esque venue imaginable.
Picture this: three gringas emerge from a taxi during a rain storm and enter an Italian restaurant full of beds. The roof was open, allowing for deafeningly loud house-music (with a bit of trancey dancey pop thrown in for good measure) to escape to the sky. Within thirty minutes we made friends with a slew of artists – photographers, cinematographers, and rock stars (from an, evidently, acclaimed band) – who showed us how to have proper fun, Dominican style (Merengue lessons included).
Little beats a dance party with new friends – except maybe having an unexpected, mid-week feria/holiday day-off from work! Accordingly, Margaret and I spent a relaxed afternoon exploring la Zona Colonial, the area almost “overflowing” with colonial history that borders our neighborhood (Gazcue).
The next day, another unexpected surprise and I was out the door to Cabarete, the Domincan Republic’s Kite-surfing capital. Even though I spent last weekend at the beach, and have a big week ahead of me, who could say no to a free ride? We rented a condo in the middle of gringo-landia – I barely spoke a word of Spanish the entire weekend, oops – and, again, stared out to sea while lazing about. I’m finally realizing why people have Caribbean relaxation dreams! And for someone notoriously bad at relaxing, this is serious progress.
Picture this: three gringas emerge from a taxi during a rain storm and enter an Italian restaurant full of beds. The roof was open, allowing for deafeningly loud house-music (with a bit of trancey dancey pop thrown in for good measure) to escape to the sky. Within thirty minutes we made friends with a slew of artists – photographers, cinematographers, and rock stars (from an, evidently, acclaimed band) – who showed us how to have proper fun, Dominican style (Merengue lessons included).
Little beats a dance party with new friends – except maybe having an unexpected, mid-week feria/holiday day-off from work! Accordingly, Margaret and I spent a relaxed afternoon exploring la Zona Colonial, the area almost “overflowing” with colonial history that borders our neighborhood (Gazcue).
15 June 2009
June 9 – Movers and Shakers, the Health System and a visit to San Juan
I turned on the television for the first time today and was a bit taken aback when shots of the Brooklyn Museum were the first images to pop onto the screen. I shouldn’t have been: it’s not easy to miss the connections between NY and the DR. Though, in a country of approximately 10 million people (a country boasting the biggest economy in the Caribbean and its leading tourist destination), it’s still wild to realize that the diaspora of approximately 1 million Dominicans is mostly concentrated in the City I left.
Nearly everyone here has family there. The people talk in the streets about Washington Heights! I’m clearly learning a lot about things I never anticipated: the DR is the largest exporter of immigrants to the City, with (evidently) 10% of the public school system servicing Dominican-Yorkers who are the second largest Latino population of NY; according to historian Jesse Hoffnung-Garskof (read his very interesting series of Q&A’s on the DR and NY here ) the musical culture of Merengue was “intensely shaped” by NY’s rock and disco eras; and, perhaps more interestingly, the powers of racial politics, in terms of resisting a black and white divide (though not so much in terms of racism and discrimination against Haitians) between the full-color-spectrum population here, has manifested in NY in a similar way, in that the sheer number of Afro-Caribbean populations within the five boroughs enables rather homogeneous enclaves where such distinctions are not necessarily required.
I’ve also been surprised to learn just how historic this place is. The first site of permanent European settlement in the Americas (in part by the French in Haiti, the other half by the Spaniards), the island of Hispaniola is dotted with colonial reminders: handfuls of cobblestone, narrow streets, copious churches and cathedrals, and familiar sounding names like Bolivar and Ramirez. Independence from the Spanish was followed by a Haitian take over, then by a US occupation (between 1916 -24), and subsequently by a military dictatorship, before bringing about the current democracy (If you’re interested in more history or details of this place, wiki can tell you about the pre-Colombian days of the indigenous Taíno peoples).
This all said, there are big schism-like divides here. This country abuts Haiti – only 560 miles away from my home state of Florida and the poorest country in the hemisphere - in which everything appears to be abysmally worse (details on the Haitian/Dominican relationship when my summer research solidifies further). And while you can travel by Mercedes, use high-speed wireless internet, and drop $600 a night at an all-inclusive resort, this place is still teeming with poverty and underdevelopment.
During this past week, the complexities of this country have become more forthright. As guests of the Ministry of Health, Vivian, Margaret, Kate and I travel to San Juan de la Maguana, the capital of the province of San Juan near the Haitian border, to visit their system of public-health care delivery in rural communities. As for contradictions and calamities – it was good, really good, for me to get out and see some legitimate social and economic need to mentally locate this country as a “developing” one – it was very curious to travel as guests of the state (more or less) and visit the proclaimed best-resourced and best-run public health clinics in the country.
Only two years old, the system is a network (o “red” en español), of small health clinics that serve individual communities and refer patients in need of follow up or laboratory services to the appropriate venues. While this sounds rather basic and logical, the majority of persons with health issues here still go directly to the Emergency Room or Hospital, creating a terribly over-burdened system that doesn’t function properly.
A visit to the Hospital was rather unnerving at points, as we witnessed bloody footprints on the ground, abandoned corridors, and extremely malnourished children. However, on the whole, the place functions remarkably well and seems to run fine:
Nearly everyone here has family there. The people talk in the streets about Washington Heights! I’m clearly learning a lot about things I never anticipated: the DR is the largest exporter of immigrants to the City, with (evidently) 10% of the public school system servicing Dominican-Yorkers who are the second largest Latino population of NY; according to historian Jesse Hoffnung-Garskof (read his very interesting series of Q&A’s on the DR and NY here ) the musical culture of Merengue was “intensely shaped” by NY’s rock and disco eras; and, perhaps more interestingly, the powers of racial politics, in terms of resisting a black and white divide (though not so much in terms of racism and discrimination against Haitians) between the full-color-spectrum population here, has manifested in NY in a similar way, in that the sheer number of Afro-Caribbean populations within the five boroughs enables rather homogeneous enclaves where such distinctions are not necessarily required.
I’ve also been surprised to learn just how historic this place is. The first site of permanent European settlement in the Americas (in part by the French in Haiti, the other half by the Spaniards), the island of Hispaniola is dotted with colonial reminders: handfuls of cobblestone, narrow streets, copious churches and cathedrals, and familiar sounding names like Bolivar and Ramirez. Independence from the Spanish was followed by a Haitian take over, then by a US occupation (between 1916 -24), and subsequently by a military dictatorship, before bringing about the current democracy (If you’re interested in more history or details of this place, wiki can tell you about the pre-Colombian days of the indigenous Taíno peoples).
The Ruins of the San Francisco Monastery - the oldest Monastery in the Americas
This all said, there are big schism-like divides here. This country abuts Haiti – only 560 miles away from my home state of Florida and the poorest country in the hemisphere - in which everything appears to be abysmally worse (details on the Haitian/Dominican relationship when my summer research solidifies further). And while you can travel by Mercedes, use high-speed wireless internet, and drop $600 a night at an all-inclusive resort, this place is still teeming with poverty and underdevelopment.
Only two years old, the system is a network (o “red” en español), of small health clinics that serve individual communities and refer patients in need of follow up or laboratory services to the appropriate venues. While this sounds rather basic and logical, the majority of persons with health issues here still go directly to the Emergency Room or Hospital, creating a terribly over-burdened system that doesn’t function properly.
One of the primary health centers, a doctor, and an epidemiological mapping shot:
A visit to the Hospital was rather unnerving at points, as we witnessed bloody footprints on the ground, abandoned corridors, and extremely malnourished children. However, on the whole, the place functions remarkably well and seems to run fine:
12 June 2009
Backlog – June 7 – Beach Babes
Kate told me at 9 am that we had to run away for the weekend. Unable to counter her with a logical reason to stay in the city, I haphazardly packed a bag primarily consisting of beach gear. We didn’t know where we were going, only that we were getting out! Within an hour, our “mama,” Rocio, had us getting in a taxi with sandwiches and mango milkshakes, heading to a bus station. Three hours later we arrived in the “sleepy” fishing village of Bayahibe, a cute waterfront with a strange minority population of Italian shop keepers and laid-back island folk. The neighboring beach hotspot, Playa Dominicus, proved a bit more rowdy and up our alley for a stroll. Get jealous:
It was a glorious escape from the chaos, pollution, and general madness that makes up Santo Domingo. We spent the time staring out to sea, eating incredible Italian gelato, and finally enjoying the island lifestyle.
Making a return by Gua Gua:
Backlog, June 3 - Lost en La Sirena
Today was the first time the Dominican Republic felt anything like Sudan – encouraging me further to re-enter the blogosphere - I was rather desperately walking in circles looking for vegetables, longing for leaves full of more than beta-carotene (mangos are everywhere here…) and something more nutrient-rich than rice and beans. The main difference between this experience and that which it reminded me of, was that today I was standing in a four-storied, air-conditioned, Walmart-esque super-center called La Sirena in which I could buy just about anything I could conceivably need, except for spinach. In a way, this is somewhat representative of how I’m feeling about, and what living and working as a gringa within, the DR is all about: everything is so close, but just seems to miss the mark.
For all the hours studying theories of intervention-mapping, or processes for planning service delivery, it’s rather ironic that I’ve been tasked with creating deliverables that move against the spectrum preferred by “the public health agenda” by a program actually run by my school. I tried explaining this in Spanish and it made even less sense. Cual yo quiero decir es [my new favorite expression: “what I mean to say is…”] that I’ve been told to produce things that are unsubstantiated theoretically which basically goes against everything I’ve studied for the past year. More specifically, the organization I’m working for has asked me to design a health brochure without doing any of the background processes or development of logic models I’ve been trained to do. More on that later.
For all the hours studying theories of intervention-mapping, or processes for planning service delivery, it’s rather ironic that I’ve been tasked with creating deliverables that move against the spectrum preferred by “the public health agenda” by a program actually run by my school. I tried explaining this in Spanish and it made even less sense. Cual yo quiero decir es [my new favorite expression: “what I mean to say is…”] that I’ve been told to produce things that are unsubstantiated theoretically which basically goes against everything I’ve studied for the past year. More specifically, the organization I’m working for has asked me to design a health brochure without doing any of the background processes or development of logic models I’ve been trained to do. More on that later.
08 June 2009
backlog: back on the boat
My cheeks are a bit pink with sunburn – a visual manifestation of the only real expectation I brought with me this summer here in the Dominican Republic. Six days in and I’m finally feeling more accustomed to the tropical humidity, catcalls, and Dominican Spanish.
To clarify: I’ve come to the glorious island of Hispaniola for a summer internship facilitated through an exchange program between Columbia University and the Universidad Autónoma de Santo Domingo (UASD). Dr. Linda Cushman started the exchange 10 years ago, as a program to provide public health students the opportunity to “gain an understanding of the culture, and the social and health factors affecting Latinos on both sides of the ‘Air Bridge’ (NYC and Santo Domingo), through class instruction, observation of public health practice sites, and the practical application of public health methodology in local non-governmental organizations.” The 10 week practicum is designed to meet the needs of health professionals who will be working with Dominican and other Latino youth and families whose experience with the US is characterized by circular migration, and accordingly to improve the capacity of practitioners serving Latinos. At the same time, participating fulfills my academic requirements of a 280-hour practicum and lets me bring my Spanish up to a working/functioning level.
We spent the first week meeting with various important types – someone from the ministry of health, another big up from the university, meeting local university students – and trying to get settled in – trying mofongo and mangú, purchasing cell phones, and signing two month leases on terrazzo floored apartments. Concerning the latter, Margaret and I got lucky with our apartment: a spacious fourth floor 2 bedroom set up, full of rattan wicker furniture and ceiling fans. We even have a respectable maid’s quarter adjacent to the “washing machine” (which is a funny contraption worthy of a separate entry). Kate and Viv were not as lucky, and after finding *their* place too dismal for taking, have started looking elsewhere (something of a nightmare here in STO DMG, evidently) and have spent the week sleeping at our pad. It’s been a full fun house.
As we have yet to begin our actual work we’ve spent our time eating ice-cream, walking along the Malécon, and fantasizing about future weekend trips to the popular tourist destinations with aquamarine waters (evidently the sea and sands closest to Santo Domingo, the capital where I’m living, are heavily polluted and the water is too rough for swimming…). Vamos a ver.
Some images from week one:
At the Ministry of Health:
The four of us (Kate, Margaret, Vivian, y yo):
In the neighborhood:
Out and about -- preparing for a night of Bachata y Merenge:
Locals:
To clarify: I’ve come to the glorious island of Hispaniola for a summer internship facilitated through an exchange program between Columbia University and the Universidad Autónoma de Santo Domingo (UASD). Dr. Linda Cushman started the exchange 10 years ago, as a program to provide public health students the opportunity to “gain an understanding of the culture, and the social and health factors affecting Latinos on both sides of the ‘Air Bridge’ (NYC and Santo Domingo), through class instruction, observation of public health practice sites, and the practical application of public health methodology in local non-governmental organizations.” The 10 week practicum is designed to meet the needs of health professionals who will be working with Dominican and other Latino youth and families whose experience with the US is characterized by circular migration, and accordingly to improve the capacity of practitioners serving Latinos. At the same time, participating fulfills my academic requirements of a 280-hour practicum and lets me bring my Spanish up to a working/functioning level.
We spent the first week meeting with various important types – someone from the ministry of health, another big up from the university, meeting local university students – and trying to get settled in – trying mofongo and mangú, purchasing cell phones, and signing two month leases on terrazzo floored apartments. Concerning the latter, Margaret and I got lucky with our apartment: a spacious fourth floor 2 bedroom set up, full of rattan wicker furniture and ceiling fans. We even have a respectable maid’s quarter adjacent to the “washing machine” (which is a funny contraption worthy of a separate entry). Kate and Viv were not as lucky, and after finding *their* place too dismal for taking, have started looking elsewhere (something of a nightmare here in STO DMG, evidently) and have spent the week sleeping at our pad. It’s been a full fun house.
As we have yet to begin our actual work we’ve spent our time eating ice-cream, walking along the Malécon, and fantasizing about future weekend trips to the popular tourist destinations with aquamarine waters (evidently the sea and sands closest to Santo Domingo, the capital where I’m living, are heavily polluted and the water is too rough for swimming…). Vamos a ver.
Some images from week one:
At the Ministry of Health:
The four of us (Kate, Margaret, Vivian, y yo):
In the neighborhood:
Out and about -- preparing for a night of Bachata y Merenge:
Locals:
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